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diff --git a/11533-0.txt b/11533-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..efce711 --- /dev/null +++ b/11533-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4598 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11533 *** + +THEOCRITUS + +_TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE_. + +BY + +C.S. CALVERLEY, + +_LATE FELLOW OF CHRIST'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE_. + +AUTHOR OF "FLY LEAVES," ETC. + +THIRD EDITION. + + + + +PREFACE. + +I had intended translating all or nearly all these Idylls into blank +verse, as the natural equivalent of Greek or of Latin hexameters; only +deviating into rhyme where occasion seemed to demand it. But I found +that other metres had their special advantages: the fourteen-syllable +line in particular has that, among others, of containing about the same +number of syllables as an ordinary line of Theocritus. And there is also +no doubt something gained by variety. + +Several recent writers on the subject have laid down that every +translation of Greek poetry, especially bucolic poetry, must be in rhyme +of some sort. But they have seldom stated, and it is hard to see, why. +There is no rhyme in the original, and _primâ facie_ should be none in +the translation. Professor Blackie has, it is true, pointed out the +"assonances, alliterations, and rhymes," which are found in more or less +abundance in Ionic Greek.[A] These may of course be purely accidental, +like the hexameters in Livy or the blank-verse lines in Mr. Dickens's +prose: but accidental or not (it may be said) they are there, and ought +to be recognised. May we not then recognise them by introducing similar +assonances, etc., here and there into the English version? or by +availing ourselves of what Professor Blackie again calls attention to, +the "compensating powers"[B] of English? I think with him that it was +hard to speak of our language as one which "transforms _boos megaloio +boeién_ into 'great ox's hide.'" Such phrases as 'The Lord is a man of +war,' 'The trumpet spake not to the armed throng,' are to my ear quite +as grand as Homer: and it would be equally fair to ask what we are to +make of a language which transforms Milton's line into [Greek: ê +shalpigx ohy proshephê ton hôplismhenon hochlon.][C] But be this as it +may, these phenomena are surely too rare and too arbitrary to be +adequately represented by any regularly recurring rhyme: and the +question remains, what is there in the unrhymed original to which rhyme +answers? + +To me its effect is to divide the verse into couplets, triplets, or (if +the word may include them all) _stanzas_ of some kind. Without rhyme we +have no apparent means of conveying the effect of stanzas. There are of +course devices such as repeating a line or part of a line at stated +intervals, as is done in 'Tears, idle tears' and elsewhere: but clearly +none of these would be available to a translator. Where therefore he has +to express stanzas, it is easy to see that rhyme may be admissible and +even necessary. Pope's couplet may (or may not) stand for elegiacs, and +the _In Memoriam_ stanza for some one of Horace's metres. Where the +heroes of Virgil's Eclogues sing alternately four lines each, Gray's +quatrain seems to suggest itself: and where a similar case occurs in +these Idylls (as for instance in the ninth) I thought it might be met by +taking whatever received English stanza was nearest the required length. +Pope's couplet again may possibly best convey the pomposity of some +Idylls and the point of others. And there may be divers considerations +of this kind. But, speaking generally, where the translator has not to +intimate stanzas--where he has on the contrary to intimate that there +are none--rhyme seems at first sight an intrusion and a _suggestio +falsi_. + +No doubt (as has been observed) what 'Pastorals' we have are mostly +written in what is called the heroic measure. But the reason is, I +suppose, not far to seek. Dryden and Pope wrote 'heroics,' not from any +sense of their fitness for bucolic poetry, but from a sense of their +universal fitness: and their followers copied them. But probably no +scholar would affirm that any poem, original or translated, by Pope or +Dryden or any of their school, really resembles in any degree the +bucolic poetry of the Greeks. Mr. Morris, whose poems appear to me to +resemble it more almost than anything I have ever seen, of course writes +what is technically Pope's metre, and equally of course is not of Pope's +school. Whether or no Pope and Dryden _intended_ to resemble the old +bucolic poets in style is, to say the least, immaterial. If they did +not, there is no reason whatever why any of us who do should adopt +their metre: if they did and failed, there is every reason why we should +select a different one. + +Professor Conington has adduced one cogent argument against blank verse: +that is, that hardly any of us can write it.[D] But if this is so--if +the 'blank verse' which we write is virtually prose in disguise--the +addition of rhyme would only make it rhymed prose, and we should be as +far as ever from "verse really deserving the name."[E] Unless (which I +can hardly imagine) the mere incident of 'terminal consonance' can +constitute that verse which would not be verse independently, this +argument is equally good against attempting verse of any kind: we should +still be writing disguised, and had better write undisguised, prose. +Prose translations are of course tenable, and are (I am told) advocated +by another very eminent critic. These considerations against them occur +to one: that, among the characteristics of his original which the +translator is bound to preserve, one is that he wrote metrically; and +that the prattle which passes muster, and sounds perhaps rather pretty +than otherwise, in metre, would in plain prose be insufferable. Very +likely some exceptional sort of prose may be meant, which would dispose +of all such difficulties: but this would be harder for an ordinary +writer to evolve out of his own brain, than to construct any species of +verse for which he has at least a model and a precedent. + +These remarks are made to shew that my metres were not selected, as it +might appear, at hap-hazard. Metre is not so unimportant as to justify +that. For the rest, I have used Briggs's edition[F] (_Poetæ Bucolici +Græci_), and have never, that I am aware of, taken refuge in any various +reading where I could make any sense at all of the text as given by him. +Sometimes I have been content to put down what I felt was a wrong +rendering rather than omit; but only in cases where the original was +plainly corrupt, and all suggested emendations seemed to me hopelessly +wide of the mark. What, for instance, may be the true meaning of +[Greek: bolbhost tist kochlhiast] in the fourteenth Idyll I have no +idea. It is not very important. And no doubt the sense of the last two +lines of the "_Death of Adonis_" is very unlikely to be what I have made +it. But no suggestion that I met with seemed to me satisfactory or even +plausible: and in this and a few similar cases I have put down what +suited the context. Occasionally also, as in the Idyll here printed +last--the one lately discovered by Bergk, which I elucidated by the +light of Fritzsche's conjectures--I have availed myself of an opinion +which Professor Conington somewhere expresses, to the effect that, where +two interpretations are tenable, it is lawful to accept for the purposes +of translation the one you might reject as a commentator. [Greek: +tetootaiost] has I dare say nothing whatever to do with 'quartan fever.' + +On one point, rather a minor one, I have ventured to dissent from +Professor Blackie and others: namely, in retaining the Greek, instead of +adopting the Roman, nomenclature. Professor Blackie says[G] that there +are some men by whom "it is esteemed a grave offence to call Jupiter +Jupiter," which begs the question: and that Jove "is much more musical" +than Zeus, which begs another. Granting (what might be questioned) that +_Zeus, Aphrodite_, and _Eros_ are as absolutely the same individuals +with _Jupiter, Venus_, and _Cupid_ as _Odysseus_ undoubtedly is with +_Ulysses_--still I cannot see why, in making a version of (say) +Theocritus, one should not use by way of preference those names by which +he invariably called them, and which are characteristic of him: why, in +turning a Greek author into English, we should begin by turning all the +proper names into Latin. Professor Blackie's authoritative statement[H] +that "there are whole idylls in Theocritus which would sound ridiculous +in any other language than that of Tam o' Shanter" I accept of course +unhesitatingly, and should like to see it acted upon by himself or any +competent person. But a translator is bound to interpret all as best he +may: and an attempt to write Tam o' Shanter's language by one who was +not Tam o' Shanter's countryman would, I fear, result in something more +ridiculous still. + +C.S.C. + +*** For Cometas, in Idyll V., read _Comatas_. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote A: BLACKIE'S _Homer_, Vol. I., pp. 413, 414.] + +[Footnote B: _Ibid_., page 377, etc.] + +[Footnote C: Professor Kingsley.] + +[Footnote D: Preface to CONINGTON'S _Æneid_, page ix.] + +[Footnote E: _Ibid_.] + +[Footnote F: Since writing the above lines I have had the advantage of +seeing Mr. Paley's _Theocritus_, which was not out when I made my +version.] + +[Footnote G: BLACKIE'S _Homer_, Preface, pp. xii., xiii.] + +[Footnote H: BLACKIE'S _Homer_, Vol. I., page 384.] + + + + +CONTENTS. + + IDYLL I. + THE DEATH OF DAPHNIS + + IDYLL II. + THE SORCERESS + + IDYLL III. + THE SERENADE + + IDYLL IV. + THE HERDSMAN + + IDYLL V. + THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS + + IDYLL VI. + THE DRAWN BATTLE + + IDYLL VII. + HARVEST-HOME + + IDYLL VIII. + THE TRIUMPH OF DAPHNIS + + IDYLL IX. + PASTORALS + + IDYLL X. + THE TWO WORKMEN + + IDYLL XI. + THE GIANT'S WOOING + + IDYLL XII. + THE COMRADES + + IDYLL XIII. + HYLAS + + IDYLL XIV. + THE LOVE OF ÆSCHINES + + IDYLL XV. + THE FESTIVAL OF ADONIS + + IDYLL XVI. + THE VALUE OF SONG + + IDYLL XVII. + THE PRAISE OF PTOLEMY + + IDYLL XVIII. + THE BRIDAL OF HELEN + + IDYLL XIX. + LOVE STEALING HONEY + + IDYLL XX. + TOWN AND COUNTRY + + IDYLL XXI. + THE FISHERMEN + + IDYLL XXII. + THE SONS OF LEDA + + IDYLL XXIII. + LOVE AVENGED + + IDYLL XXIV. + THE INFANT HERACLES + + IDYLL XXV. + HERACLES THE LION SLAYER + + IDYLL XXVI. + THE BACCHANALS + + IDYLL XXVII. + A COUNTRYMAN'S WOOING + + IDYLL XXVIII. + THE DISTAFF + + IDYLL XXIX. + LOVES + + IDYLL XXX. + THE DEATH OF ADONIS + + IDYLL XXXI. + LOVES + + FRAGMENT FROM THE "BERENICE" + + EPIGRAMS AND EPITAPHS:-- + + I.--VI. + VII.--FOR A STATUE OF ÆSCULAPIUS + VIII.--ORTHO'S EPITAPH + IX.--EPITAPH OF CLEONICUS + X.--FOR A STATUE OF THE MUSES + XI.--EPITAPH OF EUSTHENES + XII.--FOR A TRIPOD ERECTED BY DAMOTELES TO BACCHUS + XIII.--FOR A STATUE OF ANACREON + XIV.--EPITAPH OF EURYMEDON + XV.--ANOTHER + XVI.--FOR A STATUE OF THE HEAVENLY APHRODITE + XVII.--To EPICHARMUS + XVIII.--EPITAPH OF CLEITA, NURSE OF MEDEIUS + XIX.--TO ARCHILOCHUS + XX.--UNDER A STATUE OF PEISANDER + XXI.--EPITAPH OF HIPPONAX + XXII.--ON HIS OWN BOOK + + + + +IDYLL I. + + +The Death of Daphnis. + +_THYRSIS. A GOATHERD._ + + THYRSIS. + Sweet are the whispers of yon pine that makes + Low music o'er the spring, and, Goatherd, sweet + Thy piping; second thou to Pan alone. + Is his the horned ram? then thine the goat. + Is his the goat? to thee shall fall the kid; + And toothsome is the flesh of unmilked kids. + + GOATHERD. + Shepherd, thy lay is as the noise of streams + Falling and falling aye from yon tall crag. + If for their meed the Muses claim the ewe, + Be thine the stall-fed lamb; or if they choose + The lamb, take thou the scarce less-valued ewe. + + THYRSIS. + Pray, by the Nymphs, pray, Goatherd, seat thee here + Against this hill-slope in the tamarisk shade, + And pipe me somewhat, while I guard thy goats. + + GOATHERD. + I durst not, Shepherd, O I durst not pipe + At noontide; fearing Pan, who at that hour + Rests from the toils of hunting. Harsh is he; + Wrath at his nostrils aye sits sentinel. + But, Thyrsis, thou canst sing of Daphnis' woes; + High is thy name for woodland minstrelsy: + Then rest we in the shadow of the elm + Fronting Priapus and the Fountain-nymphs. + There, where the oaks are and the Shepherd's seat, + Sing as thou sang'st erewhile, when matched with him + Of Libya, Chromis; and I'll give thee, first, + To milk, ay thrice, a goat--she suckles twins, + Yet ne'ertheless can fill two milkpails full;-- + Next, a deep drinking-cup, with sweet wax scoured, + Two-handled, newly-carven, smacking yet + 0' the chisel. Ivy reaches up and climbs + About its lip, gilt here and there with sprays + Of woodbine, that enwreathed about it flaunts + Her saffron fruitage. Framed therein appears + A damsel ('tis a miracle of art) + In robe and snood: and suitors at her side + With locks fair-flowing, on her right and left, + Battle with words, that fail to reach her heart. + She, laughing, glances now on this, flings now + Her chance regards on that: they, all for love + Wearied and eye-swoln, find their labour lost. + Carven elsewhere an ancient fisher stands + On the rough rocks: thereto the old man with pains + Drags his great casting-net, as one that toils + Full stoutly: every fibre of his frame + Seems fishing; so about the gray-beard's neck + (In might a youngster yet) the sinews swell. + Hard by that wave-beat sire a vineyard bends + Beneath its graceful load of burnished grapes; + A boy sits on the rude fence watching them. + Near him two foxes: down the rows of grapes + One ranging steals the ripest; one assails + With wiles the poor lad's scrip, to leave him soon + Stranded and supperless. He plaits meanwhile + With ears of corn a right fine cricket-trap, + And fits it on a rush: for vines, for scrip, + Little he cares, enamoured of his toy. + The cup is hung all round with lissom briar, + Triumph of Æolian art, a wondrous sight. + It was a ferryman's of Calydon: + A goat it cost me, and a great white cheese. + Ne'er yet my lips came near it, virgin still + It stands. And welcome to such boon art thou, + If for my sake thou'lt sing that lay of lays. + I jest not: up, lad, sing: no songs thou'lt own + In the dim land where all things are forgot. + + THYSIS [_sings_]. + _Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song_. + The voice of Thyrsis. Ætna's Thyrsis I. + Where were ye, Nymphs, oh where, while Daphnis pined? + In fair Penëus' or in Pindus' glens? + For great Anapus' stream was not your haunt, + Nor Ætna's cliff, nor Acis' sacred rill. + _Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song_. + O'er him the wolves, the jackals howled o'er him; + The lion in the oak-copse mourned his death. + _Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song_. + The kine and oxen stood around his feet, + The heifers and the calves wailed all for him. + _Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song_. + First from the mountain Hermes came, and said, + "Daphnis, who frets thee? Lad, whom lov'st thou so?" + _Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song_. + Came herdsmen, shepherds came, and goatherds came; + All asked what ailed the lad. Priapus came + And said, "Why pine, poor Daphnis? while the maid + Foots it round every pool and every grove, + (_Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song_) + "O lack-love and perverse, in quest of thee; + Herdsman in name, but goatherd rightlier called. + With eyes that yearn the goatherd marks his kids + Run riot, for he fain would frisk as they: + (_Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song_): + "With eyes that yearn dost thou too mark the laugh + Of maidens, for thou may'st not share their glee." + Still naught the herdsman said: he drained alone + His bitter portion, till the fatal end. + _Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song_. + Came Aphroditè, smiles on her sweet face, + False smiles, for heavy was her heart, and spake: + "So, Daphnis, thou must try a fall with Love! + But stalwart Love hath won the fall of thee." + _Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song_. + Then "Ruthless Aphroditè," Daphnis said, + "Accursed Aphroditè, foe to man! + Say'st thou mine hour is come, my sun hath set? + Dead as alive, shall Daphnis work Love woe." + _Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song_. + "Fly to Mount Ida, where the swain (men say) + And Aphroditè--to Anchises fly: + There are oak-forests; here but galingale, + And bees that make a music round the hives. + _Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song_. + "Adonis owed his bloom to tending flocks + And smiting hares, and bringing wild beasts down. + _Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song_. + "Face once more Diomed: tell him 'I have slain + The herdsman Daphnis; now I challenge thee.' + _Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song_. + "Farewell, wolf, jackal, mountain-prisoned bear! + Ye'll see no more by grove or glade or glen + Your herdsman Daphnis! Arethuse, farewell, + And the bright streams that pour down Thymbris' side. + _Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song_. + "I am that Daphnis, who lead here my kine, + Bring here to drink my oxen and my calves. + _Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song_. + "Pan, Pan, oh whether great Lyceum's crags + Thou haunt'st to-day, or mightier Mænalus, + Come to the Sicel isle! Abandon now + Rhium and Helicè, and the mountain-cairn + (That e'en gods cherish) of Lycaon's son! + _Forget, sweet Maids, forget your woodland song_. + "Come, king of song, o'er this my pipe, compact + With wax and honey-breathing, arch thy lip: + For surely I am torn from life by Love. + _Forget, sweet Maids, forget your woodland song_. + "From thicket now and thorn let violets spring, + Now let white lilies drape the juniper, + And pines grow figs, and nature all go wrong: + For Daphnis dies. Let deer pursue the hounds, + And mountain-owls outsing the nightingale. + _Forget, sweet Maids, forget your woodland song_." + + So spake he, and he never spake again. + Fain Aphroditè would have raised his head; + But all his thread was spun. So down the stream + Went Daphnis: closed the waters o'er a head + Dear to the Nine, of nymphs not unbeloved. + Now give me goat and cup; that I may milk + The one, and pour the other to the Muse. + Fare ye well, Muses, o'er and o'er farewell! + I'll sing strains lovelier yet in days to be. + + GOATHERD. + Thyrsis, let honey and the honeycomb + Fill thy sweet mouth, and figs of Ægilus: + For ne'er cicala trilled so sweet a song. + Here is the cup: mark, friend, how sweet it smells: + The Hours, thou'lt say, have washed it in their well. + Hither, Cissætha! Thou, go milk her! Kids, + Be steady, or your pranks will rouse the ram. + + + + +IDYLL II. + + +The Sorceress. + + Where are the bay-leaves, Thestylis, and the charms? + Fetch all; with fiery wool the caldron crown; + Let glamour win me back my false lord's heart! + Twelve days the wretch hath not come nigh to me, + Nor made enquiry if I die or live, + Nor clamoured (oh unkindness!) at my door. + Sure his swift fancy wanders otherwhere, + The slave of Aphroditè and of Love. + I'll off to Timagetus' wrestling-school + At dawn, that I may see him and denounce + His doings; but I'll charm him now with charms. + So shine out fair, O moon! To thee I sing + My soft low song: to thee and Hecatè + The dweller in the shades, at whose approach + E'en the dogs quake, as on she moves through blood + And darkness and the barrows of the slain. + All hail, dread Hecatè: companion me + Unto the end, and work me witcheries + Potent as Circè or Medea wrought, + Or Perimedè of the golden hair! + _Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love_. + First we ignite the grain. Nay, pile it on: + Where are thy wits flown, timorous Thestylis? + Shall I be flouted, I, by such as thou? + Pile, and still say, 'This pile is of his bones.' + _Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love_. + Delphis racks me: I burn him in these bays. + As, flame-enkindled, they lift up their voice, + Blaze once, and not a trace is left behind: + So waste his flesh to powder in yon fire! + _Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love_. + E'en as I melt, not uninspired, the wax, + May Mindian Delphis melt this hour with love: + And, swiftly as this brazen wheel whirls round, + May Aphroditè whirl him to my door. + _Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love_. + Next burn the husks. Hell's adamantine floor + And aught that else stands firm can Artemis move. + Thestylis, the hounds bay up and down the town: + The goddess stands i' the crossroads: sound the gongs. + _Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love_. + Hushed are the voices of the winds and seas; + But O not hushed the voice of my despair. + He burns my being up, who left me here + No wife, no maiden, in my misery. + _Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love_. + Thrice I pour out; speak thrice, sweet mistress, thus: + "What face soe'er hangs o'er him be forgot + Clean as, in Dia, Theseus (legends say) + Forgat his Ariadne's locks of love." + _Turn, magic, wheel, draw homeward him I love_. + The coltsfoot grows in Arcady, the weed + That drives the mountain-colts and swift mares wild. + Like them may Delphis rave: so, maniac-wise, + Race from his burnished brethren home to me. + _Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love_. + He lost this tassel from his robe; which I + Shred thus, and cast it on the raging flames. + Ah baleful Love! why, like the marsh-born leech, + Cling to my flesh, and drain my dark veins dry? + _Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love_. + From a crushed eft tomorrow he shall drink + Death! But now, Thestylis, take these herbs and smear + That threshold o'er, whereto at heart I cling + Still, still--albeit he thinks scorn of me-- + And spit, and say, ''Tis Delphis' bones I smear.' + _Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love_. + + [_Exit Thestylis_. + + Now, all alone, I'll weep a love whence sprung + When born? Who wrought my sorrow? Anaxo came, + Her basket in her hand, to Artemis' grove. + Bound for the festival, troops of forest beasts + Stood round, and in the midst a lioness. + _Bethink thee, mistress Moon, whence came my love_. + Theucharidas' slave, my Thracian nurse now dead + Then my near neighbour, prayed me and implored + To see the pageant: I, the poor doomed thing, + Went with her, trailing a fine silken train, + And gathering round me Clearista's robe. + _Bethink thee, mistress Moon, whence came my love_. + Now, the mid-highway reached by Lycon's farm, + Delphis and Eudamippus passed me by. + With beards as lustrous as the woodbine's gold + And breasts more sheeny than thyself, O Moon, + Fresh from the wrestler's glorious toil they came. + _Bethink thee, mistress Moon, whence came my love_. + I saw, I raved, smit (weakling) to my heart. + My beauty withered, and I cared no more + For all that pomp; and how I gained my home + I know not: some strange fever wasted me. + Ten nights and days I lay upon my bed. + _Bethink thee, mistress Moon, whence came my love_. + And wan became my flesh, as 't had been dyed, + And all my hair streamed off, and there was left + But bones and skin. Whose threshold crossed I not, + Or missed what grandam's hut who dealt in charms? + For no light thing was this, and time sped on. + _Bethink thee, mistress Moon, whence came my love_. + At last I spake the truth to that my maid: + "Seek, an thou canst, some cure for my sore pain. + Alas, I am all the Mindian's! But begone, + And watch by Timagetus' wrestling-school: + There doth he haunt, there soothly take his rest. + _Bethink thee, mistress Moon, whence came my love_. + "Find him alone: nod softly: say, 'she waits'; + And bring him." So I spake: she went her way, + And brought the lustrous-limbed one to my roof. + And I, the instant I beheld him step + Lightfooted o'er the threshold of my door, + _(Bethink thee, mistress Moon, whence came my love_,) + Became all cold like snow, and from my brow + Brake the damp dewdrops: utterance I had none, + Not e'en such utterance as a babe may make + That babbles to its mother in its dreams; + But all my fair frame stiffened into wax. + _Bethink thee, mistress Moon, whence came my love_. + He bent his pitiless eyes on me; looked down, + And sate him on my couch, and sitting, said: + "Thou hast gained on me, Simætha, (e'en as I + Gained once on young Philinus in the race,) + Bidding me hither ere I came unasked. + _Bethink thee, mistress Moon, whence came my love_. + "For I had come, by Eros I had come, + This night, with comrades twain or may-be more, + The fruitage of the Wine-god in my robe, + And, wound about my brow with ribands red, + The silver leaves so dear to Heracles. + _Bethink thee, mistress Moon, whence came my love_. + "Had ye said 'Enter,' well: for 'mid my peers + High is my name for goodliness and speed: + I had kissed that sweet mouth once and gone my way. + But had the door been barred, and I thrust out, + With brand and axe would we have stormed ye then. + _Bethink thee, mistress Moon, whence came my love_. + "Now be my thanks recorded, first to Love, + Next to thee, maiden, who didst pluck me out, + A half-burned helpless creature, from the flames, + And badst me hither. It is Love that lights + A fire more fierce than his of Lipara; + _(Bethink thee, mistress Moon, whence came my love_.) + "Scares, mischief-mad, the maiden from her bower, + The bride from her warm couch." He spake: and I, + A willing listener, sat, my hand in his, + Among the cushions, and his cheek touched mine, + Each hotter than its wont, and we discoursed + In soft low language. Need I prate to thee, + Sweet Moon, of all we said and all we did? + Till yesterday he found no fault with me, + Nor I with him. But lo, to-day there came + Philista's mother--hers who flutes to me-- + With her Melampo's; just when up the sky + Gallop the mares that chariot rose-limbed Dawn: + And divers tales she brought me, with the rest + How Delphis loved, she knew not rightly whom: + But this she knew; that of the rich wine, aye + He poured 'to Love;' and at the last had fled, + To line, she deemed, the fair one's hall with flowers. + Such was my visitor's tale, and it was true: + For thrice, nay four times, daily he would stroll + Hither, leave here full oft his Dorian flask: + Now--'tis a fortnight since I saw his face. + Doth he then treasure something sweet elsewhere? + Am I forgot? I'll charm him now with charms. + But let him try me more, and by the Fates + He'll soon be knocking at the gates of hell. + Spells of such power are in this chest of mine, + Learned, lady, from mine host in Palestine. + + Lady, farewell: turn ocean-ward thy steeds: + As I have purposed, so shall I fulfil. + Farewell, thou bright-faced Moon! Ye stars, farewell, + That wait upon the car of noiseless Night. + + + + +IDYLL III. + + +The Serenade. + + I pipe to Amaryllis; while my goats, + Tityrus their guardian, browse along the fell. + O Tityrus, as I love thee, feed my goats: + And lead them to the spring, and, Tityrus, 'ware + The lifted crest of yon gray Libyan ram. + Ah winsome Amaryllis! Why no more + Greet'st thou thy darling, from the caverned rock + Peeping all coyly? Think'st thou scorn of him? + Hath a near view revealed him satyr-shaped + Of chin and nostril? I shall hang me soon. + See here ten apples: from thy favourite tree + I plucked them: I shall bring ten more anon. + Ah witness my heart-anguish! Oh were I + A booming bee, to waft me to thy lair, + Threading the fern and ivy in whose depths + Thou nestlest! I have learned what Love is now: + Fell god, he drank the lioness's milk, + In the wild woods his mother cradled him, + Whose fire slow-burns me, smiting to the bone. + O thou whose glance is beauty and whose heart + All marble: O dark-eyebrowed maiden mine! + Cling to thy goatherd, let him kiss thy lips, + For there is sweetness in an empty kiss. + Thou wilt not? Piecemeal I will rend the crown, + The ivy-crown which, dear, I guard for thee, + Inwov'n with scented parsley and with flowers: + Oh I am desperate--what betides me, what?-- + Still art thou deaf? I'll doff my coat of skins + And leap into yon waves, where on the watch + For mackerel Olpis sits: tho' I 'scape death, + That I have all but died will pleasure thee. + That learned I when (I murmuring 'loves she me?') + The _Love-in-absence_, crushed, returned no sound, + But shrank and shrivelled on my smooth young wrist. + I learned it of the sieve-divining crone + Who gleaned behind the reapers yesterday: + 'Thou'rt wrapt up all,' Agraia said, 'in her; + She makes of none account her worshipper.' + Lo! a white goat, and twins, I keep for thee: + Mermnon's lass covets them: dark she is of skin: + But yet hers be they; thou but foolest me. + She cometh, by the quivering of mine eye. + I'll lean against the pine-tree here and sing. + She may look round: she is not adamant. + + [_Sings_] Hippomenes, when he a maid would wed, + Took apples in his hand and on he sped. + Famed Atalanta's heart was won by this; + She marked, and maddening sank in Love's abyss. + + From Othrys did the seer Melampus stray + To Pylos with his herd: and lo there lay + In a swain's arms a maid of beauty rare; + Alphesiboea, wise of heart, she bare. + + Did not Adonis rouse to such excess + Of frenzy her whose name is Loveliness, + (He a mere lad whose wethers grazed the hill) + That, dead, he's pillowed on her bosom still? + + Endymion sleeps the sleep that changeth not: + And, maiden mine, I envy him his lot! + Envy Iasion's: his it was to gain + Bliss that I dare not breathe in ears profane. + + My head aches. What reck'st thou? I sing no more: + E'en where I fell I'll lie, until the wolves + Rend me--may that be honey in thy mouth! + + + + +IDYLL IV. + + +The Herdsmen. + +_BATTUS. CORYDON._ + + BATTUS. + Who owns these cattle, Corydon? Philondas? Prythee say. + + CORYDON. + No, Ægon: and he gave them me to tend while he's away. + + BATTUS. + Dost milk them in the gloaming, when none is nigh to see? + + CORYDON. + The old man brings the calves to suck, and keeps an eye on me. + + BATTUS. + And to what region then hath flown the cattle's rightful lord? + + CORYDON. + Hast thou not heard? With Milo he vanished Elis-ward. + + BATTUS. + How! was the wrestler's oil e'er yet so much as seen by him? + + CORYDON. + Men say he rivals Heracles in lustiness of limb. + + BATTUS. + I'm Polydeuces' match (or so my mother says) and more. + + CORYDON. + --So off he started; with a spade, and of these ewes a score. + + BATTUS. + This Milo will be teaching wolves how they should raven next. + + CORYDON. + --And by these bellowings his kine proclaim how sore they're vexed. + + BATTUS. + Poor kine! they've found their master a sorry knave indeed. + + CORYDON. + They're poor enough, I grant you: they have not heart to feed. + + BATTUS. + Look at that heifer! sure there's naught, save bare bones, left of her. + Pray, does she browse on dewdrops, as doth the grasshopper? + + CORYDON. + Not she, by heaven! She pastures now by Æsarus' glades, + And handfuls fair I pluck her there of young and green grass-blades; + Now bounds about Latymnus, that gathering-place of shades. + + BATTUS. + That bull again, the red one, my word but he is lean! + I wish the Sybarite burghers aye may offer to the queen + Of heaven as pitiful a beast: those burghers are so mean! + + CORYDON. + Yet to the Salt Lake's edges I drive him, I can swear; + Up Physcus, up Neæthus' side--he lacks not victual there, + With dittany and endive and foxglove for his fare. + + BATTUS. + Well, well! I pity Ægon. His cattle, go they must + To rack and ruin, all because vain-glory was his lust. + The pipe that erst he fashioned is doubtless scored with rust? + + CORYDON. + Nay, by the Nymphs! That pipe he left to me, the self-same day + He made for Pisa: I am too a minstrel in my way: + Well the flute-part in '_Pyrrhus_' and in '_Glauca_' can I play. + I sing too '_Here's to Croton_' and '_Zacynthus O 'tis fair_,' + And '_Eastward to Lacinium_:'--the bruiser Milo there + His single self ate eighty loaves; there also did he pull + Down from its mountain-dwelling, by one hoof grasped, a bull, + And gave it Amaryllis: the maidens screamed with fright; + As for the owner of the bull he only laughed outright. + + BATTUS. + Sweet Amaryllis! thou alone, though dead, art unforgot. + Dearer than thou, whose light is quenched, my very goats are not. + Oh for the all-unkindly fate that's fallen to my lot! + + CORYDON. + Cheer up, brave lad! tomorrow may ease thee of thy pain: + Aye for the living are there hopes, past' hoping are the slain: + And now Zeus sends us sunshine, and now he sends us rain. + + BATTUS. + I'm better. Beat those young ones off! E'en now their teeth attack + That olive's shoots, the graceless brutes! Back, with your white face, + back! + + CORYDON. + Back to thy hill, Cymætha! Great Pan, how deaf thou art! + I shall be with thee presently, and in the end thou'lt smart. + I warn thee, keep thy distance. Look, up she creeps again! + Oh were my hare-crook in nay hand, I'd give it to her then! + + BATTUS. + For heaven's sake, Corydon, look here! Just now a bramble-spike + Ran, there, into my instep--and oh how deep they strike, + Those lancewood-shafts! A murrain light on that calf, I say! + I got it gaping after her. Canst thou discern it, pray? + + CORYDON. + Ay, ay; and here I have it, safe in my finger-nails. + + BATTUS. + Eh! at how slight a matter how tall a warrior quails! + + CORYDON. + Ne'er range the hill-crest, Battus, all sandal-less and bare: + Because the thistle and the thorn lift aye their plumed heads there. + + BATTUS. + --Say, Corydon, does that old man we wot of (tell me please!) + Still haunt the dark-browed little girl whom once he used to tease? + + CORYDON. + Ay my poor boy, that doth he: I saw them yesterday + Down by the byre; and, trust me, loving enough were they. + + BATTUS. + Well done, my veteran light-o'-love! In deeming thee mere man, + I wronged thy sire: some Satyr he, or an uncouth-limbed Pan. + + + + +IDYLL V. + + +The Battle of the Bards. + + +_COMETAS. LACON. MORSON_. + + + COMETAS. + Goats, from a shepherd who stands here, from Lacon, keep away: + Sibyrtas owns him; and he stole my goatskin yesterday. + + LACON. + Hi! lambs! avoid yon fountain. Have ye not eyes to see + Cometas, him who filched a pipe but two days back from me? + + COMETAS. + Sibyrtas' bondsman own a pipe? whence gotst thou that, and how? + Tootling through straws with Corydon mayhap's beneath thee now? + + LACON. + 'Twas Lycon's gift, your highness. But pray, Cometas, say, + What is that skin wherewith thou saidst that Lacon walked away? + Why, thy lord's self had ne'er a skin whereon his limbs to lay. + + COMETAS. + The skin that Crocylus gave me, a dark one streaked with white, + The day he slew his she-goat. Why, thou wert ill with spite, + Then, my false friend; and thou would'st end by beggaring me quite. + + LACON. + Did Lacon, did Calæthis' son purloin a goatskin? No, + By Pan that haunts the sea-beach! Lad, if I served thee so, + Crazed may I drop from yon hill-top to Crathis' stream below! + + COMETAS. + Nor pipe of thine, good fellow--the Ladies of the Lake + So be still kind and good to me--did e'er Cometas take. + + LACON. + Be Daphnis' woes my portion, should that my credence win! + Still, if thou list to stake a kid--that surely were no sin-- + Come on, I'll sing it out with thee--until thou givest in. + + COMETAS. + '_The hog he braved Athene._' As for the kid, 'tis there: + You stake a lamb against him--that fat one--if you dare. + + LACON. + Fox! were that fair for either? At shearing who'd prefer + Horsehair to wool? or when the goat stood handy, suffer her + To nurse her firstling, and himself go milk a blatant cur? + + COMETAS. + The same who deemed his hornet's-buzz the true cicala's note, + And braved--like you--his better. And so forsooth you vote + My kid a trifle? Then come on, fellow! I stake the goat. + + LACON. + Why be so hot? Art thou on fire? First prythee take thy seat + 'Neath this wild woodland olive: thy tones will sound more sweet. + Here falls a cold rill drop by drop, and green grass-blades uprear + Their heads, and fallen leaves are thick, and locusts prattle here. + + COMETAS. + Hot I am not; but hurt I am, and sorely, when I think + That thou canst look me in the face and never bleach nor blink-- + Me, thine own boyhood's tutor! Go, train the she-wolf's brood: + Train dogs--that they may rend thee! This, this is gratitude! + + LACON. + When learned I from thy practice or thy preaching aught that's right, + Thou puppet, thou misshapen lump of ugliness and spite? + + COMETAS. + When? When I beat thee, wailing sore: yon goats looked on with glee, + And bleated; and were dealt with e'en as I had dealt with thee. + + LACON. + Well, hunchback, shallow be thy grave as was thy judgment then! + But hither, hither! Thou'lt not dip in herdsman's lore again. + + COMETAS. + Nay, here are oaks and galingale: the hum of housing bees + Makes the place pleasant, and the birds are piping in the trees. + And here are two cold streamlets; here deeper shadows fall + Than yon place owns, and look what cones drop from the pinetree tall. + + LACON. + Come hither, and tread on lambswool that is soft as any dream: + Still more unsavoury than thyself to me thy goatskins seem. + Here will I plant a bowl of milk, our ladies' grace to win; + And one, as huge, beside it, sweet olive-oil therein. + + COMETAS. + Come hither, and trample dainty fern and poppy-blossom: sleep + On goatskins that are softer than thy fleeces piled three deep. + Here will I plant eight milkpails, great Pan's regard to gain, + Bound them eight cups: full honeycombs shall every cup contain. + + LACON. + Well! there essay thy woodcraft: thence fight me, never budge + From thine own oak; e'en have thy way. But who shall be our judge? + Oh, if Lycopas with his kine should chance this way to trudge! + + COMETAS. + Nay, I want no Lycopas. But hail yon woodsman, do: + 'Tis Morson--see! his arms are full of bracken--there, by you. + + LACON. + We'll hail him. + + COMETAS. + Ay, you hail him. + + LACON. + Friend, 'twill not take thee long: + We're striving which is master, we twain, in woodland song: + And thou, my good friend Morson, ne'er look with favouring eyes + On me; nor yet to yonder lad be fain to judge the prize. + + COMETAS. + Nay, by the Nymphs, sweet Morson, ne'er for Cometas' sake + Stretch thou a point; nor e'er let him undue advantage take. + Sibyrtas owns yon wethers; a Thurian is he: + And here, my friend, Eumares' goats, of Sybaris, you may see. + + LACON. + And who asked thee, thou naughty knave, to whom belonged these flocks, + Sibyrtas, or (it might be) me? Eh, thou'rt a chatter-box! + + COMETAS. + The simple truth, most worshipful, is all that I allege: + I'm not for boasting. But thy wit hath all too keen an edge. + + LACON. + Come sing, if singing's in thee--and may our friend get back + To town alive! Heaven help us, lad, how thy tongue doth clack! + + COMETAS. [_Sings_] + Daphnis the mighty minstrel was less precious to the Nine + Than I. I offered yesterday two kids upon their shrine. + + LACON. [_Sings_] + Ay, but Apollo fancies me hugely: for him I rear + A lordly ram: and, look you, the Carnival is near. + + COMETAS. + Twin kids hath every goat I milk, save two. My maid, my own, + Eyes me and asks 'At milking time, rogue, art thou all alone?' + + LACON. + Go to! nigh twenty baskets doth Lacon fill with cheese: + Hath time to woo a sweetheart too upon the blossomed leas. + + COMETAS. + Clarissa pelts her goatherd with apples, should he stray + By with his goats; and pouts her lip in a quaint charming way. + + LACON. + Me too a darling smooth of face notes as I tend my flocks: + How maddeningly o'er that fair neck ripple those shining locks! + + COMETAS. + Tho' dogrose and anemone are fair in their degree, + The rose that blooms by garden-walls still is the rose for me. + + LACON. + Tho' acorns' cups are fair, their taste is bitterness, and still + I'll choose, for honeysweet are they, the apples of the hill. + + COMETAS. + A cushat I will presently procure and give to her + Who loves me: I know where it sits; up in the juniper. + + LACON. + Pooh! a soft fleece, to make a coat, I'll give the day I shear + My brindled ewe--(no hand but mine shall touch it)--to my dear. + + COMETAS. + Back, lambs, from that wild-olive: and be content to browse + Here on the shoulder of the hill, beneath the myrtle boughs. + + LACON. + Run, (will ye?) Ball and Dogstar, down from that oak tree, run: + And feed where Spot is feeding, and catch the morning sun. + + COMETAS. + I have a bowl of cypress-wood: I have besides a cup: + Praxiteles designed them: for _her_ they're treasured up. + + LACON. + I have a dog who throttles wolves: he loves the sheep, and they + Love him: I'll give him to my dear, to keep wild beasts at bay. + + COMETAS. + Ye locusts that o'erleap my fence, oh let my vines escape + Your clutches, I beseech you: the bloom is on the grape. + + LACON. + Ye crickets, mark how nettled our friend the goatherd is! + I ween, ye cost the reapers pangs as acute as his. + + COMETAS. + Those foxes with their bushy tails, I hate to see them crawl + Round Micon's homestead and purloin his grapes at evenfall. + + LACON. + _I_ hate to see the beetles that come warping on the wind. + And climb Philondas' trees, and leave never a fig behind. + + COMETAS. + Have you forgot that cudgelling I gave you? At each stroke + You grinned and twisted with a grace, and clung to yonder oak. + + LACON. + That I've forgot--but I have not, how once Eumares tied + You to that selfsame oak-trunk, and tanned your unclean hide. + + COMETAS. + There's some one ill--of heartburn. You note it, I presume, + Morson? Go quick, and fetch a squill from some old beldam's tomb. + + LACON. + I think I'm stinging somebody, as Morson too perceives-- + Go to the river and dig up a clump of sowbread-leaves. + + COMETAS. + May Himera flow, not water, but milk: and may'st thou blush, + Crathis, with wine; and fruitage grow upon every rush. + + LACON. + For me may Sybaris' fountain flow, pure honey: so that you, + My fair, may dip your pitcher each morn in honey-dew. + + COMETAS. + My goats are fed on clover and goat's-delight: they tread + On lentisk leaves; or lie them down, ripe strawberries o'er their head. + + LACON. + My sheep crop honeysuckle bloom, while all around them blows + In clusters rich the jasmine, as brave as any rose. + + COMETAS. + I scorn my maid; for when she took my cushat, she did not + Draw with both hands my face to hers and kiss me on the spot. + + LACON. + I love my love, and hugely: for, when I gave my flute, + I was rewarded with a kiss, a loving one to boot. + + COMETAS. + Lacon, the nightingale should scarce be challenged by the jay, + Nor swan by hoopoe: but, poor boy, thou aye wert for a fray. + + MORSON. + I bid the shepherd hold his peace. Cometas, unto you + I, Morson, do adjudge the lamb. You'll first make offering due + Unto the nymphs: then savoury meat you'll send to Morson too. + + COMETAS. + By Pan I will! Snort, all my herd of he-goats: I shall now + O'er Lacon, shepherd as he is, crow ye shall soon see how. + I've won, and I could leap sky-high! Ye also dance and skip, + My hornèd ewes: in Sybaris' fount to-morrow all shall dip. + Ho! you, sir, with the glossy coat and dangerous crest; you dare + Look at a ewe, till I have slain my lamb, and ill you'll fare. + What! is he at his tricks again? He is, and he will get + (Or my name's not Cometas) a proper pounding yet. + + + + +IDYLL VI. + + +The Drawn Battle. + +DAPHNIS. DAMOETAS. + + Daphnis the herdsman and Damoetas once + Had driven, Aratus, to the selfsame glen. + One chin was yellowing, one shewed half a beard. + And by a brookside on a summer noon + The pair sat down and sang; but Daphnis led + The song, for Daphnis was the challenger. + + DAPHNIS. + "See! Galatea pelts thy flock with fruit, + And calls their master 'Lack-love,' Polypheme. + Thou mark'st her not, blind, blind, but pipest aye + Thy wood-notes. See again, she smites thy dog: + Sea-ward the fleeced flocks' sentinel peers and barks, + And, through the clear wave visible to her still, + Careers along the gently babbling beach. + Look that he leap not on the maid new-risen + From her sea-bath and rend her dainty limbs. + She fools thee, near or far, like thistle-waifs + In hot sweet summer: flies from thee when wooed, + Unwooed pursues thee: risks all moves to win; + For, Polypheme, things foul seem fair to Love." + + And then, due prelude made, Damoetas sang. + + 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? + + "But thou mislik'st my hair? Well, oaken logs + Are here, and embers yet aglow with fire. + Burn (if thou wilt) my heart out, and mine eye, + Mine only eye wherein is my delight. + Oh why was I not born a finny thing, + To float unto thy side and kiss thy hand, + Denied thy lips--and bring thee lilies white + And crimson-petalled poppies' dainty bloom! + Nay--summer hath his flowers and autumn his; + I could not bring all these the selfsame day. + Lo, should some mariner hither oar his road, + Sweet, he shall teach me straightway how to swim, + That haply I may learn what bliss ye find + In your sea-homes. O Galatea, come + Forth from yon waves, and coming forth forget + (As I do, sitting here) to get thee home: + And feed my flocks and milk them, nothing loth, + And pour the rennet in to fix my cheese! + + "The blame's my mother's; she is false to me; + Spake thee ne'er yet one sweet word for my sake, + Though day by day she sees me pine and pine. + I'll feign strange throbbings in my head and feet + To anguish her--as I am anguished now." + + O Cyclops, Cyclops, where are flown thy wits? + Go plait rush-baskets, lop the olive-boughs + To feed thy lambkins--'twere the shrewder part. + Chase not the recreant, milk the willing ewe: + The world hath Galateas fairer yet. + + "--Many a fair damsel bids me sport with her + The livelong night, and smiles if I give ear. + On land at least I still am somebody." + + Thus did the Giant feed his love on song, + And gained more ease than may be bought with gold. + + + + +IDYLL XII. + +The Comrades + + Thou art come, lad, come! Scarce thrice hath dusk to day + Given place--but lovers in an hour grow gray. + As spring's more sweet than winter, grapes than thorns, + The ewe's fleece richer than her latest-born's; + As young girls' charms the thrice-wed wife's outshine, + As fawns are lither than the ungainly kine, + Or as the nightingale's clear notes outvie + The mingled music of all birds that fly; + So at thy coming passing glad was I. + I ran to greet thee e'en as pilgrims run + To beechen shadows from the scorching sun: + Oh if on us accordant Loves would breathe, + And our two names to future years bequeath! + + 'These twain'--let men say--'lived in olden days. + This was a _yokel_ (in their country-phrase), + That was his _mate_ (so talked these simple folk): + And lovingly they bore a mutual yoke. + The hearts of men were made of sterling gold, + When troth met troth, in those brave days of old,' + + O Zeus, O gods who age not nor decay! + Let e'en two hundred ages roll away, + But at the last these tidings let me learn, + Borne o'er the fatal pool whence none return:-- + "By every tongue thy constancy is sung, + Thine and thy favourite's--chiefly by the young." + But lo, the future is in heaven's high hand: + Meanwhile thy graces all my praise demand, + Not false lip-praise, not idly bubbling froth-- + For though thy wrath be kindled, e'en thy wrath + Hath no sting in it: doubly I am caressed, + And go my way repaid with interest. + + Oarsmen of Megara, ruled by Nisus erst! + Yours be all bliss, because ye honoured first + That true child-lover, Attic Diocles. + Around his gravestone with the first spring-breeze + Flock the bairns all, to win the kissing-prize: + And whoso sweetliest lip to lip applies + Goes crown-clad home to its mother. Blest is he + Who in such strife is named the referee: + To brightfaced Ganymede full oft he'll cry + To lend his lip the potencies that lie + Within that stone with which the usurers + Detect base metal, and which never errs. + + + + +IDYLL XIII. + + +Hylas. + + Not for us only, Nicias, (vain the dream,) + Sprung from what god soe'er, was Eros born: + Not to us only grace doth graceful seem, + Frail things who wot not of the coming morn. + No--for Amphitryon's iron-hearted son, + Who braved the lion, was the slave of one:-- + + A fair curled creature, Hylas was his name. + He taught him, as a father might his child, + All songs whereby himself had risen to fame; + Nor ever from his side would be beguiled + When noon was high, nor when white steeds convey + Back to heaven's gates the chariot of the day, + + Nor when the hen's shrill brood becomes aware + Of bed-time, as the mother's flapping wings + Shadow the dust-browned beam. 'Twas all his care + To shape unto his own imaginings + And to the harness train his favourite youth, + Till he became a man in very truth. + + Meanwhile, when kingly Jason steered in quest + Of the Gold Fleece, and chieftains at his side + Chosen from all cities, proffering each her best, + To rich Iolchos came that warrior tried, + And joined him unto trim-built Argo's crew; + And with Alcmena's son came Hylas too. + + Through the great gulf shot Argo like a bird-- + And by-and-bye reached Phasis, ne'er o'erta'en + By those in-rushing rocks, that have not stirred + Since then, but bask, twin monsters, on the main. + But now, when waned the spring, and lambs were fed + In far-off fields, and Pleiads gleamed overhead, + + That cream and flower of knighthood looked to sail. + They came, within broad Argo safely stowed, + (When for three days had blown the southern gale) + To Hellespont, and in Propontis rode + At anchor, where Cianian oxen now + Broaden the furrows with the busy plough. + + They leapt ashore, and, keeping rank, prepared + Their evening meal: a grassy meadow spread + Before their eyes, and many a warrior shared + (Thanks to its verdurous stores) one lowly bed. + And while they cut tall marigolds from their stem + And sworded bulrush, Hylas slipt from them. + + Water the fair lad wont to seek and bring + To Heracles and stalwart Telamon, + (The comrades aye partook each other's fare,) + Bearing a brazen pitcher. And anon, + Where the ground dipt, a fountain he espied, + And rushes growing green about its side. + + There rose the sea-blue swallow-wort, and there + The pale-hued maidenhair, with parsley green + And vagrant marsh-flowers; and a revel rare + In the pool's midst the water-nymphs were seen + To hold, those maidens of unslumbrous eyes + Whom the belated peasant sees and flies. + + And fast did Malis and Eunica cling, + And young Nychea with her April face, + To the lad's hand, as stooping o'er the spring + He dipt his pitcher. For the young Greek's grace + Made their soft senses reel; and down he fell, + All of a sudden, into that black well. + + So drops a red star suddenly from sky + To sea--and quoth some sailor to his mate: + "Up with the tackle, boy! the breeze is high." + Him the nymphs pillowed, all disconsolate, + On their sweet laps, and with soft words beguiled; + But Heracles was troubled for the child. + + Forth went he; Scythian-wise his bow he bore + And the great club that never quits his side; + And thrice called 'Hylas'--ne'er came lustier roar + From that deep chest. Thrice Hylas heard and tried + To answer, but in tones you scarce might hear; + The water made them distant though so near. + + And as a lion, when he hears the bleat + Of fawns among the mountains far away, + A murderous lion, and with hurrying feet + Bounds from his lair to his predestined prey: + So plunged the strong man in the untrodden brake-- + (Lovers are maniacs)--for his darling's sake. + + He scoured far fields--what hill or oaken glen + Remembers not that pilgrimage of pain? + His troth to Jason was forgotten then. + Long time the good ship tarried for those twain + With hoisted sails; night came and still they cleared + The hatches, but no Heracles appeared. + + On he was wandering, reckless where he trod, + So mad a passion on his vitals preyed: + While Hylas had become a blessed god. + But the crew cursed the runaway who had stayed + Sixty good oars, and left him there to reach + Afoot bleak Phasis and the Colchian beach. + + + + +IDYLL XIV. + + +The Love of Æschines. + +_THYONICHUS. ÆSCHINES._ + + ÆSCHINES. + Hail, sir Thyonichus. + + THYONICHUS. + Æschines, to you. + + ÆSCHINES. + I have missed thee. + + THYONICHUS. + Missed me! Why what ails him now? + + ÆSCHINES. + My friend, I am ill at ease. + + THYONICHUS. + Then this explains + Thy leanness, and thy prodigal moustache + And dried-up curls. Thy counterpart I saw, + A wan Pythagorean, yesterday. + He said he came from Athens: shoes he had none: + He pined, I'll warrant,--for a quartern loaf. + + ÆSCHINES. + Sir, you will joke--But I've been outraged, sore, + And by Cynisca. I shall go stark mad + Ere you suspect--a hair would turn the scale. + + THYONICHUS. + Such thou wert always, Æschines my friend. + In lazy mood or trenchant, at thy whim + The world must wag. But what's thy grievance now? + + ÆSCHINES. + That Argive, Apis the Thessalian Knight, + Myself, and gallant Cleonicus, supped + Within my grounds. Two pullets I had slain, + And a prime pig: and broached my Biblian wine; + 'Twas four years old, but fragrant as when new. + Truffles were served to us: and the drink was good. + Well, we got on, and each must drain a cup + To whom he fancied; only each must name. + We named, and took our liquor as ordained; + But she sate silent--this before my face. + Fancy my feelings! "Wilt not speak? Hast seen + A wolf?" some wag said. "Shrewdly guessed," quoth she, + And blushed--her blushes might have fired a torch. + A wolf _had_ charmed her: Wolf her neighbour's son, + Goodly and tall, and fair in divers eyes: + For his illustrious sake it was she pined. + This had been breathed, just idly, in my ear: + Shame on my beard, I ne'er pursued the hint. + Well, when we four were deep amid our cups, + The Knight must sing 'The Wolf' (a local song) + Right through for mischief. All at once she wept + Hot tears as girls of six years old might weep, + Clinging and clamouring round their mother's lap. + And I, (you know my humour, friend of mine,) + Drove at his face, one, two! She gathered up + Her robes and vanished straightway through the door. + "And so I fail to please, false lady mine? + Another lies more welcome in thy lap? + Go warm that other's heart: he'll say thy tears + Are liquid pearls." And as a swallow flies + Forth in a hurry, here or there to find + A mouthful for her brood among the eaves: + From her soft sofa passing-swift she fled + Through folding-doors and hall, with random feet: + _'The stag had gained his heath':_ you know the rest. + Three weeks, a month, nine days and ten to that, + To-day's the eleventh: and 'tis just two months + All but two days, since she and I were two. + Hence is my beard of more than Thracian growth. + Now Wolf is all to her: Wolf enters in + At midnight; I am a cypher in her eyes; + The poor Megarian, nowhere in the race. + All would go right, if I could once _unlove_: + But now, you wot, the rat hath tasted tar. + And what may cure a swain at his wit's end + I know not: Simus, (true,) a mate of mine, + Loved Epichalcus' daughter, and took ship + And came home cured. I too will sail the seas. + Worse men, it may be better, are afloat, + I shall still prove an average man-at-arms. + + THYONICHUS. + Now may thy love run smoothly, Æschines! + But should'st thou really mean a voyage out, + The freeman's best paymaster's Ptolemy. + + ÆSCHINES. + What is he else? + + THYONICHUS. + A gentleman: a man + Of wit and taste; the top of company; + Loyal to ladies; one whose eye is keen + For friends, and keener still for enemies. + Large in his bounties, he, in kingly sort, + Denies a boon to none: but, Æschines, + One should not ask too often. This premised, + If thou wilt clasp the military cloak + O'er thy right shoulder, and with legs astride + Await the onward rush of shielded men: + Hie thee to Egypt. Age overtakes us all; + Our temples first; then on o'er cheek and chin, + Slowly and surely, creep the frosts of Time. + Up and do somewhat, ere thy limbs are sere. + + + + +IDYLL XV. + + +The Festival of Adonis. + +_GORGO. PRAXINOÄ._ + + GORGO. + Praxinoä in? + + PRAXINOÄ. + Yes, Gorgo dear! At last! + That you're here now's a marvel! See to a chair, + A cushion, Eunoä! + + GORGO. + I lack naught. + + PRAXINOÄ. + Sit down. + + GORGO. + Oh, what a thing is spirit! Here I am, + Praxinoä, safe at last from all that crowd + And all those chariots--every street a mass + Of boots and uniforms! And the road, my dear, + Seemed endless--you live now so far away! + + PRAXINOÄ. + This land's-end den--I cannot call it house-- + My madcap hired to keep us twain apart + And stir up strife. 'Twas like him, odious pest! + + GORGO. + Nay call not, dear, your lord, your Deinon, names + To the babe's face. Look how it stares at you! + There, baby dear, she never meant Papa! + It understands, by'r lady! Dear Papa! + + PRAXINOÄ. + Well, yesterday (that means what day you like) + 'Papa' had rouge and hair-powder to buy; + He brought back salt! this oaf of six-foot-one! + + GORGO. + Just such another is that pickpocket + My Diocleides. He bought t'other day + Six fleeces at seven drachms, his last exploit. + What were they? scraps of worn-out pedlar's-bags, + Sheer trash.--But put your cloak and mantle on; + And we'll to Ptolemy's, the sumptuous king, + To see the _Adonis_. As I hear, the queen + Provides us something gorgeous. + + PRAXINOÄ. + Ay, the grand + Can do things grandly. + + GORGO. + When you've seen yourself, + What tales you'll have to tell to those who've not. + 'Twere time we started! + + PRAXINOÄ. + All time's holiday + With idlers! Eunoä, pampered minx, the jug! + Set it down here--you cats would sleep all day + On cushions--Stir yourself, fetch water, quick! + Water's our first want. How she holds the jug! + Now, pour--not, cormorant, in that wasteful way-- + You've drenched my dress, bad luck t'you! There, enough: + I have made such toilet as my fates allowed. + Now for the key o' the plate-chest. Bring it, quick! + + GORGO. + My dear, that full pelisse becomes you well. + What did it stand you in, straight off the loom? + + PRAXINOÄ. + Don't ask me, Gorgo: two good pounds and more. + Then I gave all my mind to trimming it. + + GORGO. + Well, 'tis a great success. + + PRAXINOÄ. + I think it is. + My mantle, Eunoä, and my parasol! + Arrange me nicely. Babe, you'll bide at home! + Horses would bite you--Boo!--Yes, cry your fill, + But we won't have you maimed. Now let's be off. + You, Phrygia, take and nurse the tiny thing: + Call the dog in: make fast the outer door! + + [_Exeunt_. + + Gods! what a crowd! How, when shall we get past + This nuisance, these unending ant-like swarms? + Yet, Ptolemy, we owe thee thanks for much + Since heaven received thy sire! No miscreant now + Creeps Thug-like up, to maul the passer-by. + What games men played erewhile--men shaped in crime, + Birds of a feather, rascals every one! + --We're done for, Gorgo darling--here they are, + The Royal horse! Sweet sir, don't trample me! + That bay--the savage!--reared up straight on end! + Fly, Eunoä, can't you? Doggedly she stands. + He'll be his rider's death!--How glad I am + My babe's at home. + + GORGO. + Praxinoä, never mind! + See, we're before them now, and they're in line. + + PRAXINOÄ. + There, I'm myself. But from a child I feared + Horses, and slimy snakes. But haste we on: + A surging multitude is close behind. + + GORGO [_to Old Lady_]. + From the palace, mother? + + OLD LADY. + Ay, child. + + GORGO. + Is it fair + Of access? + + OLD LADY. + Trying brought the Greeks to Troy. + Young ladies, they must try who would succeed. + + GORGO. + The crone hath said her oracle and gone. + Women know all--how Adam married Eve. + --Praxinoä, look what crowds are round the door! + + PRAXINOÄ. + Fearful! Your hand, please, Gorgo. Eunoä, you + Hold Eutychis--hold tight or you'll be lost. + We'll enter in a body--hold us fast! + Oh dear, my muslin dress is torn in two, + Gorgo, already! Pray, good gentleman, + (And happiness be yours) respect my robe! + + STRANGER. + I could not if I would--nathless I will. + + PRAXINOÄ. + They come in hundreds, and they push like swine. + + STRANGER. + Lady, take courage: it is all well now. + + PRAXINOÄ. + And now and ever be it well with thee, + Sweet man, for shielding us! An honest soul + And kindly. Oh! they're smothering Eunoä: + Push, coward! That's right! 'All in,' the bridegroom said + And locked the door upon himself and bride. + + GORGO. + Praxinoä, look! Note well this broidery first. + How exquisitely fine--too good for earth! + Empress Athenè, what strange sempstress wrought + Such work? What painter painted, realized + Such pictures? Just like life they stand or move, + Facts and not fancies! What a thing is man! + How bright, how lifelike on his silvern couch + Lies, with youth's bloom scarce shadowing his cheek, + That dear Adonis, lovely e'en in death! + + A STRANGER. + Bad luck t'you, cease your senseless pigeon's prate! + Their brogue is killing--every word a drawl! + + GORGO. + Where did he spring from? Is our prattle aught + To you, Sir? Order your own slaves about: + You're ordering Syracusan ladies now! + + Corinthians bred (to tell you one fact more) + As was Bellerophon: islanders in speech, + For Dorians may talk Doric, I presume? + + PRAXINOÄ. + Persephonè! none lords it over me, + Save one! No scullion's-wage for us from _you_! + + GORGO. + Hush, dear. The Argive's daughter's going to sing + _The Adonis_: that accomplished vocalist + Who has no rival in "_The Sailor's Grave_." + Observe her attitudinizing now. + + _Song_. + Queen, who lov'st Golgi and the Sicel hill + And Ida; Aphroditè radiant-eyed; + The stealthy-footed Hours from Acheron's rill + Brought once again Adonis to thy side + How changed in twelve short months! They travel slow, + Those precious Hours: we hail their advent still, + For blessings do they bring to all below. + O Sea-born! thou didst erst, or legend lies, + Shed on a woman's soul thy grace benign, + And Berenicè's dust immortalize. + O called by many names, at many a shrine! + For thy sweet sake doth Berenicè's child + (Herself a second Helen) deck with all + That's fair, Adonis. On his right are piled + Ripe apples fallen from the oak-tree tall; + And silver caskets at his left support + Toy-gardens, Syrian scents enshrined in gold + And alabaster, cakes of every sort + That in their ovens the pastrywomen mould, + When with white meal they mix all flowers that bloom, + Oil-cakes and honey-cakes. There stand portrayed + Each bird, each butterfly; and in the gloom + Of foliage climbing high, and downward weighed + By graceful blossoms, do the young Loves play + Like nightingales, and perch on every tree, + And flit, to try their wings, from spray to spray. + Then see the gold, the ebony! Only see + The ivory-carven eagles, bearing up + To Zeus the boy who fills his royal cup! + Soft as a dream, such tapestry gleams o'erhead + As the Milesian's self would gaze on, charmed. + But sweet Adonis hath his own sweet bed: + Next Aphroditè sleeps the roseate-armed, + A bridegroom of eighteen or nineteen years. + Kiss the smooth boyish lip--there's no sting there! + The bride hath found her own: all bliss be hers! + And him at dewy dawn we'll troop to bear + Down where the breakers hiss against the shore: + There, with dishevelled dress and unbound hair, + Bare-bosomed all, our descant wild we'll pour: + + "Thou haunt'st, Adonis, earth and heaven in turn, + Alone of heroes. Agamemnon ne'er + Could compass this, nor Aias stout and stern: + Not Hector, eldest-born of her who bare + Ten sons, not Patrocles, nor safe-returned + From Ilion Pyrrhus, such distinction earned: + Nor, elder yet, the Lapithæ, the sons + Of Pelops and Deucalion; or the crown + Of Greece, Pelasgians. Gracious may'st thou be, + Adonis, now: pour new-year's blessings down! + Right welcome dost thou come, Adonis dear: + Come when thou wilt, thou'lt find a welcome here." + + GORGO. + 'Tis fine, Praxinoä! How I envy her + Her learning, and still more her luscious voice! + We must go home: my husband's supperless: + And, in that state, the man's just vinegar. + Don't cross his path when hungry! So farewell, + Adonis, and be housed 'mid welfare aye! + + + + +IDYLL XVI. + + +The Value of Song. + + What fires the Muse's, what the minstrel's lays? + Hers some immortal's, ours some hero's praise, + Heaven is her theme, as heavenly was her birth: + We, of earth earthy, sing the sons of earth. + Yet who, of all that see the gray morn rise, + Lifts not his latch and hails with eager eyes + My Songs, yet sends them guerdonless away? + Barefoot and angry homeward journey they, + Taunt him who sent them on that idle quest, + Then crouch them deep within their empty chest, + (When wageless they return, their dismal bed) + And hide on their chill knees once more their patient head. + Where are those good old times? Who thanks us, who, + For our good word? Men list not now to do + Great deeds and worthy of the minstrel's verse: + Vassals of gain, their hand is on their purse, + Their eyes on lucre: ne'er a rusty nail + They'll give in kindness; this being aye their tale:-- + + "Kin before kith; to prosper is my prayer; + Poets, we know, are heaven's peculiar care. + We've Homer; and what other's worth a thought? + I call him chief of bards who costs me naught." + + Yet what if all your chests with gold are lined? + Is this enjoying wealth? Oh fools and blind! + Part on your heart's desire, on minstrels spend + Part; and your kindred and your kind befriend: + And daily to the gods bid altar-fires ascend. + Nor be ye churlish hosts, but glad the heart + Of guests with wine, when they must needs depart: + And reverence most the priests of sacred song: + So, when hell hides you, shall your names live long; + Not doomed to wail on Acheron's sunless sands, + Like some poor hind, the inward of whose hands + The spade hath gnarled and knotted, born to groan, + Poor sire's poor offspring, hapless Penury's own! + + Their monthly dole erewhile unnumbered thralls + Sought in Antiochus', in Aleuas' halls; + On to the Scopadæ's byres in endless line + The calves ran lowing with the hornèd kine; + And, marshalled by the good Creondæ's swains + Myriads of choice sheep basked on Cranron's plains. + Yet had their joyaunce ended, on the day + When their sweet spirit dispossessed its clay, + To hated Acheron's ample barge resigned. + Nameless, their stored-up luxury left behind, + With the lorn dead through ages had they lain, + Had not a minstrel bade them live again:-- + Had not in woven words the Ceïan sire + Holding sweet converse with his full-toned lyre + Made even their swift steeds for aye renowned, + When from the sacred lists they came home crowned. + Forgot were Lycia's chiefs, and Hector's hair + Of gold, and Cycnus femininely fair; + But that bards bring old battles back to mind. + Odysseus--he who roamed amongst mankind + A hundred years and more, reached utmost hell + Alive, and 'scaped the giant's hideous cell-- + Had lived and died: Eumæus and his swine; + Philoetius, busy with his herded kine; + And great Laërtes' self, had passed away, + Were not their names preserved in Homer's lay. + Through song alone may man true glory taste; + The dead man's riches his survivors waste. + + But count the waves, with yon gray wind-swept main + Borne shoreward: from a red brick wash his stain + In some pool's violet depths: 'twill task thee yet + To reach the heart on baleful avarice set. + To such I say 'Fare well': let theirs be store + Of wealth; but let them always crave for more: + Horses and mules inferior things _I_ find + To the esteem and love of all mankind. + + But to what mortal's roof may I repair, + I and my Muse, and find a welcome there? + I and my Muse: for minstrels fare but ill, + Reft of those maids, who know the mightiest's will. + The cycle of the years, it flags not yet; + In many a chariot many a steed shall sweat: + And one, to manhood grown, my lays shall claim, + Whose deeds shall rival great Achilles' fame, + Who from stout Aias might have won the prize + On Simois' plain, where Phrygian Ilus lies. + Now, in their sunset home on Libya's heel, + Phoenicia's sons unwonted chillness feel: + Now, with his targe of willow at his breast, + The Syracusan bears his spear in rest, + Amongst these Hiero arms him for the war, + Eager to fight as warriors fought of yore; + The plumes float darkling o'er his helmèd brow. + O Zeus, the sire most glorious; and O thou, + Empress Athenè; and thou, damsel fair, + Who with thy mother wast decreed to bear + Rule o'er rich Corinth, o'er that city of pride + Beside whose walls Anapus' waters glide:-- + May ill winds waft across the Southern sea + (Of late a legion, now but two or three,) + Far from our isle, our foes; the doom to tell, + To wife and child, of those they loved so well; + While the old race enjoy once more the lands + Spoiled and insulted erst by alien hands! + + And fair and fruitful may their cornlands be! + Their flocks in thousands bleat upon the lea, + Fat and full-fed; their kine, as home they wind, + The lagging traveller of his rest remind! + With might and main their fallows let them till: + Till comes the seedtime, and cicalas trill + (Hid from the toilers of the hot midday + In the thick leafage) on the topmost spray! + O'er shield and spear their webs let spiders spin, + And none so much as name the battle-din! + Then Hiero's lofty deeds may minstrels bear + Beyond the Scythian ocean-main, and where + Within those ample walls, with asphalt made + Time-proof, Semiramis her empire swayed. + I am but a single voice: but many a bard + Beside me do those heavenly maids regard: + May those all love to sing, 'mid earth's acclaim, + Of Sicel Arethuse, and Hiero's fame. + + O Graces, royal nurselings, who hold dear + The Minyæ's city, once the Theban's fear: + Unbidden I tarry, whither bidden I fare + My Muse my comrade. And be ye too there, + Sisters divine! Were ye and song forgot, + What grace had earth? With you be aye my lot! + + + + +IDYLL XVII. + + +The Praise of Ptolemy. + + With Zeus begin, sweet sisters, end with Zeus, + When ye would sing the sovereign of the skies: + But first among mankind rank Ptolemy; + First, last, and midmost; being past compare. + Those mighty ones of old, half men half gods, + Wrought deeds that shine in many a subtle strain; + I, no unpractised minstrel, sing but him; + Divinest ears disdain not minstrelsy. + But as a woodman sees green Ida rise + Pine above pine, and ponders which to fell + First of those myriads; even so I pause + Where to begin the chapter of his praise: + For thousand and ten thousand are the gifts + Wherewith high heaven hath graced the kingliest king. + + Was not he born to compass noblest ends, + Lagus' own son, so soon as he matured + Schemes such as ne'er had dawned on meaner minds? + Zeus doth esteem him as the blessèd gods; + In the sire's courts his golden mansion stands. + And near him Alexander sits and smiles, + The turbaned Persian's dread; and, fronting both, + Rises the stedfast adamantine seat + Erst fashioned for the bull-slayer Heracles. + Who there holds revels with his heavenly mates, + And sees, with joy exceeding, children rise + On children; for that Zeus exempts from age + And death their frames who sprang from Heracles: + And Ptolemy, like Alexander, claims + From him; his gallant son their common sire. + And when, the banquet o'er, the Strong Man wends, + Cloyed with rich nectar, home unto his wife, + This kinsman hath in charge his cherished shafts + And bow; and that his gnarled and knotted club; + And both to white-limbed Hebè's bower of bliss + Convoy the bearded warrior and his arms. + + Then how among wise ladies--blest the pair + That reared her!--peerless Berenicè shone! + Dionè's sacred child, the Cyprian queen, + O'er that sweet bosom passed her taper hands: + And hence, 'tis said, no man loved woman e'er + As Ptolemy loved her. She o'er-repaid + His love; so, nothing doubting, he could leave + His substance in his loyal children's care, + And rest with her, fond husband with fond wife. + She that loves not bears sons, but all unlike + Their father: for her heart was otherwhere. + + O Aphroditè, matchless e'en in heaven + For beauty, thou didst love her; wouldst not let + Thy Berenicè cross the wailful waves: + But thy hand snatched her--to the blue lake bound + Else, and the dead's grim ferryman--and enshrined + With thee, to share thy honours. There she sits, + To mortals ever kind, and passion soft + Inspires, and makes the lover's burden light. + The dark-browed Argive, linked with Tydeus, bare + Diomed the slayer, famed in Calydon: + And deep-veiled Thetis unto Peleus gave + The javelineer Achilles. Thou wast born + Of Berenicè, Ptolemy by name + And by descent, a warrior's warrior child. + Cos from its mother's arms her babe received, + Its destined nursery, on its natal day: + 'Twas there Antigonè's daughter in her pangs + Cried to the goddess that could bid them cease: + Who soon was at her side, and lo! her limbs + Forgat their anguish, and a child was born + Fair, its sire's self. Cos saw, and shouted loud; + Handled the babe all tenderly, and spake: + + "Wake, babe, to bliss: prize me, as Phoebus doth + His azure-spherèd Delos: grace the hill + Of Triops, and the Dorians' sister shores, + As king Apollo his Rhenæa's isle." + + So spake the isle. An eagle high overhead + Poised in the clouds screamed thrice, the prophet-bird + Of Zeus, and sent by him. For awful kings + All are his care, those chiefliest on whose birth + He smiled: exceeding glory waits on them: + Theirs is the sovereignty of land and sea. + But if a myriad realms spread far and wide + O'er earth, if myriad nations till the soil + To which heaven's rain gives increase: yet what land + Is green as low-lying Egypt, when the Nile + Wells forth and piecemeal breaks the sodden glebe? + Where are like cities, peopled by like men? + Lo he hath seen three hundred towns arise, + Three thousand, yea three myriad; and o'er all + He rules, the prince of heroes, Ptolemy. + Claims half Phoenicia, and half Araby, + Syria and Libya, and the Æthiops murk; + Sways the Pamphylian and Cilician braves, + The Lycian and the Carian trained to war, + And all the isles: for never fleet like his + Rode upon ocean: land and sea alike + And sounding rivers hail king Ptolemy. + Many are his horsemen, many his targeteers, + Whose burdened breast is bright with clashing steel: + Light are all royal treasuries, weighed with his. + For wealth from all climes travels day by day + To his rich realm, a hive of prosperous peace. + No foeman's tramp scares monster-peopled Nile, + Waking to war her far-off villages: + No armed robber from his war-ship leaps + To spoil the herds of Egypt. Such a prince + Sits throned in her broad plains, in whose right arm + Quivers the spear, the bright-haired Ptolemy. + Like a true king, he guards with might and main + The wealth his sires' arm won him and his own. + Nor strown all idly o'er his sumptuous halls + Lie piles that seem the work of labouring ants. + The holy homes of gods are rich therewith; + Theirs are the firstfruits, earnest aye of more. + And freely mighty kings thereof partake, + Freely great cities, freely honoured friends. + None entered e'er the sacred lists of song, + Whose lips could breathe sweet music, but he gained + Fair guerdon at the hand of Ptolemy. + And Ptolemy do music's votaries hymn + For his good gifts--hath man a fairer lot + Than to have earned much fame among mankind? + The Atridæ's name abides, while all the wealth + Won from the sack of Priam's stately home + A mist closed o'er it, to be seen no more. + Ptolemy, he only, treads a path whose dust + Burns with the footprints of his ancestors, + And overlays those footprints with his own. + He raised rich shrines to mother and to sire, + There reared their forms in ivory and gold, + Passing in beauty, to befriend mankind. + Thighs of fat oxen oftentimes he burns + On crimsoning altars, as the months roll on, + Ay he and his staunch wife. No fairer bride + E'er clasped her lord in royal palaces: + And her heart's love her brother-husband won. + In such blest union joined the immortal pair + Whom queenly Rhea bore, and heaven obeys: + One couch the maiden of the rainbow decks + With myrrh-dipt hands for Hera and for Zeus. + + Now farewell, prince! I rank thee aye with gods: + And read this lesson to the afterdays, + Mayhap they'll prize it: 'Honour is of Zeus.' + + + + +IDYLL XVIII. + + +The Bridal of Helen. + + Whilom, in Lacedæmon, + Tript many a maiden fair + To gold-tressed Menelaus' halls, + With hyacinths in her hair: + Twelve to the Painted Chamber, + The queenliest in the land, + The clustered loveliness of Greece, + Came dancing hand in hand. + For Helen, Tyndarus' daughter, + Had just been wooed and won, + Helen the darling of the world, + By Atreus' younger son: + With woven steps they beat the floor + In unison, and sang + Their bridal-hymn of triumph + Till all the palace rang. + + "Slumberest so soon, sweet bridegroom? + Art thou o'erfond of sleep? + Or hast thou leadenweighted limbs? + Or hadst thou drunk too deep + When thou didst fling thee to thy lair? + Betimes thou should'st have sped, + If sleep were all thy purpose, + Unto thy bachelor's bed: + And left her in her mother's arms + To nestle, and to play + A girl among her girlish mates + Till deep into the day:-- + For not alone for this night, + Nor for the next alone, + But through the days and through the years + Thou hast her for thine own. + + "Nay! heaven, O happy bridegroom, + Smiled as thou enteredst in + To Sparta, like thy brother kings, + And told thee thou should'st win! + What hero son-in-law of Zeus + Hath e'er aspired to be? + Yet lo! one coverlet enfolds + The child of Zeus, and thee. + Ne'er did a thing so lovely + Roam the Achaian lea. + + "And who shall match her offspring, + If babes are like their mother? + For we were playmates once, and ran + And raced with one another + (All varnished, warrior fashion) + Along Eurotas' tide, + Thrice eighty gentle maidens, + Each in her girlhood's pride: + Yet none of all seemed faultless, + If placed by Helen's side. + + "As peers the nascent Morning + Over thy shades, O Night, + When Winter disenchains the land, + And Spring goes forth in white: + So Helen shone above us, + All loveliness and light. + + "As climbs aloft some cypress, + Garden or glade to grace; + As the Thessalian courser lends + A lustre to the race: + So bright o'er Lacedæmon + Shone Helen's rosebud face. + + "And who into the basket e'er + The yarn so deftly drew, + Or through the mazes of the web + So well the shuttle threw, + And severed from the framework + As closelywov'n a warp:-- + And who could wake with masterhand + Such music from the harp, + To broadlimbed Pallas tuning + And Artemis her lay-- + As Helen, Helen in whose eyes + The Loves for ever play? + + "O bright, O beautiful, for thee + Are matron-cares begun. + We to green paths and blossomed meads + With dawn of morn must run, + And cull a breathing chaplet; + And still our dream shall be, + Helen, of thee, as weanling lambs + Yearn in the pasture for the dams + That nursed their infancy. + + "For thee the lowly lotus-bed + We'll spoil, and plait a crown + To hang upon the shadowy plane; + For thee will we drop down + ('Neath that same shadowy platan) + Oil from our silver urn; + And carven on the bark shall be + This sentence, 'HALLOW HELEN'S TREE'; + In Dorian letters, legibly + For all men to discern. + + "Now farewell, bride, and bridegroom + Blest in thy new-found sire! + May Leto, mother of the brave, + Bring babes at your desire, + And holy Cypris either's breast + With mutual transport fire: + And Zeus the son of Cronos + Grant blessings without end, + From princely sire to princely son + For ever to descend. + + "Sleep on, and love and longing + Breathe in each other's breast; + But fail not when the morn returns + To rouse you from your rest: + With dawn shall we be stirring, + When, lifting high his fair + And feathered neck, the earliest bird + To clarion to the dawn is heard. + O god of brides and bridals, + Sing 'Happy, happy pair!'" + + + + +IDYLL XIX. + + +Love Stealing Honey. + + Once thievish Love the honeyed hives would rob, + When a bee stung him: soon he felt a throb + Through all his finger-tips, and, wild with pain, + Blew on his hands and stamped and jumped in vain. + To Aphroditè then he told his woe: + 'How can a thing so tiny hurt one so?' + She smiled and said; 'Why thou'rt a tiny thing, + As is the bee; yet sorely thou canst sting.' + + + + +IDYLL XX. + + +Town and Country + + Once I would kiss Eunicè. "Back," quoth she, + And screamed and stormed; "a sorry clown kiss me? + Your country compliments, I like not such; + No lips but gentles' would I deign to touch. + Ne'er dream of kissing me: alike I shun + Your face, your language, and your tigerish fun. + How winning are your tones, how fine your air! + Your beard how silken and how sweet your hair! + Pah! you've a sick man's lips, a blackamoor's hand: + Your breath's defilement. Leave me, I command." + + Thrice spat she on her robe, and, muttering low, + Scanned me, with half-shut eyes, from top to toe: + Brought all her woman's witcheries into play, + Still smiling in a set sarcastic way, + Till my blood boiled, my visage crimson grew + With indignation, as a rose with dew: + And so she left me, inly to repine + That such as she could flout such charms as mine. + + O shepherds, tell me true! Am I not fair? + Am I transformed? For lately I did wear + Grace as a garment; and my cheeks, o'er them + Ran the rich growth like ivy round the stem. + Like fern my tresses o'er my temples streamed; + O'er my dark eyebrows, white my forehead gleamed: + My eyes were of Athenè's radiant blue, + My mouth was milk, its accents honeydew. + Then I could sing--my tones were soft indeed!-- + To pipe or flute or flageolet or reed: + And me did every maid that roams the fell + Kiss and call fair: not so this city belle. + She scorns the herdsman; knows not how divine + Bacchus ranged once the valleys with his kine; + How Cypris, maddened for a herdsman's sake, + Deigned upon Phrygia's mountains to partake + His cares: and wooed, and wept, Adonis in the brake. + What was Endymion, sweet Selenè's love? + A herdsman's lad. Yet came she from above, + Down to green Latmos, by his side to sleep. + And did not Rhea for a herdsman weep? + Didst not thou, Zeus, become a wandering bird, + To win the love of one who drove a herd? + Selenè, Cybelè, Cypris, all loved swains: + Eunicè, loftier-bred, their kiss disdains. + Henceforth, by hill or hall, thy love disown, + Cypris, and sleep the livelong night alone. + + + + +IDYLL XXI. + + +The Fishermen. + +_ASPHALION, A COMRADE._ + + Want quickens wit: Want's pupils needs must work, + O Diophantus: for the child of toil + Is grudged his very sleep by carking cares: + Or, if he taste the blessedness of night, + Thought for the morrow soon warns slumber off. + + Two ancient fishers once lay side by side + On piled-up sea-wrack in their wattled hut, + Its leafy wall their curtain. Near them lay + The weapons of their trade, basket and rod, + Hooks, weed-encumbered nets, and cords and oars, + And, propped on rollers, an infirm old boat. + Their pillow was a scanty mat, eked out + With caps and garments: such the ways and means, + Such the whole treasury of the fishermen. + They knew no luxuries: owned nor door nor dog; + Their craft their all, their mistress Poverty: + Their only neighbour Ocean, who for aye + Bound their lorn hut came floating lazily. + + Ere the moon's chariot was in mid-career, + The fishers girt them for their customed toil, + And banished slumber from unwilling eyes, + And roused their dreamy intellects with speech:-- + + ASPHALION. + "They say that soon flit summer-nights away, + Because all lingering is the summer day: + Friend, it is false; for dream on dream have I + Dreamed, and the dawn still reddens not the sky. + How? am I wandering? or does night pass slow?" + + HIS COMRADE. + "Asphalion, scout not the sweet summer so. + 'Tis not that wilful seasons have gone wrong, + But care maims slumber, and the nights seem long." + + ASPHALION. + "Didst thou e'er study dreams? For visions fair + I saw last night; and fairly thou should'st share + The wealth I dream of, as the fish I catch. + Now, for sheer sense, I reckon few thy match; + And, for a vision, he whose motherwit + Is his sole tutor best interprets it. + And now we've time the matter to discuss: + For who could labour, lying here (like us) + Pillowed on leaves and neighboured by the deep, + Or sleeping amid thorns no easy sleep? + In rich men's halls the lamps are burning yet; + But fish come alway to the rich man's net." + + COMRADE. + "To me the vision of the night relate; + Speak, and reveal the riddle to thy mate." + + ASPHALION. + "Last evening, as I plied my watery trade, + (Not on an o'erfull stomach--we had made + Betimes a meagre meal, as you can vouch,) + I fell asleep; and lo! I seemed to crouch + Among the boulders, and for fish to wait, + Still dangling, rod in hand, my vagrant bait. + A fat fellow caught it: (e'en in sleep I'm bound + To dream of fishing, as of crusts the hound:) + Fast clung he to the hooks; his blood outwelled; + Bent with his struggling was the rod I held: + I tugged and tugged: my efforts made me ache: + 'How, with a line thus slight, this monster take?' + Then gently, just to warn him he was caught, + I twitched him once; then slacked and then made taut + My line, for now he offered not to ran; + A glance soon showed me all my task was done. + 'Twas a gold fish, pure metal every inch + That I had captured. I began to flinch: + 'What if this beauty be the sea-king's joy, + Or azure Amphitritè's treasured toy!' + With care I disengaged him--not to rip + With hasty hook the gilding from his lip: + And with a tow-line landed him, and swore + Never to set my foot on ocean more, + But with my gold live royally ashore. + So I awoke: and, comrade, lend me now + Thy wits, for I am troubled for my vow." + + COMRADE. + "Ne'er quake: you're pledged to nothing, for no prize + You gained or gazed on. Dreams are nought but lies. + Yet may this dream bear fruit; if, wide-awake + And not in dreams, you'll fish the neighbouring lake. + Fish that are meat you'll there mayhap behold, + Not die of famine, amid dreams of gold." + + + + +IDYLL XXII. + + +The Sons of Leda + + The pair I sing, that Ægis-armèd Zeus + Gave unto Leda; Castor and the dread + Of bruisers Polydeuces, whensoe'er + His harnessed hands were lifted for the fray. + Twice and again I sing the manly sons + Of Leda, those Twin Brethren, Sparta's own: + Who shield the soldier on the deadly scarp, + The horse wild-plunging o'er the crimson field, + The ship that, disregarding in her pride + Star-set and star-rise, meets disastrous gales:-- + Such gales as pile the billows mountain-high, + E'en at their own wild will, round stem or stern: + Dash o'er the hold, the timbers rive in twain, + Till mast and tackle dangle in mid-air + Shivered like toys, and, as the night wears on, + The rain of heaven falls fast, and, lashed by wind + And iron hail, broad ocean rings again. + Then can they draw from out the nether abyss + Both craft and crew, each deeming he must die: + Lo the winds cease, and o'er the burnished deep + Comes stillness; this way flee the clouds and that; + And shine out clear the Great Bear and the Less, + And, 'twixt the Asses dimly seen, the Crib + Foretells fair voyage to the mariner. + O saviours, O companions of mankind, + Matchless on horse or harp, in lists or lay; + Which of ye twain demands my earliest song? + Of both I sing; of Polydeuces first. + + Argo, escaped the two inrushing rocks, + And snow-clad Pontus with his baleful jaws, + Came to Bebrycia with her heaven-sprung freight; + There by one ladder disembarked a host + Of Heroes from the decks of Jason's ship. + On the low beach, to leeward of the cliff, + They leapt, and piled their beds, and lit their fires: + Castor meanwhile, the bridler of the steed, + And Polydeuces of the nut-brown face, + Had wandered from their mates; and, wildered both, + Searched through the boskage of the hill, and found + Hard by a slab of rock a bubbling spring + Brimful of purest water. In the depths + Below, like crystal or like silver gleamed + The pebbles: high above it pine and plane + And poplar rose, and cypress tipt with green; + With all rich flowers that throng the mead, when wanes + The Spring, sweet workshops of the furry bee. + There sat and sunned him one of giant bulk + And grisly mien: hard knocks had stov'n his ears: + Broad were his shoulders, vast his orbèd chest; + Like a wrought statue rose his iron frame: + And nigh the shoulder on each brawny arm + Stood out the muscles, huge as rolling stones + Caught by some rain-swoln river and shapen smooth + By its wild eddyings: and o'er nape and spine + Hung, balanced by the claws, a lion's skin. + Him Leda's conquering son accosted first:-- + + POLYDEUCES. + Luck to thee, friend unknown! Who own this shore? + + AMYCUS. + Luck, quotha, to see men ne'er seen before! + + POLYDEUCES. + Fear not, no base or base-born herd are we. + + AMYCUS. + Nothing I fear, nor need learn this from thee. + + POLYDEUCES. + What art thou? brutish churl, or o'erproud king? + + AMYCUS. + E'en what thou see'st: and I am not trespassing. + + POLYDEUCES. + Visit our land, take gifts from us, and go. + + AMYCUS. + I seek naught from thee and can naught bestow. + + POLYDEUCES. + Not e'en such grace as from yon spring to sip? + + AMYCUS. + Try, if parched thirst sits languid on thy lip. + + POLYDEUCES. + Can silver move thee? or if not, what can? + + AMYCUS. + Stand up and fight me singly, man with man. + + POLYDEUCES. + With fists? or fist and foot, eye covering eye? + + AMYCUS. + Fall to with fists; and all thy cunning try. + + POLYDEUCES. + This arm, these gauntlets, who shall dare withstand? + + AMYCUS. + I: and "the Bruiser" lifts no woman's-hand. + + POLYDEUCES. + Wilt thou, to crown our strife, some meed assign? + + AMYCUS. + Thou shalt be called my master, or I thine. + + POLYDEUCES. + By crimson-crested cocks such games are won. + + AMYCUS. + Lions or cocks, we'll play this game or none. + + He spoke, and clutched a hollow shell, and blew + His clarion. Straightway to the shadowy pine + Clustering they came, as loud it pealed and long, + Bebrycia's bearded sons; and Castor too, + The peerless in the lists, went forth and called + From the Magnesian ship the Heroes all. + + Then either warrior armed with coils of hide + His hands, and round his limbs bound ponderous bands, + And, breathing bloodshed, stept into the ring. + First there was much manoeuvring, who should catch + The sunlight on his rear: but thou didst foil, + O Polydeuces, valour by address; + And full on Amycus' face the hot noon smote. + He in hot wrath strode forward, threatening war; + Straightway the Tyndarid smote him, as he closed, + Full on the chin: more furious waxed he still, + And, earthward bent, dealt blindly random blows. + Bebrycia shouted loud, the Greeks too cheered + Their champion: fearing lest in that scant space + This Tityus by sheer weight should bear him down. + But, shifting yet still there, the son of Zeus + Scored him with swift exchange of left and right, + And checked the onrush of the sea-god's child + Parlous albeit: till, reeling with his wounds, + He stood, and from his lips spat crimson blood. + Cheered yet again the princes, when they saw + The lips and jowl all seamed with piteous scars, + And the swoln visage and the half-closed eyes. + Still the prince teased him, feinting here or there + A thrust; and when he saw him helpless all, + Let drive beneath his eyelids at his nose, + And laid it bare to the bone. The stricken man + Measured his length supine amid the fern. + Keen was the fighting when he rose again, + Deadly the blows their sturdy gauntlets dealt. + But while Bebrycia's chieftain sparred round chest + And utmost shoulder, the resistless foe + Made his whole face one mass of hideous wounds. + While the one sweated all his bulk away, + And, late a giant, seemed a pigmy now, + The other's limbs waxed ever as he fought + In semblance and in size. But in what wise + The child of Zeus brought low that man of greed, + Tell, Muse, for thine is knowledge: I unfold + A secret not mine own; at thy behest + Speak or am dumb, nor speak but as thou wilt. + + Amycus, athirst to do some doughty deed, + Stooping aslant from Polydeuces' lunge + Locked their left hands; and, stepping out, upheaved + From his right hip his ponderous other-arm. + And hit and harmed had been Amyclæ's king; + But, ducking low, he smote with one stout fist + The foe's left temple--fast the life-blood streamed + From the grim rift--and on his shoulder fell. + While with his left he reached the mouth, and made + The set teeth tingle; and, redoubling aye + His plashing blows, made havoc of his face + And crashed into his cheeks, till all abroad + He lay, and throwing up his arms disclaimed + The strife, for he was even at death's door. + No wrong the vanquished suffered at thy hands, + O Polydeuces; but he sware an oath, + Calling his sire Poseidon from the depths, + Ne'er to do violence to a stranger more. + + Thy tale, O prince, is told. Now sing I thee, + Castor the Tyndarid, lord of rushing horse + And shaking javelin, corsleted in brass. + + + PART II. + + The sons of Zeus had borne two maids away, + Leucippus' daughters. Straight in hot pursuit + Went the two brethren, sons of Aphareus, + Lynceus and Idas bold, their plighted lords. + And when the tomb of Aphareus was gained, + All leapt from out their cars, and front to front + Stood, with their ponderous spears and orbed shields. + First Lynceus shouted loud from 'neath his helm: + + "Whence, sirs, this lust for strife? Why, sword in hand, + Raise ye this coil about your neighbours' wives? + To us Leucippus these his daughters gave, + Long ere ye saw them: they are ours on oath. + Ye, coveting (to your shame) your neighbour's bed + And kine and asses and whatever is his, + Suborned the man and stole our wives by bribes. + How often spake I thus before your face, + Yea I myself, though scant I am of phrase: + 'Not thus, fair sirs, do honourable men + Seek to woo wives whose troth is given elsewhere. + Lo, broad is Sparta, broad the hunting-grounds + Of Elis: fleecy Arcady is broad, + And Argos and Messene and the towns + To westward, and the long Sisyphian reach. + There 'neath her parents' roof dwells many a maid + Second to none in godliness or wit: + Wed of all these, and welcome, whom ye will, + For all men court the kinship of the brave; + And ye are as your sires, and they whose blood + Runs in your mother's veins, the flower of war. + Nay, sirs, but let us bring this thing to pass; + Then, taking counsel, choose meet brides for you.' + So I ran on; but o'er the shifting seas + The wind's breath blew my words, that found no grace + With you, for ye defied the charmer's voice. + Yet listen to me now if ne'er before: + Lo! we are kinsmen by the father's side. + But if ye lust for war, if strife must break + Forth among kin, and bloodshed quench our feud, + Bold Polydeuces then shall hold his hands + And his cousin Idas from the abhorrèd fray: + While I and Castor, the two younger-born, + Try war's arbitrament; so spare our sires + Sorrow exceeding. In one house one dead + Sufficeth: let the others glad their mates, + To the bride-chamber passing, not the grave, + And o'er yon maids sing jubilee. Well it were + At cost so small to lay so huge a strife." + + He spoke--his words heaven gave not to the winds. + They, the two first-born, disarrayed and piled + Their arms, while Lynceus stept into the ring, + And at his shield's rim shook his stalwart spear. + And Castor likewise poised his quivering lance; + High waved the plume on either warrior's helm. + First each at other thrust with busy spear + Where'er he spied an inch of flesh exposed: + But lo! both spearpoints in their wicker shields + Lodged ere a blow was struck, and snapt in twain. + Then they unsheathed their swords, and framed new modes + Of slaughter: pause or respite there was none. + Oft Castor on broad shield and plumèd helm + Lit, and oft keen-eyed Lynceus pierced his shield, + Or grazed his crest of crimson. But anon, + As Lynceus aimed his blade at Castor's knee, + Back with the left sprang Castor and struck off + His fingers: from the maimed limb dropped the sword. + And, flying straightway, for his father's tomb + He made, where gallant Idas sat and saw + The battle of the brethren. But the child + Of Zeus rushed in, and with his broadsword drave + Through flank and navel, sundering with swift stroke + His vitals: Lynceus tottered and he fell, + And o'er his eyelids rushed the dreamless sleep. + Nor did their mother see her elder son + Come a fair bridegroom to his Cretan home. + For Idas wrenched from off the dead man's tomb + A jutting slab, to hurl it at the man + Who had slain his brother. Then did Zeus bring aid, + And struck the marble fabric from his grasp, + And with red lightning burned his frame to dust. + So doth he fight with odds who dares provoke + The Tyndarids, mighty sons of mighty sire. + Now farewell, Leda's children: prosper aye + The songs I sing. What minstrel loves not well + The Tyndarids, and Helen, and the chiefs + That trod Troy down for Meneläus' sake? + The bard of Chios wrought your royal deeds + Into his lays, who sang of Priam's state, + And fights 'neath Ilion's walls; of sailor Greeks, + And of Achilles towering in the strife. + Yet take from me whate'er of clear sweet song + The Muse accords me, even all my store! + The gods' most precious gift is minstrelsy. + + + + +IDYLL XXIII. + + +Love Avenged + + A lad deep-dipt in passion pined for one + Whose mood was froward as her face was fair. + Lovers she loathed, for tenderness she had none: + Ne'er knew what Love was like, nor how he bare + A bow, and arrows to make young maids smart: + Proof to all speech, all access, seemed her heart. + + So he found naught his furnace to allay; + No quiver of lips, no lighting of kind eyes, + Nor rose-flushed cheek; no talk, no lover's play + Was deigned him: but as forest-beasts are shy + Of hound and hunter, with this wight dealt she; + Fierce was her lip, her eyes gleamed ominously. + + Her tyrant's-heart was imaged in her face, + That flushed, then altering put on blank disdain. + Yet, even then, her anger had its grace, + And made her lover fall in love again. + At last, unable to endure his flame, + To the fell threshold all in tears he came: + + Kissed it, and lifted up his voice and said: + "O heart of stone, O curst and cruel maid + Unworthy of all love, by lions bred, + See, my last offering at thy feet is laid, + The halter that shall hang me! So no more + For my sake, lady, need thy heart be sore. + + Whither thou doom'st me, thither must I fare. + There is a path, that whoso treads hath ease + (Men say) from love; Forgetfulness is there. + But if I drain that chalice to the lees, + I may not quench the love I have for you; + Now at your gates I cast my long adieu. + + Your future I foresee. The rose is gay, + And passing-sweet the violet of the spring: + Yet time despoils them, and they soon decay. + The lily droops and dies, that lustrous thing; + The solid-seeming snowdrift melts full fast; + And maiden's bloom is rare, but may not last. + + The time shall come, when you shall feel as I; + And, with seared heart, weep many a bitter tear. + But, maiden, grant one farewell courtesy. + When you come forth, and see me hanging here, + E'en at your door, forget not my hard case; + But pause and weep me for a moment's space. + + And drop one tear, and cut me down, and spread + O'er me some garment, for a funeral pall, + That wrapped thy limbs: and kiss me--let the dead + Be privileged thus highly--last of all. + You need not fear me: not if your disdain + Changed into fondness could I live again. + + And scoop a grave, to hide my loves and me: + And thrice, at parting, say, 'My friend's no more:' + Add if you list, 'a faithful friend was he;' + And write this epitaph, scratched upon your door: + _Stranger, Love slew him. Pass not by, until + Thou hast paused and said, 'His mistress used him ill_.'" + + This said, he grasped a stone: that ghastly stone + At the mid threshold 'neath the wall he laid, + And o'er the beam the light cord soon was thrown, + And his neck noosed. In air the body swayed, + Its footstool spurned away. Forth came once more + The maid, and saw him hanging at her door. + + No struggle of heart it cost her, ne'er a tear + She wept o'er that young life, nor shunned to soil, + By contact with the corpse, her woman's-gear. + But on she went to watch the athletes' toil, + Then made for her loved haunt, the riverside: + And there she met the god she had defied. + + For on a marble pedestal Eros stood + Fronting the pool: the statue leaped, and smote + And slew that miscreant. All the stream ran blood; + And to the top a girl's cry seemed to float. + Rejoice, O lovers, since the scorner fell; + And, maids, be kind; for Love deals justice well. + + + + +IDYLL XXIV. + + +The Infant Heracles. + + Alcmena once had washed and given the breast + To Heracles, a babe of ten months old, + And Iphicles his junior by a night; + And cradled both within a brazen shield, + A gorgeous trophy, which Amphitryon erst + Had stript from Ptereläus fall'n in fight. + She stroked their baby brows, and thus she said: + + "Sleep, children mine, a light luxurious sleep, + Brother with brother: sleep, my boys, my life: + Blest in your slumber, in your waking blest!" + + She spake and rocked the shield; and in his arms + Sleep took them. But at midnight, when the Bear + Wheels to his setting, in Orion's front + Whose shoulder then beams broadest; Hera sent, + Mistress of wiles, two huge and hideous things, + Snakes with their scales of azure all on end, + To the broad portal of the chamber-door, + All to devour the infant Heracles. + They, all their length uncoiled upon the floor, + Writhed on to their blood-feast; a baleful light + Gleamed in their eyes, rank venom they spat forth. + But when with lambent tongues they neared the cot, + Alcmena's babes (for Zeus was watching all) + Woke, and throughout the chamber there was light. + Then Iphicles--so soon as he descried + The fell brutes peering o'er the hollow shield, + And saw their merciless fangs--cried lustily, + And kicked away his coverlet of down, + Fain to escape. But Heracles, he clung + Round them with warlike hands, in iron grasp + Prisoning the two: his clutch upon their throat, + The deadly snake's laboratory, where + He brews such poisons as e'en heaven abhors. + They twined and twisted round the babe that, born + After long travail, ne'er had shed a tear + E'en in his nursery; soon to quit their hold, + For powerless seemed their spines. Alcmena heard, + While her lord slept, the crying, and awoke. + + "Amphitryon, up: chill fears take hold on me. + Up: stay not to put sandals on thy feet. + Hear'st thou our child, our younger, how he cries? + Seest thou yon walls illumed at dead of night, + But not by morn's pure beam? I know, I know, + Sweet lord, that some strange thing is happening here." + + She spake; and he, upleaping at her call, + Made swiftly for the sword of quaint device + That aye hung dangling o'er his cedarn couch: + And he was reaching at his span-new belt, + The scabbard (one huge piece of lotus-wood) + Poised on his arm; when suddenly the night + Spread out her hands, and all was dark again. + Then cried he to his slaves, whose sleep was deep: + "Quick, slaves of mine; fetch fire from yonder hearth: + And force with all your strength the doorbolts back! + Up, loyal-hearted slaves: the master calls." + + Forth came at once the slaves with lighted lamps. + The house was all astir with hurrying feet. + But when they saw the suckling Heracles + With the two brutes grasped firm in his soft hands, + They shouted with one voice. But he must show + The reptiles to Amphitryon; held aloft + His hands in childish glee, and laughed and laid + At his sire's feet the monsters still in death. + + Then did Alcmena to her bosom take + The terror-blanched and passionate Iphicles: + Cradling the other in a lambswool quilt, + Her lord once more bethought him of his rest. + + Now cocks had thrice sung out that night was e'er. + Then went Alcmena forth and told the thing + To Teiresias the seer, whose words were truth, + And bade him rede her what the end should be:-- + 'And if the gods bode mischief, hide it not, + Pitying, from me: man shall not thus avoid + The doom that Fate upon her distaff spins. + Son of Eueres, thou hast ears to hear.' + + Thus spake the queen, and thus he made reply: + "Mother of monarchs, Perseus' child, take heart; + And look but on the fairer side of things. + For by the precious light that long ago + Left tenantless these eyes, I swear that oft + Achaia's maidens, as when eve is high + They mould the silken yarn upon their lap, + Shall tell Alcmena's story: blest art thou + Of women. Such a man in this thy son + Shall one day scale the star-encumbered heaven: + His amplitude of chest bespeaks him lord + Of all the forest beasts and all mankind. + Twelve tasks accomplished he must dwell with Zeus; + His flesh given over to Trachinian fires; + And son-in-law be hailed of those same gods + Who sent yon skulking brutes to slay thy babe. + Lo! the day cometh when the fawn shall couch + In the wolfs lair, nor fear the spiky teeth + That would not harm him. But, O lady, keep + Yon smouldering fire alive; prepare you piles + Of fuel, bramble-sprays or fern or furze + Or pear-boughs dried with swinging in the wind: + And let the kindled wild-wood burn those snakes + At midnight, when they looked to slay thy babe. + And let at dawn some handmaid gather up + The ashes of the fire, and diligently + Convey and cast each remnant o'er the stream + Faced by clov'n rocks, our boundary: then return + Nor look behind. And purify your home + First with sheer sulphur, rain upon it then, + (Chaplets of olive wound about your heads,) + Innocuous water, and the customed salt. + Lastly, to Zeus almighty slay a boar: + So shall ye vanquish all your enemies." + + Spake Teiresias, and wheeling (though his years + Weighed on him sorely) gained his ivory car. + And Heracles as some young orchard-tree + Grew up, Amphitryon his reputed sire. + Old Linus taught him letters, Phoebus' child, + A dauntless toiler by the midnight lamp. + Each fall whereby the sons of Argos fell, + The flingers by cross-buttock, each his man + By feats of wrestling: all that boxers e'er, + Grim in their gauntlets, have devised, or they + Who wage mixed warfare and, adepts in art, + Upon the foe fall headlong: all such lore + Phocian Harpalicus gave him, Hermes' son: + Whom no man might behold while yet far off + And wait his armed onset undismayed: + A brow so truculent roofed so stern a face. + To launch, and steer in safety round the goal, + Chariot and steed, and damage ne'er a wheel, + This the lad learned of fond Amphitryon's self. + Many a fair prize from listed warriors he + Had won on Argive racegrounds; yet the car + Whereon he sat came still unshattered home, + What gaps were in his harness time had made. + Then with couched lance to reach the foe, his targe + Covering his rear, and bide the biting sword; + Or, on the warpath, place his ambuscade, + Marshal his lines and rally his cavaliers; + This knightly Castor learned him, erst exiled + From Argos, when her realms with all their wealth + Of vineyards fell to Tydeus, who received + Her and her chariots at Adrastus' hand. + Amongst the Heroes none was Castor's match + Till age had dimmed the glory of his youth. + + Such tutors this fond mother gave her son. + The stripling's bed was at his father's side, + One after his own heart, a lion's skin. + His dinner, roast meat, with a loaf that filled + A Dorian basket, you might soothly say + Had satisfied a delver; and to close + The day he took, sans fire, a scanty meal. + A simple frock went halfway down his leg: + + * * * * * + + + + +IDYLL XXV. + + +Heracles the Lion Slayer. + + * * * * * + + To whom thus spake the herdsman of the herd, + Pausing a moment from his handiwork: + "Friend, I will solve thy questions, for I fear + The angry looks of Hermes of the roads. + No dweller in the skies is wroth as he, + With him who saith the asking traveller nay. + + "The flocks Augéas owns, our gracious lord, + One pasture pastures not, nor one fence bounds. + They wander, look you, some by Elissus' banks + Or god-beloved Alphéus' sacred stream, + Some by Buprasion, where the grape abounds, + Some here: their folds stand separate. But before + His herds, though they be myriad, yonder glades + That belt the broad lake round lie fresh and fair + For ever: for the low-lying meadows take + The dew, and teem with herbage honeysweet, + To lend new vigour to the hornèd kine. + Here on thy right their stalls thou canst descry + By the flowing river, for all eyes to see: + Here, where the platans blossom all the year, + And glimmers green the olive that enshrines + Rural Apollo, most august of gods. + Hard by, fair mansions have been reared for us + His herdsmen; us who guard with might and main + His riches that are more than tongue may tell: + Casting our seed o'er fallows thrice upturn'd + Or four times by the share; the bounds whereof + Well do the delvers know, whose busy feet + Troop to his wine-vats in fair summer-time. + Yea, all these acres wise Augéas owns, + These corn-clad uplands and these orchards green, + Far as yon ledges whence the cataracts leap. + Here do we haunt, here toil, as is the wont + Of labourers in the fields, the livelong day. + But prythee tell me thou--so shalt thou best + Serve thine own interests--wherefore art thou here? + Seeking Augéas, or mayhap some slave + That serves him? I can tell thee and I will + All thou would'st know: for of no churlish blood + Thou earnest, nor wert nurtured as a churl: + That read I in thy stateliness of form; + The sons of heaven move thus among mankind." + + Then answered him the warrior son of Zeus. + "Yea, veteran, I would see the Epéan King + Augéas; surely for this end I came. + If he bides there amongst his citizens, + Ruling the folk, determining the laws, + Look, father; bid some serf to be my guide, + Some honoured master-worker in the fields, + Who to shrewd questions shrewdly can reply. + Are not we made dependent each on each?" + + To him the good old swain made answer thus: + "Stranger, some god hath timed thy visit here, + And given thee straightway all thy heart's desire. + Hither Augéas, offspring of the Sun, + Came, with young Phyleus splendid in his strength, + But yesterday from the city, to review + (Not in one day) his multitudinous wealth, + Methinks e'en princes say within themselves, + 'The safeguard of the flock's the master's eye.' + But haste, we'll seek him: to my own fold I + Will pilot thee; there haply find the King." + + He said and went in front: but pondered much + (As he surveyed the lion-skin and the club, + Itself an armful) whence this stranger came; + And fain had asked. But fear recalled the words + That trembled on his lip, the fear to say + Aught that his fiery friend might take amiss. + For who can fathom all his fellow's mind? + + The dogs perceived their coming, yet far off: + They scented flesh, they heard the thud of feet: + And with wild gallop, baying furiously, + Ran at Amphitryon's son: but feebly whined + And fawned upon the old man at his side. + Then Heracles, just lifting from the ground + A pebble, scared them home, and with hard words + Cursed the whole pack; and having stopped their din + (Inly rejoiced, nathless, to see them guard + So well an absent master's house) he spake: + + "Lo! what a friend the royal gods have given + Man in the dog! A trusty servant he! + Had he withal an understanding heart, + To teach him when to rage and when forbear, + What brute could claim like praise? But, lacking wit, + 'Tis but a passionate random-raving thing." + + He spake: the dogs ran scurrying to their lairs. + And now the sun wheeled round his westering car + And led still evening on: from every field + Came thronging the fat flocks to bield and byre. + Then in their thousands, drove on drove, the kine + Came into view; as rainclouds, onward driven + By stress of gales, the west or mighty north, + Come up o'er all the heaven; and none may count + And naught may stay them as they sweep through air; + Such multitudes the storm's strength drives ahead, + Such multitudes climb surging in the rear-- + So in swift sequence drove succeeded drove, + And all the champaign, all the highways swarmed + With tramping oxen; all the sumptuous leas + Rang with their lowing. Soon enough the stalls + Were populous with the laggard-footed kine, + Soon did the sheep lie folded in their folds. + Then of that legion none stood idle, none + Gaped listless at the herd, with naught to do: + But one drew near and milked them, binding clogs + Of wood with leathern thongs around their feet: + One brought, all hungering for the milk they loved, + The longing young ones to the longing dams. + One held the pail, one pressed the dainty cheese, + Or drove the bulls home, sundered from the kine. + Pacing from stall to stall, Augéas saw + What revenue his herdsman brought him in. + With him his son surveyed the royal wealth, + And, strong of limb and purpose, Heracles. + Then, though the heart within him was as steel, + Framed to withstand all shocks, Amphitryon's son + Gazed in amazement on those thronging kine; + For none had deemed or dreamed that one, or ten, + Whose wealth was more than regal, owned those tribes: + Such huge largess the Sun had given his child, + First of mankind for multitude of flocks. + The Sun himself gave increase day by day + To his child's herds: whatever diseases spoil + The farmer, came not there; his kine increased + In multitude and value year by year: + None cast her young, or bare unfruitful males. + Three hundred bulls, white-pasterned, crumple-horned, + Ranged amid these, and eke two hundred roans, + Sires of a race to be: and twelve besides + Herded amongst them, sacred to the Sun. + Their skin was white as swansdown, and they moved + Like kings amid the beasts of laggard foot. + Scorning the herd in uttermost disdain + They cropped the green grass in untrodden fields: + And when from the dense jungle to the plain + Leapt a wild beast, in quest of vagrant cows; + Scenting him first, the twelve went forth to war. + Stern was their bellowing, in their eye sat death, + Foremost of all for mettle and for might + And pride of heart loomed Phaeton: him the swains + Regarded as a star; so bright he shone + Among the herd, the cynosure of eyes. + He, soon as he descried the sun-dried skin + Of the grim lion, made at Heracles + (Whose eye was on him)--fain to make his crest + And sturdy brow acquainted with his flanks. + Straight the prince grasped him with no tender grasp + By the left horn, and bowed that giant bulk + To earth, neck foremost: then, by pressure brought + To bear upon his shoulder, forced him back. + The web of muscles that enwraps the nerves + Stood out from the brute's fore-arm plain to see. + Marvelled the King, and Phyleus his brave son, + At the strange prowess of Amphitryon's child. + + Then townwards, leaving straight that rich champaign, + Stout Heracles his comrade, Phyleus fared; + And soon as they had gained the paven road, + Making their way hotfooted o'er a path + (Not o'er-conspicuous in the dim green wood) + That left the farm and threaded through the vines, + Out-spake unto the child of Zeus most high, + Who followed in his steps, Augéas' son, + O'er his right shoulder glancing pleasantly. + + "O stranger, as some old familiar tale + I seem to cast thy history in my mind. + For there came one to Argos, young and tall, + By birth a Greek from Helicè-on-seas, + Who told this tale before a multitude: + How that an Argive in his presence slew + A fearful lion-beast, the dread and death + Of herdsmen; which inhabited a den + Or cavern by the grove of Nemean Zeus. + He may have come from sacred Argos' self, + Or Tiryns, or Mycenæ: what know I? + But thus he told his tale, and said the slayer + Was (if my memory serves me) Perseus' son. + Methinks no islander had dared that deed + Save thee: the lion's skin that wraps thy ribs + Argues full well some gallant feat of arms. + But tell me, warrior, first--that I may know + If my prophetic soul speak truth or not-- + Art thou the man of whom that stranger Greek + Spoke in my hearing? Have I guessed aright? + How slew you single-handed that fell beast? + How came it among rivered Nemea's glens? + For none such monster could the eagerest eye + Find in all Greece: Greece harbours bear and boar, + And deadly wolf: but not this larger game. + 'Twas this that made his listeners marvel then: + They deemed he told them travellers' tales, to win + By random words applause from standers-by." + + Then Phyleus from the mid-road edged away, + That both might walk abreast, and he might catch + More at his ease what fell from Heracles: + Who journeying now alongside thus began:-- + + "On the prior matter, O Augéas' child, + Thine own unaided wit hath ruled aright. + But all that monster's history, how it fell, + Fain would I tell thee who hast ears to hear, + Save only whence it came: for none of all + The Argive host could read that riddle right. + Some god, we dimly guessed, our niggard vows + Resenting, had upon Phoroneus' realm + Let loose this very scourge of humankind. + On peopled Pisa plunging like a flood + The brute ran riot: notably it cost + Its neighbours of Bembina woes untold. + And here Eurystheus bade me try my first + Passage of arms, and slay that fearsome thing. + So with my buxom bow and quiver lined + With arrows I set forth: my left hand held + My club, a beetling olive's stalwart trunk + And shapely, still environed in its bark: + This hand had torn from holiest Helicon + The tree entire, with all its fibrous roots. + And finding soon the lion's whereabouts, + I grasped my bow, and on the bent horn slipped + The string, and laid thereon the shaft of death. + And, now all eyes, I watched for that fell thing, + In hopes to view him ere he spied out me. + But midday came, and nowhere could I see + One footprint of the beast or hear his roar: + And, trust me, none appeared of whom to ask, + Herdsman or labourer, in the furrowed lea; + For wan dismay kept each man in his hut. + Still on I footed, searching through and through + The leafy mountain-passes, till I saw + The creature, and forthwith essayed my strength. + Gorged from some gory carcass, on he stalked + At eve towards his lair; his grizzled mane, + Shoulders, and grim glad visage, all adrip + With carnage; and he licked his bearded lips. + I, crouched among the shadows of the trees + On the green hill-top, waited his approach, + And as he came I aimed at his left flank. + The barbèd shaft sped idly, nor could pierce + The flesh, but glancing dropped on the green grass. + He, wondering, raised forthwith his tawny head, + And ran his eyes o'er all the vicinage, + And snarled and gave to view his cavernous throat. + Meanwhile I levelled yet another shaft, + Ill pleased to think my first had fled in vain. + In the mid-chest I smote him, where the lungs + Are seated: still the arrow sank not in, + But fell, its errand frustrate, at his feet. + Once more was I preparing, sore chagrined, + To draw the bowstring, when the ravenous beast + Glaring around espied me, lashed his sides + With his huge tail, and opened war at once. + Swelled his vast neck, his dun locks stood on end + With rage: his spine moved sinuous as a bow, + Till all his weight hung poised on flank and loin. + And e'en as, when a chariot-builder bends + With practised skill his shafts of splintered fig, + Hot from the fire, to be his axle-wheels; + Flies the tough-rinded sapling from the hands + That shape it, at a bound recoiling far: + So from far-off the dread beast, all of a heap, + Sprang on me, hungering for my life-blood. I + Thrust with one hand my arrows in his face + And my doffed doublet, while the other raised + My seasoned cudgel o'er his crest, and drave + Full at his temples, breaking clean in twain + On the fourfooted warrior's airy scalp + My club; and ere he reached me, down he fell. + Headlong he fell, and poised on tremulous feet + Stood, his head wagging, and his eyes grown dim; + For the shrewd stroke had shattered brain and bone. + I, marking him beside himself with pain. + Fell, ere recovering he should breathe again, + At vantage on his solid sinewy neck, + My bow and woven quiver thrown aside. + With iron clasp I gripped him from the rear + (His talons else had torn me) and, my foot + Set on him, forced to earth by dint of heel + His hinder parts, my flanks entrenched the while + Behind his fore-arm; till his thews were stretched + And strained, and on his haunches stark he stood + And lifeless; hell received his monstrous ghost. + Then with myself I counselled how to strip + From off the dead beast's limbs his shaggy hide, + A task full onerous, since I found it proof + Against all blows of steel or stone or wood. + Some god at last inspired me with the thought, + With his own claws to rend the lion's skin. + With these I flayed him soon, and sheathed and armed + My limbs against the shocks of murderous war. + Thus, sir, the Nemean lion met his end, + Erewhile the constant curse of beast and man." + + + + +IDYLL XXVI. + + +The Bacchanals. + + Agavè of the vermeil-tinted cheek + And Ino and Autonoä marshalled erst + Three bands of revellers under one hill-peak. + They plucked the wild-oak's matted foliage first, + Lush ivy then, and creeping asphodel; + And reared therewith twelve shrines amid the untrodden fell: + + To Semelè three, to Dionysus nine. + Next, from a vase drew offerings subtly wrought, + And prayed and placed them on each fresh green shrine; + So by the god, who loved such tribute, taught. + Perched on the sheer cliff, Pentheus could espy + All, in a mastick hoar ensconced that grew thereby. + + Autonoä marked him, and with, frightful cries + Flew to make havoc of those mysteries weird + That must not be profaned by vulgar eyes. + Her frenzy frenzied all. Then Pentheus feared + And fled: and in his wake those damsels three, + Each with her trailing robe up-gathered to the knee. + + "What will ye, dames," quoth Pentheus. "Thou shalt guess + At what we mean, untold," Autonoä said. + Agavè moaned--so moans a lioness + Over her young one--as she clutched his head: + While Ino on the carcass fairly laid + Her heel, and wrenched away shoulder and shoulder-blade. + + Autonoä's turn came next: and what remained + Of flesh their damsels did among them share, + And back to Thebes they came all carnage-stained, + And planted not a king but aching there. + Warned by this tale, let no man dare defy + Great Bacchus; lest a death more awful he should die, + + And when he counts nine years or scarcely ten, + Rush to his ruin. May I pass my days + Uprightly, and be loved of upright men! + And take this motto, all who covet praise: + ('Twas Ægis-bearing Zeus that spake it first:) + 'The godly seed fares well: the wicked's is accurst.' + + Now bless ye Bacchus, whom on mountain snows, + Prisoned in his thigh till then, the Almighty laid. + And bless ye fairfaced Semelè, and those + Her sisters, hymned of many a hero-maid, + Who wrought, by Bacchus fired, a deed which none + May gainsay--who shall blame that which a god hath done? + + + + +IDYLL XXVII. + + +A Countryman's Wooing. + +_DAPHNIS. A MAIDEN_. + + THE MAIDEN. + How fell sage Helen? through a swain like thee. + + DAPHNIS. + Nay the true Helen's just now kissing me. + + THE MAIDEN. + Satyr, ne'er boast: 'what's idler than a kiss?' + + DAPHNIS. + Yet in such pleasant idling there is bliss. + + THE MAIDEN. + I'll wash my mouth: where go thy kisses then? + + DAPHNIS. + Wash, and return it--to be kissed again. + + THE MAIDEN. + Go kiss your oxen, and not unwed maids. + + DAPHNIS. + Ne'er boast; for beauty is a dream that fades. + + THE MAIDEN. + Past grapes are grapes: dead roses keep their smell. + + DAPHNIS. + Come to yon olives: I have a tale to tell. + + THE MAIDEN. + Not I: you fooled me with smooth words before. + + DAPHNIS. + Come to yon elms, and hear me pipe once more. + + THE MAIDEN. + Pipe to yourself: your piping makes me cry. + + DAPHNIS. + A maid, and flout the Paphian? Fie, oh fie! + + THE MAIDEN. + She's naught to me, if Artemis' favour last. + + DAPHNIS. + Hush, ere she smite you and entrap you fast. + + THE MAIDEN. + And let her smite me, trap me as she will! + + DAPHNIS. + Your Artemis shall be your saviour still? + + THE MAIDEN. + Unhand me! What, again? I'll tear your lip. + + DAPHNIS. + Can you, could damsel e'er, give Love the slip? + + THE MAIDEN. + You are his bondslave, but not I by Pan! + + DAPHNIS. + I doubt he'll give thee to a worser man. + + THE MAIDEN. + Many have wooed me, but I fancied none. + + DAPHNIS. + Till among many came the destined _one_. + + THE MAIDEN. + Wedlock is woe. Dear lad, what can I do? + + DAPHNIS. + Woe it is not, but joy and dancing too. + + THE MAIDEN. + Wives dread their husbands: so I've heard it said. + + DAPHNIS. + Nay, they rule o'er them. What does woman dread? + + THE MAIDEN. + Then children--Eileithya's dart is keen. + + DAPHNIS. + But the deliverer, Artemis, is your queen. + + THE MAIDEN. + And bearing children all our grace destroys. + + DAPHNIS. + Bear them and shine more lustrous in your boys. + + THE MAIDEN. + Should I say yea, what dower awaits me then? + + DAPHNIS. + Thine are my cattle, thine this glade and glen. + + THE MAIDEN. + Swear not to wed, then leave me in my woe? + + DAPHNIS. + Not I by Pan, though thou should'st bid me go. + + THE MAIDEN. + And shall a cot be mine, with farm and fold! + + DAPHNIS. + Thy cot's half-built, fair wethers range this wold. + + THE MAIDEN. + What, what to my old father must I say? + + DAPHNIS. + Soon as he hears my name he'll not say nay. + + THE MAIDEN. + Speak it: by e'en a name we're oft beguiled. + + DAPHNIS. + I'm Daphnis, Lycid's and Nomæa's child. + + THE MAIDEN. + Well-born indeed: and not less so am I. + + DAPHNIS. + I know--Menalcas' daughter may look high. + + THE MAIDEN. + That grove, where stands your sheepfold, shew me please. + + DAPHNIS. + Nay look, how green, how tall my cypress-trees. + + THE MAIDEN. + Graze, goats: I go to learn the herdsman's trade. + + DAPHNIS. + Feed, bulls: I shew my copses to my maid. + + THE MAIDEN. + Satyr, what mean you? You presume o'ermuch. + + DAPHNIS. + This waist is round, and pleasant to the touch. + + THE MAIDEN. + By Pan, I'm like to swoon! Unhand me pray! + + DAPHNIS. + Why be so timorous? Pretty coward, stay. + + THE MAIDEN. + This bank is wet: you've soiled my pretty gown. + + DAPHNIS. + See, a soft fleece to guard it I put down. + + THE MAIDEN. + And you've purloined my sash. What can this mean? + + DAPHNIS. + This sash I'll offer to the Paphian queen. + + THE MAIDEN. + Stay, miscreant--some one comes--I heard a noise. + + DAPHNIS. + 'Tis but the green trees whispering of our joys. + + THE MAIDEN. + You've torn my plaidie, and I am half unclad. + + DAPHNIS. + Anon I'll give thee a yet ampler plaid. + + THE MAIDEN. + Generous just now, you'll one day grudge me bread. + + DAPHNIS. + Ah! for thy sake my life-blood I could shed. + + THE MAIDEN. + Artemis, forgive! Thy eremite breaks her vow. + + DAPHNIS. + Love, and Love's mother, claim a calf and cow. + + THE MAIDEN. + A woman I depart, my girlhood o'er. + + DAPHNIS. + Be wife, be mother; but a girl no more. + + Thus interchanging whispered talk the pair, + Their faces all aglow, long lingered there. + At length the hour arrived when they must part. + With downcast eyes, but sunshine in her heart, + She went to tend her flock; while Daphnis ran + Back to his herded bulls, a happy man. + + + + +IDYLL XXVIII. + + +The Distaff. + + Distaff, blithely whirling distaff, azure-eyed Athena's gift + To the sex the aim and object of whose lives is household thrift, + Seek with me the gorgeous city raised by Neilus, where a plain + Roof of pale-green rush o'er-arches Aphroditè's hallowed fane. + Thither ask I Zeus to waft me, fain to see my old friend's face, + Nicias, o'er whose birth presided every passion-breathing Grace; + Fain to meet his answering welcome; and anon deposit thee + In his lady's hands, thou marvel of laborious ivory. + Many a manly robe ye'll fashion, much translucent maiden's gear; + Nay, should e'er the fleecy mothers twice within the selfsame year + Yield their wool in yonder pasture, Theugenis of the dainty feet + Would perform the double labour: matron's cares to her are sweet. + To an idler or a trifler I had verily been loth + To resign thee, O my distaff, for the same land bred us both: + In the land Corinthian Archias built aforetime, thou hadst birth, + In our island's core and marrow, whence have sprung the kings of earth: + To the home I now transfer thee of a man who knows full well + Every craft whereby men's bodies dire diseases may repel: + There to live in sweet Miletus. Lady of the Distaff she + Shall be named, and oft reminded of her poet-friend by thee: + Men shall look on thee and murmur to each other, 'Lo! how small + Was the gift, and yet how precious! Friendship's gifts are priceless + all.' + + + + +IDYLL XXIX. + + +Loves. + + 'Sincerity comes with the wine-cup,' my dear: + Then now o'er our wine-cups let us be sincere. + My soul's treasured secret to you I'll impart; + It is this; that I never won fairly your heart. + One half of my life, I am conscious, has flown; + The residue lives on your image alone. + You are kind, and I dream I'm in paradise then; + You are angry, and lo! all is darkness again. + It is right to torment one who loves you? Obey + Your elder; 'twere best; and you'll thank me one day. + Settle down in one nest on one tree (taking care + That no cruel reptile can clamber up there); + As it is with your lovers you're fairly perplext; + One day you choose one bough, another the next. + Whoe'er at all struck by your graces appears, + Is more to you straight than the comrade of years; + While he's like the friend of a day put aside; + For the breath of your nostrils, I think, is your pride. + Form a friendship, for life, with some likely young lad; + So doing, in honour your name shall be had. + Nor would Love use you hardly; though lightly can he + Bind strong men in chains, and has wrought upon me + Till the steel is as wax--but I'm longing to press + That exquisite mouth with a clinging caress. + + No? Reflect that you're older each year than the last; + That we all must grow gray, and the wrinkles come fast. + Reflect, ere you spurn me, that youth at his sides + Wears wings; and once gone, all pursuit he derides: + Nor are men over keen to catch charms as they fly. + Think of this and be gentle, be loving as I: + When your years are maturer, we two shall be then + The pair in the Iliad over again. + But if you consign all my words to the wind + And say, 'Why annoy me? you're not to my mind,' + I--who lately in quest of the Gold Fruit had sped + For your sake, or of Cerberus guard of the dead-- + Though you called me, would ne'er stir a foot from my door, + For my love and my sorrow thenceforth will be o'er. + + + + +IDYLL XXX. + + +The Death of Adonis. + + Cythera saw Adonis + And knew that he was dead; + She marked the brow, all grisly now, + The cheek no longer red; + And "Bring the boar before me" + Unto her Loves she said. + + Forthwith her winged attendants + Ranged all the woodland o'er, + And found and bound in fetters + Threefold the grisly boar: + One dragged him at a rope's end + E'en as a vanquished foe; + One went behind and drave him + And smote him with his bow: + On paced the creature feebly; + He feared Cythera so. + + To him said Aphroditè: + "So, worst of beasts, 'twas you + Who rent that thigh asunder, + Who him that loved me slew?" + And thus the beast made answer: + "Cythera, hear me swear + By thee, by him that loved thee, + And by these bonds I wear, + And them before whose hounds I ran-- + I meant no mischief to the man + Who seemed to thee so fair. + + "As on a carven statue + Men gaze, I gazed on him; + I seemed on fire with mad desire + To kiss that offered limb: + My ruin, Aphroditè, + Thus followed from my whim. + + "Now therefore take and punish + And fairly cut away + These all unruly tusks of mine; + For to what end serve they? + And if thine indignation + Be not content with this, + Cut off the mouth that ventured + To offer him a kiss"-- + + But Aphroditè pitied + And bade them loose his chain. + The boar from that day forward + Still followed in her train; + Nor ever to the wildwood + Attempted to return, + But in the focus of Desire + Preferred to burn and burn. + + + + +IDYLL XXXI. + + +Loves. + + Ah for this the most accursed, unendurable of ills! + Nigh two months a fevered fancy for a maid my bosom fills. + Fair she is, as other damsels: but for what the simplest swain + Claims from the demurest maiden, I must sue and sue in vain. + Yet doth now this thing of evil my longsuffering heart beguile, + Though the utmost she vouchsafes me is the shadow of a smile: + And I soon shall know no respite, have no solace e'en in sleep. + Yesterday I watched her pass me, and from down-dropt eyelids peep + At the face she dared not gaze on--every moment blushing more-- + And my love took hold upon me as it never took before. + Home I went a wounded creature, with a gnawing at my heart; + And unto the soul within me did my bitterness impart. + + "Soul, why deal with me in this wise? Shall thy folly know no bound? + Canst thou look upon these temples, with their locks of silver crowned, + And still deem thee young and shapely? Nay, my soul, let us be sage; + Act as they that have already sipped the wisdom-cup of age. + Men have loved and have forgotten. Happiest of all is he + To the lover's woes a stranger, from the lover's fetters free: + Lightly his existence passes, as a wild-deer fleeting fast: + Tamed, it may be, he shall voyage in a maiden's wake at last: + Still to-day 'tis his to revel with his mates in boyhood's flowers. + As to thee, thy brain and marrow passion evermore devours, + Prey to memories that haunt thee e'en in visions of the night; + And a year shall scarcely pluck thee from thy miserable plight." + + Such and divers such reproaches did I heap upon my soul. + And my soul in turn made answer:--"Whoso deems he can control + Wily love, the same shall lightly gaze upon the stars of heaven + And declare by what their number overpasses seven times seven. + Will I, nill I, I may never from my neck his yoke unloose. + So, my friend, a god hath willed it: he whose plots could outwit Zeus, + And the queen whose home is Cyprus. I, a leaflet of to-day, + I whose breath is in my nostrils, am I wrong to own his sway?" + + + + +FRAGMENT PROM THE "BERENICE." + + Ye that would fain net fish and wealth withal, + For bare existence harrowing yonder mere, + To this our Lady slay at even-fall + That holy fish, which, since it hath no peer + For gloss and sheen, the dwellers about here + Have named the Silver Fish. This done, let down + Your nets, and draw them up, and never fear + To find them empty * * * * + + + +EPIGRAMS AND EPITAPHS. + + + I. + + Yours be yon dew-steep'd roses, yours be yon + Thick-clustering ivy, maids of Helicon: + Thine, Pythian Pæan, that dark-foliaged bay; + With such thy Delphian crags thy front array. + This horn'd and shaggy ram shall stain thy shrine, + Who crops e'en now the feathering turpentine. + + + II. + + To Pan doth white-limbed Daphnis offer here + (He once piped sweetly on his herdsman's flute) + His reeds of many a stop, his barbèd spear, + And scrip, wherein he held his hoards of fruit. + + + III. + + Daphnis, thou slumberest on the leaf-strown lea, + Thy frame at rest, thy springes newly spread + O'er the fell-side. But two are hunting thee: + Pan, and Priapus with his fair young head + Hung with wan ivy. See! they come, they leap + Into thy lair--fly, fly,--shake off the coil of sleep! + + + IV. + + For yon oaken avenue, swain, you must steer, + Where a statue of figwood, you'll see, has been set: + It has never been barked, has three legs and no ear; + But I think there is life in the patriarch yet. + He is handsomely shrined within fair chapel-walls; + Where, fringed with sweet cypress and myrtle and bay, + A stream ever-fresh from the rock's hollow falls, + And the ringleted vine her ripe store doth display: + And the blackbirds, those shrill-piping songsters of spring, + Wake the echoes with wild inarticulate song: + And the notes of the nightingale plaintively ring, + As she pours from her dun throat her lay sweet and strong. + Sitting there, to Priapus, the gracious one, pray + That the lore he has taught me I soon may unlearn: + Say I'll give him a kid, and in case he says nay + To this offer, three victims to him will I burn; + A kid, a fleeced ram, and a lamb sleek and fat; + He will listen, mayhap, to my prayers upon that. + + + V. + + Prythee, sing something sweet to me--you that can play + First and second at once. Then I too will essay + To croak on the pipes: and yon lad shall salute + Our ears with a melody breathed through his flute. + In the cave by the green oak our watch we will keep, + And goatish old Pan we'll defraud of his sleep. + + + VI. + + Poor Thyrsis! What boots it to weep out thine eyes? + Thy kid was a fair one, I own: + But the wolf with his cruel claw made her his prize, + And to darkness her spirit hath flown. + Do the dogs cry? What boots it? In spite of their cries + There is left of her never a bone. + + + VII. + + For a Statue of Æsculapius. + + Far as Miletus travelled Pæan's son; + There to be guest of Nicias, guest of one + Who heals all sickness; and who still reveres + Him, for his sake this cedarn image rears. + The sculptor's hand right well did Nicias fill; + And here the sculptor lavished all his skill. + + + VIII. + + Ortho's Epitaph. + + Friend, Ortho of Syracuse gives thee this charge: + Never venture out, drunk, on a wild winter's night. + I did so and died. My possessions were large; + Yet the turf that I'm clad with is strange to me quite. + + + IX. + + Epitaph of Cleonicus. + + Man, husband existence: ne'er launch on the sea + Out of season: our tenure of life is but frail. + Think of poor Cleonicus: for Phasos sailed he + From the valleys of Syria, with many a bale: + With many a bale, ocean's tides he would stem + When the Pleiads were sinking; and he sank with them. + + + X. + + For a Statue of the Muses. + + To you this marble statue, maids divine, + Xenocles raised, one tribute unto nine. + Your votary all admit him: by this skill + He gat him fame: and you he honours still. + + + XI. + + Epitaph of Eusthenes. + + Here the shrewd physiognomist Eusthenes lies, + Who could tell all your thoughts by a glance at your eyes. + A stranger, with strangers his honoured bones rest; + They valued sweet song, and he gave them his best. + All the honours of death doth the poet possess: + If a small one, they mourned for him nevertheless. + + + XII. + + For a Tripod Erected by Damoteles to Bacchus. + + The precentor Damoteles, Bacchus, exalts + Your tripod, and, sweetest of deities, you. + He was champion of men, if his boyhood had faults; + And he ever loved honour and seemliness too. + + + XIII. + + For a Statue of Anacreon. + + This statue, stranger, scan with earnest gaze; + And, home returning, say "I have beheld + Anacreon, in Teos; him whose lays + Were all unmatched among our sires of eld." + Say further: "Youth and beauty pleased him best;" + And all the man will fairly stand exprest. + + + XIV. + + Epitaph of Eurymedon. + + Thou hast gone to the grave, and abandoned thy son + Yet a babe, thy own manhood but scarcely begun. + Thou art throned among gods: and thy country will take + Thy child to her heart, for his brave father's sake. + + + XV. + + Another. + + Prove, traveller, now, that you honour the brave + Above the poltroon, when he's laid in the grave, + By murmuring 'Peace to Eurymedon dead.' + The turf should lie light on so sacred a head. + + + XVI. + + For a Statue of the Heavenly Aphrodite. + + Aphrodite stands here; she of heavenly birth; + Not that base one who's wooed by the children of earth. + 'Tis a goddess; bow down. And one blemishless all, + Chrysogonè, placed her in Amphicles' hall: + Chrysogonè's heart, as her children, was his, + And each year they knew better what happiness is. + For, Queen, at life's outset they made thee their friend; + Religion is policy too in the end. + + + XVII. + + To Epicharmus. + + Read these lines to Epicharmus. They are Dorian, as was he + The sire of Comedy. + Of his proper self bereavèd, Bacchus, unto thee we rear + His brazen image here; + We in Syracuse who sojourn, elsewhere born. Thus much we can + Do for our countryman, + Mindful of the debt we owe him. For, possessing ample store + Of legendary lore, + Many a wholesome word, to pilot youths and maids thro' life, he spake: + We honour him for their sake. + + + XVIII. + + Epitaph of Cleita, Nurse of Medeius. + + The babe Medeius to his Thracian nurse + This stone--inscribed _To Cleita_--reared in the midhighway. + Her modest virtues oft shall men rehearse; + Who doubts it? is not 'Cleita's worth' a proverb to this day? + + + XIX. + + To Archilochus. + + Pause, and scan well Archilochus, the bard of elder days, + By east and west + Alike's confest + The mighty lyrist's praise. + Delian Apollo loved him well, and well the sister-choir: + His songs were fraught + With subtle thought, + And matchless was his lyre. + + + XX. + + Under a Statue of Peisander, + WHO WROTE THE LABOURS OF HERACLES. + + He whom ye gaze on was the first + That in quaint song the deeds rehearsed + Of him whose arm was swift to smite, + Who dared the lion to the fight: + That tale, so strange, so manifold, + Peisander of Cameirus told. + For this good work, thou may'st be sure, + His country placed him here, + In solid brass that shall endure + Through many a month and year. + + + XXI. + + Epitaph of Hipponax. + + Behold Hipponax' burialplace, + A true bard's grave. + Approach it not, if you're a base + And base-born knave. + But if your sires were honest men + And unblamed you, + Sit down thereon serenely then, + And eke sleep too. + + * * * * * + + Tuneful Hipponax rests him here. + Let no base rascal venture near. + Ye who rank high in birth and mind + Sit down--and sleep, if so inclined. + + + XXII. + + On his own Book. + + Not my namesake of Chios, but I, who belong + To the Syracuse burghers, have sung you my song. + I'm Praxagoras' son by Philinna the fair, + And I never asked praise that was owing elsewhere. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Theocritus, by Theocritus + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11533 *** |