From the forests and highlands We come, we come From the river-girt islands Where loud waves are dumb Listening to my sweet pipings The wind in the reeds and the rushes The bees on the bells of thyme The cicale above in the lime And the lizards below in the gra** Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was Listening to my sweet pipings Liquid Peneus was flowing And all dark Tempe lay In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing The light of the dying day Speeded by my sweet pipings The Sileni and Sylvans and Fauns And the Nymphs of the woods and waves To the edge of the moist river-lawns And the brink of the dewy caves And all that did then attend and follow Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo With envy of my sweet pipings