Chapter 3

DAMOETAS. "I marked her pelt my dog, I was not blind, By Pan, by this my one my precious eye That bounds my vision now and evermore! But Telemus the Seer, be his the woe, His and his children's, that he promised me! Yet do I too tease her; I pass her by, Pretend to woo another:--and she hears (Heaven help me!) and is faint with jealousy; And hurrying from the sea-wave as if stung, Scans with keen glance my grotto and my flock. 'Twas I hissed on the dog to bark at her; For, when I loved her, he would whine and lay His muzzle in her lap. These things she'll note Mayhap, and message send on message soon: But I will bar my door until she swear To make me on this isle fair bridal-bed. And I am less unlovely than men say. I looked into the mere (the mere was calm), And goodly seemed my beard, and goodly seemed My solitary eye, and, half-revealed, My teeth gleamed whiter than the Parian marl. Thrice for good luck I spat upon my robe: That learned I of the hag Cottytaris--her Who fluted lately with Hippocoön's mowers."

Damoetas then kissed Daphnis lovingly: One gave a pipe and one a goodly flute. Straight to the shepherd's flute and herdsman's pipe The younglings bounded in the soft green grass: And neither was o'ermatched, but matchless both.

IDYLL VII.

Harvest-Home.

Once on a time did Eucritus and I (With us Amyntas) to the riverside Steal from the city. For Lycopeus' sons Were that day busy with the harvest-home, Antigenes and Phrasidemus, sprung (If aught thou holdest by the good old names) By Clytia from great Chalcon--him who erst Planted one stalwart knee against the rock, And lo, beneath his foot Burinè's rill Brake forth, and at its side poplar and elm Shewed aisles of pleasant shadow, greenly roofed By tufted leaves. Scarce midway were we now, Nor yet descried the tomb of Brasilas: When, thanks be to the Muses, there drew near A wayfarer from Crete, young Lycidas. The horned herd was his care: a glance might tell So much: for every inch a herdsman he. Slung o'er his shoulder was a ruddy hide Torn from a he-goat, shaggy, tangle-haired, That reeked of rennet yet: a broad belt clasped A patched cloak round his breast, and for a staff A gnarled wild-olive bough his right hand bore. Soon with a quiet smile he spoke--his eye Twinkled, and laughter sat upon his lip: "And whither ploddest thou thy weary way Beneath the noontide sun, Simichidas? For now the lizard sleeps upon the wall, The crested lark folds now his wandering wing. Dost speed, a bidden guest, to some reveller's board? Or townward to the treading of the grape? For lo! recoiling from thy hurrying feet The pavement-stones ring out right merrily." Then I: "Friend Lycid, all men say that none Of haymakers or herdsmen is thy match At piping: and my soul is glad thereat. Yet, to speak sooth, I think to rival thee. Now look, this road holds holiday to-day: For banded brethren solemnise a feast To richly-dight Demeter, thanking her For her good gifts: since with no grudging hand Hath the boon goddess filled the wheaten floors. So come: the way, the day, is thine as mine: Try we our woodcraft--each may learn from each. I am, as thou, a clarion-voice of song; All hail me chief of minstrels. But I am not, Heaven knows, o'ercredulous: no, I scarce can yet (I think) outvie Philetas, nor the bard Of Samos, champion of Sicilian song. They are as cicadas challenged by a frog."

I spake to gain mine ends; and laughing light He said: "Accept this club, as thou'rt indeed A born truth-teller, shaped by heaven's own hand! I hate your builders who would rear a house High as Oromedon's mountain-pinnacle: I hate your song-birds too, whose cuckoo-cry Struggles (in vain) to match the Chian bard. But come, we'll sing forthwith, Simichidas, Our woodland music: and for my part I-- List, comrade, if you like the simple air I forged among the uplands yesterday.

[_Sings_] Safe be my true-love convoyed o'er the main To Mitylenè--though the southern blast Chase the lithe waves, while westward slant the Kids, Or low above the verge Orion stand-- If from Love's furnace she will rescue me, For Lycidas is parched with hot desire. Let halcyons lay the sea-waves and the winds, Northwind and Westwind, that in shores far-off Flutters the seaweed--halcyons, of all birds Whose prey is on the waters, held most dear By the green Nereids: yea let all things smile On her to Mitylenè voyaging, And in fair harbour may she ride at last. I on that day, a chaplet woven of dill Or rose or simple violet on my brow, Will draw the wine of Pteleas from the cask Stretched by the ingle. They shall roast me beans, And elbow-deep in thyme and asphodel And quaintly-curling parsley shall be piled My bed of rushes, where in royal ease I sit and, thinking of my darling, drain With stedfast lip the liquor to the dregs. I'll have a pair of pipers, shepherds both, This from Acharnæ, from Lycopè that; And Tityrus shall be near me and shall sing How the swain Daphnis loved the stranger-maid; And how he ranged the fells, and how the oaks (Such oaks as Himera's banks are green withal) Sang dirges o'er him waning fast away Like snow on Athos, or on Hæmus high, Or Rhodopè, or utmost Caucasus. And he shall sing me how the big chest held (All through the maniac malice of his lord) A living goatherd: how the round-faced bees, Lured from their meadow by the cedar-smell, Fed him with daintiest flowers, because the Muse Had made his throat a well-spring of sweet song. Happy Cometas, this sweet lot was thine! Thee the chest prisoned, for thee the honey-bees Toiled, as thou slavedst out the mellowing year: And oh hadst thou been numbered with the quick In my day! I had led thy pretty goats About the hill-side, listening to thy voice: While thou hadst lain thee down 'neath oak or pine, Divine Cometas, warbling pleasantly."

He spake and paused; and thereupon spake I. "I too, friend Lycid, as I ranged the fells, Have learned much lore and pleasant from the Nymphs, Whose fame mayhap hath reached the throne of Zeus. But this wherewith I'll grace thee ranks the first: Thou listen, since the Muses like thee well.

[_Sings_] On me the young Loves sneezed: for hapless I Am fain of Myrto as the goats of Spring. But my best friend Aratus inly pines For one who loves him not. Aristis saw-- (A wondrous seer is he, whose lute and lay Shrinèd Apollo's self would scarce disdain)-- How love had scorched Aratus to the bone. O Pan, who hauntest Homolè's fair champaign, Bring the soft charmer, whosoe'er it be, Unbid to his sweet arms--so, gracious Pan, May ne'er thy ribs and shoulderblades be lashed With squills by young Arcadians, whensoe'er They are scant of supper! But should this my prayer Mislike thee, then on nettles mayest thou sleep, Dinted and sore all over from their claws! Then mayest thou lodge amid Edonian hills By Hebrus, in midwinter; there subsist, The Bear thy neighbour: and, in summer, range With the far Æthiops 'neath the Blemmyan rocks Where Nile is no more seen! But O ye Loves, Whose cheeks are like pink apples, quit your homes By Hyetis, or Byblis' pleasant rill, Or fair Dionè's rocky pedestal, And strike that fair one with your arrows, strike The ill-starred damsel who disdains my friend. And lo, what is she but an o'er-ripe pear? The girls all cry 'Her bloom is on the wane.' We'll watch, Aratus, at that porch no more, Nor waste shoe-leather: let the morning cock Crow to wake others up to numb despair! Let Molon, and none else, that ordeal brave: While we make ease our study, and secure Some witch, to charm all evil from our door."

I ceased. He smiling sweetly as before, Gave me the staff, 'the Muses' parting gift,' And leftward sloped toward Pyxa. We the while, Bent us to Phrasydeme's, Eucritus and I, And baby-faced Amyntas: there we lay Half-buried in a couch of fragrant reed And fresh-cut vineleaves, who so glad as we? A wealth of elm and poplar shook o'erhead; Hard by, a sacred spring flowed gurgling on From the Nymphs' grot, and in the sombre boughs The sweet cicada chirped laboriously. Hid in the thick thorn-bushes far away The treefrog's note was heard; the crested lark Sang with the goldfinch; turtles made their moan, And o'er the fountain hung the gilded bee. All of rich summer smacked, of autumn all: Pears at our feet, and apples at our side Rolled in luxuriance; branches on the ground Sprawled, overweighed with damsons; while we brushed From the cask's head the crust of four long years. Say, ye who dwell upon Parnassian peaks, Nymphs of Castalia, did old Chiron e'er Set before Heracles a cup so brave In Pholus' cavern--did as nectarous draughts Cause that Anapian shepherd, in whose hand Rocks were as pebbles, Polypheme the strong, Featly to foot it o'er the cottage lawns:-- As, ladies, ye bid flow that day for us All by Demeter's shrine at harvest-home? Beside whose cornstacks may I oft again Plant my broad fan: while she stands by and smiles, Poppies and cornsheaves on each laden arm.

IDYLL VIII.

The Triumph of Daphnis.

_DAPHNIS. MENALCAS. A GOATHERD_.

Daphnis, the gentle herdsman, met once, as legend tells, Menalcas making with his flock the circle of the fells. Both chins were gilt with coming beards: both lads could sing and play: Menalcas glanced at Daphnis, and thus was heard to say:-- "Art thou for singing, Daphnis, lord of the lowing kine? I say my songs are better, by what thou wilt, than thine." Then in his turn spake Daphnis, and thus he made reply: "O shepherd of the fleecy flock, thou pipest clear and high; But come what will, Menalcas, thou ne'er wilt sing as I."

MENALCAS. This art thou fain to ascertain, and risk a bet with me?

DAPHNIS. This I full fain would ascertain, and risk a bet with thee.

MENALCAS. But what, for champions such as we, would, seem a fitting prize?

DAPHNIS. I stake a calf: stake thou a lamb, its mother's self in size.

MENALCAS. A lamb I'll venture never: for aye at close of day Father and mother count the flock, and passing strict are they.

DAPHNIS. Then what shall be the victor's fee? What wager wilt thou lay?

MENALCAS. A pipe discoursing through nine mouths I made, full fair to view; The wax is white thereon, the line of this and that edge true. I'll risk it: risk my father's own is more than I dare do.

DAPHNIS. A pipe discoursing through nine mouths, and fair, hath Daphnis too: The wax is white thereon, the line of this and that edge true. But yesterday I made it: this finger feels the pain Still, where indeed the rifted reed hath cut it clean in twain. But who shall be our umpire? who listen to our strain?

MENALCAS. Suppose we hail yon goatherd; him at whose horned herd now The dog is barking--yonder dog with white upon his brow.

Then out they called: the goatherd marked them, and up came he; Then out they sang; the goatherd their umpire fain would be. To shrill Menalcas' lot it fell to start the woodland lay: Then Daphnis took it up. And thus Menalcas led the way.

MENALCAS. "Rivers and vales, a glorious birth! Oh if Menalcas e'er Piped aught of pleasant music in your ears: Then pasture, nothing loth, his lambs; and let young Daphnis fare No worse, should he stray hither with his steers."

DAPHNIS. "Pastures and rills, a bounteous race! If Daphnis sang you e'er Such songs as ne'er from nightingale have flowed; Then to his herd your fatness lend; and let Menalcas share Like boon, should e'er he wend along this road."

MENALCAS. "'Tis spring, 'tis greenness everywhere; with milk the udders teem, And all things that are young have life anew, Where my sweet maiden wanders: but parched and withered seem, When she departeth, lawn and shepherd too."

DAPHNIS. "Fat are the sheep, the goats bear twins, the hives are thronged with bees, Rises the oak beyond his natural growth, Where falls my darling's footstep: but hungriness shall seize, When she departeth, herd and herdsman both."

MENALCAS. "Come, ram, with thy blunt-muzzled kids and sleek wives at thy side, Where winds the brook by woodlands myriad-deep: There is _her_ haunt. Go, Stump-horn, tell her how Proteus plied (A god) the shepherd's trade, with seals for sheep."

DAPHNIS. "I ask not gold, I ask not the broad lands of a king; I ask not to be fleeter than the breeze; But 'neath this steep to watch my sheep, feeding as one, and fling (Still clasping _her_) my carol o'er the seas."

MENALCAS. "Storms are the fruit-tree's bane; the brook's, a summer hot and dry; The stag's a woven net, a gin the dove's; Mankind's, a soft sweet maiden. Others have pined ere I: Zeus! Father! hadst not thou thy lady-loves?"

Thus far, in alternating strains, the lads their woes rehearst: Then each one gave a closing stave. Thus sang Menalcas first:--

MENALCAS. "O spare, good wolf, my weanlings! their milky mothers spare! Harm not the little lad that hath so many in his care! What, Firefly, is thy sleep so deep? It ill befits a hound, Tending a boyish master's flock, to slumber over-sound. And, wethers, of this tender grass take, nothing coy, your fill: So, when it comes, the after-math shall find you feeding still. So! so! graze on, that ye be full, that not an udder fail: Part of the milk shall rear the lambs, and part shall fill my pail." Then Daphnis flung a carol out, as of a nightingale:--

DAPHNIS. "Me from her grot but yesterday a girl of haughty brow Spied as I passed her with my kine, and said, "How fair art thou!" I vow that not one bitter word in answer did I say, But, looking ever on the ground, went silently my way. The heifer's voice, the heifer's breath, are passing sweet to me; And sweet is sleep by summer-brooks upon the breezy lea: As acorns are the green oak's pride, apples the apple-bough's; So the cow glorieth in her calf, the cowherd in his cows." Thus the two lads; then spoke the third, sitting his goats among:

GOATHERD. "O Daphnis, lovely is thy voice, thy music sweetly sung; Such song is pleasanter to me than honey on my tongue. Accept this pipe, for thou hast won. And should there be some notes That thou couldst teach me, as I plod alongside with my goats, I'll give thee for thy schooling this ewe, that horns hath none: Day after day she'll fill the can, until the milk o'errun."

Then how the one lad laughed and leaped and clapped his hands for glee! A kid that bounds to meet its dam might dance as merrily. And how the other inly burned, struck down by his disgrace! A maid first parting from her home might wear as sad a face.

Thenceforth was Daphnis champion of all the country side: And won, while yet in topmost youth, a Naiad for his bride.

IDYLL IX.

Pastorals.

_DAPHNIS. MENALCAS. A SHEPHERD._

SHEPHERD. A song from Daphnis! Open he the lay, He open: and Menalcas follow next: While the calves suck, and with the barren kine The young bulls graze, or roam knee-deep in leaves, And ne'er play truant. But a song from thee, Daphnis--anon Menalcas will reply.

DAPHNIS. Sweet is the chorus of the calves and kine, And sweet the herdsman's pipe. But none may vie With Daphnis; and a rush-strown bed is mine Near a cool rill, where carpeted I lie On fair white goatskins. From a hill-top high The westwind swept me down the herd entire, Cropping the strawberries: whence it comes that I No more heed summer, with his breath of fire, Than lovers heed the words of mother and of sire.

Thus Daphnis: and Menalcas answered thus:--

MENALCAS. O Ætna, mother mine! A grotto fair, Scooped in the rocks, have I: and there I keep All that in dreams men picture! Treasured there Are multitudes of she-goats and of sheep, Swathed in whose wool from top to toe I sleep. The fire that boils my pot, with oak or beech Is piled--dry beech-logs when the snow lies deep; And storm and sunshine, I disdain them each As toothless sires a nut, when broth is in their reach.

I clapped applause, and straight produced my gifts: A staff for Daphnis--'twas the handiwork Of nature, in my father's acres grown: Yet might a turner find no fault therewith. I gave his mate a goodly spiral-shell: We stalked its inmate on the Icarian rocks And ate him, parted fivefold among five. He blew forthwith the trumpet on his shell. Tell, woodland Muse--and then farewell--what song I, the chance-comer, sang before those twain.

SHEPHERD. Ne'er let a falsehood scarify my tongue! Crickets with crickets, ants with ants agree, And hawks with hawks: and music sweetly sung, Beyond all else, is grateful unto me. Filled aye with music may my dwelling be! Not slumber, not the bursting forth of Spring So charms me, nor the flowers that tempt the bee, As those sweet Sisters. He, on whom they fling One gracious glance, is proof to Circè's blandishing.

IDYLL X.

The Two Workmen.

_MILO. BATTUS._

What now, poor o'erworked drudge, is on thy mind? No more in even swathe thou layest the corn: Thy fellow-reapers leave thee far behind, As flocks a ewe that's footsore from a thorn. By noon and midday what will be thy plight If now, so soon, thy sickle fails to bite?

BATTUS. Hewn from hard rocks, untired at set of sun, Milo, didst ne'er regret some absent one?

MILO. Not I. What time have workers for regret?

BATTUS. Hath love ne'er kept thee from thy slumbers yet?

MILO. Nay, heaven forbid! If once the cat taste cream!

BATTUS. Milo, these ten days love hath been my dream.

MILO. You drain your wine, while vinegar's scarce with me.

BATTUS. --Hence since last spring untrimmed my borders be.

MILO. And what lass flouts thee?

BATTUS. She whom we heard play Amongst Hippocoön's reapers yesterday.

MILO. Your sins have found you out--you're e'en served right: You'll clasp a corn-crake in your arms all night.

BATTUS. You laugh: but headstrong Love is blind no less Than Plutus: talking big is foolishness.

MILO. I talk not big. But lay the corn-ears low And trill the while some love-song--easier so Will seem your toil: you used to sing, I know.

BATTUS. Maids of Pieria, of my slim lass sing! One touch of yours ennobles everything.

[_Sings_] Fairy Bombyca! thee do men report Lean, dusk, a gipsy: I alone nut-brown. Violets and pencilled hyacinths are swart, Yet first of flowers they're chosen for a crown. As goats pursue the clover, wolves the goat, And cranes the ploughman, upon thee I dote.

Had I but Croesus' wealth, we twain should stand Gold-sculptured in Love's temple; thou, thy lyre (Ay or a rose or apple) in thy hand, I in my brave new shoon and dance-attire. Fairy Bombyca! twinkling dice thy feet, Poppies thy lips, thy ways none knows how sweet!

MILO. Who dreamed what subtle strains our bumpkin wrought? How shone the artist in each measured verse! Fie on the beard that I have grown for naught! Mark, lad, these lines by glorious Lytierse.

[_Sings_] O rich in fruit and cornblade: be this field Tilled well, Demeter, and fair fruitage yield!

Bind the sheaves, reapers: lest one, passing, say-- 'A fig for these, they're never worth their pay.'

Let the mown swathes look northward, ye who mow, Or westward--for the ears grow fattest so.

Avoid a noontide nap, ye threshing men: The chaff flies thickest from the corn-ears then.

Wake when the lark wakes; when he slumbers, close Your work, ye reapers: and at noontide doze.

Boys, the frogs' life for me! They need not him Who fills the flagon, for in drink they swim.

Better boil herbs, thou toiler after gain, Than, splitting cummin, split thy hand in twain.

Strains such as these, I trow, befit them well Who toil and moil when noon is at its height: Thy meagre love-tale, bumpkin, though shouldst tell Thy grandam as she wakes up ere 'tis light.

IDYLL XI.

The Giant's Wooing

Methinks all nature hath no cure for Love, Plaster or unguent, Nicias, saving one; And this is light and pleasant to a man, Yet hard withal to compass--minstrelsy. As well thou wottest, being thyself a leech, And a prime favourite of those Sisters nine. 'Twas thus our Giant lived a life of ease, Old Polyphemus, when, the down scarce seen On lip and chin, he wooed his ocean nymph: No curlypated rose-and-apple wooer, But a fell madman, blind to all but love. Oft from the green grass foldward fared his sheep Unbid: while he upon the windy beach, Singing his Galatea, sat and pined From dawn to dusk, an ulcer at his heart: Great Aphrodite's shaft had fixed it there. Yet found he that one cure: he sate him down On the tall cliff, and seaward looked, and sang:--

"White Galatea, why disdain thy love? White as a pressed cheese, delicate as the lamb, Wild as the heifer, soft as summer grapes! If sweet sleep chain me, here thou walk'st at large; If sweet sleep loose me, straightway thou art gone, Scared like a sheep that sees the grey wolf near. I loved thee, maiden, when thou cam'st long since, To pluck the hyacinth-blossom on the fell, Thou and my mother, piloted by me. I saw thee, see thee still, from that day forth For ever; but 'tis naught, ay naught, to thee. I know, sweet maiden, why thou art so coy: Shaggy and huge, a single eyebrow spans From ear to ear my forehead, whence one eye Gleams, and an o'erbroad nostril tops my lip. Yet I, this monster, feed a thousand sheep That yield me sweetest draughts at milking-tide: In summer, autumn, or midwinter, still Fails not my cheese; my milkpail aye o'erflows. Then I can pipe as ne'er did Giant yet, Singing our loves--ours, honey, thine and mine-- At dead of night: and hinds I rear eleven (Each with her fawn) and bearcubs four, for thee. Oh come to me--thou shalt not rue the day-- And let the mad seas beat against the shore! 'Twere sweet to haunt my cave the livelong night: Laurel, and cypress tall, and ivy dun, And vines of sumptuous fruitage, all are there: And a cold spring that pine-clad Ætna flings Down from, the white snow's midst, a draught for gods! Who would not change for this the ocean-waves?