εὖ θέω, κῆνοί με μάλιστα σίνον-
AH friends, who altered grow,
No rancour shall ye sow
Within my simple mind :
I ponder on the days when ye were kind.
In summer drouth we tread
A torrent's whitened bed,
And love to recollect
How here the deep, cold waters rushed uncheckt.
Its flushing light still throws
Across the stony track ;
And all the fertilizing founts well back.
We see by the ravine
The seats of shady green
That drew us to the bank :
Sacred the channel where athirst we drank.
I will not then refuse
On those sweet years to muse
Before ye loved me less,
O friends, or sought to injure and distress.
Ill-favoured now ye seem,
But I of you will dream
As of a beauty gone
That once the lingering sunshine looked upon.