Chapter 2

First my Thalia stooped in sportive mood To Syracusan strains, nor blushed within The woods to house her. When I sought to tell Of battles and of kings, the Cynthian god Plucked at mine ear and warned me: "Tityrus, Beseems a shepherd-wight to feed fat sheep, But sing a slender song." Now, Varus, I- For lack there will not who would laud thy deeds, And treat of dolorous wars- will rather tune To the slim oaten reed my silvan lay. I sing but as vouchsafed me; yet even this If, if but one with ravished eyes should read, Of thee, O Varus, shall our tamarisks And all the woodland ring; nor can there be A page more dear to Phoebus, than the page Where, foremost writ, the name of Varus stands.

Speed ye, Pierian Maids! Within a cave Young Chromis and Mnasyllos chanced to see Silenus sleeping, flushed, as was his wont, With wine of yesterday. Not far aloof, Slipped from his head, the garlands lay, and there By its worn handle hung a ponderous cup. Approaching- for the old man many a time Had balked them both of a long hoped-for song- Garlands to fetters turned, they bind him fast. Then Aegle, fairest of the Naiad-band, Aegle came up to the half-frightened boys, Came, and, as now with open eyes he lay, With juice of blood-red mulberries smeared him o'er, Both brow and temples. Laughing at their guile, And crying, "Why tie the fetters? loose me, boys; Enough for you to think you had the power; Now list the songs you wish for- songs for you, Another meed for her" -forthwith began. Then might you see the wild things of the wood, With Fauns in sportive frolic beat the time, And stubborn oaks their branchy summits bow. Not Phoebus doth the rude Parnassian crag So ravish, nor Orpheus so entrance the heights Of Rhodope or Ismarus: for he sang How through the mighty void the seeds were driven Of earth, air, ocean, and of liquid fire, How all that is from these beginnings grew, And the young world itself took solid shape, Then 'gan its crust to harden, and in the deep Shut Nereus off, and mould the forms of things Little by little; and how the earth amazed Beheld the new sun shining, and the showers Fall, as the clouds soared higher, what time the woods 'Gan first to rise, and living things to roam Scattered among the hills that knew them not. Then sang he of the stones by Pyrrha cast, Of Saturn's reign, and of Prometheus' theft, And the Caucasian birds, and told withal Nigh to what fountain by his comrades left The mariners cried on Hylas till the shore "Then Re-echoed "Hylas, Hylas! soothed Pasiphae with the love of her white bull- Happy if cattle-kind had never been!- O ill-starred maid, what frenzy caught thy soul The daughters too of Proetus filled the fields With their feigned lowings, yet no one of them Of such unhallowed union e'er was fain As with a beast to mate, though many a time On her smooth forehead she had sought for horns, And for her neck had feared the galling plough. O ill-starred maid! thou roamest now the hills, While on soft hyacinths he, his snowy side Reposing, under some dark ilex now Chews the pale herbage, or some heifer tracks Amid the crowding herd. Now close, ye Nymphs, Ye Nymphs of Dicte, close the forest-glades, If haply there may chance upon mine eyes The white bull's wandering foot-prints: him belike Following the herd, or by green pasture lured, Some kine may guide to the Gortynian stalls. Then sings he of the maid so wonder-struck With the apples of the Hesperids, and then With moss-bound, bitter bark rings round the forms Of Phaethon's fair sisters, from the ground Up-towering into poplars. Next he sings Of Gallus wandering by Permessus' stream, And by a sister of the Muses led To the Aonian mountains, and how all The choir of Phoebus rose to greet him; how The shepherd Linus, singer of songs divine, Brow-bound with flowers and bitter parsley, spake: "These reeds the Muses give thee, take them thou, Erst to the aged bard of Ascra given, Wherewith in singing he was wont to draw Time-rooted ash-trees from the mountain heights. With these the birth of the Grynean grove Be voiced by thee, that of no grove beside Apollo more may boast him." Wherefore speak Of Scylla, child of Nisus, who, 'tis said, Her fair white loins with barking monsters girt Vexed the Dulichian ships, and, in the deep Swift-eddying whirlpool, with her sea-dogs tore The trembling mariners? or how he told Of the changed limbs of Tereus- what a feast, What gifts, to him by Philomel were given; How swift she sought the desert, with what wings Hovered in anguish o'er her ancient home? All that, of old, Eurotas, happy stream, Heard, as Apollo mused upon the lyre, And bade his laurels learn, Silenus sang; Till from Olympus, loth at his approach, Vesper, advancing, bade the shepherds tell Their tale of sheep, and pen them in the fold.

ECLOGUE VII

MELIBOEUS CORYDON THYRSIS

Daphnis beneath a rustling ilex-tree Had sat him down; Thyrsis and Corydon Had gathered in the flock, Thyrsis the sheep, And Corydon the she-goats swollen with milk- Both in the flower of age, Arcadians both, Ready to sing, and in like strain reply. Hither had strayed, while from the frost I fend My tender myrtles, the he-goat himself, Lord of the flock; when Daphnis I espy! Soon as he saw me, "Hither haste," he cried, "O Meliboeus! goat and kids are safe; And, if you have an idle hour to spare, Rest here beneath the shade. Hither the steers Will through the meadows, of their own free will, Untended come to drink. Here Mincius hath With tender rushes rimmed his verdant banks, And from yon sacred oak with busy hum The bees are swarming." What was I to do? No Phyllis or Alcippe left at home Had I, to shelter my new-weaned lambs, And no slight matter was a singing-bout 'Twixt Corydon and Thyrsis. Howsoe'er, I let my business wait upon their sport. So they began to sing, voice answering voice In strains alternate- for alternate strains The Muses then were minded to recall- First Corydon, then Thyrsis in reply.

CORYDON "Libethrian Nymphs, who are my heart's delight, Grant me, as doth my Codrus, so to sing- Next to Apollo he- or if to this We may not all attain, my tuneful pipe Here on this sacred pine shall silent hang."

THYRSIS "Arcadian shepherds, wreathe with ivy-spray Your budding poet, so that Codrus burst With envy: if he praise beyond my due, Then bind my brow with foxglove, lest his tongue With evil omen blight the coming bard."

CORYDON "This bristling boar's head, Delian Maid, to thee, With branching antlers of a sprightly stag, Young Micon offers: if his luck but hold, Full-length in polished marble, ankle-bound With purple buskin, shall thy statue stand."

THYRSIS "A bowl of milk, Priapus, and these cakes, Yearly, it is enough for thee to claim; Thou art the guardian of a poor man's plot. Wrought for a while in marble, if the flock At lambing time be filled,stand there in gold."

CORYDON "Daughter of Nereus, Galatea mine, Sweeter than Hybla-thyme, more white than swans, Fairer than ivy pale, soon as the steers Shall from their pasture to the stalls repair, If aught for Corydon thou carest, come."

THYRSIS "Now may I seem more bitter to your taste Than herb Sardinian, rougher than the broom, More worthless than strewn sea-weed, if to-day Hath not a year out-lasted! Fie for shame! Go home, my cattle, from your grazing go!"

CORYDON "Ye mossy springs, and grass more soft than sleep, And arbute green with thin shade sheltering you, Ward off the solstice from my flock, for now Comes on the burning summer, now the buds Upon the limber vine-shoot 'gin to swell."

THYRSIS "Here is a hearth, and resinous logs, here fire Unstinted, and doors black with ceaseless smoke. Here heed we Boreas' icy breath as much As the wolf heeds the number of the flock, Or furious rivers their restraining banks."

CORYDON "The junipers and prickly chestnuts stand, And 'neath each tree lie strewn their several fruits, Now the whole world is smiling, but if fair Alexis from these hill-slopes should away, Even the rivers you would ; see run dry."

THYRSIS "The field is parched, the grass-blades thirst to death In the faint air; Liber hath grudged the hills His vine's o'er-shadowing: should my Phyllis come, Green will be all the grove, and Jupiter Descend in floods of fertilizing rain."

CORYDON "The poplar doth Alcides hold most dear, The vine Iacchus, Phoebus his own bays, And Venus fair the myrtle: therewithal Phyllis doth hazels love, and while she loves, Myrtle nor bay the hazel shall out-vie."

THYRSIS "Ash in the forest is most beautiful, Pine in the garden, poplar by the stream, Fir on the mountain-height; but if more oft Thou'ldst come to me, fair Lycidas, to thee Both forest-ash, and garden-pine should bow."

MELIBOEUS These I remember, and how Thyrsis strove For victory in vain. From that time forth Is Corydon still Corydon with us.

ECLOGUE VIII

TO POLLIO DAMON ALPHESIBOEUS

Of Damon and Alphesiboeus now, Those shepherd-singers at whose rival strains The heifer wondering forgot to graze, The lynx stood awe-struck, and the flowing streams, Unwonted loiterers, stayed their course to hear- How Damon and Alphesiboeus sang Their pastoral ditties, will I tell the tale.

Thou, whether broad Timavus' rocky banks Thou now art passing, or dost skirt the shore Of the Illyrian main,- will ever dawn That day when I thy deeds may celebrate, Ever that day when through the whole wide world I may renown thy verse- that verse alone Of Sophoclean buskin worthy found? With thee began, to thee shall end, the strain. Take thou these songs that owe their birth to thee, And deign around thy temples to let creep This ivy-chaplet 'twixt the conquering bays.

Scarce had night's chilly shade forsook the sky What time to nibbling sheep the dewy grass Tastes sweetest, when, on his smooth shepherd-staff Of olive leaning, Damon thus began.

DAMON "Rise, Lucifer, and, heralding the light, Bring in the genial day, while I make moan Fooled by vain passion for a faithless bride, For Nysa, and with this my dying breath Call on the gods, though little it bestead- The gods who heard her vows and heeded not.

"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays. Ever hath Maenalus his murmuring groves And whispering pines, and ever hears the songs Of love-lorn shepherds, and of Pan, who first Brooked not the tuneful reed should idle lie.

"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays. Nysa to Mopsus given! what may not then We lovers look for? soon shall we see mate Griffins with mares, and in the coming age Shy deer and hounds together come to drink.

"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays. Now, Mopsus, cut new torches, for they bring Your bride along; now, bridegroom, scatter nuts: Forsaking Oeta mounts the evening star!

"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays. O worthy of thy mate, while all men else Thou scornest, and with loathing dost behold My shepherd's pipe, my goats, my shaggy brow, And untrimmed beard, nor deem'st that any god For mortal doings hath regard or care.

"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays. Once with your mother, in our orchard-garth, A little maid I saw you- I your guide- Plucking the dewy apples. My twelfth year I scarce had entered, and could barely reach The brittle boughs. I looked, and I was lost; A sudden frenzy swept my wits away.

"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays. Now know I what Love is: 'mid savage rocks Tmaros or Rhodope brought forth the boy, Or Garamantes in earth's utmost bounds- No kin of ours, nor of our blood begot.

"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays. Fierce Love it was once steeled a mother's heart With her own offspring's blood her hands to imbrue: Mother, thou too wert cruel; say wert thou More cruel, mother, or more ruthless he? Ruthless the boy, thou, mother, cruel too.

"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays. Now let the wolf turn tail and fly the sheep, Tough oaks bear golden apples, alder-trees Bloom with narcissus-flower, the tamarisk Sweat with rich amber, and the screech-owl vie In singing with the swan: let Tityrus Be Orpheus, Orpheus in the forest-glade, Arion 'mid his dolphins on the deep.

"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays. Yea, be the whole earth to mid-ocean turned! Farewell, ye woodlands I from the tall peak Of yon aerial rock will headlong plunge Into the billows: this my latest gift, From dying lips bequeathed thee, see thou keep. Cease now, my flute, now cease Maenalian lays."

Thus Damon: but do ye, Pierian Maids- We cannot all do all things- tell me how Alphesiboeus to his strain replied.

ALPHESIBOEUS "Bring water, and with soft wool-fillet bind These altars round about, and burn thereon Rich vervain and male frankincense, that I May strive with magic spells to turn astray My lover's saner senses, whereunto There lacketh nothing save the power of song.

"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home. Songs can the very moon draw down from heaven Circe with singing changed from human form The comrades of Ulysses, and by song Is the cold meadow-snake, asunder burst.

"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home. These triple threads of threefold colour first I twine about thee, and three times withal Around these altars do thine image bear: Uneven numbers are the god's delight.

"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home. Now, Amaryllis, ply in triple knots The threefold colours; ply them fast, and say This is the chain of Venus that I ply.

"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home. As by the kindling of the self-same fire Harder this clay, this wax the softer grows, So by my love may Daphnis; sprinkle meal, And with bitumen burn the brittle bays. Me Daphnis with his cruelty doth burn, I to melt cruel Daphnis burn this bay.

"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home. As when some heifer, seeking for her steer Through woodland and deep grove, sinks wearied out On the green sedge beside a stream, love-lorn, Nor marks the gathering night that calls her home- As pines that heifer, with such love as hers May Daphnis pine, and I not care to heal.

"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home. These relics once, dear pledges of himself, The traitor left me, which, O earth, to thee Here on this very threshold I commit- Pledges that bind him to redeem the debt.

"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home. These herbs of bane to me did Moeris give, In Pontus culled, where baneful herbs abound. With these full oft have I seen Moeris change To a wolf's form, and hide him in the woods, Oft summon spirits from the tomb's recess, And to new fields transport the standing corn.

"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home. Take ashes, Amaryllis, fetch them forth, And o'er your head into the running brook Fling them, nor look behind: with these will Upon the heart of Daphnis make essay. Nothing for gods, nothing for songs cares he.

"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home. Look, look I the very embers of themselves Have caught the altar with a flickering flame, While I delay to fetch them: may the sign Prove lucky! something it must mean, for sure, And Hylax on the threshold 'gins to bark! May we believe it, or are lovers still By their own fancies fooled?

Give o'er, my songs, Daphnis is coming from the town, give o'er."

ECLOGUE IX

LYCIDAS MOERIS

LYCIDAS Say whither, Moeris?- Make you for the town, Or on what errand bent?

MOERIS

O Lycidas, We have lived to see, what never yet we feared, An interloper own our little farm, And say, "Be off, you former husbandmen! These fields are mine." Now, cowed and out of heart, Since Fortune turns the whole world upside down, We are taking him- ill luck go with the same!-' These kids you see.

LYCIDAS

But surely I had heard That where the hills first draw from off the plain, And the high ridge with gentle slope descends, Down to the brook-side and the broken crests Of yonder veteran beeches, all the land Was by the songs of your Menalcas saved.

MOERIS Heard it you had, and so the rumour ran, But 'mid the clash of arms, my Lycidas, Our songs avail no more than, as 'tis said, Doves of Dodona when an eagle comes. Nay, had I not, from hollow ilex-bole Warned by a raven on the left, cut short The rising feud, nor I, your Moeris here, No, nor Menalcas, were alive to-day.

LYCIDAS Alack! could any of so foul a crime Be guilty? Ah! how nearly, thyself, Reft was the solace that we had in thee, Menalcas! Who then of the Nymphs had sung, Or who with flowering herbs bestrewn the ground, And o'er the fountains drawn a leafy veil?- Who sung the stave I filched from you that day To Amaryllis wending, our hearts' joy?- "While I am gone, 'tis but a little way, Feed, Tityrus, my goats, and, having fed, Drive to the drinking-pool, and, as you drive, Beware the he-goat; with his horn he butts."

MOERIS Ay, or to Varus that half-finished lay, "Varus, thy name, so still our Mantua live- Mantua to poor Cremona all too near- Shall singing swans bear upward to the stars."

LYCIDAS So may your swarms Cyrnean yew-trees shun, Your kine with cytisus their udders swell, Begin, if aught you have. The Muses made Me too a singer; I too have sung; the swains Call me a poet, but I believe them not: For naught of mine, or worthy Varius yet Or Cinna deem I, but account myself A cackling goose among melodious swans.

MOERIS 'Twas in my thought to do so, Lycidas; Even now was I revolving silently If this I could recall- no paltry song: "Come, Galatea, what pleasure is 't to play Amid the waves? Here glows the Spring, here earth Beside the streams pours forth a thousand flowers; Here the white poplar bends above the cave, And the lithe vine weaves shadowy covert: come, Leave the mad waves to beat upon the shore."

LYCIDAS What of the strain I heard you singing once On a clear night alone? the notes I still Remember, could I but recall the words.

MOERIS "Why, Daphnis, upward gazing, do you mark The ancient risings of the Signs? for look Where Dionean Caesar's star comes forth In heaven, to gladden all the fields with corn, And to the grape upon the sunny slopes Her colour bring! Now, the pears; So shall your children's children pluck their fruit.

Time carries all things, even our wits, away. Oft, as a boy, I sang the sun to rest, But all those songs are from my memory fled, And even his voice is failing Moeris now; The wolves eyed Moeris first: but at your wish Menalcas will repeat them oft enow.

LYCIDAS Your pleas but linger out my heart's desire: Now all the deep is into silence hushed, And all the murmuring breezes sunk to sleep. We are half-way thither, for Bianor's tomb Begins to show: here, Moeris, where the hinds Are lopping the thick leafage, let us sing. Set down the kids, yet shall we reach the town; Or, if we fear the night may gather rain Ere we arrive, then singing let us go, Our way to lighten; and, that we may thus Go singing, I will case you of this load.

MOERIS Cease, boy, and get we to the work in hand: We shall sing better when himself is come.

ECLOGUE X

GALLUS

This now, the very latest of my toils, Vouchsafe me, Arethusa! needs must I Sing a brief song to Gallus- brief, but yet Such as Lycoris' self may fitly read. Who would not sing for Gallus? So, when thou Beneath Sicanian billows glidest on, May Doris blend no bitter wave with thine, Begin! The love of Gallus be our theme, And the shrewd pangs he suffered, while, hard by, The flat-nosed she-goats browse the tender brush. We sing not to deaf ears; no word of ours But the woods echo it. What groves or lawns Held you, ye Dryad-maidens, when for love- Love all unworthy of a loss so dear- Gallus lay dying? for neither did the slopes Of Pindus or Parnassus stay you then, No, nor Aonian Aganippe. Him Even the laurels and the tamarisks wept; For him, outstretched beneath a lonely rock, Wept pine-clad Maenalus, and the flinty crags Of cold Lycaeus. The sheep too stood around- Of us they feel no shame, poet divine; Nor of the flock be thou ashamed: even fair Adonis by the rivers fed his sheep- Came shepherd too, and swine-herd footing slow, And, from the winter-acorns dripping-wet Menalcas. All with one accord exclaim: "From whence this love of thine?" Apollo came; "Gallus, art mad?" he cried, "thy bosom's care Another love is following."Therewithal Silvanus came, with rural honours crowned; The flowering fennels and tall lilies shook Before him. Yea, and our own eyes beheld Pan, god of Arcady, with blood-red juice Of the elder-berry, and with vermilion, dyed. "Wilt ever make an end?" quoth he, "behold Love recks not aught of it: his heart no more With tears is sated than with streams the grass, Bees with the cytisus, or goats with leaves." "Yet will ye sing, Arcadians, of my woes Upon your mountains," sadly he replied- "Arcadians, that alone have skill to sing. O then how softly would my ashes rest, If of my love, one day, your flutes should tell! And would that I, of your own fellowship, Or dresser of the ripening grape had been, Or guardian of the flock! for surely then, Let Phyllis, or Amyntas, or who else, Bewitch me- what if swart Amyntas be? Dark is the violet, dark the hyacinth- Among the willows, 'neath the limber vine, Reclining would my love have lain with me, Phyllis plucked garlands, or Amyntas sung. Here are cool springs, soft mead and grove, Lycoris; Here might our lives with time have worn away. But me mad love of the stern war-god holds Armed amid weapons and opposing foes. Whilst thou- Ah! might I but believe it not!- Alone without me, and from home afar, Look'st upon Alpine snows and frozen Rhine. Ah! may the frost not hurt thee, may the sharp And jagged ice not wound thy tender feet! I will depart, re-tune the songs I framed In verse Chalcidian to the oaten reed Of the Sicilian swain. Resolved am I In the woods, rather, with wild beasts to couch, And bear my doom, and character my love Upon the tender tree-trunks: they will grow, And you, my love, grow with them. And meanwhile I with the Nymphs will haunt Mount Maenalus, Or hunt the keen wild boar. No frost so cold But I will hem with hounds thy forest-glades, Parthenius. Even now, methinks, I range O'er rocks, through echoing groves, and joy to launch Cydonian arrows from a Parthian bow.- As if my madness could find healing thus, Or that god soften at a mortal's grief! Now neither Hamadryads, no, nor songs Delight me more: ye woods, away with you! No pangs of ours can change him; not though we In the mid-frost should drink of Hebrus' stream, And in wet winters face Sithonian snows, Or, when the bark of the tall elm-tree bole Of drought is dying, should, under Cancer's Sign, In Aethiopian deserts drive our flocks. Love conquers all things; yield we too to love!"

These songs, Pierian Maids, shall it suffice Your poet to have sung, the while he sat, And of slim mallow wove a basket fine: To Gallus ye will magnify their worth, Gallus, for whom my love grows hour by hour, As the green alder shoots in early Spring. Come, let us rise: the shade is wont to be Baneful to singers; baneful is the shade Cast by the juniper, crops sicken too In shade. Now homeward, having fed your fill-- Eve's star is rising-go, my she-goats, go.