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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:24:08 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:24:08 -0700 |
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diff --git a/4775-h/4775-h.htm b/4775-h/4775-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..893155e --- /dev/null +++ b/4775-h/4775-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7351 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Theocritus, Bion and Moschus, by Theocritus</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Theocritus, Bion and Moschus, by Theocritus, +et al, Translated by Andrew Lang + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Theocritus, Bion and Moschus + + +Author: Theocritus + + + +Release Date: August 6, 2014 [eBook #4775] +[This file was first posted on March 16, 2002] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THEOCRITUS, BION AND MOSCHUS*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1889 Macmillan and Co. edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/coverb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Book cover" +title= +"Book cover" +src="images/covers.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>THEOCRITUS, BION<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">AND</span><br /> +MOSCHUS</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">RENDERED +INTO ENGLISH PROSE</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">WITH</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall"><i>AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY</i></span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br +/> +ANDREW LANG, M.A.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Lately Fellow of Merton +College</i>, <i>Oxford</i></p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic" +title= +"Decorative graphic" +src="images/tps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON</p> +<p style="text-align: center">MACMILLAN AND CO.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">AND NEW YORK</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">1889</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>All rights reserved</i></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="pagev"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. v</span>TO</p> +<p style="text-align: center">ERNEST MYERS</p> +<p style="text-align: center">’Εκ +Μοισᾶν +ξεινήιον</p> +<h2><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vii</span>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p><span class="smcap">Theocritus and his +age</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#pagexi">xi</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="4"><p><span +class="smcap">Theocritus</span>—</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Idyl</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">I</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page3">3</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">II</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page11">11</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">III</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page20">20</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">IV</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page23">23</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">V</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page27">27</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">VI</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page35">35</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">VII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page38">38</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">VIII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page46">46</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">IX</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page52">52</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">X</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page55">55</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XI</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page59">59</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page64">64</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XIII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page67">67</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XIV</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page71">71</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XV</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page76">76</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XVI</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page85">85</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XVII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page91">91</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XVIII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page97">97</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XIX</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page101">101</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XX</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page102">102</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XXI</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page105">105</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XXII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page110">110</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XXIII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page121">121</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XXIV</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page125">125</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XXV</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page132">132</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center"><a name="pageviii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. viii</span>,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XXVI</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page144">144</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XXVII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page147">147</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XXVIII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page152">152</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XXIX</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page154">154</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XXX</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page147">147</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>Epigrams</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page159">159</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="4"><p><span class="smcap">Bion</span>—</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Idyl</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">I</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page171">171</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">II</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page176">176</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">III</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page178">178</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">IV</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page179">179</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">V</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page179">179</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">VI</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page180">180</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>Fragments</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page181">181</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="4"><p><span class="smcap">Moschus</span>—</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Idyl</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">I</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page187">187</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">II</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page189">189</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">III</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page197">197</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">IV</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page203">203</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">V</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page208">208</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">VI</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page208">208</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">VII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page209">209</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">VIII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page209">209</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">IX</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page210">210</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="pageix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. ix</span>LIFE +OF THEOCRITUS</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>From Suidas</i>)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Theocritus</span>, the Chian. But +there is another Theocritus, the son of Praxagoras and Philinna +(see Epigram XXIII), or as some say of Simichus. (This is +plainly derived from the assumed name Simichidas in Idyl +VII.) He was a Syracusan, or, as others say, a Coan settled +in Syracuse. He wrote the so-called <i>Bucolics</i> in the +Dorian dialect. Some attribute to him the following +works:—<i>The Proetidae</i>, <i>The Pleasures of Hope</i> +(Ἐλπίδες), +<i>Hymns</i>, <i>The Heroines</i>, <i>Dirges</i>, <i>Ditties</i>, +<i>Elegies</i>, <i>Iambics</i>, <i>Epigrams</i>. But it +known that there are three Bucolic poets: this Theocritus, +Moschus of Sicily, and Bion of Smyrna, from a village called +Phlossa.</p> +<h2>LIFE OF THEOCRITUS<br /> + +ΘΕΟΚΡΙΤΟΥ +ΓΕΝΟΣ</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Usually prefixed to the +Idyls</i>)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Theocritus</span> the Bucolic poet was a +Syracusan by extraction, and the son of Simichidas, as he says +himself, <i>Simichidas</i>, <i>pray whither through the noon dost +thou dray thy feet</i>? (Idyl VII). Some say that this was +an assumed name, for he seems to have been snub-nosed +(σιμός), and that his father was +Praxagoras, and his mother Philinna. He became the pupil of +Philetas and Asclepiades, of whom he speaks (Idyl VII), and +flourished about the time of Ptolemy Lagus. He gained much +fame for his skill in bucolic poetry. According to some his +original name was Moschus, and Theocritus was a name he later +assumed.</p> +<h2><a name="pagexi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xi</span>THEOCRITUS AND HIS AGE</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">At</span> the beginning of the third +century before Christ, in the years just preceding those in which +Theocritus wrote, the genius of Greece seemed to have lost her +productive force. Nor would it have been strange if that +force had really been exhausted. Greek poetry had hitherto +enjoyed a peculiarly free development, each form of art +succeeding each without break or pause, because each—epic, +lyric, dithyramb, the drama—had responded to some new need +of the state and of religion. Now in the years that +followed the fall of Athens and the conquests of Macedonia, Greek +religion and the Greek state had ceased to be themselves. +Religion and the state had been the patrons of poetry; on their +decline poetry seemed dead. There were no heroic kings, +like those for whom epic minstrels had chanted. The cities +could no longer welcome an Olympian winner with Pindaric +hymns. There was no imperial Athens to fill the theatres +with a crowd of citizens and strangers eager to listen to new <a +name="pagexii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xii</span>tragic +masterpieces. There was no humorous democracy to laugh at +all the world, and at itself, with Aristophanes. The very +religion of Sophocles and Aeschylus was debased. A vulgar +usurper had stripped the golden ornaments from Athene of the +Parthenon. The ancient faith in the protecting gods of +Athens, of Sparta, and of Thebes, had become a lax readiness to +bow down in the temple of any Oriental Rimmon, of Serapis or +Adonis. Greece had turned her face, with Alexander of +Macedon, to the East; Alexander had fallen, and Greece had become +little better than the western portion of a divided Oriental +empire. The centre of intellectual life had been removed +from Athens to Alexandria (<i>founded</i> 332 <span +class="GutSmall">B.C.</span>) The new Greek cities of Egypt +and Asia, and above all Alexandria, seemed no cities at all to +Greeks who retained the pure Hellenic traditions. +Alexandria was thirty times larger than the size assigned by +Aristotle to a well-balanced state. Austere spectators saw +in Alexandria an Eastern capital and mart, a place of harems and +bazaars, a home of tyrants, slaves, dreamers, and +pleasure-seekers. Thus a Greek of the old school must have +despaired of Greek poetry. There was nothing (he would have +said) to evoke it; no dawn of liberty could flush this silent +Memnon into song. The collectors, critics, librarians of +Alexandria could only produce literary imitations of the epic and +the hymn, or could at best write epigrams or inscriptions for the +statue of some alien and <a name="pagexiii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xiii</span>luxurious god. Their critical +activity in every field of literature was immense, their original +genius sterile. In them the intellect of the Hellenes still +faintly glowed, like embers on an altar that shed no light on the +way. Yet over these embers the god poured once again the +sacred oil, and from the dull mass leaped, like a many-coloured +frame, the genius of <span class="smcap">Theocritus</span>.</p> +<p>To take delight in that genius, so human, so kindly, so +musical in expression, requires, it may be said, no long +preparation. The art of Theocritus scarcely needs to be +illustrated by any description of the conditions among which it +came to perfection. It is always impossible to analyse into +its component parts the genius of a poet. But it is not +impossible to detect some of the influences that worked on +Theocritus. We can study his early +‘environment’; the country scenes he knew, and the +songs of the neatherds which he elevated into art. We can +ascertain the nature of the demand for poetry in the chief cities +and in the literary society of the time. As a result, we +can understand the broad twofold division of the poems of +Theocritus into rural and epic idyls, and with this we must rest +contented.</p> +<p>It is useless to attempt a regular biography of +Theocritus. Facts and dates are alike wanting, the ancient +accounts (p. ix) are clearly based on his works, but it is by no +means impossible to construct a ‘legend’ or romance +of his life, by aid of his own verses, and of hints and <a +name="pagexiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xiv</span>fragments +which reach us from the past and the present. The genius of +Theocritus was so steeped in the colours of human life, he bore +such true and full witness as to the scenes and men he knew, that +life (always essentially the same) becomes in turn a witness to +his veracity. He was born in the midst of nature that, +through all the changes of things, has never lost its sunny +charm. The existence he loved best to contemplate, that of +southern shepherds, fishermen, rural people, remains what it +always has been in Sicily and in the isles of Greece. The +habits and the passions of his countryfolk have not altered, the +echoes of their old love-songs still sound among the pines, or by +the sea-banks, where Theocritus ‘watched the visionary +flocks.’</p> +<p>Theocritus was probably born in an early decade of the third +century, or, according to Couat, about 315 <span +class="GutSmall">B.C.</span>, and was a native of Syracuse, +‘the greatest of Greek cities, the fairest of all +cities.’ So Cicero calls it, describing the four +quarters that were encircled by its walls,—each quarter as +large as a town,—the fountain Arethusa, the stately temples +with their doors of ivory and gold. On the fortunate +dwellers in Syracuse, Cicero says, the sun shone every day, and +there was never a morning so tempestuous but the sunlight +conquered at last, and broke through the clouds. That +perennial sunlight still floods the poems of Theocritus with its +joyous glow. His birthplace was the proper home of an +idyllic poet, <a name="pagexv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xv</span>of one who, with all his enjoyment of the city life of +Greece, had yet been ‘breathed on by the rural Pan,’ +and best loved the sights and sounds and fragrant air of the +forests and the coast. Thanks to the mountainous regions of +Sicily, to Etna, with her volcanic cliffs and snow-fed streams, +thanks also to the hills of the interior, the populous island +never lost the charm of nature. Sicily was not like the +overcrowded and over-cultivated Attica; among the Sicilian +heights and by the coast were few enclosed estates and narrow +farms. The character of the people, too, was attuned to +poetry. The Dorian settlers had kept alive the magic of +rivers, of pools where the Nereids dance, and uplands haunted by +Pan. This popular poetry influenced the literary verse of +Sicily. The songs of Stesichorus, a minstrel of the early +period, and the little rural ‘mimes’ or interludes of +Sophron are lost, and we have only fragments of Epicharmus. +But it seems certain that these poets, predecessors of +Theocritus, liked to mingle with their own composition strains of +rustic melody, <i>volks-lieder</i>, ballads, love-songs, ditties, +and dirges, such as are still chanted by the peasants of Greece +and Italy. Thus in Syracuse and the other towns of the +coast, Theocritus would have always before his eyes the spectacle +of refined and luxurious manners, and always in his ears the +babble of the Dorian women, while he had only to pass the gates, +and wander through the fens of Lysimeleia, by the brackish mere, +or <a name="pagexvi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xvi</span>ride +into the hills, to find himself in the golden world of +pastoral. Thinking of his early years, and of the education +that nature gives the poet, we can imagine him, like Callicles in +Mr. Arnold’s poem, singing at the banquet of a merchant or +a general—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘With his head full of wine, and his hair +crown’d,<br /> +Touching his harp as the whim came on him,<br /> +And praised and spoil’d by master and by guests,<br /> +Almost as much as the new dancing girl.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>We can recover the world that met his eyes and inspired his +poems, though the dates of the composition of these poems are +unknown. We can follow him, in fancy, as he breaks from the +revellers and wanders out into the night. Wherever he +turned his feet, he could find such scenes as he has painted in +the idyls. If the moon rode high in heaven, as he passed +through the outlying gardens he might catch a glimpse of some +deserted girl shredding the magical herbs into the burning +brazier, and sending upward to the ‘lady Selene’ the +song which was to charm her lover home. The magical image +melted in the burning, the herbs smouldered, the tale of love was +told, and slowly the singer ‘drew the quiet night into her +blood.’ Her lay ended with a passage of softened +melancholy—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Do thou farewell, and turn thy steeds to +Ocean, lady, and my pain I will endure, even as I have +declared. Farewell, Selene beautiful; <a +name="pagexvii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xvii</span>farewell, +ye other stars that follow the wheels of Night.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A grammarian says that Theocritus borrowed this second idyl, +the story of Simaetha, from a piece by Sophron. But he had +no need to borrow from anything but the nature before his +eyes. Ideas change so little among the Greek country +people, and the hold of superstition is so strong, that betrayed +girls even now sing to the Moon their prayer for pity and +help. Theocritus himself could have added little passion to +this incantation, still chanted in the moonlit nights of Greece: +<a name="citation0a"></a><a href="#footnote0a" +class="citation">[0a]</a></p> +<blockquote><p>‘Bright golden Moon, that now art near to +thy setting, go thou and salute my lover, he that stole my love, +and that kissed me, and said, “Never will I leave +thee.” And, lo, he has left me, like a field reaped +and gleaned, like a church where no man comes to pray, like a +city desolate. Therefore I would curse him, and yet again +my heart fails me for tenderness, my heart is vexed within me, my +spirit is moved with anguish. Nay, even so I will lay my +curse on him, and let God do even as He will, with my pain and +with my crying, with my flame, and mine imprecations.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is thus that the women of the islands, like the girl of +Syracuse two thousand years ago, hope to lure back love or +avenged love betrayed, and thus they ‘win more ease from +song than could be bought with gold.’</p> +<p><a name="pagexviii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xviii</span>In whatever direction the path of the Syracusan +wanderer lay, he would find then, as he would find now in Sicily, +some scene of the idyllic life, framed between the distant Etna +and the sea. If he strayed in the faint blue of the summer +dawn, through the fens to the shore, he might reach the wattled +cabin of the two old fishermen in the twenty-first idyl. +There is nothing in Wordsworth more real, more full of the +incommunicable sense of nature, rounding and softening the +toilsome days of the aged and the poor, than the Theocritean poem +of the Fisherman’s Dream. It is as true to nature as +the statue of the naked fisherman in the Vatican. One +cannot read these verses but the vision returns to one, of +sandhills by the sea, of a low cabin roofed with grass, where +fishing-rods of reed are leaning against the door, while the +Mediterranean floats up her waves that fill the waste with +sound. This nature, grey and still, seems in harmony with +the wise content of old men whose days are waning on the limit of +life, as they have all been spent by the desolate margin of the +sea.</p> +<p>The twenty-first idyl is one of the rare poems of Theocritus +that are not filled with the sunlight of Sicily, or of +Egypt. The landscapes he prefers are often seen under the +noonday heat, when shade is most pleasant to men. His +shepherds invite each other to the shelter of oak-trees or of +pines, where the dry fir-needles are strown, or where the +feathered ferns make a luxurious ‘couch more soft than +sleep,’ <a name="pagexix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xix</span>or where the flowers bloom whose musical names sing in +the idyls. Again, Theocritus will sketch the bare +beginnings of the hillside, as in the third idyl, just where the +olive-gardens cease, and where the short grass of the heights +alternates with rocks, and thorns, and aromatic plants. +None of his pictures seem complete without the presence of +water. It may be but the wells that the maidenhair fringes, +or the babbling runnel of the fountain of the Nereids. The +shepherds may sing of Crathon, or Sybaris, or Himeras, waters so +sweet that they seem to flow with milk and honey. Again, +Theocritus may encounter his rustics fluting in rivalry, like +Daphnis and Menalcas in the eighth idyl, ‘on the long +ranges of the hills.’ Their kine and sheep have fed +upwards from the lower valleys to the place where</p> +<blockquote><p>‘The track winds down to the clear +stream,<br /> +To cross the sparkling shallows; there<br /> +The cattle love to gather, on their way<br /> +To the high mountain pastures and to stay,<br /> +Till the rough cow-herds drive them past,<br /> +Knee-deep in the cool ford; for ’tis the last<br /> +Of all the woody, high, well-water’d dells<br /> +On Etna, . . .<br /> +. . . glade,<br /> +And stream, and sward, and chestnut-trees,<br /> +End here; Etna beyond, in the broad glare<br /> +Of the hot noon, without a shade,<br /> +Slope behind slope, up to the peak, lies bare;<br /> +The peak, round which the white clouds play.’ <a +name="citation0b"></a><a href="#footnote0b" +class="citation">[0b]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>Theocritus never drives his flock so high, <a +name="pagexx"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xx</span>and rarely +muses on such thoughts as come to wanderers beyond the shade of +trees and the sound of water among the scorched rocks and the +barren lava. The day is always cooled and soothed, in his +idyls, with the ‘music of water that falleth from the high +face of the rock,’ or with the murmurs of the sea. +From the cliffs and their seat among the bright red berries on +the arbutus shrubs, his shepherds flute to each other, as they +watch the tunny fishers cruising far below, while the echo floats +upwards of the sailors’ song. These shepherds have +some touch in them of the satyr nature; we might fancy that their +ears are pointed like those of Hawthorne’s Donatello, in +‘Transformation.’</p> +<p>It should be noticed, as a proof of the truthfulness of +Theocritus, that the songs of his shepherds and goatherds are all +such as he might really have heard on the shores of Sicily. +This is the real answer to the criticism which calls him +affected. When mock pastorals flourished at the court of +France, when the long dispute as to the merits of the ancients +and moderns was raging, critics vowed that the hinds of +Theocritus were too sentimental and polite in their +wooings. Refinement and sentiment were to be reserved for +princely shepherds dancing, crook in hand, in the court +ballets. Louis XIV sang of himself—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘<i>A son labeur il passe tout d’un +coup</i>,<br /> +<i>Et n’ira pas dormir sur la fougere</i>,<br /> +<a name="pagexxi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxi</span><i>Ny +s’oublier aupres d’une Bergere</i>,<br /> +<i>Jusques au point d’en oublier le Loup</i>.’ <a +name="citation0c"></a><a href="#footnote0c" +class="citation">[0c]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>Accustomed to royal goatherds in silk and lace, Fontenelle (a +severe critic of Theocritus) could not believe in the delicacy of +a Sicilian who wore a skin ‘stripped from the roughest of +he-goats, with the smell of the rennet clinging to it +still.’ Thus Fontenelle cries, ‘Can any one +suppose that there ever was a shepherd who could say “Would +I were the humming bee, Amaryllis, to flit to thy cave, and dip +beneath the branches, and the ivy leaves that hide +thee”?’ and then he quotes other graceful passages +from the love-verses of Theocritean swains. Certainly no +such fancies were to be expected from the French peasants of +Fontenelle’s age, ‘creatures blackened with the sun, +and bowed with labour and hunger.’ The imaginative +grace of Battus is quite as remote from our own hinds. But +we have the best reason to suppose that the peasants of +Theocritus’s time expressed refined sentiment in language +adorned with colour and music, because the modern love-songs of +Greek shepherds sound like memories of Theocritus. The +lover of Amaryllis might have sung this among his +ditties—</p> + +<blockquote><p>Χελιδονάκι +θα γενω, σ’ +τα χείλη +σου να +καττώ<br /> +Να σε +φιλήσω μια +και δυό, και +πάλε να +πετάξω</p> +<p>‘To flit towards these lips of thine, I fain would be a +swallow,<br /> +<a name="pagexxii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxii</span>To +kiss thee once, to kiss thee twice, and then go flying +homeward.’ <a name="citation0d"></a><a href="#footnote0d" +class="citation">[0d]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>In his despair, when Love ‘clung to him like a leech of +the fen,’ he might have murmured—</p> +<blockquote><p>’Ηθελα +να εΐμαι σ’ +τα βουνα, μ’ +αλάφια να +κοιμοΰμαι<br /> +Και το +δικον σου +το κορμι να +μη το +συλλογιοΰμαι</p> +<p>‘Would that I were on the high hills, and lay where lie +the stags, and no more was troubled with the thought of +thee.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Here, again, is a love-complaint from modern Epirus, exactly +in the tone of Battus’s song in the tenth idyl—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘White thou art not, thou art not golden +haired,<br /> +Thou art brown, and gracious, and meet for love.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Here is a longer love-ditty—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘I will begin by telling thee first of thy +perfections: thy body is as fair as an angel’s; no painter +could design it. And if any man be sad, he has but to look +on thee, and despite himself he takes courage, the hapless one, +and his heart is joyous. Upon thy brows are shining the +constellated Pleiades, thy breast is full of the flowers of May, +thy breasts are lilies. Thou hast the eyes of a princess, +the glance of a queen, and but one fault hast thou, that thou +deignest not to speak to me.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="pagexxiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxiii</span>Battus might have cried thus, with a modern Greek +singer, to the shade of the dead Amaryllis (Idyl IV), the +‘gracious Amaryllis, unforgotten even in +death’—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Ah, light of mine eyes, what gift shall I +send thee; what gift to the other world? The apple rots, +and the quince decayeth, and one by one they perish, the petals +of the rose! I send thee my tears bound in a napkin, and +what though the napkin burns, if my tears reach thee at +last!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The difficulty is to stop choosing, where all the verses of +the modern Greek peasants are so rich in Theocritean memories, so +ardent, so delicate, so full of flowers and birds and the music +of fountains. Enough has been said, perhaps, to show what +the popular poetry of Sicily could lend to the genius of +Theocritus.</p> +<p>From her shepherds he borrowed much,—their bucolic +melody; their love-complaints; their rural superstitions; their +system of answering couplets, in which each singer refines on the +utterance of his rival. But he did not borrow their +‘pastoral melancholy.’ There is little of +melancholy in Theocritus. When Battus is chilled by the +thought of the death of Amaryllis, it is but as one is chilled +when a thin cloud passes over the sun, on a bright day of early +spring. And in an epigram the dead girl is spoken of as the +kid that the wolf has seized, while the hounds bay all too +late. Grief will not bring her back. The world <a +name="pagexxiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxiv</span>must go +its way, and we need not darken its sunlight by long +regret. Yet when, for once, Theocritus adopted the accent +of pastoral lament, when he raised the rural dirge for Daphnis +into the realm of art, he composed a masterpiece, and a model for +all later poets, as for the authors of <i>Lycidas</i>, +<i>Thyrsis</i>, and <i>Adonais</i>.</p> +<p>Theocritus did more than borrow a note from the country +people. He brought the gifts of his own spirit to the +contemplation of the world. He had the clearest vision, and +he had the most ardent love of poetry, ‘of song may all my +dwelling be full, for neither is sleep more sweet, nor sudden +spring, nor are flowers more delicious to the bees, so dear to me +are the Muses.’ . . . ‘Never may we be +sundered, the Muses of Pieria and I.’ Again, he had +perhaps in greater measure than any other poet the gift of the +undisturbed enjoyment of life. The undertone of all his +idyls is joy in the sunshine and in existence. His +favourite word, the word that opens the first idyl, and, as it +were, strikes the keynote, is αδύ, +<i>sweet</i>. He finds all things delectable in the rural +life:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Sweet are the voices of the calves, and +sweet the heifers’ lowing; sweet plays the shepherd on the +shepherd’s pipe, and sweet is the echo.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Even in courtly poems, and in the artificial hymns of which we +are to speak in their place, the memory of the joyful country +life comes over him. He praises Hiero, because Hiero is <a +name="pagexxv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxv</span>to restore +peace to Syracuse, and when peace returns, then ‘thousands +of sheep fattened in the meadows will bleat along the plain, and +the kine, as they flock in crowds to the stalls, will make the +belated traveller hasten on his way.’ The words evoke +a memory of a narrow country lane in the summer evening, when +light is dying out of the sky, and the fragrance of wild roses by +the roadside is mingled with the perfumed breath of cattle that +hurry past on their homeward road. There was scarcely a +form of the life he saw that did not seem to him worthy of song, +though it might be but the gossip of two rude hinds, or the +drinking bout of the Thessalian horse-jobber, and the false girl +Cynisca and her wild lover Æschines. But it is the +sweet country that he loves best to behold and to remember. +In his youth Sicily and Syracuse were disturbed by civil and +foreign wars, wars of citizens against citizens, of Greeks +against Carthaginians, and against the fierce ‘men of +Mars,’ the banded mercenaries who possessed themselves of +Messana. But this was not matter for his joyous +Muse—</p> +<blockquote><p>κείνος +δ’ ού +πολέμους, +ού δάκρυα, +Πανα δ’ +έμελπε,<br /> +και βούτασ +έλίγαινε +και άείδων +ενόμευε</p> +<p>‘Not of wars, not of tears, but of Pan would he chant, +and of the neatherds he sweetly sang, and singing he shepherded +his flocks.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This was the training that Sicily, her hills, her seas, her +lovers, her poet-shepherds, gave <a name="pagexxvi"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxvi</span>to Theocritus. Sicily showed +him subjects which he imitated in truthful art. Unluckily +the later pastoral poets of northern lands have imitated +<i>him</i>, and so have gone far astray from northern +nature. The pupil of nature had still to be taught the +‘rules’ of the critics, to watch the temper and +fashion of his time, and to try his fortune among the courtly +poets and grammarians of the capital of civilisation. +Between the years of early youth in Sicily and the years of +waiting for court patronage at Alexandria, it seems probable that +we must place a period of education in the island of Cos. +The testimonies of the Grammarians who handed on to us the scanty +traditions about Theocritus, agree in making him the pupil of +Philetas of Cos. This Philetas was a critic, a commentator +on Homer, and an elegiac poet whose love-songs were greatly +admired by the Romans of the Augustan age. He is said to +have been the tutor of Ptolemy Philadelphus, who was himself +born, as Theocritus records, in the isle of Cos. It has +been conjectured that Ptolemy and Theocritus were fellow pupils, +and that the poet may have hoped to obtain court favour at +Alexandria from this early connection. About this point +nothing is certainly known, nor can we exactly understand the +sort of education that was given in the school of the poet +Philetas. The ideas of that artificial age make it not +improbable that Philetas professed to teach the art of +poetry. A French critic and poet of our own time, M. +Baudelaire, was willing <a name="pagexxvii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxvii</span>to do as much ‘in thirty +lessons.’ Possibly Philetas may have imparted +technical rules then in vogue, and the fashionable knack of +introducing obscure mythological allusions. He was a +logician as well as a poet, and is fabled to have died of +vexation because he could not unriddle one of the metaphysical +catches or puzzles of the sophists. His varied activity +seems to have worn him to a shadow; the contemporary satirists +bantered him about his leanness, and it was alleged that he wore +leaden soles to his sandals lest the wind should blow him, as it +blew the calves of Daphnis (Idyl IX) over a cliff against the +rocks, or into the sea. <a name="citation0e"></a><a +href="#footnote0e" class="citation">[0e]</a> Philetas seems +a strange master for Theocritus, but, whatever the qualities of +the teacher, Cos, the home of the luxurious old age of Meleager, +was a beautiful school. The island was one of the most +ancient colonies of the Dorians, and the Syracusan scholar found +himself among a people who spoke his own broad and liquid +dialect. The sides of the limestone hills were clothed with +vines, and with shadowy plane-trees which still attain +extraordinary size and age, while the wine-presses where Demeter +smiled, ‘with sheaves and poppies in her hands,’ +yielded a famous vintage. The people had a soft industry of +their own, they fashioned the ‘Coan stuff,’ +transparent robes for woman’s wear, like the +ύδάτινα +βράκη, the thin undulating tissues which +Theugenis was to weave <a name="pagexxviii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxviii</span>with the ivory distaff, the gift +of Theocritus. As a colony of Epidaurus, Cos naturally +cultivated the worship of Asclepius, the divine physician, the +child of Apollo. In connection with his worship and with +the clan of the Asclepiadae (that widespread stock to which +Aristotle belonged, and in which the practice of leechcraft was +hereditary), Cos possessed a school of medicine. In the +temple of Asclepius patients hung up as votive offerings +representations of their diseased limbs, and thus the temple +became a museum of anatomical specimens. Cos was therefore +resorted to by young students from all parts of the East, and +Theocritus cannot but have made many friends of his own +age. Among these he alludes in various passages to Nicias, +afterwards a physician at Miletus, to Philinus, noted in later +life as the head of a medical sect, and to Aratus. +Theocritus has sung of Aratus’s love-affairs, and St. Paul +has quoted him as a witness to man’s instinctive consent in +the doctrine of the universal fatherhood of God. These +strangely various notices have done more for the memory of Aratus +than his own didactic poem on the meteorological theories of his +age. He lives, with Philinus and the rest of the Coan +students, because Theocritus introduced them into the picture of +a happy summer’s day. In the seventh idyl, that one +day of Demeter’s harvest-feast is immortal, and the sun +never goes down on its delight. We see Theocritus</p> +<blockquote><p><a name="pagexxix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxix</span>κουπω ταν +μεσάταν +όδον +ανυμες, +ουδε το +σαμα<br /> +άμιν το +Βρασίλα +κατεφαίνετο—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>when he ‘had not yet reached the mid-point of the way, +nor had the tomb yet risen on his sight.’ He reveals +himself as he was at the height of morning, at the best moment of +the journey, in midsummer of a genius still unchecked by doubt, +or disappointment, or neglect. Life seems to accost him +with the glance of the goatherd Lycidas, ‘and still he +smiled as he spoke, with laughing eyes, and laughter dwelling on +his lips.’ In Cos, Theocritus found friendship, and +met Myrto, ‘the girl he loved as dearly as goats love the +spring.’ Here he could express, without any +afterthought, an enthusiastic adoration for the disinterested +joys, the enchanted moments of human existence. Before he +entered the thronged streets of Alexandria, and tuned his +shepherd’s pipe to catch the ear of princes, and to sing +the epithalamium of a royal and incestuous love, he rested with +his friends in the happy island. Deep in a cave, among the +ruins of ancient aqueducts, there still bubbles up, from the Coan +limestone, the well-spring of the Nymphs. ‘There they +reclined on beds of fragrant rushes, lowly strown, and rejoicing +they lay in new stript leaves of the vine. And high above +their heads waved many a poplar, many an elm-tree, while close at +hand the sacred water from the nymph’s own cave welled +forth with murmurs musical’ (Idyl VII).</p> +<p><a name="pagexxx"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxx</span>The +old Dorian settlers in Syracuse pleased themselves with the fable +that their fountain, Arethusa, had been a Grecian nymph, who, +like themselves, had crossed the sea to Sicily. The poetry +of Theocritus, read or sung in sultry Alexandria, must have +seemed like a new welling up of the waters of Arethusa in the +sandy soil of Egypt. We cannot certainly say when the poet +first came from Syracuse, or from Cos, to Alexandria. It is +evident however from the allusions in the fifteenth and +seventeenth idyls that he was living there after Ptolemy +Philadelphus married his own sister, Arsinoë. It is +not impossible to form some idea of the condition of Alexandrian +society, art, religion, literature and learning at the court of +Ptolemy Philadelphus. The vast city, founded some sixty +years before, was now completed. The walls, many miles in +circuit, protected a population of about eight hundred thousand +souls. Into that changing crowd were gathered adventurers +from all the known world. Merchantmen brought to Ptolemy +the wares of India and the porcelains of China. Marauders +from upper Egypt skulked about the native quarters, and sallied +forth at night to rob the wayfarer. The king’s guards +were recruited with soldiers from turbulent Greece, from Asia, +from Italy. Settlers were attracted from Syracuse by the +prospect of high wages and profitable labour. The Jewish +quarters were full of Israelites who did not disdain Greek +learning. The city in which this multitude found a home <a +name="pagexxxi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxxi</span>was +beautifully constructed. The Mediterranean filled the +northern haven, the southern walls were washed by the Mareotic +lake. If the isle of Pharos shone dazzling white, and +wearied the eyes, there was shade beneath the long marble +colonnades, and in the groves and cool halls of the Museum and +the Libraries. The Etesian winds blew fresh in summer from +the north, across the sea, and refreshed the people in their +gardens. No town seemed greater nor wealthier to the +voyager, who (like the hero of the Greek novel <i>Clitophon and +Leucippe</i>) entered by the gate of the Sun, and found that, +after nightfall, the torches borne by men and women hastening to +some religious feast, filled the dusk with a light like that of +‘the sun cut up into fragments.’ At the same +time no town was more in need of the memories of the country, +which came to her in well-watered gardens, in +landscape-paintings, and in the verse of Theocritus.</p> +<p>It is impossible to give a clearer idea of the opulence and +luxury of Alexandria and her kings, than will be conveyed by the +description of the coronation-feast of Ptolemy +Philadelphus. This great masquerade and banquet was +prepared by the elder Ptolemy on the occasion of his admitting +his son to share his throne. The entertainment was +described (in a work now lost) by Callixenus of Rhodes, and the +record has been preserved by Atheneaus (v. 25). The inner +pavilion in which the guests of Ptolemy reclined, contained one +hundred and thirty-five <a name="pagexxxii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxxii</span>couches. Over the roof was +placed a scarlet awning, with a fringe of white, and there were +many other awnings, richly embroidered with mythological +designs. The pillars which sustained the roof were shaped +in the likeness of palm-trees, and of <i>thyrsi</i>, the weapons +of the wine-god Dionysus. Round three outer sides ran +arcades, draped with purple tissues, and with the skins of +strange beasts. The fourth side, open to the air, was shady +with the foliage of myrtles and laurels. Everywhere the +ground was carpeted with flowers, though the season was +mid-winter, with roses and white lilies and blossoms of the +gardens. By the columns round the whole pavilion were +arrayed a hundred effigies in marble, executed by the most famous +sculptors, and on the middle spaces were hung works by the +painters of Sicyon and tapestry woven with stories of the +adventures of the gods. Above these, again, ran a frieze of +gold and silver shields, while in the higher niches were placed +comic, tragic, and satiric sculptured groups ‘dressed in +real clothes,’ says the historian, much admiring this +realism. It is impossible to number the tripods, and +flagons, and couches of gold, resting on golden figures of +sphinxes, the salvers, the bowls, the jewelled vases. The +masquerade of this winter festival began with the procession of +the Morning-star, Heosphoros, and then followed a masque of kings +and a revel of various gods, while the company of Hesperus, the +Evening-star followed, and ended all. The <a +name="pagexxxiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxxiii</span>revel +of Dionysus was introduced by men disguised as Sileni, wild +woodland beings in raiment of purple and scarlet. Then came +scores of satyrs with gilded lamps in their hands. Next +appeared beautiful maidens, attired as Victories, waving golden +wings and swinging vessels of burning incense. The altar of +the God of the Vine was borne behind them, crowned and covered +with leaves of gold, and next boys in purple robes scattered +fragrant scents from golden salvers. Then came a throng of +gold-crowned satyrs, their naked bodies stained with purple and +vermilion, and among them was a tall man who represented the year +and carried a horn of plenty. He was followed by a +beautiful woman in rich attire, carrying in one hand branches of +the palm-tree, in the other a rod of the peach-tree, starred with +its constellated flowers. Then the masque of the Seasons +swept by, and Philiscus followed, Philiscus the Corcyraean, the +priest of Dionysus, and the favourite tragic poet of the +court. After the prizes for the athletes had been borne +past, Dionysus himself was charioted along, a gigantic figure +clad in purple, and pouring libations out of a golden +goblet. Around him lay huge drinking-cups, and smoking +censers of gold, and a bower of vine leaves grew up, and shaded +the head of the god. Then hurried by a crowd of priests and +priestesses, Maenads, Bacchantes, Bassarids, women crowned with +the vine, or with garlands of snakes, and girls bearing the +mystic <a name="pagexxxiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxxiv</span><i>vannus Iacchi</i>. And still the procession +was not ended. A mechanical figure of Nysa passed, in a +chariot drawn by eighty men, among clusters of grapes formed of +precious stones, and the figure arose, and poured milk out of a +golden horn. The Satyrs and Sileni followed close, and +behind them six hundred men dragged on a wain, a silver vessel +that held six hundred measures of wine. This was only the +first of countless symbolic vessels that were carried past, till +last came a multitude of sixteen hundred boys clad in white +tunics, and garlanded with ivy, who bore and handed to the guests +golden and silver vessels full of sweet wine. All this was +only part of one procession, and the festival ended when Ptolemy +and Berenice and Ptolemy Philadelphus had been crowned with +golden crowns from many subject cities and lands.</p> +<p>This festival was obviously arranged to please the taste of a +prince with late Greek ideas of pictorial display, and with +barbaric wealth at his command. Theocritus himself enables +us in the seventeenth idyl to estimate the opulence and the +dominion of Ptolemy. He was not master of fertile Aegypt +alone, where the Nile breaks the rich dank soil, and where myriad +cities pour their taxes into his treasuries. Ptolemy held +lands also in Phoenicia, and Arabia; he claimed Syria and Libya +and Aethiopia; he was lord of the distant Pamphylians, of the +Cilicians, the Lycians and the Carians, and the Cyclades owned +his mastery. <a name="pagexxxv"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxxv</span>Thus the wealth of the richest part +of the world flowed into Alexandria, attracting thither the +priests of strange religions, the possessors of Greek learning, +the painters and sculptors whose work has left its traces on the +genius of Theocritus.</p> +<p>Looking at this early Alexandrian age, three points become +clear to us. First, the fashion of the times was Oriental, +Oriental in religion and in society. Nothing could be less +Hellenic, than the popular cult of Adonis. The fifteenth +idyl of Theocritus shows us Greek women worshipping in their +manner at an Assyrian shrine, the shrine of that effeminate lover +of Aphrodite, whom Heracles, according to the Greek proverb, +thought ‘no great divinity.’ The hymn of Bion, +with its luxurious lament, was probably meant to be chanted at +just such a festival as Theocritus describes, while a crowd of +foreigners gossiped among the flowers and embroideries, the +strangely-shaped sacred cakes, the ebony, the gold, and the +ivory. Not so much Oriental as barbarous was the impulse +which made Ptolemy Philadelphus choose his own sister, +Arsinoë, for wife, as if absolute dominion had already +filled the mind of the Macedonian royal race with the incestuous +pride of the Incas, or of Queen Hatasu, in an elder Egyptian +dynasty. This nascent barbarism has touched a few of the +Alexandrian poems even of Theocritus, and his panegyric of +Ptolemy, of his divine ancestors, and his sister-bride is not +much more Greek in sentiment than are those old native hymns of +<a name="pagexxxvi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxxvi</span>Pentaur to ‘the strong Bull,’ or the +‘Risen Sun,’ to Rameses or Thothmes.</p> +<p>Again, the early Alexandrian was what we call a +‘literary’ age. Literature was not an affair of +religion and of the state, but ministered to the pleasure of +individuals, and at their pleasure was composed. <a +name="citation0f"></a><a href="#footnote0f" +class="citation">[0f]</a> The temper of the time was +crudely critical. The Museum and the Libraries, with their +hundreds of thousands of volumes, were hot-houses of grammarians +and of learned poets. Callimachus, the head librarian, was +also the most eminent man of letters. Unable, himself, to +compose a poem of epic length and copiousness, he discouraged all +long poems. He shone in epigrams, pedantic hymns, and +didactic verses. He toyed with anagrams, and won court +favour by discovering that the letters of +‘Arsinoë,’ the name of Ptolemy’s wife, +made the words ίον Ηρας, the +violet of Hera. In another masterpiece the genius of +Callimachus followed the stolen tress of Queen Berenice to the +skies, where the locks became a constellation. A +contemporary of Callimachus was Zenodotus, the critic, who was +for improving the Iliad and Odyssey by cutting out all the epic +commonplaces which seemed to him to be needless +repetitions. It is pretty plain that, in literary society, +Homer was thought out of date and <i>rococo</i>. The +favourite topics of poets were now, not the tales of Troy and +Thebes, but the amorous adventures of the gods. When +Apollonius Rhodius attempted to <a name="pagexxxvii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxxvii</span>revive the epic, it is said that +the influence of Callimachus quite discomfited the young +poet. A war of epigrams began, and while Apollonius called +Callimachus a ‘blockhead’ (so finished was his +invective), the veteran compared his rival to the Ibis, the +scavenger-bird. Other singers satirised each others’ +legs, and one, the Aretino of the time, mocked at king Ptolemy +and scourged his failings in verse. The literary quarrels +(to which Theocritus seems to allude in Idyl VII, where Lycidas +says he ‘hates the birds of the Muses that cackle in vain +rivalry with Homer’) were as stupid as such affairs usually +are. The taste for artificial epic was to return; although +many people already declared that Homer was the world’s +poet, and that the world needed no other. This epic +reaction brought into favour Apollonius Rhodius, author of the +<i>Argonautica</i>. Theocritus has been supposed to aim at +him as a vain rival of Homer, but M. Couat points out that +Theocritus was seventy when Apollonius began to write. The +literary fashions of Alexandria are only of moment to us so far +as they directly affected Theocritus. They could not make +him obscure, affected, tedious, but his nature probably inclined +him to obey fashion so far as only to write short poems. +His rural poems are +ειδύλλια, +‘little pictures.’ His fragments of epic, or +imitations of the epic hymns are not</p> +<blockquote><p>όσα +πόντος +άείδει</p> +</blockquote> +<p>—not full and sonorous as the songs of Homer <a +name="pagexxxviii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxxviii</span>and +the sea. ‘Ce poète est le moins naïf qui +se puisse rencontrer, et il se dégage de son oeuvre un +parfum de naïveté rustique.’ <a +name="citation0g"></a><a href="#footnote0g" +class="citation">[0g]</a> They are, what a German critic +has called them, <i>mythologischen genre-bilder</i>, cabinet +pictures in the manner called <i>genre</i>, full of pretty detail +and domestic feeling. And this brings us to the third +characteristic of the age,—its art was elaborately +pictorial. Poetry seems to have sought inspiration from +painting, while painting, as we have said, inclined to +<i>genre</i>, to luxurious representations of the amours of the +gods or the adventures of heroes, with backgrounds of pastoral +landscape. Shepherds fluted while Perseus slew Medusa.</p> +<p>The old order of things in Greece had been precisely the +opposite of this Alexandrian manner. Homer and the later +Homeric legends, with the tragedians, inspired the sculptors, and +even the artisans who decorated vases. When a new order of +subjects became fashionable, and when every rich Alexandrian had +pictures or frescoes on his walls, it appears that the painters +took the lead, that the initiative in art was theirs. The +Alexandrian pictures perished long ago, but the relics of +Alexandrian style which remain in the buried cities of Campania, +in Pompeii especially, bear testimony to the taste of the period. +<a name="citation0h"></a><a href="#footnote0h" +class="citation">[0h]</a> Out of nearly two thousand +Pompeian pictures, it is <a name="pagexxxix"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxxix</span>calculated that some fourteen +hundred (roughly speaking) are mythological in subject. The +loves of the gods are repeated in scores of designs, and these +designs closely correspond to the mythological poems of +Theocritus and his younger contemporaries Bion and Moschus. +Take as an example the adventure of Europa: Lord Tennyson’s +lines, in <i>The Palace of Art</i> are intended to describe +<i>picture</i>—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Or sweet Europa’s mantle blew +unclasp’d,<br /> + From off her shoulder backward borne:<br /> +From one hand droop’d a crocus: one hand grasp’d<br +/> + The mild bull’s golden +horn.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The words of Moschus also seem as if they might have derived +their inspiration from a painting, the touches are so minute, and +so picturesque—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Meanwhile Europa, riding on the back of the +divine bull, with one hand clasped the beast’s great horn, +and with the other caught up her garment’s purple fold, +lest it might trail and be drenched in the hoar sea’s +infinite spray. And her deep robe was blown out in the +wind, like the sail of a ship, and lightly ever it wafted the +maiden onward.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Now every single ‘motive’ of this +description,—Europa with one hand holding the bull’s +horn, with the other lifting her dress, the wind puffing out her +shawl like a sail, is repeated in the Pompeian wall-pictures, +which themselves are believed to be derived from Alexandrian +originals. There are more curious coincidences <a +name="pagexl"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xl</span>than +this. In the sixth idyl of Theocritus, Damoetas makes the +Cyclops say that Galatea ‘will send him many a +messenger.’ The mere idea of describing the monstrous +cannibal Polyphemus in love, is artificial and Alexandrian. +But who were the ‘messengers’ of the sea-nymph +Galatea? A Pompeian picture illustrates the point, by +representing a little Love riding up to the shore on the back of +a dolphin, with a letter in his hand for Polyphemus. Greek +art in Egypt suffered from an Egyptian plague of Loves. +Loves flutter through the Pompeian pictures as they do through +the poems of Moschus and Bion. They are carried about in +cages, for sale, like birds. They are caught in +bird-traps. They don the lion-skin of Heracles. They +flutter about baskets laden with roses; round rosy Loves, like +the cupids of Boucher. They are not akin to ‘the +grievous Love,’ the mighty wrestler who threw Daphnis a +fall, in the first idyl of Theocritus. They are ‘the +children that flit overhead, the little Loves, like the young +nightingales upon the budding trees,’ which flit round the +dead Adonis in the fifteenth idyl. They are the birds that +shun the boy fowler, in Bion’s poem, and perch uncalled (as +in a bronze in the Uffizi) on the grown man. In one or +other of the sixteen Pompeian pictures of Venus and Adonis, the +Loves are breaking their bows and arrows for grief, as in the +hymn of Bion.</p> +<p>Enough has perhaps been said about the social and artistic +taste of Alexandria to account <a name="pagexli"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xli</span>for the remarkable differences in +manner between the rustic idyls of Theocritus and the epic idyls +of himself and his followers Moschus and Bion. In the rural +idyls, Theocritus was himself and wrote to please himself. +In the epic idyls, as in the Hymn to the Dioscuri, and in the two +poems on Heracles, he was writing to please the taste of +Alexandria. He had to choose epic topics, but he was warned +by the famous saying of Callimachus (‘a great book is a +great evil’) not to imitate the length of the epic. <a +name="citation0i"></a><a href="#footnote0i" +class="citation">[0i]</a> He was also to shun close +imitation of what are so easily imitated, the regular recurring +<i>formulae</i>, the commonplace of Homer. He was to add +minute pictorial touches, as in the description of +Alcmena’s waking when the serpents attacked her +child,—a passage rich in domestic pathos and incident which +contrast strongly with Pindar’s bare narrative of the same +events. We have noted the same pictorial quality in the +<i>Europa</i> of Moschus. Our own age has often been +compared to the Alexandrian epoch, to that era of large cities, +wealth, refinement, criticism, and science; and the pictorial +<i>Idylls of the King</i> very closely resemble the epico-idyllic +manner of Alexandria. We have tried to examine the society +in which Theocritus lived. But our impressions about the +poet are more distinct. In him we find the most genial +character; pious as Greece counted piety; <a +name="pagexlii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xlii</span>tender as +became the poet of love; glad as the singer of a happy southern +world should be; gifted, above all, with humour, and with +dramatic power. ‘His lyre has all the chords’; +his is the last of all the perfect voices of Hellas; after him no +man saw life with eyes so steady and so mirthful.</p> +<p>About the lives of the three idyllic poets literary history +says little. About their deaths she only tells us through +the dirge by Moschus, that Bion was poisoned. The lovers of +Theocritus would willingly hope that he returned from Alexandria +to Sicily, about the time when he wrote the sixteenth idyl, and +that he lived in the enjoyment of the friendship and the domestic +happiness and honour which he sang so well, through the golden +age of Hiero (264 <span class="GutSmall">B.C.</span>) No +happier fortune could befall him who wrote the epigram of the +lady of heavenly love, who worshipped with the noble wife of +Nicias under the green roof of Milesian Aphrodite, and who +prophesied of the return of peace and of song to Sicily and +Syracuse.</p> +<h2><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +3</span>THEOCRITUS</h2> +<h3>IDYL I</h3> +<p><i>The shepherd Thyrsis meets a goatherd</i>, <i>in a shady +place beside a spring</i>, <i>and at his invitation sings the +Song of Daphnis</i>. <i>This ideal hero of Greek pastoral +song had won for his bride the fairest of the Nymphs</i>. +<i>Confident in the strength of his passion</i>, <i>he boasted +that Love could never subdue him to a new question</i>. +<i>Love avenged himself by making Daphnis desire a strange +maiden</i>, <i>but to this temptation he never yielded</i>, +<i>and so died a constant lover</i>. <i>The song tells how +the cattle and the wild things of the wood bewailed him</i>, +<i>how Hermes and Priapus gave him counsel in vain</i>, <i>and +how with his last breath he retorted the taunts of the implacable +Aphrodite</i>.</p> +<p><i>The scene is in Sicily</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><i>Thyrsis</i>. Sweet, meseems, is the whispering sound +of yonder pine tree, goatherd, that murmureth by the wells of +water; and sweet are thy pipings. After Pan the second +prize shalt thou bear away, and if he take the horned goat, the +she-goat shalt thou win; but if he choose the she-goat for his +meed, the kid <a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +4</span>falls to thee, and dainty is the flesh of kids e’er +the age when thou milkest them.</p> +<p><i>The Goatherd</i>. Sweeter, O shepherd, is thy song +than the music of yonder water that is poured from the high face +of the rock! Yea, if the Muses take the young ewe for their +gift, a stall-fed lamb shalt thou receive for thy meed; but if it +please them to take the lamb, thou shalt lead away the ewe for +the second prize.</p> +<p><i>Thyrsis</i>. Wilt thou, goatherd, in the +nymphs’ name, wilt thou sit thee down here, among the +tamarisks, on this sloping knoll, and pipe while in this place I +watch thy flocks?</p> +<p><i>Goatherd</i>. Nay, shepherd, it may not be; we may +not pipe in the noontide. ’Tis Pan we dread, who +truly at this hour rests weary from the chase; and bitter of mood +is he, the keen wrath sitting ever at his nostrils. But, +Thyrsis, for that thou surely wert wont to sing <i>The Affliction +of Daphnis</i>, and hast most deeply meditated the pastoral muse, +come hither, and beneath yonder elm let us sit down, in face of +Priapus and the fountain fairies, where is that resting-place of +the shepherds, and where the oak trees are. Ah! if thou +wilt but sing as on that day thou sangest in thy match with +Chromis out of Libya, I will let thee milk, ay, three times, a +goat that is the mother of twins, and even when she has suckled +her kids her milk doth fill two pails. A deep bowl of +ivy-wood, too, I will give thee, rubbed with sweet +bees’-wax, a <a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +5</span>twy-eared bowl newly wrought, smacking still of the knife +of the graver. Round its upper edges goes the ivy winding, +ivy besprent with golden flowers; and about it is a tendril +twisted that joys in its saffron fruit. Within is designed +a maiden, as fair a thing as the gods could fashion, arrayed in a +sweeping robe, and a snood on her head. Beside her two +youths with fair love-locks are contending from either side, with +alternate speech, but her heart thereby is all untouched. +And now on one she glances, smiling, and anon she lightly flings +the other a thought, while by reason of the long vigils of love +their eyes are heavy, but their labour is all in vain.</p> +<p>Beyond these an ancient fisherman and a rock are fashioned, a +rugged rock, whereon with might and main the old man drags a +great net for his cast, as one that labours stoutly. Thou +wouldst say that he is fishing with all the might of his limbs, +so big the sinews swell all about his neck, grey-haired though he +be, but his strength is as the strength of youth. Now +divided but a little space from the sea-worn old man is a +vineyard laden well with fire-red clusters, and on the rough wall +a little lad watches the vineyard, sitting there. Round him +two she-foxes are skulking, and one goes along the vine-rows to +devour the ripe grapes, and the other brings all her cunning to +bear against the scrip, and vows she will never leave the lad, +till she strand him bare and breakfastless. But the boy is +plaiting a pretty <a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +6</span>locust-cage with stalks of asphodel, and fitting it with +reeds, and less care of his scrip has he, and of the vines, than +delight in his plaiting.</p> +<p>All about the cup is spread the soft acanthus, a miracle of +varied work, <a name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6" +class="citation">[6]</a> a thing for thee to marvel on. For +this bowl I paid to a Calydonian ferryman a goat and a great +white cream cheese. Never has its lip touched mine, but it +still lies maiden for me. Gladly with this cup would I gain +thee to my desire, if thou, my friend, wilt sing me that +delightful song. Nay, I grudge it thee not at all. +Begin, my friend, for be sure thou canst in no wise carry thy +song with thee to Hades, that puts all things out of mind!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Song of Thyrsis</i>.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>! Thyrsis of Etna am I, and this is the voice of +Thyrsis. Where, ah! where were ye when Daphnis was +languishing; ye Nymphs, where were ye? By Peneus’s +beautiful dells, or by dells of Pindus? for surely ye dwelt not +by the great stream of the river Anapus, nor on the watch-tower +of Etna, nor by the sacred water of Acis.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p>For him the jackals, for him the wolves did cry; for him did +even the lion out of the forest <a name="page7"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 7</span>lament. Kine and bulls by his +feet right many, and heifers plenty, with the young calves +bewailed him.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p>Came Hermes first from the hill, and said, ‘Daphnis, who +is it that torments thee; child, whom dost thou love with so +great desire?’ The neatherds came, and the shepherds; +the goatherds came: all they asked what ailed him. Came +also Priapus,—</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p>And said: ‘Unhappy Daphnis, wherefore dost thou +languish, while for thee the maiden by all the fountains, through +all the glades is fleeting, in search of thee? Ah! thou art +too laggard a lover, and thou nothing availest! A neatherd +wert thou named, and now thou art like the goatherd:</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p>‘For the goatherd, when he marks the young goats at +their pastime, looks on with yearning eyes, and fain would be +even as they; and thou, when thou beholdest the laughter of +maidens, dost gaze with yearning eyes, for that thou dost not +join their dances.’</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p>Yet these the herdsman answered not again, but he bare his +bitter love to the end, yea, to the fated end he bare it.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 8</span>Ay, but +she too came, the sweetly smiling Cypris, craftily smiling she +came, yet keeping her heavy anger; and she spake, saying: +‘Daphnis, methinks thou didst boast that thou wouldst throw +Love a fall, nay, is it not thyself that hast been thrown by +grievous Love?’</p> +<p><i>Begin ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p>But to her Daphnis answered again: ‘Implacable Cypris, +Cypris terrible, Cypris of mortals detested, already dost thou +deem that my latest sun has set; nay, Daphnis even in Hades shall +prove great sorrow to Love.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p>‘Where it is told how the herdsman with Cypris—Get +thee to Ida, get thee to Anchises! There are oak +trees—here only galingale blows, here sweetly hum the bees +about the hives!</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p>‘Thine Adonis, too, is in his bloom, for he herds the +sheep and slays the hares, and he chases all the wild +beasts. Nay, go and confront Diomedes again, and say, +“The herdsman Daphnis I conquered, do thou join battle with +me.”</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p>‘Ye wolves, ye jackals, and ye bears in the mountain +caves, farewell! The herdsman Daphnis ye never shall see +again, no more in <a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +9</span>the dells, no more in the groves, no more in the +woodlands. Farewell Arethusa, ye rivers, good-night, that +pour down Thymbris your beautiful waters.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p>‘That Daphnis am I who here do herd the kine, Daphnis +who water here the bulls and calves.</p> +<p>‘O Pan, Pan! whether thou art on the high hills of +Lycaeus, or rangest mighty Maenalus, haste hither to the Sicilian +isle! Leave the tomb of Helice, leave that high cairn of +the son of Lycaon, which seems wondrous fair, even in the eyes of +the blessed. <a name="citation9"></a><a href="#footnote9" +class="citation">[9]</a></p> +<p><i>Give o’er</i>, <i>ye Muses</i>, <i>come</i>, <i>give +o’er the pastoral song</i>!</p> +<p>‘Come hither, my prince, and take this fair pipe, +honey-breathed with wax-stopped joints; and well it fits thy lip: +for verily I, even I, by Love am now haled to Hades.</p> +<p><i>Give o’er</i>, <i>ye Muses</i>, <i>come</i>, <i>give +o’er the pastoral song</i>!</p> +<p>‘Now violets bear, ye brambles, ye thorns bear violets; +and let fair narcissus bloom on the boughs of juniper! Let +all things with all be confounded,—from pines let men +gather pears, for Daphnis is dying! Let the stag <a +name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span>drag down the +hounds, let owls from the hills contend in song with the +nightingales.’</p> +<p><i>Give o’er</i>, <i>ye Muses</i>, <i>come</i>, <i>give +o’er the pastoral song</i>!</p> +<p>So Daphnis spake, and ended; but fain would Aphrodite have +given him back to life. Nay, spun was all the thread that +the Fates assigned, and Daphnis went down the stream. The +whirling wave closed over the man the Muses loved, the man not +hated of the nymphs.</p> +<p><i>Give o’er</i>, <i>ye Muses</i>, <i>come</i>, <i>give +o’er the pastoral song</i>!</p> +<p>And thou, give me the bowl, and the she-goat, that I may milk +her and poor forth a libation to the Muses. Farewell, oh, +farewells manifold, ye Muses, and I, some future day, will sing +you yet a sweeter song.</p> +<p><i>The Goatherd</i>. Filled may thy fair mouth be with +honey, Thyrsis, and filled with the honeycomb; and the sweet +dried fig mayst thou eat of Aegilus, for thou vanquishest the +cicala in song! Lo here is thy cup, see, my friend, of how +pleasant a savour! Thou wilt think it has been dipped in +the well-spring of the Hours. Hither, hither, Cissaetha: do +thou milk her, Thyrsis. And you young she-goats, wanton not +so wildly lest you bring up the he-goat against you.</p> +<h3><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 11</span>IDYL +II</h3> +<p><i>Simaetha</i>, <i>madly in love with Delphis</i>, <i>who has +forsaken her</i>, <i>endeavours to subdue him to her by +magic</i>, <i>and by invoking the Moon</i>, <i>in her character +of Hecate</i>, <i>and of Selene</i>. <i>She tells the tale +of the growth of her passion</i>, <i>and vows vengeance if her +magic arts are unsuccessful</i>.</p> +<p><i>The scene is probably some garden beneath the moonlit +shy</i>, <i>near the town</i>, <i>and within sound of the +sea</i>. <i>The characters are Simaetha</i>, <i>and +Thestylis</i>, <i>her handmaid</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Where</span> are my laurel leaves? come, +bring them, Thestylis; and where are the love-charms? +Wreath the bowl with bright-red wool, that I may knit the +witch-knots against my grievous lover, <a +name="citation11"></a><a href="#footnote11" +class="citation">[11]</a> who for twelve days, oh cruel, has +never come hither, nor knows whether I am alive or dead, nor has +once knocked at my door, unkind that he is! Hath Love flown +off with his light desires by some other path—Love and +Aphrodite? To-morrow I will go to the wrestling school of +Timagetus, to see my love and to reproach him with all the wrong +he is doing me. But now I will <a name="page12"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 12</span>bewitch him with my +enchantments! Do thou, Selene, shine clear and fair, for +softly, Goddess, to thee will I sing, and to Hecate of +hell. The very whelps shiver before her as she fares +through black blood and across the barrows of the dead.</p> +<p>Hail, awful Hecate! to the end be thou of our company, and +make this medicine of mine no weaker than the spells of Circe, or +of Medea, or of Perimede of the golden hair.</p> +<p><i>My magic wheel</i>, <i>draw home to me the man I +love</i>!</p> +<p>Lo, how the barley grain first smoulders in the +fire,—nay, toss on the barley, Thestylis! Miserable +maid, where are thy wits wandering? Even to thee, wretched +that I am, have I become a laughing-stock, even to thee? +Scatter the grain, and cry thus the while, ‘’Tis the +bones of Delphis I am scattering!’</p> +<p><i>My magic wheel</i>, <i>draw home to me the man I +love</i>!</p> +<p>Delphis troubled me, and I against Delphis am burning this +laurel; and even as it crackles loudly when it has caught the +flame, and suddenly is burned up, and we see not even the dust +thereof, lo, even thus may the flesh of Delphis waste in the +burning!</p> +<p><i>My magic wheel</i>, <i>draw home to me the man I +love</i>!</p> +<p>Even as I melt this wax, with the god to aid, so speedily may +he by love be molten, the <a name="page13"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 13</span>Myndian Delphis! And as whirls +this brazen wheel, <a name="citation13"></a><a href="#footnote13" +class="citation">[13]</a> so restless, under Aphrodite’s +spell, may he turn and turn about my doors.</p> +<p><i>My magic wheel</i>, <i>draw home to me the man I +love</i>!</p> +<p>Now will I burn the husks, and thou, O Artemis, hast power to +move hell’s adamantine gates, and all else that is as +stubborn. Thestylis, hark, ’tis so; the hounds are +baying up and down the town! The Goddess stands where the +three ways meet! Hasten, and clash the brazen cymbals.</p> +<p><i>My magic wheel</i>, <i>draw home to me the man I +love</i>!</p> +<p>Lo, silent is the deep, and silent the winds, but never silent +the torment in my breast. Nay, I am all on fire for him +that made me, miserable me, no wife but a shameful thing, a girl +no more a maiden.</p> +<p><i>My magic wheel</i>, <i>draw home to me the man I +love</i>!</p> +<p>Three times do I pour libation, and thrice, my Lady Moon, I +speak this spell:—Be it with a friend that he lingers, be +it with a leman he lies, may he as clean forget them as Theseus, +of old, in Dia—so legends tell—did utterly forget the +fair-tressed Ariadne.</p> +<p><i>My magic wheel</i>, <i>draw home to me the man I +love</i>!</p> +<p><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +14</span>Coltsfoot is an Arcadian weed that maddens, on the +hills, the young stallions and fleet-footed mares. Ah! even +as these may I see Delphis; and to this house of mine, may he +speed like a madman, leaving the bright palaestra.</p> +<p><i>My magic wheel</i>, <i>draw home to me the man I +love</i>!</p> +<p>This fringe from his cloak Delphis lost; that now I shred and +cast into the cruel flame. Ah, ah, thou torturing Love, why +clingest thou to me like a leech of the fen, and drainest all the +black blood from my body?</p> +<p><i>My magic wheel</i>, <i>draw home to me the man I +love</i>!</p> +<p>Lo, I will crush an eft, and a venomous draught to-morrow I +will bring thee!</p> +<p>But now, Thestylis, take these magic herbs and secretly smear +the juice on the jambs of his gate (whereat, even now, my heart +is captive, though nothing he recks of me), and spit and whisper, +‘’Tis the bones of Delphis that I smear.’</p> +<p><i>My magic wheel</i>, <i>draw home to me the man I +love</i>!</p> +<p>And now that I am alone, whence shall I begin to bewail my +love? Whence shall I take up the tale: who brought on me +this sorrow? The maiden-bearer of the mystic vessel came +our way, Anaxo, daughter of Eubulus, to the grove of Artemis; and +behold, she had many other wild beasts paraded for that <a +name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 15</span>time, in the +sacred show, and among them a lioness.</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p>And the Thracian servant of Theucharidas,—my nurse that +is but lately dead, and who then dwelt at our +doors,—besought me and implored me to come and see the +show. And I went with her, wretched woman that I am, clad +about in a fair and sweeping linen stole, over which I had thrown +the holiday dress of Clearista.</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p>Lo! I was now come to the mid-point of the highway, near +the dwelling of Lycon, and there I saw Delphis and Eudamippus +walking together. Their beards were more golden than the +golden flower of the ivy; their breasts (they coming fresh from +the glorious wrestler’s toil) were brighter of sheen than +thyself Selene!</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p>Even as I looked I loved, loved madly, and all my heart was +wounded, woe is me, and my beauty began to wane. No more +heed took I of that show, and how I came home I know not; but +some parching fever utterly overthrew me, and I lay a-bed ten +days and ten nights.</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 16</span>And +oftentimes my skin waxed wan as the colour of boxwood, and all my +hair was falling from my head, and what was left of me was but +skin and bones. Was there a wizard to whom I did not seek, +or a crone to whose house I did not resort, of them that have art +magical? But this was no light malady, and the time went +fleeting on.</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p>Thus I told the true story to my maiden, and said, ‘Go, +Thestylis, and find me some remedy for this sore disease. +Ah me, the Myndian possesses me, body and soul! Nay, +depart, and watch by the wrestling-ground of Timagetus, for there +is his resort, and there he loves to loiter.</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p>‘And when thou art sure he is alone, nod to him +secretly, and say, “Simaetha bids thee to come to +her,” and lead him hither privily.’ So I spoke; +and she went and brought the bright-limbed Delphis to my +house. But I, when I beheld him just crossing the threshold +of the door, with his light step,—</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p>Grew colder all than snow, and the sweat streamed from my brow +like the dank dews, and I had no strength to speak, nay, nor to +<a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 17</span>utter as +much as children murmur in their slumber, calling to their mother +dear: and all my fair body turned stiff as a puppet of wax.</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p>Then when he had gazed on me, he that knows not love, he fixed +his eyes on the ground, and sat down on my bed, and spake as he +sat him down: ‘Truly, Simaetha, thou didst by no more +outrun mine own coming hither, when thou badst me to thy roof, +than of late I outran in the race the beautiful Philinus:</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p>‘For I should have come; yea, by sweet Love, I should +have come, with friends of mine, two or three, as soon as night +drew on, bearing in my breast the apples of Dionysus, and on my +head silvery poplar leaves, the holy boughs of Heracles, all +twined with bands of purple.</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p>‘And if you had received me, they would have taken it +well, for among all the youths unwed I have a name for beauty and +speed of foot. With one kiss of thy lovely mouth I had been +content; but an if ye had thrust me forth, and the door had been +fastened with the bar, then truly should torch and axe have +broken in upon you.</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>‘And now to Cypris first, methinks, my thanks are +due, and after Cypris it is thou that hast caught me, lady, from +the burning, in that thou badst me come to this thy house, half +consumed as I am! Yea, Love, ’tis plain, lights oft a +fiercer blaze than Hephaestus the God of Lipara.</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p>‘With his madness dire, he scares both the maiden from +her bower and the bride from the bridal bed, yet warm with the +body of her lord!’</p> +<p>So he spake, and I, that was easy to win, took his hand, and +drew him down on the soft bed beside me. And immediately +body from body caught fire, and our faces glowed as they had not +done, and sweetly we murmured. And now, dear Selene, to +tell thee no long tale, the great rites were accomplished, and we +twain came to our desire. Faultless was I in his sight, +till yesterday, and he, again, in mine. But there came to +me the mother of Philista, my flute player, and the mother of +Melixo, to-day, when the horses of the Sun were climbing the sky, +bearing Dawn of the rosy arms from the ocean stream. Many +another thing she told me; and chiefly this, that Delphis is a +lover, and whom he loves she vowed she knew not surely, but this +only, that ever he filled up his cup with the unmixed wine, to +drink a toast to his dearest. And at last he went off +hastily, <a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +19</span>saying that he would cover with garlands the dwelling of +his love.</p> +<p>This news my visitor told me, and she speaks the truth. +For indeed, at other seasons, he would come to me thrice, or four +times, in the day, and often would leave with me his Dorian oil +flask. But now it is the twelfth day since I have even +looked on him! Can it be that he has not some other +delight, and has forgotten me? Now with magic rites I will +strive to bind him, <a name="citation19"></a><a +href="#footnote19" class="citation">[19]</a> but if still he +vexes me, he shall beat, by the Fates I vow it, at the gate of +Hell. Such evil medicines I store against him in a certain +coffer, the use whereof, my lady, an Assyrian stranger taught +me.</p> +<p>But do thou farewell, and turn thy steeds to Ocean, Lady, and +my pain I will bear, as even till now I have endured it. +Farewell, Selene bright and fair, farewell ye other stars, that +follow the wheels of quiet Night.</p> +<h3><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 20</span>IDYL +III</h3> +<p><i>A goatherd</i>, <i>leaving his goats to feed on the +hillside</i>, <i>in the charge of Tityrus</i>, <i>approaches the +cavern of Amaryllis</i>, <i>with its veil of ferns and ivy</i>, +<i>and attempts to win back the heart of the girl by +song</i>. <i>He mingles promises with harmless threats</i>, +<i>and repeats</i>, <i>in exquisite verses</i>, <i>the names of +the famous lovers of old days</i>, <i>Milanion and +Endymion</i>. <i>Failing to move Amaryllis</i>, <i>the +goatherd threatens to die where he has thrown himself down</i>, +<i>beneath the trees</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Courting</span> Amaryllis with song I go, +while my she-goats feed on the hill, and Tityrus herds +them. Ah, Tityrus, my dearly beloved, feed thou the goats, +and to the well-side lead them, Tityrus, and ’ware the +yellow Libyan he-goat, lest he butt thee with his horns.</p> +<p>Ah, lovely Amaryllis, why no more, as of old, dust thou glance +through this cavern after me, nor callest me, thy sweetheart, to +thy side. Can it be that thou hatest me? Do I seem +snub-nosed, now thou hast seen me near, maiden, and +under-hung? Thou wilt make me strangle myself!</p> +<p>Lo, ten apples I bring thee, plucked from that very place +where thou didst bid me <a name="page21"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 21</span>pluck them, and others to-morrow I +will bring thee.</p> +<p>Ah, regard my heart’s deep sorrow! ah, would I were that +humming bee, and to thy cave might come dipping beneath the fern +that hides thee, and the ivy leaves!</p> +<p>Now know I Love, and a cruel God is he. Surely he sucked +the lioness’s dug, and in the wild wood his mother reared +him, whose fire is scorching me, and bites even to the bone.</p> +<p>Ah, lovely as thou art to look upon, ah heart of stone, ah +dark-browed maiden, embrace me, thy true goatherd, that I may +kiss thee, and even in empty kisses there is a sweet delight!</p> +<p>Soon wilt thou make me rend the wreath in pieces small, the +wreath of ivy, dear Amaryllis, that I keep for thee, with +rose-buds twined, and fragrant parsley. Ah me, what +anguish! Wretched that I am, whither shall I turn! +Thou dust not hear my prayer!</p> +<p>I will cast off my coat of skins, and into yonder waves I will +spring, where the fisher Olpis watches for the tunny shoals, and +even if I die not, surely thy pleasure will have been done.</p> +<p>I learned the truth of old, when, amid thoughts of thee, I +asked, ‘Loves she, loves she not?’ and the poppy +petal clung not, and gave no crackling sound, but withered on my +smooth forearm, even so. <a name="citation21"></a><a +href="#footnote21" class="citation">[21]</a></p> +<p>And she too spoke sooth, even Agroeo, she that divineth with a +sieve, and of late was binding sheaves behind the reapers, who +said that <a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>I had set all my heart on thee, but that thou didst +nothing regard me.</p> +<p>Truly I keep for thee the white goat with the twin kids that +Mermnon’s daughter too, the brown-skinned Erithacis, prays +me to give her; and give her them I will, since thou dost flout +me.</p> +<p>My right eyelid throbs, is it a sign that I am to see +her? Here will I lean me against this pine tree, and sing, +and then perchance she will regard me, for she is not all of +adamant.</p> +<p>Lo, Hippomenes when he was eager to marry the famous maiden, +took apples in his hand, and so accomplished his course; and +Atalanta saw, and madly longed, and leaped into the deep waters +of desire. Melampus too, the soothsayer, brought the herd +of oxen from Othrys to Pylos, and thus in the arms of Bias was +laid the lovely mother of wise Alphesiboea.</p> +<p>And was it not thus that Adonis, as he pastured his sheep upon +the hills, led beautiful Cytherea to such heights of frenzy, that +not even in his death doth she unclasp him from her bosom? +Blessed, methinks is the lot of him that sleeps, and tosses not, +nor turns, even Endymion; and, dearest maiden, blessed I call +Iason, whom such things befell, as ye that be profane shall never +come to know.</p> +<p>My head aches, but thou carest not. I will sing no more, +but dead will I lie where I fall, and here may the wolves devour +me.</p> +<p>Sweet as honey in the mouth may my death be to thee.</p> +<h3><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 23</span>IDYL +IV</h3> +<p><i>Battus and Corydon</i>, <i>two rustic fellows</i>, +<i>meeting in a glade</i>, <i>gossip about their neighbour</i>, +<i>Aegon</i>, <i>who has gone to try his fortune at the Olympic +games</i>. <i>After some random banter</i>, <i>the talk +turns on the death of Amaryllis</i>, <i>and the grief of Battus +is disturbed by the roaming of his cattle</i>. <i>Corydon +removes a thorn that has run into his friend’s foot</i>, +<i>and the conversation comes back to matters of rural +scandal</i>.</p> +<p><i>The scene is in Southern Italy</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Tell me, Corydon, whose kine are +these,—the cattle of Philondas?</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. Nay, they are Aegon’s, he gave me +them to pasture.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Dost thou ever find a way to milk them +all, on the sly, just before evening?</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. No chance of that, for the old man puts +the calves beneath their dams, and keeps watch on me.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. But the neatherd himself,—to what +land has he passed out of sight?</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. Hast thou not heard? Milon went +and carried him off to the Alpheus.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. And when, pray, did <i>he</i> ever set +eyes on the wrestlers’ oil?</p> +<p><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +24</span><i>Corydon</i>. They say he is a match for +Heracles, in strength and hardihood.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. And I, so mother says, am a better man +than Polydeuces.</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. Well, off he has gone, with a shovel, +and with twenty sheep from his flock here. <a +name="citation24"></a><a href="#footnote24" +class="citation">[24]</a></p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Milo, thou’lt see, will soon be +coaxing the wolves to rave!</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. But Aegon’s heifers here are +lowing pitifully, and miss their master.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Yes, wretched beasts that they are, how +false a neatherd was theirs!</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. Wretched enough in truth, and they have +no more care to pasture.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Nothing is left, now, of that heifer, +look you, bones, that’s all. She does not live on +dewdrops, does she, like the grasshopper?</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. No, by Earth, for sometimes I take her +to graze by the banks of Aesarus, fair handfuls of fresh grass I +give her too, and otherwhiles she wantons in the deep shade round +Latymnus.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. How lean is the red bull too! May +the sons of Lampriades, the burghers to wit, get such another for +their sacrifice to Hera, for the township is an ill +neighbour.</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. And yet that bull is driven to the +mere’s mouth, and to the meadows of Physcus, and to the +Neaethus, where all fair herbs bloom, red goat-wort, and endive, +and fragrant bees-wort.</p> +<p><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span><i>Battus</i>. Ah, wretched Aegon, thy very kine +will go to Hades, while thou too art in love with a luckless +victory, and thy pipe is flecked with mildew, the pipe that once +thou madest for thyself!</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. Not the pipe, by the nymphs, not so, for +when he went to Pisa, he left the same as a gift to me, and I am +something of a player. Well can I strike up the air of +<i>Glaucé</i> and well the strain of <i>Pyrrhus</i>, and +<i>the praise of Croton I sing</i>, and <i>Zacynthus is a goodly +town</i>, and <i>Lacinium that fronts the dawn</i>! There +Aegon the boxer, unaided, devoured eighty cakes to his own share, +and there he caught the bull by the hoof, and brought him from +the mountain, and gave him to Amaryllis. Thereon the women +shrieked aloud, and the neatherd,—he burst out +laughing.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Ah, gracious Amaryllis! Thee alone +even in death will we ne’er forget. Dear to me as my +goats wert thou, and thou art dead! Alas, too cruel a +spirit hath my lot in his keeping.</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. Dear Battus, thou must needs be +comforted. The morrow perchance will bring better +fortune. The living may hope, the dead alone are +hopeless. Zeus now shows bright and clear, and anon he +rains.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Enough of thy comforting! Drive the +calves from the lower ground, the cursed beasts are grazing on +the olive-shoots. Hie on, white face.</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. Out, Cymaetha, get thee to the <a +name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>hill! +Dost thou not hear? By Pan, I will soon come and be the +death of you, if you stay there! Look, here she is creeping +back again! Would I had my crook for hare killing: how I +would cudgel thee.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. In the name of Zeus, prithee look here, +Corydon! A thorn has just run into my foot under the +ankle. How deep they grow, the arrow-headed thorns. +An ill end befall the heifer; I was pricked when I was gaping +after her. Prithee dost see it?</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. Yes, yes, and I have caught it in my +nails, see, here it is.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. How tiny is the wound, and how tall a man +it masters!</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. When thou goest to the hill, go not +barefoot, Battus, for on the hillside flourish thorns and +brambles plenty.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Come, tell me, Corydon, the old man now, +does he still run after that little black-browed darling whom he +used to dote on?</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. He is after her still, my lad; but +yesterday I came upon them, by the very byre, and right loving +were they.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Well done, thou ancient lover! +Sure, thou art near akin to the satyrs, or a rival of the +slim-shanked Pans! <a name="citation26"></a><a href="#footnote26" +class="citation">[26]</a></p> +<h3><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>IDYL +V</h3> +<p><i>This Idyl begins with a ribald debate between two +hirelings</i>, <i>who</i>, <i>at last</i>, <i>compete with each +other in a match of pastoral song</i>. <i>No other idyl of +Theocritus is so frankly true to the rough side of rustic +manners</i>. <i>The scene is in Southern Italy</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Goats of mine, keep clear of that +notorious shepherd of Sibyrtas, that Lacon; he stole my goat-skin +yesterday.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Will ye never leave the well-head? +Off, my lambs, see ye not Comatas; him that lately stole my +shepherd’s pipe?</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. What manner of pipe might that be, for +when gat’st <i>thou</i> a pipe, thou slave of +Sibyrtas? Why does it no more suffice thee to keep a flute +of straw, and whistle with Corydon?</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. What pipe, free sir? why, the pipe that +Lycon gave me. And what manner of goat-skin hadst thou, +that Lacon made off with? Tell me, Comatas, for truly even +thy master, Eumarides, had never a goat-skin to sleep in.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. ’Twas the skin that Crocylus gave +me, the dappled one, when he sacrificed the she-goat to the +nymphs; but thou, wretch, <a name="page28"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 28</span>even then wert wasting with envy, and +now, at last, thou hast stripped me bare!</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Nay verily, so help me Pan of the +seashore, it was not Lacon the son of Calaethis that filched the +coat of skin. If I lie, sirrah, may I leap frenzied down +this rock into the Crathis!</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Nay verily, my friend, so help me these +nymphs of the mere (and ever may they be favourable, as now, and +kind to me), it was not Comatas that pilfered thy pipe.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. If I believe thee, may I suffer the +afflictions of Daphnis! But see, if thou carest to stake a +kid—though indeed ’tis scarce worth my +while—then, go to, I will sing against thee, and cease not, +till thou dust cry ‘enough!’</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. <i>The sow defied Athene</i>! See, +there is staked the kid, go to, do thou too put a fatted lamb +against him, for thy stake.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Thou fox, and where would be our even +betting then? Who ever chose hair to shear, in place of +wool? and who prefers to milk a filthy bitch, when he can have a +she-goat, nursing her first kid?</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Why, he that deems himself as sure of +getting the better of his neighbour as thou dost, a wasp that +buzzes against the cicala. But as it is plain thou thinkst +the kid no fair stake, lo, here is this he-goat. Begin the +match!</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. No such haste, thou art not on fire! +More sweetly wilt thou sing, if thou wilt sit down beneath the +wild olive tree, and the <a name="page29"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 29</span>groves in this place. Chill +water falls there, drop by drop, here grows the grass, and here a +leafy bed is strown, and here the locusts prattle.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Nay, no whit am I in haste, but I am +sorely vexed, that thou shouldst dare to look me straight in the +face, thou whom I used to teach while thou wert still a +child. See where gratitude goes! As well rear +wolf-whelps, breed hounds, that they may devour thee!</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. And what good thing have I to remember +that I ever learned or heard from thee, thou envious thing, thou +mere hideous manikin!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">. . . . .</p> +<p>But come this way, come, and thou shalt sing thy last of +country song.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. That way I will not go! Here be +oak trees, and here the galingale, and sweetly here hum the bees +about the hives. There are two wells of chill water, and on +the tree the birds are warbling, and the shadow is beyond compare +with that where thou liest, and from on high the pine tree pelts +us with her cones.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Nay, but lambs’ wool, truly, and +fleeces, shalt thou tread here, if thou wilt but +come,—fleeces more soft than sleep, but the goat-skins +beside thee stink—worse than thyself. And I will set +a great bowl of white milk for the nymphs, and another will I +offer of sweet olive oil.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Nay, but an if thou wilt come, <a +name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>thou shalt +tread here the soft feathered fern, and flowering thyme, and +beneath thee shall be strown the skins of she-goats, four times +more soft than the fleeces of thy lambs. And I will set out +eight bowls of milk for Pan, and eight bowls full of the richest +honeycombs.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Thence, where thou art, I pray thee, begin +the match, and there sing thy country song, tread thine own +ground and keep thine oaks to thyself. But who, who shall +judge between us? Would that Lycopas, the neatherd, might +chance to come this way!</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. I want nothing with him, but that man, +if thou wilt, that woodcutter we will call, who is gathering +those tufts of heather near thee. It is Morson.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Let us shout, then!</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Call thou to him.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Ho, friend, come hither and listen for a +little while, for we two have a match to prove which is the +better singer of country song. So Morson, my friend, +neither judge me too kindly, no, nor show him favour.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Yes, dear Morson, for the nymphs’ +sake neither lean in thy judgment to Comatas, nor, prithee, +favour <i>him</i>. The flock of sheep thou seest here +belongs to Sibyrtas of Thurii, and the goats, friend, that thou +beholdest are the goats of Eumarides of Sybaris.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Now, in the name of Zeus did any one ask +thee, thou make-mischief, who owned the flock, I or +Sibyrtas? What a chatterer thou art!</p> +<p><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +31</span><i>Comatas</i>. Best of men, I am for speaking the +whole truth, and boasting never, but thou art too fond of cutting +speeches.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Come, say whatever thou hast to say, and +let the stranger get home to the city alive; oh, Paean, what a +babbler thou art, Comatas!</p> +<h4><span class="smcap">The Singing Match</span>.</h4> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. The Muses love me better far than the +minstrel Daphnis; but a little while ago I sacrificed two young +she-goats to the Muses.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Yea, and me too Apollo loves very dearly, +and a noble ram I rear for Apollo, for the feast of the Carnea, +look you, is drawing nigh.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. The she-goats that I milk have all borne +twins save two. The maiden saw me, and ‘alas,’ +she cried, ‘dost thou milk alone?’</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Ah, ah, but Lacon here hath nigh twenty +baskets full of cheese, and Lacon lies with his darling in the +flowers!</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Clearista, too, pelts the goatherd with +apples as he drives past his she-goats, and a sweet word she +murmurs.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. And wild with love am I too, for my fair +young darling, that meets the shepherd, with the bright hair +floating round the shapely neck.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Nay, ye may not liken dog-roses to the +rose, or wind-flowers to the roses of the garden; by the garden +walls their beds are blossoming.</p> +<p><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +32</span><i>Lacon</i>. Nay, nor wild apples to acorns, for +acorns are bitter in the oaken rind, but apples are sweet as +honey.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Soon will I give my maiden a ring-dove +for a gift; I will take it from the juniper tree, for there it is +brooding.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. But I will give my darling a soft fleece +to make a cloak, a free gift, when I shear the black ewe.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Forth from the wild olive, my bleating +she-goats, feed here where the hillside slopes, and the tamarisks +grove.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Conarus there, and Cynaetha, will you +never leave the oak? Graze here, where Phalarus feeds, +where the hillside fronts the dawn.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Ay, and I have a vessel of cypress wood, +and a mixing bowl, the work of Praxiteles, and I hoard them for +my maiden.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. I too have a dog that loves the flock, the +dog to strangle wolves; him I am giving to my darling to chase +all manner of wild beasts.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Ye locusts that overleap our fence, see +that ye harm not our vines, for our vines are young.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Ye cicalas, see how I make the goatherd +chafe: even so, methinks, do ye vex the reapers.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. I hate the foxes, with their bushy +brushes, that ever come at evening, and eat the grapes of +Micon.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. And I hate the lady-birds that <a +name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>devour the +figs of Philondas, and flit down the wind.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Dost thou not remember how I cudgelled +thee, and thou didst grin and nimbly writhe, and catch hold of +yonder oak?</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. That I have no memory of, but how +Eumarides bound thee there, upon a time, and flogged thee through +and through, that I do very well remember.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Already, Morson, some one is waxing +bitter, dust thou see no sign of it? Go, go, and pluck, +forthwith, the squills from some old wife’s grave.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. And I too, Morson, I make some one chafe, +and thou dost perceive it. Be off now to the Hales stream, +and dig cyclamen.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Let Himera flow with milk instead of +water, and thou, Crathis, run red with wine, and all thy reeds +bear apples.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Would that the fount of Sybaris may flow +with honey, and may the maiden’s pail, at dawning, be +dipped, not in water, but in the honeycomb.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. My goats eat cytisus, and goatswort, and +tread the lentisk shoots, and lie at ease among the arbutus.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. But my ewes have honey-wort to feed on, +and luxuriant creepers flower around, as fair as roses.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. I love not Alcippe, for yesterday she +did not kiss me, and take my face between her hands, when I gave +her the dove.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. But deeply I love my darling, for a <a +name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>kind kiss +once I got, in return for the gift of a shepherd’s +pipe.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Lacon, it never was right that pyes +should contend with the nightingale, nor hoopoes with swans, but +thou, unhappy swain, art ever for contention.</p> +<p><i>Morson’s Judgement</i>. I bid the shepherd +cease. But to thee, Comatas, Morson presents the +lamb. And thou, when thou hast sacrificed her to the +nymphs, send Morson, anon, a goodly portion of her flesh.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. I will, by Pan. Now leap, and +snort, my he-goats, all the herd of you, and see here how loud I +ever will laugh, and exult over Lacon, the shepherd, for that, at +last, I have won the lamb. See, I will leap sky high with +joy. Take heart, my horned goats, to-morrow I will dip you +all in the fountain of Sybaris. Thou white he-goat, I will +beat thee if thou dare to touch one of the herd before I +sacrifice the lamb to the nymphs. There he is at it +again! Call me Melanthius, <a name="citation34"></a><a +href="#footnote34" class="citation">[34]</a> not Comatas, if I do +not cudgel thee.</p> +<h3><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>IDYL +VI</h3> +<p><i>Daphnis and Damoetas</i>, <i>two herdsmen of the golden +age</i>, <i>meet by a well-side</i>, <i>and sing a match</i>, +<i>their topic is the Cyclops</i>, <i>Polyphemus</i>, <i>and his +love for the sea-nymph</i>, <i>Galatea</i>.</p> +<p><i>The scene is in Sicily</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Damoetas</span>, and Daphnis the herdsman, +once on a time, Aratus, led the flock together into one +place. Golden was the down on the chin of one, the beard of +the other was half-grown, and by a well-head the twain sat them +down, in the summer noon, and thus they sang. ’Twas +Daphnis that began the singing, for the challenge had come from +Daphnis.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Daphnis’s Song of the +Cyclops</i>.</p> +<p>Galatea is pelting thy flock with apples, Polyphemus, she says +the goatherd is a laggard lover! And thou dost not glance +at her, oh hard, hard that thou art, but still thou sittest at +thy sweet piping. Ah see, again, she is pelting thy dog, +that follows thee to watch thy sheep. He barks, as he looks +into the brine, and now the beautiful waves that softly plash <a +name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>reveal him, +<a name="citation36"></a><a href="#footnote36" +class="citation">[36]</a> as he runs upon the shore. Take +heed that he leap not on the maiden’s limbs as she rises +from the salt water, see that he rend not her lovely body! +Ah, thence again, see, she is wantoning, light as dry +thistle-down in the scorching summer weather. She flies +when thou art wooing her; when thou woo’st not she pursues +thee, she plays out all her game and leaves her king +unguarded. For truly to Love, Polyphemus, many a time doth +foul seem fair!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>He ended and Damoetas touched a +prelude to his sweet song</i>.</p> +<p>I saw her, by Pan, I saw her when she was pelting my +flock. Nay, she escaped not me, escaped not my one dear +eye,—wherewith I shall see to my life’s +end,—let Telemus the soothsayer, that prophesies hateful +things, hateful things take home, to keep them for his +children! But it is all to torment her, that I, in my turn, +give not back her glances, pretending that I have another +love. To hear this makes her jealous of me, by Paean, and +she wastes with pain, and springs madly from the sea, gazing at +my caves and at my herds. And I hiss on my dog to bark at +her, for when I loved Galatea he would whine with joy, and lay +his muzzle on her lap. Perchance when she marks how I use +her she will send me many a messenger, but on her envoys I will +<a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>shut my +door till she promises that herself will make a glorious +bridal-bed on this island for me. For in truth, I am not so +hideous as they say! But lately I was looking into the sea, +when all was calm; beautiful seemed my beard, beautiful my one +eye—as I count beauty—and the sea reflected the gleam +of my teeth whiter than the Parian stone. Then, all to shun +the evil eye, did I spit thrice in my breast; for this spell was +taught me by the crone, Cottytaris, that piped of yore to the +reapers in Hippocoon’s field.</p> +<p>Then Damoetas kissed Daphnis, as he ended his song, and he +gave Daphnis a pipe, and Daphnis gave him a beautiful +flute. Damoetas fluted, and Daphnis piped, the +herdsman,—and anon the calves were dancing in the soft +green grass. Neither won the victory, but both were +invincible.</p> +<h3><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 38</span>IDYL +VII</h3> +<p><i>The poet making his way through the noonday heat</i>, +<i>with two friends</i>, <i>to a harvest feast</i>, <i>meets the +goatherd</i>, <i>Lycidas</i>. <i>To humour the poet Lycidas +sings a love song of his own</i>, <i>and the other replies with +verses about the passion of Aratus</i>, <i>the famous writer of +didactic verse</i>. <i>After a courteous parting from +Lycidas</i>, <i>the poet and his two friends repair to the +orchard</i>, <i>where Demeter is being gratified with the +first-fruits of harvest and vintaging</i>.</p> +<p><i>In this idyl</i>, <i>Theocritus</i>, <i>speaking of himself +by the name of Simichidas</i>, <i>alludes to his teachers in +poetry</i>, <i>and</i>, <i>perhaps</i>, <i>to some of the +literary quarrels of the time</i>.</p> +<p><i>The scene is in the isle of Cos</i>. <i>G. Hermann +fancied that the scene was in Lucania</i>, <i>and Mr. W. R. Paton +thinks he can identify the places named by the aid of +inscriptions</i> (Classical Review, ii. 8, 265). <i>See +also Rayet</i>, Mémoire sur l’île de Cos, p. +18, <i>Paris</i>, 1876.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Harvest Feast</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> fell upon a time when Eucritus +and I were walking from the city to the Hales water, and Amyntas +was the third in our company. The harvest-feast of Deo was +then being held by Phrasidemus and Antigenes, two sons of +Lycopeus (if aught there be of noble and old descent), <a +name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>whose lineage +dates from Clytia, and Chalcon himself—Chalcon, beneath +whose foot the fountain sprang, the well of Buriné. +He set his knee stoutly against the rock, and straightway by the +spring poplars and elm trees showed a shadowy glade, arched +overhead they grew, and pleached with leaves of green. We +had not yet reached the mid-point of the way, nor was the tomb of +Brasilas yet risen upon our sight, when,—thanks be to the +Muses—we met a certain wayfarer, the best of men, a +Cydonian. Lycidas was his name, a goatherd was he, nor +could any that saw him have taken him for other than he was, for +all about him bespoke the goatherd. Stripped from the +roughest of he-goats was the tawny skin he wore on his shoulders, +the smell of rennet clinging to it still, and about his breast an +old cloak was buckled with a plaited belt, and in his right hand +he carried a crooked staff of wild olive: and quietly he accosted +me, with a smile, a twinkling eye, and a laugh still on his +lips:—</p> +<p>‘Simichidas, whither, pray, through the noon dost thou +trail thy feet, when even the very lizard on the rough stone wall +is sleeping, and the crested larks no longer fare afield? +Art thou hastening to a feast, a bidden guest, or art thou for +treading a townsman’s wine-press? For such is thy +speed that every stone upon the way spins singing from thy +boots!’</p> +<p>‘Dear Lycidas,’ I answered him, ‘they all +say that thou among herdsmen, yea, and reapers art far the +chiefest flute-player. In sooth this <a +name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>greatly +rejoices our hearts, and yet, to my conceit, meseems I can vie +with thee. But as to this journey, we are going to the +harvest-feast, for, look you some friends of ours are paying a +festival to fair-robed Demeter, out of the first-fruits of their +increase, for verily in rich measure has the goddess filled their +threshing-floor with barley grain. But come, for the way +and the day are thine alike and mine, come, let us vie in +pastoral song, perchance each will make the other delight. +For I, too, am a clear-voiced mouth of the Muses, and they all +call me the best of minstrels, but I am not so credulous; no, by +Earth, for to my mind I cannot as yet conquer in song that great +Sicelidas—the Samian—nay, nor yet Philetas. +’Tis a match of frog against cicala!’</p> +<p>So I spoke, to win my end, and the goatherd with his sweet +laugh, said, ‘I give thee this staff, because thou art a +sapling of Zeus, and in thee is no guile. For as I hate +your builders that try to raise a house as high as the mountain +summit of Oromedon, <a name="citation40"></a><a +href="#footnote40" class="citation">[40]</a> so I hate all birds +of the Muses that vainly toil with their cackling notes against +the Minstrel of Chios! But come, Simichidas, without more +ado let us begin the pastoral song. And I—nay, see +friend—if it please thee at all, this ditty that I lately +fashioned on the mountain side!’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page41"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 41</span><i>The Song of Lycidas</i>.</p> +<p>Fair voyaging befall Ageanax to Mytilene, both when the +<i>Kids</i> are westering, and the south wind the wet waves +chases, and when Orion holds his feet above the Ocean! Fair +voyaging betide him, if he saves Lycidas from the fire of +Aphrodite, for hot is the love that consumes me.</p> +<p>The halcyons will lull the waves, and lull the deep, and the +south wind, and the east, that stirs the sea-weeds on the +farthest shores, <a name="citation41"></a><a href="#footnote41" +class="citation">[41]</a> the halcyons that are dearest to the +green-haired mermaids, of all the birds that take their prey from +the salt sea. Let all things smile on Ageanax to Mytilene +sailing, and may he come to a friendly haven. And I, on +that day, will go crowned with anise, or with a rosy wreath, or a +garland of white violets, and the fine wine of Ptelea I will dip +from the bowl as I lie by the fire, while one shall roast beans +for me, in the embers. And elbow-deep shall the flowery bed +be thickly strewn, with fragrant leaves and with asphodel, and +with curled parsley; and softly will I drink, toasting Ageanax +with lips clinging fast to the cup, and draining it even to the +lees.</p> +<p>Two shepherds shall be my flute-players, one from Acharnae, +one from Lycope, and hard by <a name="page42"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 42</span>Tityrus shall sing, how the herdsman +Daphnis once loved a strange maiden, and how on the hill he +wandered, and how the oak trees sang his dirge—the oaks +that grow by the banks of the river Himeras—while he was +wasting like any snow under high Haemus, or Athos, or Rhodope, or +Caucasus at the world’s end.</p> +<p>And he shall sing how, once upon a time, the great chest +prisoned the living goatherd, by his lord’s infatuate and +evil will, and how the blunt-faced bees, as they came up from the +meadow to the fragrant cedar chest, fed him with food of tender +flowers, because the Muse still dropped sweet nectar on his lips. +<a name="citation42"></a><a href="#footnote42" +class="citation">[42]</a></p> +<p>O blessed Comatas, surely these joyful things befell thee, and +thou wast enclosed within the chest, and feeding on the honeycomb +through the springtime didst thou serve out thy bondage. +Ah, would that in my days thou hadst been numbered with the +living, how gladly on the hills would I have herded thy pretty +she-goats, and listened to thy voice, whilst thou, under oaks or +pine trees lying, didst sweetly sing, divine Comatas!</p> +<p>When he had chanted thus much he ceased, <a +name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>and I +followed after him again, with some such words as +these:—</p> +<p>‘Dear Lycidas, many another song the Nymphs have taught +me also, as I followed my herds upon the hillside, bright songs +that Rumour, perchance, has brought even to the throne of +Zeus. But of them all this is far the most excellent, +wherewith I will begin to do thee honour: nay listen as thou art +dear to the Muses.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Song of Simichidas</i>.</p> +<p>For Simichidas the Loves have sneezed, for truly the wretch +loves Myrto as dearly as goats love the spring. <a +name="citation43"></a><a href="#footnote43" +class="citation">[43]</a> But Aratus, far the dearest of my +friends, deep, deep his heart he keeps Desire,—and +Aratus’s love is young! Aristis knows it, an +honourable man, nay of men the best, whom even Phoebus would +permit to stand and sing lyre in hand, by his tripods. +Aristis knows how deeply love is burning Aratus to the +bone. Ah, Pan, thou lord of the beautiful plain of Homole, +bring, I pray thee, the darling of Aratus unbidden to his arms, +whosoe’er it be that he loves. If this thou dost, +dear Pan, then never may the boys of Arcady flog thy sides and +shoulders with stinging herbs, when scanty meats are left them on +thine altar. But if thou shouldst otherwise decree, then +may all thy skin be frayed and torn with thy nails, yea, and in +nettles mayst <a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +44</span>thou couch! In the hills of the Edonians mayst +thou dwell in mid-winter time, by the river Hebrus, close +neighbour to the Polar star! But in summer mayst thou range +with the uttermost Æthiopians beneath the rock of the +Blemyes, whence Nile no more is seen.</p> +<p>And you, leave ye the sweet fountain of Hyetis and Byblis, and +ye that dwell in the steep home of golden Dione, ye Loves as rosy +as red apples, strike me with your arrows, the desired, the +beloved; strike, for that ill-starred one pities not my friend, +my host! And yet assuredly the pear is over-ripe, and the +maidens cry ‘alas, alas, thy fair bloom fades +away!’</p> +<p>Come, no more let us mount guard by these gates, Aratus, nor +wear our feet away with knocking there. Nay, let the +crowing of the morning cock give others over to the bitter cold +of dawn. Let Molon alone, my friend, bear the torment at +that school of passion! For us, let us secure a quiet life, +and some old crone to spit on us for luck, and so keep all +unlovely things away.</p> +<p>Thus I sang, and sweetly smiling, as before, he gave me the +staff, a pledge of brotherhood in the Muses. Then he bent +his way to the left, and took the road to Pyxa, while I and +Eucritus, with beautiful Amyntas, turned to the farm of +Phrasidemus. There we reclined on deep beds of fragrant +lentisk, lowly strown, and rejoicing we lay in new stript leaves +of the vine. And high above our heads waved many a poplar, +many an elm tree, while close at hand <a name="page45"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 45</span>the sacred water from the +nymphs’ own cave welled forth with murmurs musical. +On shadowy boughs the burnt cicalas kept their chattering toil, +far off the little owl cried in the thick thorn brake, the larks +and finches were singing, the ring-dove moaned, the yellow bees +were flitting about the springs. All breathed the scent of +the opulent summer, of the season of fruits; pears at our feet +and apples by our sides were rolling plentiful, the tender +branches, with wild plums laden, were earthward bowed, and the +four-year-old pitch seal was loosened from the mouth of the +wine-jars.</p> +<p>Ye nymphs of Castaly that hold the steep of Parnassus, say, +was it ever a bowl like this that old Chiron set before Heracles +in the rocky cave of Pholus? Was it nectar like this that +beguiled the shepherd to dance and foot it about his folds, the +shepherd that dwelt by Anapus, on a time, the strong Polyphemus +who hurled at ships with mountains? Had these ever such a +draught as ye nymphs bade flow for us by the altar of Demeter of +the threshing-floor?</p> +<p>Ah, once again may I plant the great fan on her corn-heap, +while she stands smiling by, with sheaves and poppies in her +hands.</p> +<h3><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>IDYL +VIII</h3> +<p><i>The scene is among the high mountain pastures of +Sicily</i>:—</p> +<p class="poetry">‘<i>On the sward</i>, <i>at the cliff +top</i><br /> +<i>Lie strewn the white flocks</i>;’</p> +<p><i>and far below shines and murmurs the Sicilian +sea</i>. <i>Here Daphnis and Menalcas</i>, <i>two herdsmen +of the golden age</i>, <i>meet</i>, <i>while still in their +earliest youth</i>, <i>and contend for the prize of +pastoral</i>. <i>Their songs</i>, <i>in elegiac +measure</i>, <i>are variations on the themes of love and +friendship</i> (<i>for Menalcas sings of Milon</i>, <i>Daphnis of +Nais</i>), <i>and of nature</i>. <i>Daphnis is the +winner</i>; <i>it is his earliest victory</i>, <i>and the prelude +to his great renown among nymphs and shepherds</i>. <i>In +this version the strophes are arranged as in Fritzsche’s +text</i>. <i>Some critics take the poem to be a patchwork +by various hands</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">As</span> beautiful Daphnis was following +his kine, and Menalcas shepherding his flock, they met, as men +tell, on the long ranges of the hills. The beards of both +had still the first golden bloom, both were in their earliest +youth, both were pipe-players skilled, both skilled in +song. Then first Menalcas, looking at Daphnis, thus bespoke +him.</p> +<p>‘Daphnis, thou herdsman of the lowing kine, <a +name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span>art thou +minded to sing a match with me? Methinks I shall vanquish +thee, when I sing in turn, as readily as I please.’</p> +<p>Then Daphnis answered him again in this wise, ‘Thou +shepherd of the fleecy sheep, Menalcas, the pipe-player, never +wilt thou vanquish me in song, not thou, if thou shouldst sing +till some evil thing befall thee!’</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i>. Dost thou care then, to try this and +see, dost thou care to risk a stake?</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. I do care to try this and see, a stake I +am ready to risk.</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i>. But what shall we stake, what pledge +shall we find equal and sufficient?</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. I will pledge a calf, and do thou put +down a lamb, one that has grown to his mother’s height.</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i>. Nay, never will I stake a lamb, for +stern is my father, and stern my mother, and they number all the +sheep at evening.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. But what, then, wilt thou lay, and where +is to be the victor’s gain?</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i>. The pipe, the fair pipe with nine +stops, that I made myself, fitted with white wax, and smoothed +evenly, above as below. This would I readily wager, but +never will I stake aught that is my father’s.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. See then, I too, in truth, have a pipe +with nine stops, fitted with white wax, and smoothed evenly, +above as below. But lately I put it together, and this +finger still aches, where the reed split, and cut it deeply.</p> +<p><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +48</span><i>Menalcas</i>. But who is to judge between us, +who will listen to our singing?</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. That goatherd yonder, he will do, if we +call him hither, the man for whom that dog, a black hound with a +white patch, is barking among the kids.</p> +<p>Then the boys called aloud, and the goatherd gave ear, and +came, and the boys began to sing, and the goatherd was willing to +be their umpire. And first Menalcas sang (for he drew the +lot) the sweet-voiced Menalcas, and Daphnis took up the answering +strain of pastoral song—and ’twas thus Menalcas +began:</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i>. Ye glades, ye rivers, issue of the +Gods, if ever Menalcas the flute-player sang a song ye loved, to +please him, feed his lambs; and if ever Daphnis come hither with +his calves, nay he have no less a boon.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Ye wells and pastures, sweet growth +o’ the world, if Daphnis sings like the nightingales, do ye +fatten this herd of his, and if Menalcas hither lead a flock, may +he too have pasture ungrudging to his full desire!</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i>. There doth the ewe bear twins, and +there the goats; there the bees fill the hives, and there oaks +grow loftier than common, wheresoever beautiful Milon’s +feet walk wandering; ah, if he depart, then withered and lean is +the shepherd, and lean the pastures</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Everywhere is spring, and pastures +everywhere, and everywhere the cows’ udders are swollen +with milk, and the younglings are fostered, wheresoever fair Nais +roams; ah, if <a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +49</span>she depart, then parched are the kine, and he that feeds +them!</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i>. O bearded goat, thou mate of the white +herd, and O ye blunt-faced kids, where are the manifold deeps of +the forest, thither get ye to the water, for thereby is Milon; +go, thou hornless goat, and say to him, ‘Milon, Proteus was +a herdsman, and that of seals, though he was a god.’</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. . . .</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i>. Not mine be the land of Pelops, not +mine to own talents of gold, nay, nor mine to outrun the speed of +the winds! Nay, but beneath this rock will I sing, with +thee in mine arms, and watch our flocks feeding together, and, +before us, the Sicilian sea.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i> . . . .</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i> . . . .</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Tempest is the dread pest of the trees, +drought of the waters, snares of the birds, and the +hunter’s net of the wild beasts, but ruinous to man is the +love of a delicate maiden. O father, O Zeus, I have not +been the only lover, thou too hast longed for a mortal woman.</p> +<p>Thus the boys sang in verses amoebaean, and thus Menalcas +began the crowning lay:</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i>. Wolf, spare the kids, spare the mothers +of my herd, and harm not me, so young as I am to tend so great a +flock. Ah, Lampurus, my dog, dost thou then sleep so +soundly? a dog should not sleep so sound, that helps a boyish +shepherd. Ewes of mine, spare ye not to take your fill of +the tender herb, ye <a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span>shall not weary, ’ere all this grass grows +again. Hist, feed on, feed on, fill, all of you, your +udders, that there may be milk for the lambs, and somewhat for me +to store away in the cheese-crates.</p> +<p>Then Daphnis followed again, and sweetly preluded to his +singing:</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Me, even me, from the cave, the girl +with meeting eyebrows spied yesterday as I was driving past my +calves, and she cried, ‘How fair, how fair he +is!’ But I answered her never the word of railing, +but cast down my eyes, and plodded on my way.</p> +<p>Sweet is the voice of the heifer, sweet her breath, <a +name="citation50"></a><a href="#footnote50" +class="citation">[50]</a> sweet to lie beneath the sky in summer, +by running water.</p> +<p>Acorns are the pride of the oak, apples of the apple tree, the +calf of the heifer, and the neatherd glories in his kine.</p> +<p>So sang the lads; and the goatherd thus bespoke them, +‘Sweet is thy mouth, O Daphnis, and delectable thy +song! Better is it to listen to thy singing, than to taste +the honeycomb. Take thou the pipe, for thou hast conquered +in the singing match. Ah, if thou wilt but teach some lay, +even to me, as I tend the goats beside thee, this blunt-horned +she-goat will I give thee, for the price of thy teaching, this +she-goat that ever fills the milking pail above the +brim.’</p> +<p>Then was the boy as glad,—and leaped high, and clapped +his hands over his victory,—as a young fawn leaps about his +mother. <a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +51</span>But the heart of the other was wasted with grief, and +desolate, even as a maiden sorrows that is newly wed.</p> +<p>From this time Daphnis became the foremost among the +shepherds, and while yet in his earliest youth, he wedded the +nymph Nais.</p> +<h3><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>IDYL +IX</h3> +<p><i>Daphnis and Menalcas</i>, <i>at the bidding of the +poet</i>, <i>sing the joys of the neatherds and of the shepherds +life</i>. <i>Both receive the thanks of the poet</i>, +<i>and rustic prizes</i>—<i>a staff and a horn</i>, <i>made +of a spiral shell</i>. <i>Doubts have been expressed as to +the authenticity of the prelude and concluding verses</i>. +<i>The latter breathe all Theocritus’s enthusiastic love of +song</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Sing</span>, Daphnis, a pastoral lay, do +thou first begin the song, the song begin, O Daphnis; but let +Menalcas join in the strain, when ye have mated the heifers and +their calves, the barren kine and the bulls. Let them all +pasture together, let them wander in the coppice, but never leave +the herd. Chant thou for me, first, and on the other side +let Menalcas reply.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Ah, sweetly lows the calf, and sweetly +the heifer, sweetly sounds the neatherd with his pipe, and +sweetly also I! My bed of leaves is strown by the cool +water, and thereon are heaped fair skins from the white calves +that were all browsing upon the arbutus, on a time, when the +south-west wind dashed me them from the height.</p> +<p><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>And +thus I heed no more the scorching summer, than a lover cares to +heed the words of father or of mother.</p> +<p>So Daphnis sang to me, and thus, in turn, did Menalcas +sing.</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i>. Aetna, mother mine, I too dwell in a +beautiful cavern in the chamber of the rock, and, lo, all the +wealth have I that we behold in dreams; ewes in plenty and +she-goats abundant, their fleeces are strown beneath my head and +feet. In the fire of oak-faggots puddings are hissing-hot, +and dry beech-nuts roast therein, in the wintry weather, and, +truly, for the winter season I care not even so much as a +toothless man does for walnuts, when rich pottage is beside +him.</p> +<p>Then I clapped my hands in their honour, and instantly gave +each a gift, to Daphnis a staff that grew in my father’s +close, self-shapen, yet so straight, that perchance even a +craftsman could have found no fault in it. To the other I +gave a goodly spiral shell, the meat that filled it once I had +eaten after stalking the fish on the Icarian rocks (I cut it into +five shares for five of us),—and Menalcas blew a blast on +the shell.</p> +<p>Ye pastoral Muses, farewell! Bring ye into the light the +song that I sang there to these shepherds on that day! +Never let the pimple grow on my tongue-tip. <a +name="citation53"></a><a href="#footnote53" +class="citation">[53]</a></p> +<p><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>Cicala +to cicala is dear, and ant to ant, and hawks to hawks, but to me +the Muse and song. Of song may all my dwelling be full, for +sleep is not more sweet, nor sudden spring, nor flowers are more +delicious to the bees—so dear to me are the Muses. <a +name="citation54"></a><a href="#footnote54" +class="citation">[54]</a> Whom they look on in happy hour, +Circe hath never harmed with her enchanted potion.</p> +<h3><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>IDYL +X<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE REAPERS</span></h3> +<p><i>This is an idyl of the same genre as Idyl IV</i>. +<i>The sturdy reaper</i>, <i>Milon</i>, <i>as he levels the +swathes of corn</i>, <i>derides his languid and love-worn +companion</i>, <i>Buttus</i>. <i>The latter defends his +gipsy love in verses which have been the keynote of much later +poetry</i>, <i>and which echo in the fourth book of +Lucretius</i>, <i>and in the Misanthrope of +Molière</i>. <i>Milon replies with the song of +Lityerses</i>—<i>a string</i>, <i>apparently</i>, <i>of +popular rural couplets</i>, <i>such as Theocritus may have heard +chanted in the fields</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><i>Milan</i>. Thou toilsome clod; what ails thee now, +thou wretched fellow? Canst thou neither cut thy swathe +straight, as thou wert wont to do, nor keep time with thy +neighbour in thy reaping, but thou must fall out, like an ewe +that is foot-pricked with a thorn and straggles from the +herd? What manner of man wilt thou prove after mid-noon, +and at evening, thou that dost not prosper with thy swathe when +thou art fresh begun?</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Milon, thou that canst toil till late, +thou chip of the stubborn stone, has it never befallen thee to +long for one that was not with thee?</p> +<p><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +56</span><i>Milan</i>. Never! What has a labouring +man to do with hankering after what he has not got?</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Then it never befell thee to lie awake +for love?</p> +<p><i>Milan</i>. Forbid it; ’tis an ill thing to let +the dog once taste of pudding.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. But I, Milon, am in love for almost +eleven days!</p> +<p><i>Milan</i>. ’Tis easily seen that thou drawest +from a wine-cask, while even vinegar is scarce with me.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. And for Love’s sake, the fields +before my doors are untilled since seed-time.</p> +<p><i>Milan</i>. But which of the girls afflicts thee +so?</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. The daughter of Polybotas, she that of +late was wont to pipe to the reapers on Hippocoon’s +farm.</p> +<p><i>Milan</i>. God has found out the guilty! Thou +hast what thou’st long been seeking, that grasshopper of a +girl will lie by thee the night long!</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Thou art beginning thy mocks of me, but +Plutus is not the only blind god; he too is blind, the heedless +Love! Beware of talking big.</p> +<p><i>Milan</i>. Talk big I do not! Only see that +thou dust level the corn, and strike up some love-ditty in the +wench’s praise. More pleasantly thus wilt thou +labour, and, indeed, of old thou wert a melodist.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Ye Muses Pierian, sing ye with me the +slender maiden, for whatsoever ye do but touch, ye goddesses, ye +make wholly fair.</p> +<p><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>They +all call thee a <i>gipsy</i>, gracious Bombyca, and <i>lean</i>, +and <i>sunburnt</i>, ’tis only I that call thee +<i>honey-pale</i>.</p> +<p>Yea, and the violet is swart, and swart the lettered hyacinth, +but yet these flowers are chosen the first in garlands.</p> +<p>The goat runs after cytisus, the wolf pursues the goat, the +crane follows the plough, but I am wild for love of thee.</p> +<p>Would it were mine, all the wealth whereof once Croesus was +lord, as men tell! Then images of us twain, all in gold, +should be dedicated to Aphrodite, thou with thy flute, and a +rose, yea, or an apple, and I in fair attire, and new shoon of +Amyclae on both my feet.</p> +<p>Ah gracious Bombyca, thy feet are fashioned like carven ivory, +thy voice is drowsy sweet, and thy ways, I cannot tell of them! +<a name="citation57"></a><a href="#footnote57" +class="citation">[57]</a></p> +<p><i>Milan</i>. Verily our clown was a maker of lovely +songs, and we knew it not! How well he meted out and shaped +his harmony; woe is me for the beard that I have grown, all in +vain! Come, mark thou too these lines of godlike +Lityerses</p> +<h4><span class="smcap">The Lityerses Song</span>.</h4> +<p><i>Demeter</i>, <i>rich in fruit</i>, <i>and rich in +grain</i>, <i>may this corn be easy to win</i>, <i>and fruitful +exceedingly</i>!</p> +<p><i>Bind</i>, <i>ye bandsters</i>, <i>the sheaves</i>, <i>lest +the wayfarer </i><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +58</span><i>should cry</i>, ‘<i>Men of straw were the +workers here</i>, <i>ay</i>, <i>and their hire was +wasted</i>!’</p> +<p><i>See that the cut stubble faces the North wind</i>, <i>or +the West</i>, <i>’tis thus the grain waxes richest</i>.</p> +<p><i>They that thresh corn should shun the noon-day steep</i>; +<i>at noon the chaff parts easiest from the straw</i>.</p> +<p><i>As for the reapers</i>, <i>let them begin when the crested +lark is waking</i>, <i>and cease when he sleeps</i>, <i>but take +holiday in the heat</i>.</p> +<p><i>Lads</i>, <i>the frog has a jolly life</i>, <i>he is not +cumbered about a butler to his drink</i>, <i>for he has liquor by +him unstinted</i>!</p> +<p><i>Boil the lentils better</i>, <i>thou miserly steward</i>; +<i>take heed lest thou chop thy fingers</i>, <i>when +thou’rt splitting cumin-seed</i>.</p> +<p>’Tis thus that men should sing who labour i’ the +sun, but thy starveling love, thou clod, ’twere fit to tell +to thy mother when she stirs in bed at dawning.</p> +<h3><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span>IDYL +XI<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE CYCLOPS IN LOVE</span></h3> +<p><i>Nicias</i>, <i>the physician and poet</i>, <i>being in +love</i>, <i>Theocritus reminds him that in song lies the only +remedy</i>. <i>It was by song</i>, <i>he says</i>, <i>that +the Cyclops</i>, <i>Polyphemus</i>, <i>got him some ease</i>, +<i>when he was in love with Galatea</i>, <i>the +sea-nymph</i>.</p> +<p><i>The idyl displays</i>, <i>in the most graceful manner</i>, +<i>the Alexandrian taste for turning Greek mythology into love +stories</i>. <i>No creature could be more remote from love +than the original Polyphemus</i>, <i>the cannibal giant of the +Odyssey</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> is none other medicine, +Nicias, against Love, neither unguent, methinks, nor salve to +sprinkle,—none, save the Muses of Pieria! Now a +delicate thing is their minstrelsy in man’s life, and a +sweet, but hard to procure. Methinks thou know’st +this well, who art thyself a leech, and beyond all men art +plainly dear to the Muses nine.</p> +<p>’Twas surely thus the Cyclops fleeted his life most +easily, he that dwelt among us,—Polyphemus of old +time,—when the beard was yet young on his cheek and chin; +and he loved Galatea. He loved, not with apples, not roses, +<a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span>nor locks +of hair, but with fatal frenzy, and all things else he held but +trifles by the way. Many a time from the green pastures +would his ewes stray back, self-shepherded, to the fold. +But he was singing of Galatea, and pining in his place he sat by +the sea-weed of the beach, from the dawn of day, with the direst +hurt beneath his breast of mighty Cypris’s +sending,—the wound of her arrow in his heart!</p> +<p>Yet this remedy he found, and sitting on the crest of the tall +cliff, and looking to the deep, ’twas thus he would +sing:—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Song of the Cyclops</i>.</p> +<p>O milk-white Galatea, why cast off him that loves thee? +More white than is pressed milk to look upon, more delicate than +the lamb art thou, than the young calf wantoner, more sleek than +the unripened grape! Here dust thou resort, even so, when +sweet sleep possesses me, and home straightway dost thou depart +when sweet sleep lets me go, fleeing me like an ewe that has seen +the grey wolf.</p> +<p>I fell in love with thee, maiden, I, on the day when first +thou camest, with my mother, and didst wish to pluck the +hyacinths from the hill, and I was thy guide on the way. +But to leave loving thee, when once I had seen thee, neither +afterward, nor now at all, have I the strength, even from that +hour. But to thee all this is as nothing, by Zeus, nay, +nothing at all!</p> +<p>I know, thou gracious maiden, why it is <a +name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 61</span>that thou +dust shun me. It is all for the shaggy brow that spans all +my forehead, from this to the other ear, one long unbroken +eyebrow. And but one eye is on my forehead, and broad is +the nose that overhangs my lip. Yet I (even such as thou +seest me) feed a thousand cattle, and from these I draw and drink +the best milk in the world. And cheese I never lack, in +summer time or autumn, nay, nor in the dead of winter, but my +baskets are always overladen.</p> +<p>Also I am skilled in piping, as none other of the Cyclopes +here, and of thee, my love, my sweet-apple, and of myself too I +sing, many a time, deep in the night. And for thee I tend +eleven fawns, all crescent-browed, <a name="citation61"></a><a +href="#footnote61" class="citation">[61]</a> and four young +whelps of the bear.</p> +<p>Nay, come thou to me, and thou shalt lack nothing that now +thou hast. Leave the grey sea to roll against the land; +more sweetly, in this cavern, shalt thou fleet the night with +me! Thereby the laurels grow, and there the slender +cypresses, there is the ivy dun, and the sweet clustered grapes; +there is chill water, that for me deep-wooded Ætna sends +down from the white snow, a draught divine! Ah who, in +place of these, would choose the sea to dwell in, or the waves of +the sea?</p> +<p>But if thou dust refuse because my body seems shaggy and +rough, well, I have faggots of oakwood, and beneath the ashes is +fire unwearied, and I would endure to let thee burn <a +name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>my very soul, +and this my one eye, the dearest thing that is mine.</p> +<p>Ah me, that my mother bore me not a finny thing, so would I +have gone down to thee, and kissed thy hand, if thy lips thou +would not suffer me to kiss! And I would have brought thee +either white lilies, or the soft poppy with its scarlet +petals. Nay, these are summer’s flowers, and those +are flowers of winter, so I could not have brought thee them all +at one time.</p> +<p>Now, verily, maiden, now and here will I learn to swim, if +perchance some stranger come hither, sailing with his ship, that +I may see why it is so dear to thee, to have thy dwelling in the +deep.</p> +<p>Come forth, Galatea, and forget as thou comest, even as I that +sit here have forgotten, the homeward way! Nay, choose with +me to go shepherding, with me to milk the flocks, and to pour the +sharp rennet in, and to fix the cheeses.</p> +<p>There is none that wrongs me but that mother of mine, and her +do I blame. Never, nay, never once has she spoken a kind +word for me to thee, and that though day by day she beholds me +wasting. I will tell her that my head, and both my feet are +throbbing, that she may somewhat suffer, since I too am +suffering.</p> +<p>O Cyclops, Cyclops, whither are thy wits wandering? Ah +that thou wouldst go, and weave thy wicker-work, and gather +broken <a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>boughs to carry to thy lambs: in faith, if thou didst +this, far wiser wouldst thou be!</p> +<p>Milk the ewe that thou hast, why pursue the thing that shuns +thee? Thou wilt find, perchance, another, and a fairer +Galatea. Many be the girls that bid me play with them +through the night, and softly they all laugh, if perchance I +answer them. On land it is plain that I too seem to be +somebody!</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Lo, thus Polyphemus still shepherded his love with song, and +lived lighter than if he had given gold for ease.</p> +<h3><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 64</span>IDYL +XII<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE PASSIONATE FRIEND</span></h3> +<p><i>This is rather a lyric than an idyl</i>, <i>being an +expression of that singular passion which existed between men in +historical Greece</i>. <i>The next idyl</i>, <i>like the +Myrmidons of Aeschylus</i>, <i>attributes the same manners to +mythical and heroic Greece</i>. <i>It should be unnecessary +to say that the affection between Homeric warriors</i>, <i>like +Achilles and Patroclus</i>, <i>was only that of companions in +arms and was quite unlike the later sentiment</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Hast</span> thou come, dear youth, with +the third night and the dawning; hast thou come? but men in +longing grow old in a day! As spring than the winter is +sweeter, as the apple than the sloe, as the ewe is deeper of +fleece than the lamb she bore; as a maiden surpasses a +thrice-wedded wife, as the fawn is nimbler than the calf; nay, by +as much as sweetest of all fowls sings the clear-voiced +nightingale, so much has thy coming gladdened me! To thee +have I hastened as the traveller hastens under the burning sun to +the shadow of the ilex tree.</p> +<p><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 65</span>Ah, +would that equally the Loves may breathe upon us twain, may we +become a song in the ears of all men unborn.</p> +<p>‘Lo, a pair were these two friends among the folk of +former time,’ the one ‘the Knight’ (so the +Amyclaeans call him), the other, again, ‘the Page,’ +so styled in speech of Thessaly.</p> +<p>‘An equal yoke of friendship they bore: ah, surely then +there were golden men of old, when friends gave love for +love!’</p> +<p>And would, O father Cronides, and would, ye ageless immortals, +that this might be; and that when two hundred generations have +sped, one might bring these tidings to me by Acheron, the +irremeable stream.</p> +<p>‘The loving-kindness that was between thee and thy +gracious friend, is even now in all men’s mouths, and +chiefly on the lips of the young.’</p> +<p>Nay, verily, the gods of heaven will be masters of these +things, to rule them as they will, but when I praise thy +graciousness no blotch that punishes the perjurer shall spring +upon the tip of my nose! Nay, if ever thou hast somewhat +pained me, forthwith thou healest the hurt, giving a double +delight, and I depart with my cup full and running over!</p> +<p>Nisaean men of Megara, ye champions of the oars, happily may +ye dwell, for that ye honoured above all men the Athenian +stranger, even Diodes, the true lover. Always about his +tomb the children gather in their companies, at the coming in of +the spring, and contend for <a name="page66"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 66</span>the prize of kissing. And whoso +most sweetly touches lip to lip, laden with garlands he returneth +to his mother. Happy is he that judges those kisses of the +children; surely he prays most earnestly to bright-faced +Ganymedes, that his lips may be as the Lydian touchstone +wherewith the money-changers try gold lest perchance base metal +pass for true.</p> +<h3><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 67</span>IDYL +XIII<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">HYLAS AND HERACLES</span></h3> +<p><i>As in the eleventh Idyl</i>, <i>Nicias is again +addressed</i>, <i>by way of introduction to the story of +Hylas</i>. <i>This beautiful lad</i>, <i>a favourite +companion of Heracles</i>, <i>took part in the Quest of the +Fleece of Gold</i>. <i>As he went to draw water from a +fountain</i>, <i>the water-nymphs dragged him down to their +home</i>, <i>and Heracles</i>, <i>after a long and vain +search</i>, <i>was compelled to follow the heroes of the Quest on +foot to Phasis</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Not</span> for us only, Nicias, as we were +used to deem, was Love begotten, by whomsoever of the Gods was +the father of the child; not first to us seemed beauty beautiful, +to us that are mortal men and look not on the morrow. Nay, +but the son of Amphitryon, that heart of bronze, who abode the +wild lion’s onset, loved a lad, beautiful Hylas—Hylas +of the braided locks, and he taught him all things as a father +teaches his child, all whereby himself became a mighty man, and +renowned in minstrelsy. Never was he apart from Hylas, not +when midnoon was high in heaven, not when Dawn with her white <a +name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 68</span>horses speeds +upwards to the dwelling of Zeus, not when the twittering +nestlings look towards the perch, while their mother flaps her +wings above the smoke-browned beam; and all this that the lad +might be fashioned to his mind, and might drive a straight +furrow, and come to the true measure of man.</p> +<p>But when Iason, Aeson’s son, was sailing after the +fleece of gold (and with him followed the champions, the first +chosen out of all the cities, they that were of most avail), to +rich Iolcos too came the mighty man and adventurous, the son of +the woman of Midea, noble Alcmene. With him went down Hylas +also, to Argo of the goodly benches, the ship that grazed not on +the clashing rocks Cyanean, but through she sped and ran into +deep Phasis, as an eagle over the mighty gulf of the sea. +And the clashing rocks stand fixed, even from that hour!</p> +<p>Now at the rising of the Pleiades, when the upland fields +begin to pasture the young lambs, and when spring is already on +the wane, then the flower divine of Heroes bethought them of +sea-faring. On board the hollow Argo they sat down to the +oars, and to the Hellespont they came when the south wind had +been for three days blowing, and made their haven within +Propontis, where the oxen of the Cianes wear bright the +ploughshare, as they widen the furrows. Then they went +forth upon the shore, and each couple busily got ready supper in +the late evening, and many as they were one bed <a +name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>they strewed +lowly on the ground, for they found a meadow lying, rich in +couches of strown grass and leaves. Thence they cut them +pointed flag-leaves, and deep marsh-galingale. And Hylas of +the yellow hair, with a vessel of bronze in his hand, went to +draw water against suppertime, for Heracles himself, and the +steadfast Telamon, for these comrades twain supped ever at one +table. Soon was he ware of a spring, in a hollow land, and +the rushes grew thickly round it, and dark swallow-wort, and +green maiden-hair, and blooming parsley, and deer-grass spreading +through the marshy land. In the midst of the water the +nymphs were arraying their dances, the sleepless nymphs, dread +goddesses of the country people, Eunice, and Malis, and Nycheia, +with her April eyes. And now the boy was holding out the +wide-mouthed pitcher to the water, intent on dipping it, but the +nymphs all clung to his hand, for love of the Argive lad had +fluttered the soft hearts of all of them. Then down he sank +into the black water, headlong all, as when a star shoots flaming +from the sky, plumb in the deep it falls, and a mate shouts out +to the seamen, ‘Up with the gear, my lads, the wind is fair +for sailing.’</p> +<p>Then the nymphs held the weeping boy on their laps, and with +gentle words were striving to comfort him. But the son of +Amphitryon was troubled about the lad, and went forth, carrying +his bended bow in Scythian fashion, and the club that is ever +grasped in his right <a name="page70"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 70</span>hand. Thrice he shouted +‘Hylas!’ as loud as his deep throat could call, and +thrice again the boy heard him, and thin came his voice from the +water, and, hard by though he was, he seemed very far away. +And as when a bearded lion, a ravening lion on the hills, hears +the bleating of a fawn afar off, and rushes forth from his lair +to seize it, his readiest meal, even so the mighty Heracles, in +longing for the lad, sped through the trackless briars, and +ranged over much country.</p> +<p>Reckless are lovers: great toils did Heracles bear, in hills +and thickets wandering, and Iason’s quest was all postponed +to this. Now the ship abode with her tackling aloft, and +the company gathered there, <a name="citation70"></a><a +href="#footnote70" class="citation">[70]</a> but at midnight the +young men were lowering the sails again, awaiting Heracles. +But he wheresoever his feet might lead him went wandering in his +fury, for the cruel Goddess of love was rending his heart within +him.</p> +<p>Thus loveliest Hylas is numbered with the Blessed, but for a +runaway they girded at Heracles, the heroes, because he roamed +from Argo of the sixty oarsmen. But on foot he came to +Colchis and inhospitable Phasis.</p> +<h3><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>IDYL +XIV</h3> +<p><i>This Idyl</i>, <i>like the next</i>, <i>is dramatic in +form</i>. <i>One Aeschines tells Thyonichus the story of +his quarrel with his mistress Cynisca</i>. <i>He speaks of +taking foreign service</i>, <i>and Thyonichus recommends that of +Ptolemy</i>. <i>The idyl was probably written at +Alexandria</i>, <i>as a compliment to Ptolemy</i>, <i>and an +inducement to Greeks to join his forces</i>. <i>There is +nothing</i>, <i>however</i>, <i>to fix the date</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><i>Aeschines</i>. All hail to the stout Thyonichus!</p> +<p><i>Thyonichus</i>. As much to you, Aeschines.</p> +<p><i>Aeschines</i>. How long it is since we met!</p> +<p><i>Thyonichus</i>. Is it so long? But why, pray, +this melancholy?</p> +<p><i>Aeschines</i>. I am not in the best of luck, +Thyonichus.</p> +<p><i>Thyonichus</i>. ’Tis for that, then, you are so +lean, and hence comes this long moustache, and these love-locks +all adust. Just such a figure was a Pythagorean that came +here of late, barefoot and wan,—and said he was an +Athenian. Marry, he too was in love, methinks, with a plate +of pancakes.</p> +<p><i>Aeschines</i>. Friend, you will always have your <a +name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +72</span>jest,—but beautiful Cynisca,—she flouts +me! I shall go mad some day, when no man looks for it; I am +but a hair’s-breadth on the hither side, even now.</p> +<p><i>Thyonichus</i>. You are ever like this, dear +Aeschines, now mad, now sad, and crying for all things at your +whim. Yet, tell me, what is your new trouble?</p> +<p><i>Aeschines</i>. The Argive, and I, and the Thessalian +rough rider, Apis, and Cleunichus the free lance, were drinking +together, at my farm. I had killed two chickens, and a +sucking pig, and had opened the Bibline wine for +them,—nearly four years old,—but fragrant as when it +left the wine-press. Truffles and shellfish had been +brought out, it was a jolly drinking match. And when things +were now getting forwarder, we determined that each of us should +toast whom he pleased, in unmixed wine, only he must name his +toast. So we all drank, and called our toasts as had been +agreed. Yet She said nothing, though I was there; how think +you I liked that? ‘Won’t you call a +toast? You have seen the wolf!’ some one said in +jest, ‘as the proverb goes,’ <a +name="citation72"></a><a href="#footnote72" +class="citation">[72]</a> then she kindled; yes, you could easily +have <a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +73</span>lighted a lamp at her face. There is one Wolf, one +Wolf there is, the son of Labes our neighbour,—he is tall, +smooth-skinned, many think him handsome. His was that +illustrious love in which she was pining, yes, and a breath about +the business once came secretly to my ears, but I never looked +into it, beshrew my beard!</p> +<p>Already, mark you, we four men were deep in our cups, when the +Larissa man out of mere mischief, struck up, ‘My +Wolf,’ some Thessalian catch, from the very +beginning. Then Cynisca suddenly broke out weeping more +bitterly than a six-year-old maid, that longs for her +mother’s lap. Then I,—you know me, +Thyonichus,—struck her on the cheek with clenched +fist,—one two! She caught up her robes, and forth she +rushed, quicker than she came. ‘Ah, my undoing’ +(cried I), ‘I am not good enough for you, then—you +have a dearer playfellow? well, be off and cherish your other +lover, ’tis for him your tears run big as apples!’ <a +name="citation73"></a><a href="#footnote73" +class="citation">[73]</a></p> +<p>And as the swallow flies swiftly back to gather a morsel, +fresh food, for her young ones under the eaves, still swifter +sped she from her soft chair, straight through the vestibule and +folding-doors, wherever her feet carried her. So, sure, the +old proverb says, ‘the bull has sought the wild +wood.’</p> +<p>Since then there are twenty days, and eight <a +name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 74</span>to these, and +nine again, then ten others, to-day is the eleventh, add two +more, and it is two months since we parted, and I have not +shaved, not even in Thracian fashion. <a +name="citation74a"></a><a href="#footnote74a" +class="citation">[74a]</a></p> +<p>And now Wolf is everything with her. Wolf finds the door +open o’ nights, and I am of no account, not in the +reckoning, like the wretched men of Megara, in the place +dishonourable. <a name="citation74b"></a><a href="#footnote74b" +class="citation">[74b]</a></p> +<p>And if I could cease to love, the world would wag as well as +may be. But now,—now,—as they say, Thyonichus, +I am like the mouse that has tasted pitch. And what remedy +there may be for a bootless love, I know not; except that Simus, +he who was in love with the daughter of Epicalchus, went over +seas, and came back heart-whole,—a man of my own age. +And I too will cross the water, and prove not the first, maybe, +nor the last, perhaps, but a fair soldier as times go.</p> +<p><i>Thyonichus</i>. Would that things had gone to your +mind, Aeschines. But if, in good earnest, you are thus set +on going into exile, <span class="smcap">Ptolemy</span> is the +free man’s best paymaster!</p> +<p><i>Aeschines</i>. And in other respects, what kind of +man?</p> +<p><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +75</span><i>Thyonichus</i>. The free man’s best +paymaster! Indulgent too, the Muses’ darling, a true +lover, the top of good company, knows his friends, and still +better knows his enemies. A great giver to many, refuses +nothing that he is asked which to give may beseem a king, but, +Aeschines, we should not always be asking. Thus, if you are +minded to pin up the top corner of your cloak over the right +shoulder, and if you have the heart to stand steady on both feet, +and bide the brunt of a hardy targeteer, off instantly to +Egypt! From the temples downward we all wax grey, and on to +the chin creeps the rime of age, men must do somewhat while their +knees are yet nimble.</p> +<h3><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 76</span>IDYL +XV</h3> +<p><i>This famous idyl should rather</i>, <i>perhaps</i>, <i>be +called a mimus</i>. <i>It describes the visit paid by two +Syracusan women residing in Alexandria</i>, <i>to the festival of +the resurrection of Adonis</i>. <i>The festival is given by +Arsinoë</i>, <i>wife and sister of Ptolemy Philadelphus</i>, +<i>and the poem cannot have been written earlier than his +marriage</i>, <i>in</i> 266 <span class="GutSmall">B.C.</span> +[?] <i>Nothing can be more gay and natural than the chatter +of the women</i>, <i>which has changed no more in two thousand +years than the song of birds</i>. <i>Theocritus is believed +to have had a model for this idyl in the Isthmiazusae of +Sophron</i>, <i>an older poet</i>. <i>In the Isthmiazusae +two ladies described the spectacle of the Isthmian games</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Is Praxinoë at home?</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Dear Gorgo, how long it is since +you have been here! She <i>is</i> at home. The wonder +is that you have got here at last! Eunoë, see that she +has a chair. Throw a cushion on it too.</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. It does most charmingly as it is.</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Do sit down.</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Oh, what a thing spirit is! I have +scarcely got to you alive, Praxinoë! What a huge +crowd, what hosts of four-in-hands! Everywhere cavalry +boots, everywhere men in <a name="page77"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 77</span>uniform! And the road is +endless: yes, you really live <i>too</i> far away!</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. It is all the fault of that madman +of mine. Here he came to the ends of the earth and +took—a hole, not a house, and all that we might not be +neighbours. The jealous wretch, always the same, ever for +spite!</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Don’t talk of your husband, Dinon, +like that, my dear girl, before the little boy,—look how he +is staring at you! Never mind, Zopyrion, sweet child, she +is not speaking about papa.</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Our Lady! the child takes notice. +<a name="citation77"></a><a href="#footnote77" +class="citation">[77]</a></p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Nice papa!</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. That papa of his the other +day—we call every day ‘the other +day’—went to get soap and rouge at the shop, and back +he came to me with salt—the great big endless fellow!</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Mine has the same trick, too, a perfect +spendthrift—Diocleides! Yesterday he got what he +meant for five fleeces, and paid seven shillings a piece +for—what do you suppose?—dogskins, shreds of old +leather wallets, mere trash—trouble on trouble. But +come, take your cloak and shawl. Let us be off to the +palace of rich Ptolemy, the King, to see <a +name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>the Adonis; I +hear the Queen has provided something splendid!</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Fine folks do everything +finely.</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. What a tale you will have to tell about +the things you have seen, to any one who has not seen them! +It seems nearly time to go.</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Idlers have always holiday. +Eunoë, bring the water and put it down in the middle of the +room, lazy creature that you are. Cats like always to sleep +soft! <a name="citation78a"></a><a href="#footnote78a" +class="citation">[78a]</a> Come, bustle, bring the water; +quicker. I want water first, and how she carries it! give +it me all the same; don’t pour out so much, you extravagant +thing. Stupid girl! Why are you wetting my +dress? There, stop, I have washed my hands, as heaven would +have it. Where is the key of the big chest? Bring it +here.</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Praxinoë, that full body becomes you +wonderfully. Tell me how much did the stuff cost you just +off the loom?</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Don’t speak of it, +Gorgo! More than eight pounds in good silver +money,—and the work on it! I nearly slaved my soul +out over it!</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Well, it is <i>most</i> successful; all +you could wish. <a name="citation78b"></a><a href="#footnote78b" +class="citation">[78b]</a></p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Thanks for the pretty +speech! <a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +79</span>Bring my shawl, and set my hat on my head, the +fashionable way. No, child, I don’t mean to take +you. Boo! Bogies! There’s a horse that +bites! Cry as much as you please, but I cannot have you +lamed. Let us be moving. Phrygia take the child, and +keep him amused, call in the dog, and shut the street door.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>They go into the street</i>.</p> +<p>Ye gods, what a crowd! How on earth are we ever to get +through this coil? They are like ants that no one can +measure or number. Many a good deed have you done, Ptolemy; +since your father joined the immortals, there’s never a +malefactor to spoil the passer-by, creeping on him in Egyptian +fashion—oh! the tricks those perfect rascals used to +play. Birds of a feather, ill jesters, scoundrels +all! Dear Gorgo, what will become of us? Here come +the King’s war-horses! My dear man, don’t +trample on me. Look, the bay’s rearing, see, what +temper! Eunoë, you foolhardy girl, will you never keep +out of the way? The beast will kill the man that’s +leading him. What a good thing it is for me that my brat +stays safe at home.</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Courage, Praxinoë. We are safe +behind them, now, and they have gone to their station.</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. There! I begin to be myself +again. Ever since I was a child I have feared nothing so +much as horses and the chilly snake. Come along, the huge +mob is overflowing us.</p> +<p><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +80</span><i>Gorgo</i> (<i>to an old Woman</i>). Are you +from the Court, mother?</p> +<p><i>Old Woman</i>. I am, my child.</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Is it easy to get there?</p> +<p><i>Old Woman</i>. The Achaeans got into Troy by trying, +my prettiest of ladies. Trying will do everything in the +long run.</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. The old wife has spoken her oracles, and +off she goes.</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Women know everything, yes, and +how Zeus married Hera!</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. See Praxinoë, what a crowd there is +about the doors.</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Monstrous, Gorgo! Give me +your hand, and you, Eunoë, catch hold of Eutychis; never +lose hold of her, for fear lest you get lost. Let us all go +in together; Eunoë, clutch tight to me. Oh, how +tiresome, Gorgo, my muslin veil is torn in two already! For +heaven’s sake, sir, if you ever wish to be fortunate, take +care of my shawl!</p> +<p><i>Stranger</i>. I can hardly help myself, but for all +that I will be as careful as I can.</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. How close-packed the mob is, they +hustle like a herd of swine.</p> +<p><i>Stranger</i>. Courage, lady, all is well with us +now.</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Both this year and for ever may +all be well with you, my dear sir, for your care of us. A +good kind man! We’re letting Eunoë get +squeezed—come, wretched girl, push your way through. +That is the way. We are all on the right side of the door, +quoth <a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>the +bridegroom, when he had shut himself in with his bride.</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Do come here, Praxinoë. Look +first at these embroideries. How light and how +lovely! You will call them the garments of the gods.</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Lady Athene, what spinning women +wrought them, what painters designed these drawings, so true they +are? How naturally they stand and move, like living +creatures, not patterns woven. What a clever thing is +man! Ah, and himself—Adonis—how beautiful to +behold he lies on his silver couch, with the first down on his +cheeks, the thrice-beloved Adonis,—Adonis beloved even +among the dead.</p> +<p><i>A Stranger</i>. You weariful women, do cease your +endless cooing talk! They bore one to death with their +eternal broad vowels!</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Indeed! And where may this person +come from? What is it to you if we <i>are</i> +chatterboxes! Give orders to your own servants, sir. +Do you pretend to command ladies of Syracuse? If you must +know, we are Corinthians by descent, like Bellerophon himself, +and we speak Peloponnesian. Dorian women may lawfully speak +Doric, I presume?</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Lady Persephone, never may we have +more than one master. I am not afraid of <i>your</i> +putting me on short commons.</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Hush, hush, Praxinoë—the Argive +woman’s daughter, the great singer, is beginning the +<i>Adonis</i>; she that won the prize last <a +name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>year for +dirge-singing. <a name="citation82"></a><a href="#footnote82" +class="citation">[82]</a> I am sure she will give us +something lovely; see, she is preluding with her airs and +graces.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Psalm of Adonis</i>.</p> +<p>O Queen that lovest Golgi, and Idalium, and the steep of Eryx, +O Aphrodite, that playest with gold, lo, from the stream eternal +of Acheron they have brought back to thee Adonis—even in +the twelfth month they have brought him, the dainty-footed +Hours. Tardiest of the Immortals are the beloved Hours, but +dear and desired they come, for always, to all mortals, they +bring some gift with them. O Cypris, daughter of +Diônê, from mortal to immortal, so men tell, thou +hast changed Berenice, dropping softly in the woman’s +breast the stuff of immortality.</p> +<p>Therefore, for thy delight, O thou of many names and many +temples, doth the daughter of Berenice, even Arsinoë, lovely +as Helen, cherish Adonis with all things beautiful.</p> +<p>Before him lie all ripe fruits that the tall trees’ +branches bear, and the delicate gardens, arrayed in baskets of +silver, and the golden vessels are full of incense of +Syria. And all the dainty cakes that women fashion in the +kneading-tray, mingling blossoms manifold with the white wheaten +flour, all that is wrought of honey sweet, and in soft olive oil, +all cakes fashioned in the semblance of things that fly, <a +name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 83</span>and of things +that creep, lo, here they are set before him.</p> +<p>Here are built for him shadowy bowers of green, all laden with +tender anise, and children flit overhead—the little +Loves—as the young nightingales perched upon the trees fly +forth and try their wings from bough to bough.</p> +<p>O the ebony, O the gold, O the twin eagles of white ivory that +carry to Zeus the son of Cronos his darling, his +cup-bearer! O the purple coverlet strewn above, more soft +than sleep! So Miletus will say, and whoso feeds sheep in +Samos.</p> +<p>Another bed is strewn for beautiful Adonis, one bed Cypris +keeps, and one the rosy-armed Adonis. A bridegroom of +eighteen or nineteen years is he, his kisses are not rough, the +golden down being yet upon his lips! And now, good-night to +Cypris, in the arms of her lover! But lo, in the morning we +will all of us gather with the dew, and carry him forth among the +waves that break upon the beach, and with locks unloosed, and +ungirt raiment falling to the ankles, and bosoms bare will we +begin our shrill sweet song.</p> +<p>Thou only, dear Adonis, so men tell, thou only of the demigods +dost visit both this world and the stream of Acheron. For +Agamemnon had no such lot, nor Aias, that mighty lord of the +terrible anger, nor Hector, the eldest born of the twenty sons of +Hecabe, nor Patroclus, nor Pyrrhus, that returned out of +Troyland, nor the heroes of yet more ancient days, the <a +name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>Lapithae and +Deucalion’s sons, nor the sons of Pelops, and the chiefs of +Pelasgian Argus. Be gracious now, dear Adonis, and +propitious even in the coming year. Dear to us has thine +advent been, Adonis, and dear shall it be when thou comest +again.</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Praxinoë, the woman is cleverer than +we fancied! Happy woman to know so much, thrice happy to +have so sweet a voice. Well, all the same, it is time to be +making for home. Diocleides has not had his dinner, and the +man is all vinegar,—don’t venture near him when he is +kept waiting for dinner. Farewell, beloved Adonis, may you +find us glad at your next coming!</p> +<h2><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>IDYL +XVI</h2> +<p><i>In</i> 265 <span class="GutSmall">B.C.</span> <i>Sicily was +devastated by the Carthaginians</i>, <i>and by the companies of +disciplined free-lances who called themselves Mamertines</i>, +<i>or Mars’s men</i>. <i>The hopes of the Greek +inhabitants of the island were centred in Hiero</i>, <i>son of +Hierocles</i>, <i>who was about to besiege Messana</i> (<i>then +held by the Carthaginians</i>) <i>and who had revived the courage +of the Syracusans</i>. <i>To him Theocritus addressed this +idyl</i>, <i>in which he complains of the sordid indifference of +the rich</i>, <i>rehearses the merits of song</i>, <i>dilates on +the true nature of wealth</i>, <i>and of the happy lift</i>, +<i>and finally expresses his hope that Hiero will rid the isle of +the foreign foe</i>, <i>and will restore peace and pastoral +joys</i>. <i>The idyl contains some allusions to +Simonides</i>, <i>the old lyric poet</i>, <i>and to his relations +with the famous Hiero tyrant of Syracuse</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Ever</span> is this the care of the +maidens of Zeus, ever the care of minstrels, to sing the +Immortals, to sing the praises of noble men. The Muses, lo, +are Goddesses, of Gods the Goddesses sing, but we on earth are +mortal men; let us mortals sing of mortals. Ah, who of all +them that dwell beneath the grey morning, will open his door and +gladly receive our Graces within his house? who is there that +will not send them back again without a gift? And <a +name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>they with +looks askance, and naked feet come homewards, and sorely they +upbraid me when they have gone on a vain journey, and listless +again in the bottom of their empty coffer, they dwell with heads +bowed over their chilly knees, where is their drear abode, when +gainless they return.</p> +<p>Where is there such an one, among men to-day? Where is +he that will befriend him that speaks his praises? I know +not, for now no longer, as of old, are men eager to win the +renown of noble deeds, nay, they are the slaves of gain! +Each man clasps his hands below the purse-fold of his gown, and +looks about to spy whence he may get him money: the very rust is +too precious to be rubbed off for a gift. Nay, each has his +ready saw; <i>the shin is further than the knee</i>; <i>first let +me get my own</i>! <i>’Tis the Gods’ affair to +honour minstrels</i>! <i>Homer is enough for every one</i>, +<i>who wants to hear any other</i>? <i>He is the best of +bards who takes nothing that is mine</i>.</p> +<p>O foolish men, in the store of gold uncounted, what gain have +ye? Not in this do the wise find the true enjoyment of +wealth, but in that they can indulge their own desires, and +something bestow on one of the minstrels, and do good deeds to +many of their kin, and to many another man; and always give +altar-rites to the Gods, nor ever play the churlish host, but +kindly entreat the guest at table, and speed him when he would be +gone. And this, above all, to honour the holy interpreters +of the <a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +87</span>Muses, that so thou mayest have a goodly fame, even when +hidden in Hades, nor ever moan without renown by the chill water +of Acheron, like one whose palms the spade has hardened, some +landless man bewailing the poverty that is all his heritage.</p> +<p>Many were the thralls that in the palace of Antiochus, and of +king Aleuas drew out their monthly dole, many the calves that +were driven to the penns of the Scopiadae, and lowed with the +horned kine: countless on the Crannonian plain did shepherds +pasture beneath the sky the choicest sheep of the hospitable +Creondae, yet from all this they had no joy, when once into the +wide raft of hateful Acheron they had breathed sweet life +away! Yea, unremembered (though they had left all that rich +store), for ages long would they have lain among the dead +forlorn, if a name among later men the skilled Ceian minstrel had +spared to bestow, singing his bright songs to a harp of many +strings. Honour too was won by the swift steeds that came +home to them crowned from the sacred contests.</p> +<p>And who would ever have known the Lycian champions of time +past, who Priam’s long-haired sons, and Cycnus, white of +skin as a maiden, if minstrels had not chanted of the war cries +of the old heroes? Nor would Odysseus have won his lasting +glory, for all his ten years wandering among all folks; and +despite the visit he paid, he a living man, to inmost Hades, and +for all his escape from the murderous <a name="page88"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 88</span>Cyclops’s cave,—unheard +too were the names of the swineherd Eumaeus, and of Philoetius, +busy with the kine of the herds; yea, and even of Laertes, high +of heart; if the songs of the Ionian man had not kept them in +renown.</p> +<p>From the Muses comes a goodly report to men, but the living +heirs devour the possessions of the dead. But, lo, it is as +light labour to count the waves upon the beach, as many as wind +and grey sea-tide roll upon the shore, or in violet-hued water to +cleanse away the stain from a potsherd, as to win favour from a +man that is smitten with the greed of gain. Good-day to +such an one, and countless be his coin, and ever may he be +possessed by a longing desire for more! But I for my part +would choose honour and the loving-kindness of men, far before +wealth in mules and horses.</p> +<p>I am seeking to what mortal I may come, a welcome guest, with +the help of the Muses, for hard indeed do minstrels find the +ways, who go uncompanioned by the daughters of deep-counselling +Zeus. Not yet is the heaven aweary of rolling the months +onwards, and the years, and many a horse shall yet whirl the +chariot wheels, and the man shall yet be found, who will take me +for his minstrel; a man of deeds like those that great Achilles +wrought, or puissant Aias, in the plain of Simois, where is the +tomb of Phrygian Ilus.</p> +<p>Even now the Phoenicians that dwell beneath the setting sun on +the spur of Libya, shudder for dread, even now the Syracusans <a +name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 89</span>poise lances +in rest, and their arms are burdened by the linden shields. +Among them Hiero, like the mighty men of old, girds himself for +fight, and the horse-hair crest is shadowing his helmet. +Ah, Zeus, our father renowned, and ah, lady Athene, and O thou +Maiden that with the Mother dost possess the great burg of the +rich Ephyreans, by the water of Lusimeleia, <a +name="citation89"></a><a href="#footnote89" +class="citation">[89]</a> would that dire necessity may drive our +foemen from the isle, along the Sardinian wave, to tell the doom +of their friends to children and to wives—messengers easy +to number out of so many warriors! But as for our cities +may they again be held by their ancient masters,—all the +cities that hostile hands have utterly spoiled. May our +people till the flowering fields, and may thousands of sheep +unnumbered fatten ’mid the herbage, and bleat along the +plain, while the kine as they come in droves to the stalls warn +the belated traveller to hasten on his way. May the fallows +be broken for the seed-time, while the cicala, watching the +shepherds as they toil in the sun, in the shade of the trees doth +sing on the topmost sprays. May spiders weave their +delicate webs over martial gear, may none any more so much as +name the cry of onset!</p> +<p>But the fame of Hiero may minstrels bear aloft, across the +Scythian sea, and where Semiramis reigned, that built the mighty +wall, <a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>and +made it fast with slime for mortar. I am but one of many +that are loved by the daughters of Zeus, and they all are fain to +sing of Sicilian Arethusa, with the people of the isle, and the +warrior Hiero. O Graces, ye Goddesses, adored of Eteocles, +ye that love Orchomenos of the Minyae, the ancient enemy of +Thebes, when no man bids me, let me abide at home, but to the +houses of such as bid me, boldly let me come with my Muses. +Nay, neither the Muses nor you Graces will I leave behind, for +without the Graces what have men that is desirable? with the +Graces of song may I dwell for ever!</p> +<h2><a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>IDYL +XVII</h2> +<p><i>The poet praises Ptolemy Philadelphus in a strain of almost +religious adoration</i>. <i>Hauler</i>, <i>in his Life of +Theocritus</i>, <i>dates the poem about</i> 259 <span +class="GutSmall">B.C.</span>, <i>but it may have been many years +earlier</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">From</span> Zeus let us begin, and with +Zeus make end, ye Muses, whensoever we chant in songs the +chiefest of immortals! But of men, again, let Ptolemy be +named, among the foremost, and last, and in the midmost place, +for of men he hath the pre-eminence. The heroes that in old +days were begotten of the demigods, wrought noble deeds, and +chanced on minstrels skilled, but I, with what skill I have in +song, would fain make my hymn of Ptolemy, and hymns are the +glorious meed, yea, of the very immortals.</p> +<p>When the feller hath come up to wooded Ida, he glances around, +so many are the trees, to see whence he should begin his +labour. Where first shall <i>I</i> begin the tale, for +there are countless things ready for the telling, wherewith the +Gods have graced the most excellent of kings?</p> +<p>Even by virtue of his sires, how mighty was he to accomplish +some great work,—Ptolemy <a name="page92"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 92</span>son of Lagus,—when he had +stored in his mind such a design, as no other man was able even +to devise! Him hath the Father stablished in the same +honour as the blessed immortals, and for him a golden mansion in +the house of Zeus is builded; beside him is throned Alexander, +that dearly loves him, Alexander, a grievous god to the +white-turbaned Persians.</p> +<p>And over against them is set the throne of Heracles, the +slayer of the Bull, wrought of stubborn adamant. There +holds he festival with the rest of the heavenly host, rejoicing +exceedingly in his far-off children’s children, for that +the son of Cronos hath taken old age clean away from their limbs, +and they are called immortals, being his offspring. For the +strong son of Heracles is ancestor of the twain, I and both are +reckoned to Heracles, on the utmost of the lineage.</p> +<p>Therefore when he hath now had his fill of fragrant nectar, +and is going from the feast to the bower of his bed-fellow dear, +to one of his children he gives his bow, and the quiver that +swings beneath his elbow, to the other his knotted mace of +iron. Then they to the ambrosial bower of white-ankled +Hera, convey the weapons and the bearded son of Zeus.</p> +<p>Again, how shone renowned Berenice among the wise of +womankind, how great a boon was she to them that begat her! +Yea, in her fragrant breast did the Lady of Cyprus, the queenly +daughter of Dione, lay her slender hands, wherefore they say that +never any <a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +93</span>woman brought man such delight as came from the love +borne to his wife by Ptolemy. And verily he was loved again +with far greater love, and in such a wedlock a man may well trust +all his house to his children, whensoever he goes to the bed of +one that loves him as he loves her. But the mind of a woman +that loves not is set ever on a stranger, and she hath children +at her desire, but they are never like the father.</p> +<p>O thou that amongst the Goddesses hast the prize of beauty, O +Lady Aphrodite, thy care was she, and by thy favour the lovely +Berenice crossed not Acheron, the river of mourning, but thou +didst catch her away, ere she came to the dark water, and to the +still-detested ferryman of souls outworn, and in thy temple didst +thou instal her, and gavest her a share of thy worship. +Kindly is she to all mortals, and she breathes into them soft +desires, and she lightens the cares of him that is in +longing.</p> +<p>O dark-browed lady of Argos, <a name="citation93"></a><a +href="#footnote93" class="citation">[93]</a> in wedlock with +Tydeus didst thou bear slaying Diomede, a hero of Calydon, and, +again, deep-bosomed Thetis to Peleus, son of Aeacus, bare the +spearman Achilles. But thee, O warrior Ptolemy, to Ptolemy +the warrior bare the glorious Berenice! And Cos did foster +thee, when thou wert still a child new-born, and received thee at +thy mother’s hand, when thou saw’st thy first +dawning. For there she called aloud on Eilithyia, loosener +of the girdle; she called, <a name="page94"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 94</span>the daughter of Antigone, when heavy +on her came the pangs of childbirth. And Eilithyia was +present to help her, and so poured over all her limbs release +from pain. Then the beloved child was born, his +father’s very counterpart. And Cos brake forth into a +cry, when she beheld it, and touching the child with kind hands, +she said:</p> +<p>‘Blessed, O child, mayst thou be, and me mayst thou +honour even as Phoebus Apollo honours Delos of the azure crown, +yea, stablish in the same renown the Triopean hill, and allot +such glory to the Dorians dwelling nigh, as that wherewithal +Prince Apollo favours Rhenaea.’</p> +<p>Lo, thus spake the Isle, but far aloft under the clouds a +great eagle screamed thrice aloud, the ominous bird of +Zeus. This sign, methinks, was of Zeus; Zeus, the son of +Cronos, in his care hath awful kings, but he is above all, whom +Zeus loved from the first, even from his birth. Great +fortune goes with him, and much land he rules, and wide sea.</p> +<p>Countless are the lands, and tribes of men innumerable win +increase of the soil that waxeth under the rain of Zeus, but no +land brings forth so much as low-lying Egypt, when Nile wells up +and breaks the sodden soil. Nor is there any land that hath +so many towns of men skilled in handiwork; therein are three +centuries of cities builded, and thousands three, and to these +three myriads, and cities twice three, and beside these, three +times nine, and over them all high-hearted Ptolemy is king.</p> +<p><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>Yea, +and he taketh him a portion of Phoenicia, and of Arabia, and of +Syria, and of Libya, and the black Aethiopians. And he is +lord of all the Pamphylians, and the Cilician warriors, and the +Lycians, and the Carians, that joy in battle, and lord of the +isles of the Cyclades,—since his are the best of ships that +sail over the deep,—yea, all the sea, and land and the +sounding rivers are ruled by Ptolemy. Many are his +horsemen, and many his targeteers that go clanging in harness of +shining bronze. And in weight of wealth he surpasses all +kings; such treasure comes day by day from every side to his rich +palace, while the people are busy about their labours in +peace. For never hath a foeman marched up the bank of +teaming Nile, and raised the cry of war in villages not his own, +nor hath any cuirassed enemy leaped ashore from his swift ship, +to harry the kine of Egypt. So mighty a hero hath his +throne established in the broad plains, even Ptolemy of the fair +hair, a spearman skilled, whose care is above all, as a good +king’s should be, to keep all the heritage of his fathers, +and yet more he himself doth win. Nay, nor useless in +<i>his</i> wealthy house, is the gold, like piled stores of the +still toilsome ants, but the glorious temples of the gods have +their rich share, for constant first-fruits he renders, with many +another due, and much is lavished on mighty kings, much on +cities, much on faithful friends. And never to the sacred +contests of Dionysus comes any man that is skilled to raise the +shrill <a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +96</span>sweet song, but Ptolemy gives him a guerdon worthy of +his art. And the interpreters of the Muses sing of Ptolemy, +in return for his favours. Nay, what fairer thing might +befall a wealthy man, than to win a goodly renown among +mortals?</p> +<p>This abides even by the sons of Atreus, but all those +countless treasures that they won, when they took the mighty +house of Priam, are hidden away in the mist, whence there is no +returning.</p> +<p>Ptolemy alone presses his own feet in the footmarks, yet +glowing in the dust, of his fathers that were before him. +To his mother dear, and his father he hath stablished fragrant +temples; therein has he set their images, splendid with gold and +ivory, to succour all earthly men. And many fat thighs of +kine doth he burn on the empurpled altars, as the months roll by, +he and his stately wife; no nobler lady did ever embrace a +bridegroom in the halls, who loves, with her whole heart, her +brother, her lord. On this wise was the holy bridal of the +Immortals, too, accomplished, even of the pair that great Rhea +bore, the rulers of Olympus; and one bed for the slumber of Zeus +and of Hera doth Iris strew, with myrrh-anointed hands, the +virgin Iris.</p> +<p>Prince Ptolemy, farewell, and of thee will I make mention, +even as of the other demigods; and a word methinks I will utter +not to be rejected of men yet unborn,—excellence, howbeit, +thou shalt gain from Zeus.</p> +<h3><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 97</span>IDYL +XVIII</h3> +<p><i>This epithalamium may have been written for the wedding of +a friend of the poet’s</i>. <i>The idea is said to +have been borrowed from an old poem by Stesichorus</i>. +<i>The epithalamium was chanted at night by a chorus of +girls</i>, <i>outside the bridal chamber</i>. <i>Compare +the conclusion of the hymn of Adonis</i>, <i>in the fifteenth +Idyl</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> Sparta, once, to the house of +fair-haired Menelaus, came maidens with the blooming hyacinth in +their hair, and before the new painted chamber arrayed their +dance,—twelve maidens, the first in the city, the glory of +Laconian girls,—what time the younger Atrides had wooed and +won Helen, and closed the door of the bridal-bower on the beloved +daughter of Tyndarus. Then sang they all in harmony, +beating time with woven paces, and the house rang round with the +bridal song.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Chorus</i>.</p> +<p>Thus early art thou sleeping, dear bridegroom, say are thy +limbs heavy with slumber, or art thou all too fond of sleep, or +hadst thou perchance drunken over well, ere thou didst <a +name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>fling thee to +thy rest? Thou shouldst have slept betimes, and alone, if +thou wert so fain of sleep; thou shouldst have left the maiden +with maidens beside her mother dear, to play till deep in the +dawn, for to-morrow, and next day, and for all the years, +Menelaus, she is thy bride.</p> +<p>O happy bridegroom, some good spirit sneezed out on thee a +blessing, as thou wert approaching Sparta whither went the other +princes, that so thou mightst win thy desire! Alone among +the demigods shalt thou have Zeus for father! Yea, and the +daughter of Zeus has come beneath one coverlet with thee, so fair +a lady, peerless among all Achaean women that walk the +earth. Surely a wondrous child would she bear thee, if she +bore one like the mother!</p> +<p>For lo, we maidens are all of like age with her, and one +course we were wont to run, anointed in manly fashion, by the +baths of Eurotas. Four times sixty girls were we, the +maiden flower of the land, <a name="citation98"></a><a +href="#footnote98" class="citation">[98]</a> but of us all not +one was faultless, when matched with Helen.</p> +<p>As the rising Dawn shows forth her fairer face than thine, O +Night, or as the bright Spring, when Winter relaxes his hold, +even so amongst us still she shone, the golden Helen. Even +as the crops spring up, the glory of the rich plough land; or, as +is the cypress in the garden; or, in a chariot, a horse of +Thessalian <a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +99</span>breed, even so is rose-red Helen the glory of +Lacedaemon. No other in her basket of wool winds forth such +goodly work, and none cuts out, from between the mighty beams, a +closer warp than that her shuttle weaves in the carven +loom. Yea, and of a truth none other smites the lyre, +hymning Artemis and broad-breasted Athene, with such skill as +Helen, within whose eyes dwell all the Loves.</p> +<p>O fair, O gracious damsel, even now art thou a wedded wife; +but we will go forth right early to the course we ran, and to the +grassy meadows, to gather sweet-breathing coronals of flowers, +thinking often upon thee, Helen, even as youngling lambs that +miss the teats of the mother-ewe. For thee first will we +twine a wreath of lotus flowers that lowly grow, and hang it on a +shadowy plane tree, for thee first will we take soft oil from the +silver phial, and drop it beneath a shadowy plane tree, and +letters will we grave on the bark, in Dorian wise, so that the +wayfarer may read:</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">WORSHIP ME, I AM THE +TREE OF HELEN.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Good night, thou bride, good night, thou groom that hast won a +mighty sire! May Leto, Leto, the nurse of noble offspring, +give you the blessing of children; and may Cypris, divine Cypris, +grant you equal love, to cherish each the other; and may Zeus, +even Zeus the son of Cronos, give you wealth imperishable, to be +handed down from generation to generation of the princes.</p> +<p><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 100</span>Sleep +ye, breathing love and desire each into the other’s breast, +but forget not to wake in the dawning, and at dawn we too will +come, when the earliest cock shrills from his perch, and raises +his feathered neck.</p> +<p><i>Hymen</i>, <i>O Hymenae</i>, <i>rejoice thou in this +bridal</i>.</p> +<h3><a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 101</span>IDYL +XIX</h3> +<p><i>This little piece is but doubtfully ascribed to +Theocritus</i>. <i>The motif is that of a well-known +Anacreontic Ode</i>. <i>The idyl has been translated by +Ronsard</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> thievish Love,—a cruel +bee once stung him, as he was rifling honey from the hives, and +pricked his finger-tips all; then he was in pain, and blew upon +his hand, and leaped, and stamped the ground. And then he +showed his hurt to Aphrodite, and made much complaint, how that +the bee is a tiny creature, and yet what wounds it deals! +And his mother laughed out, and said, ‘Art thou not even +such a creature as the bees, for tiny art thou, but what wounds +thou dealest!’</p> +<h3><a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>IDYL +XX</h3> +<p><i>A herdsman</i>, <i>who had been contemptuously rejected by +Eunica</i>, <i>a girl of the town</i>, <i>protests that he is +beautiful</i>, <i>and that Eunica is prouder than Cybele</i>, +<i>Selene</i>, <i>and Aphrodite</i>, <i>all of whom loved mortal +herdsmen</i>. <i>For grammatical and other reasons</i>, +<i>some critics consider this idyl apocryphal</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Eunica</span> laughed out at me when +sweetly I would have kissed her, and taunting me, thus she spoke: +‘Get thee gone from me! Wouldst thou kiss me, wretch; +thou—a neatherd? I never learned to kiss in country +fashion, but to press lips with city gentlefolks. Never +hope to kiss my lovely mouth, nay, not even in a dream. How +thou dost look, what chatter is thine, how countrified thy tricks +are, how delicate thy talk, how easy thy tattle! And then +thy beard—so soft! thy elegant hair! Why, thy lips +are like some sick man’s, thy hands are black, and thou art +of evil savour. Away with thee, lest thy presence soil +me!’ These taunts she mouthed, and thrice spat in the +breast of her gown, and stared at me all over from head to feet; +shooting out her lips, and glancing with half-shut eyes, writhing +her beautiful body, and so <a name="page103"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 103</span>sneered, and laughed me to +scorn. And instantly my blood boiled, and I grew red under +the sting, as a rose with dew. And she went off and left +me, but I bear angry pride deep in my heart, that I, the handsome +shepherd, should have been mocked by a wretched +light-o’-love.</p> +<p>Shepherds, tell me the very truth; am I not beautiful? +Has some God changed me suddenly to another man? Surely a +sweet grace ever blossomed round me, till this hour, like ivy +round a tree, and covered my chin, and about my temples fell my +locks, like curling parsley-leaves, and white shone my forehead +above my dark eyebrows. Mine eyes were brighter far than +the glance of the grey-eyed Athene, my mouth than even pressed +milk was sweeter, and from my lips my voice flowed sweeter than +honey from the honeycomb. Sweet too, is my music, whether I +make melody on pipe, or discourse on the flute, or reed, or +flageolet. And all the mountain-maidens call me beautiful, +and they would kiss me, all of them. But the city girl did +not kiss me, but ran past me, because I am a neatherd, and she +never heard how fair Dionysus in the dells doth drive the calves, +and knows not that Cypris was wild with love for a herdsman, and +drove afield in the mountains of Phrygia; ay, and Adonis +himself,—in the oakwood she kissed, in the oakwood she +bewailed him. And what was Endymion? was he not a neatherd? +whom nevertheless as he watched his <a name="page104"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 104</span>herds Selene saw and loved, and from +Olympus descending she came to the Latmian glade, and lay in one +couch with the boy; and thou, Rhea, dust weep for thy +herdsman.</p> +<p>And didst not thou, too, Son of Cronos, take the shape of a +wandering bird, and all for a cowherd boy?</p> +<p>But Eunica alone would not kiss the herdsman; Eunica, she that +is greater than Cybele, and Cypris, and Selene!</p> +<p>Well, Cypris, never mayst thou, in city or on hillside, kiss +thy darling, <a name="citation104"></a><a href="#footnote104" +class="citation">[104]</a> and lonely all the long night mayst +thou sleep!</p> +<h3><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 105</span>IDYL +XXI</h3> +<p><i>After some verses addressed to Diophantus</i>, <i>a friend +about whom nothing is known</i>, <i>the poet describes the +toilsome life of two old fishermen</i>. <i>One of them has +dreamed of catching a golden fish</i>, <i>and has sworn</i>, +<i>in his dream</i>, <i>never again to tempt the sea</i>. +<i>The other reminds him that his oath is as empty as his +vision</i>, <i>and that he must angle for common fish</i>, <i>if +he would not starve among his golden dreams</i>. <i>The +idyl is</i>, <i>unfortunately</i>, <i>corrupt beyond hope of +certain correction</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>’<span class="smcap">Tis</span> Poverty alone, +Diophantus, that awakens the arts; Poverty, the very teacher of +labour. Nay, not even sleep is permitted, by weary cares, +to men that live by toil, and if, for a little while, one close +his eyes <a name="citation105"></a><a href="#footnote105" +class="citation">[105]</a> in the night, cares throng about him, +and suddenly disquiet his slumber.</p> +<p>Two fishers, on a time, two old men, together lay and slept; +they had strown the dry sea-moss for a bed in their wattled +cabin, and there they lay against the leafy wall. Beside +them were strewn the instruments of their toilsome hands, the +fishing-creels, the rods of reed, the hooks, the sails bedraggled +with sea-spoil, <a name="citation106a"></a><a +href="#footnote106a" class="citation">[106a]</a> <a +name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 106</span>the lines, +the weds, the lobster pots woven of rushes, the seines, two oars, +<a name="citation106b"></a><a href="#footnote106b" +class="citation">[106b]</a> and an old coble upon props. +Beneath their heads was a scanty matting, their clothes, their +sailor’s caps. Here was all their toil, here all +their wealth. The threshold had never a door, nor a +watch-dog; <a name="citation106c"></a><a href="#footnote106c" +class="citation">[106c]</a> all things, all, to them seemed +superfluity, for Poverty was their sentinel. They had no +neighbour by them, but ever against their narrow cabin gently +floated up the sea.</p> +<p>The chariot of the moon had not yet reached the mid-point of +her course, but their familiar toil awakened the fishermen; from +their eyelids they cast out slumber, and roused their souls with +speech. <a name="citation106d"></a><a href="#footnote106d" +class="citation">[106d]</a></p> +<p><i>Asphalion</i>. They lie all, my friend, who say that +the nights wane short in summer, when Zeus brings the long +days. Already have I seen ten thousand dreams, and the dawn +is not yet. Am I wrong, what ails them, the nights are +surely long?</p> +<p><i>The Friend</i>. Asphalion, thou blamest the beautiful +summer! It is not that the season hath wilfully passed his +natural course, but care, breaking thy sleep, makes night seem +long to thee.</p> +<p><i>Asphalion</i>. Didst ever learn to interpret dreams? +for good dreams have I beheld. I <a +name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 107</span>would not +have thee to go without thy share in my vision; even as we go +shares in the fish we catch, so share all my dreams! Sure, +thou art not to be surpassed in wisdom; and he is the best +interpreter of dreams that hath wisdom for his teacher. +Moreover, we have time to idle in, for what could a man find to +do, lying on a leafy bed beside the wave and slumbering +not? Nay, the ass is among the thorns, the lantern in the +town hall, for, they say, it is always sleepless. <a +name="citation107"></a><a href="#footnote107" +class="citation">[107]</a></p> +<p><i>The Friend</i>. Tell me, then, the vision of the +night; nay, tell all to thy friend.</p> +<p><i>Asphalion</i>. As I was sleeping late, amid the +labours of the salt sea (and truly not too full-fed, for we +supped early if thou dost remember, and did not overtax our +bellies), I saw myself busy on a rock, and there I sat and +watched the fishes, and kept spinning the bait with the +rods. And one of the fish nibbled, a fat one, for in sleep +dogs dream of bread, and of fish dream I. Well, he was +tightly hooked, and the blood was running, and the rod I grasped +was bent with his struggle. So with both hands I strained, +and had a sore tussle for the monster. How was I ever to +land so big a <a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +108</span>fish with hooks all too slim? Then just to remind +him he was hooked, I gently pricked him, <a +name="citation108a"></a><a href="#footnote108a" +class="citation">[108a]</a> pricked, and slackened, and, as he +did not run, I took in line. My toil was ended with the +sight of my prize; I drew up a golden fish, lo you, a fish all +plated thick with gold! Then fear took hold of me, lest he +might be some fish beloved of Posidon, or perchance some jewel of +the sea-grey Amphitrite. Gently I unhooked him, lest ever +the hooks should retain some of the gold of his mouth. Then +I dragged him on shore with the ropes, <a +name="citation108b"></a><a href="#footnote108b" +class="citation">[108b]</a> and swore that never again would I +set foot on sea, but abide on land, and lord it over the +gold.</p> +<p>This was even what wakened me, but, for <a +name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 109</span>the rest, +set thy mind to it, my friend, for I am in dismay about the oath +I swore.</p> +<p><i>The Friend</i>. Nay, never fear, thou art no more +sworn than thou hast found the golden fish of thy vision; dreams +are but lies. But if thou wilt search these waters, wide +awake, and not asleep, there is some hope in thy slumbers; seek +the fish of flesh, lest thou die of famine with all thy dreams of +gold!</p> +<h3><a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 110</span>IDYL +XXII<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE DIOSCURI</span></h3> +<p><i>This is a hymn</i>, <i>in the Homeric manner</i>, <i>to +Castor and Polydeuces</i>. <i>Compare the life and truth of +the descriptions of nature</i>, <i>and of the boxing-match</i>, +<i>with the frigid manner of Apollonius +Rhodius</i>.—Argonautica, <span class="GutSmall">II. +I.</span> <i>seq.</i></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> hymn the children twain of Leda, +and of aegis-bearing Zeus,—Castor, and Pollux, the boxer +dread, when he hath harnessed his knuckles in thongs of +ox-hide. Twice hymn we, and thrice the stalwart sons of the +daughter of Thestias, the two brethren of Lacedaemon. +Succourers are they of men in the very thick of peril, and of +horses maddened in the bloody press of battle, and of ships that, +defying the stars that set and rise in heaven, have encountered +the perilous breath of storms. The winds raise huge billows +about their stern, yea, or from the prow, or even as each wind +wills, and cast them into the hold of the ship, and shatter both +bulwarks, while with the sail hangs all the gear confused and +broken, and the storm-rain falls from heaven as night creeps on, +<a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 111</span>and the +wide sea rings, being lashed by the gusts, and by showers of iron +hail.</p> +<p>Yet even so do ye draw forth the ships from the abyss, with +their sailors that looked immediately to die; and instantly the +winds are still, and there is an oily calm along the sea, and the +clouds flee apart, this way and that, also the <i>Bears</i> +appear, and in the midst, dimly seen, the <i>Asses’ +manger</i>, declaring that all is smooth for sailing.</p> +<p>O ye twain that aid all mortals, O beloved pair, ye knights, +ye harpers, ye wrestlers, ye minstrels, of Castor, or of +Polydeuces first shall I begin to sing? Of both of you will +I make my hymn, but first will I sing of Polydeuces.</p> +<p>Even already had Argo fled forth from the Clashing Rocks, and +the dread jaws of snowy Pontus, and was come to the land of the +Bebryces, with her crew, dear children of the gods. There +all the heroes disembarked, down one ladder, from both sides of +the ship of Iason. When they had landed on the deep +seashore and a sea-bank sheltered from the wind, they strewed +their beds, and their hands were busy with firewood. <a +name="citation111"></a><a href="#footnote111" +class="citation">[111]</a></p> +<p>Then Castor of the swift steeds, and swart Polydeuces, these +twain went wandering alone, apart from their fellows, and +marvelling at all the various wildwood on the mountain. +Beneath a smooth cliff they found an ever-flowing spring filled +with the purest water, and the <a name="page112"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 112</span>pebbles below shone like crystal or +silver from the deep. Tall fir trees grew thereby, and +white poplars, and planes, and cypresses with their lofty tufts +of leaves, and there bloomed all fragrant flowers that fill the +meadows when early summer is waning—dear work-steads of the +hairy bees. But there a monstrous man was sitting in the +sun, terrible of aspect; the bruisers’ hard fists had +crushed his ears, and his mighty breast and his broad back were +domed with iron flesh, like some huge statue of hammered +iron. The muscles on his brawny arms, close by the +shoulder, stood out like rounded rocks, that the winter torrent +has rolled, and worn smooth, in the great swirling stream, but +about his back and neck was draped a lion’s skin, hung by +the claws. Him first accosted the champion, Polydeuces.</p> +<p><i>Polydeuces</i>. Good luck to thee, stranger, +whosoe’er thou art! What men are they that possess +this land?</p> +<p><i>Amycus</i>. What sort of luck, when I see men that I +never saw before?</p> +<p><i>Polydeuces</i>. Fear not! Be sure that those +thou look’st on are neither evil, nor the children of evil +men.</p> +<p><i>Amycus</i>. No fear have I, and it is not for thee to +teach me that lesson.</p> +<p><i>Polydeuces</i>. Art thou a savage, resenting all +address, or some vainglorious man?</p> +<p><i>Amycus</i>. I am that thou see’st, and on thy +land, at least, I trespass not.</p> +<p><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +113</span><i>Polydeuces</i>. Come, and with kindly gifts +return homeward again!</p> +<p><i>Amycus</i>. Gift me no gifts, none such have I ready +for thee.</p> +<p><i>Polydeuces</i>. Nay, wilt thou not even grant us +leave to taste this spring?</p> +<p><i>Amycus</i>. That shalt thou learn when thirst has +parched thy shrivelled lips.</p> +<p><i>Polydeuces</i>. Will silver buy the boon, or with +what price, prithee, may we gain thy leave?</p> +<p><i>Amycus</i>. Put up thy hands and stand in single +combat, man to man.</p> +<p><i>Polydeuces</i>. A boxing-match, or is kicking fair, +when we meet eye to eye?</p> +<p><i>Amycus</i>. Do thy best with thy fists and spare not +thy skill!</p> +<p><i>Polydeuces</i>. And who is the man on whom I am to +lay my hands and gloves?</p> +<p><i>Amycus</i>. Thou see’st him close enough, the +boxer will not prove a maiden!</p> +<p><i>Polydeuces</i>. And is the prize ready, for which we +two must fight?</p> +<p><i>Amycus</i>. Thy man shall I be called (shouldst thou +win), or thou mine, if I be victor.</p> +<p><i>Polydeuces</i>. On such terms fight the red-crested +birds of the game.</p> +<p><i>Amycus</i>. Well, be we like birds or lions, we shall +fight for no other stake.</p> +<p>So Amycus spoke, and seized and blew his hollow shell, and +speedily the long-haired Bebryces gathered beneath the shadowy +planes, <a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +114</span>at the blowing of the shell. And in likewise did +Castor, eminent in war, go forth and summon all the heroes from +the Magnesian ship. And the champions, when they had +strengthened their fists with the stout ox-skin gloves, and bound +long leathern thongs about their arms, stepped into the ring, +breathing slaughter against each other. Then had they much +ado, in that assault,—which should have the sun’s +light at his back. But by thy skill, Polydeuces, thou didst +outwit the giant, and the sun’s rays fell full on the face +of Amycus. Then came he eagerly on in great wrath and heat, +making play with his fists, but the son of Tyndarus smote him on +the chin as he charged, maddening him even more, and the giant +confused the fighting, laying on with all his weight, and going +in with his head down. The Bebryces cheered their man, and +on the other side the heroes still encouraged stout Polydeuces, +for they feared lest the giant’s weight, a match for +Tityus, might crush their champion in the narrow lists. But +the son of Zeus stood to him, shifting his ground again and +again, and kept smiting him, right and left, and somewhat checked +the rush of the son of Posidon, for all his monstrous +strength. Then he stood reeling like a drunken man under +the blows, and spat out the red blood, while all the heroes +together raised a cheer, as they marked the woful bruises about +his mouth and jaws, and how, as his face swelled up, his eyes +were half closed. Next, the prince teased him, feinting on +every side <a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +115</span>but seeing now that the giant was all abroad, he +planted his fist just above the middle of the nose, beneath the +eyebrows, and skinned all the brow to the bone. Thus +smitten, Amycus lay stretched on his back, among the flowers and +grasses. There was fierce fighting when he arose again, and +they bruised each other well, laying on with the hard weighted +gloves; but the champion of the Bebryces was always playing on +the chest, and outside the neck, while unconquered Polydeuces +kept smashing his foeman’s face with ugly blows. The +giant’s flesh was melting away in his sweat, till from a +huge mass he soon became small enough, but the limbs of the other +waxed always stronger, and his colour better, as he warmed to his +work.</p> +<p>How then, at last, did the son of Zeus lay low the glutton? +say goddess, for thou knowest, but I, who am but the interpreter +of others, will speak all that thou wilt, and in such wise as +pleases thee.</p> +<p>Now behold the giant was keen to do some great feat, so with +his left hand he grasped the left of Polydeuces, stooping +slantwise from his onset, while with his other hand he made his +effort, and drove a huge fist up from his right haunch. Had +his blow come home, he would have harmed the King of Amyclae, but +he slipped his head out of the way, and then with his strong hand +struck Amycus on the left temple, putting his shoulder into the +blow. Quick gushed the black blood from the gaping <a +name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 116</span>temple, +while Polydeuces smote the giant’s mouth with his left, and +the close-set teeth rattled. And still he punished his face +with quick-repeated blows, till the cheeks were fairly +pounded. Then Amycus lay stretched all on the ground, +fainting, and held out both his hands, to show that he declined +the fight, for he was near to death.</p> +<p>There then, despite thy victory, didst thou work him no +insensate wrong, O boxer Polydeuces, but to thee he swore a +mighty oath, calling his sire Posidon from the deep, that +assuredly never again would he be violent to strangers.</p> +<p>Thee have I hymned, my prince; but thee now, Castor, will I +sing, O son of Tyndarus, O lord of the swift steeds, O wielder of +the spear, thou that wearest the corselet of bronze.</p> +<p>Now these twain, the sons of Zeus, had seized and were bearing +away the two daughters of Lycippus, and eagerly in sooth these +two other brethren were pursuing them, the sons of Aphareus, even +they that should soon have been the bridegrooms,—Lynceus +and mighty Idas. But when they were come to the tomb of the +dead Aphareus, then forth from their chariots they all sprang +together, and set upon each other, under the weight of their +spears and hollow shields. But Lynceus again spake, and +shouted loud from under his vizor:—</p> +<p>‘Sirs, wherefore desire ye battle, and how <a +name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 117</span>are ye thus +violent to win the brides of others with naked swords in your +hands. To us, behold, did Leucippus betroth these his +daughters long before; to us this bridal is by oath +confirmed. And ye did not well, in that to win the wives of +others ye perverted him with gifts of oxen, and mules, and other +wealth, and so won wedlock by bribes. Lo many a time, in +face of both of you, I have spoken thus, I that am not a man of +many words, saying,—“Not thus, dear friends, does it +become heroes to woo their wives, wives that already have +bridegrooms betrothed. Lo Sparta is wide, and wide is Elis, +a land of chariots and horses, and Arcadia rich in sheep, and +there are the citadels of the Achaeans, and Messenia, and Argos, +and all the sea-coast of Sisyphus. There be maidens by +their parents nurtured, maidens countless, that lack not aught in +wisdom or in comeliness. Of these ye may easily win such as +ye will, for many are willing to be the fathers-in-law of noble +youths, and ye are the very choice of heroes all, as your fathers +were, and all your father’s kin, and all your blood from of +old. But, friends, let this our bridal find its due +conclusion, and for you let all of us seek out another +marriage.”</p> +<p>‘Many such words I would speak, but the wind’s +breath bare them away to the wet wave of the sea, and no favour +followed with my words. For ye twain are hard and +ruthless,—nay, but even now do ye listen, for ye are our +cousins, and kin by the father’s side. But if <a +name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 118</span>your heart +yet lusts for war, and with blood we must break up the kindred +strife, and end the feud, <a name="citation118"></a><a +href="#footnote118" class="citation">[118]</a> then Idas and his +cousin, mighty Polydeuces, shall hold their hands and abstain +from battle, but let us twain, Castor and I, the younger born, +try the ordeal of war! Let us not leave the heaviest of +grief to our fathers! Enough is one slain man from a house, +but the others will make festival for all their friends, and will +be bridegrooms, not slain men, and will wed these maidens. +Lo, it is fitting with light loss to end a great +dispute.’</p> +<p>So he spake, and these words the gods were not to make +vain. For the elder pair laid down their harness from their +shoulders on the ground, but Lynceus stepped into the midst, +swaying his mighty spear beneath the outer rim of his shield, and +even so did Castor sway his spear-points, and the plumes were +nodding above the crests of each. With the sharp spears +long they laboured and tilted at each other, if perchance they +might anywhere spy a part of the flesh unarmed. But ere +either was wounded the spear-points were broken, fast stuck in +the linden shields. Then both drew their swords from the +sheaths, and again devised each the other’s slaying, and +there was no truce in the fight. Many a time did Castor +smite on broad shield and horse-hair crest, and many a time the +keen-sighted Lynceus smote upon his shield, and his blade just +shore the <a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +119</span>scarlet plume. Then, as he aimed the sharp sword +at the left knee, Castor drew back with his left foot, and hacked +the fingers off the hand of Lynceus. Then he being smitten +cast away his sword, and turned swiftly to flee to the tomb of +his father, where mighty Idas lay, and watched this strife of +kinsmen. But the son of Tyndarus sped after him, and drove +the broad sword through bowels and navel, and instantly the +bronze cleft all in twain, and Lynceus bowed, and on his face he +lay fallen on the ground, and forthwith heavy sleep rushed down +upon his eyelids.</p> +<p>Nay, nor that other of her children did Laocoosa see, by the +hearth of his fathers, after he had fulfilled a happy +marriage. For lo, Messenian Idas did swiftly break away the +standing stone from the tomb of his father Aphareus, and now he +would have smitten the slayer of his brother, but Zeus defended +him and drave the polished stone from the hands of Idas, and +utterly consumed him with a flaming thunderbolt.</p> +<p>Thus it is no light labour to war with the sons of Tyndarus, +for a mighty pair are they, and mighty is he that begat them.</p> +<p>Farewell, ye children of Leda, and all goodly renown send ye +ever to our singing. Dear are all minstrels to the sons of +Tyndarus, and to Helen, and to the other heroes that sacked Troy +in aid of Menelaus.</p> +<p>For you, O princes, the bard of Chios wrought renown, when he +sang the city of <a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +120</span>Priam, and the ships of the Achaeans, and the Ilian +war, and Achilles, a tower of battle. And to you, in my +turn, the charms of the clear-voiced Muses, even all that they +can give, and all that my house has in store, these do I +bring. The fairest meed of the gods is song.</p> +<h3><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>IDYL +XXIII<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE VENGEANCE OF LOVE</span></h3> +<p><i>A lover hangs himself at the gate of his obdurate darling +who</i>, <i>in turn</i>, <i>is slain by a statue of Love</i>.</p> +<p><i>This poem is not attributed with much certainty to +Theocritus</i>, <i>and is found in but a small proportion of +manuscripts</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>A <span class="smcap">love-sick</span> youth pined for an +unkind love, beautiful in form, but fair no more in mood. +The beloved hated the lover, and had for him no gentleness at +all, and knew not Love, how mighty a God is he, and what a bow +his hands do wield, and what bitter arrows he dealeth at the +young. Yea, in all things ever, in speech and in all +approaches, was the beloved unyielding. Never was there any +assuagement of Love’s fires, never was there a smile of the +lips, nor a bright glance of the eyes, never a blushing cheek, +nor a word, nor a kiss that lightens the burden of desire. +Nay, as a beast of the wild wood hath the hunters in watchful +dread, even so did the beloved in all things regard the man, with +angered lips, and eyes that had the dreadful glance of fate, and +<a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 122</span>the +whole face was answerable to this wrath, the colour fled from it, +sicklied o’er with wrathful pride. Yet even thus was +the loved one beautiful, and the lover was the more moved by this +haughtiness. At length he could no more endure so fierce a +flame of the Cytherean, but drew near and wept by the hateful +dwelling, and kissed the lintel of the door, and thus he lifted +up his voice:</p> +<p>‘O cruel child, and hateful, thou nursling of some +fierce lioness, O child all of stone unworthy of love; I have +come with these my latest gifts to thee, even this halter of +mine; for, child, I would no longer anger thee and work thee +pain. Nay, I am going where thou hast condemned me to fare, +where, as men say, is the path, and there the common remedy of +lovers, the River of Forgetfulness. Nay, but were I to take +and drain with my lips all the waters thereof, not even so shall +I quench my yearning desire. And now I bid my farewell to +these gates of thine.</p> +<p>‘Behold I know the thing that is to be.</p> +<p>‘Yea, the rose is beautiful, and Time he withers it; and +fair is the violet in spring, and swiftly it waxes old; white is +the lily, it fadeth when it falleth; and snow is white, and +melteth after it hath been frozen. And the beauty of youth +is fair, but lives only for a little season.</p> +<p>‘That time will come when thou too shalt love, when thy +heart shall burn, and thou shalt weep salt tears.</p> +<p><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +123</span>‘But, child, do me even this last favour; when +thou comest forth, and see’st me hanging in thy +gateway,—pass me not careless by, thy hapless lover, but +stand, and weep a little while; and when thou hast made this +libation of thy tears, then loose me from the rope, and cast over +me some garment from thine own limbs, and so cover me from sight; +but first kiss me for that latest time of all, and grant the dead +this grace of thy lips.</p> +<p>‘Fear me not, I cannot live again, no, not though thou +shouldst be reconciled to me, and kiss me. A tomb for me do +thou hollow, to be the hiding-place of my love, and if thou +departest, cry thrice above me,—</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><i>O friend</i>, +<i>thou liest low</i>!</p> +<p>And if thou wilt, add this also,—</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><i>Alas</i>, <i>my +true friend is dead</i>!</p> +<p>‘And this legend do thou write, that I will scratch on +thy walls,—</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>This man Love slew</i>! +<i>Wayfarer</i>, <i>pass not heedless by</i>,<br /> +<i>But stand</i>, <i>and say</i>, “<i>he had a cruel +darling</i>.”’</p> +<p>Therewith he seized a stone, and laid it against the wall, as +high as the middle of the doorposts, a dreadful stone, and from +the lintel he fastened the slender halter, and cast the noose +about his neck, and kicked away the support from under his foot, +and there was he hanged dead.</p> +<p><a name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>But +the beloved opened the door, and saw the dead man hanging there +in the court, unmoved of heart, and tearless for the strange, +woful death; but on the dead man were all the garments of youth +defiled. Then forth went the beloved to the contests of the +wrestlers, and there was heart-set on the delightful +bathing-places, and even thereby encountered the very God +dishonoured, for Love stood on a pedestal of stone above the +waters. <a name="citation124"></a><a href="#footnote124" +class="citation">[124]</a> And lo, the statue leaped, and +slew that cruel one, and the water was red with blood, but the +voice of the slain kept floating to the brim.</p> +<p><i>Rejoice</i>, <i>ye lovers</i>, <i>for he that hated is +slain</i>. <i>Love</i>, <i>all ye beloved</i>, <i>for the +God knoweth how to deal righteous judgment</i>.</p> +<h3><a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 125</span>IDYL +XXIV<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE INFANT HERACLES</span></h3> +<p><i>This poem describes the earliest feat of Heracles</i>, +<i>the slaying of the snakes sent against him by Hera</i>, <i>and +gives an account of the hero’s training</i>. <i>The +vivacity and tenderness of the pictures of domestic life</i>, +<i>and the minute knowledge of expiatory ceremonies seem to stamp +this idyl as the work of Theocritus</i>. <i>As the +following poem also deals with an adventure of Heracles</i>, +<i>it seems not impossible that Theocritus wrote</i>, <i>or +contemplated writing</i>, <i>a Heraclean epic</i>, <i>in a series +of idyls</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> Heracles was but ten months +old, the lady of Midea, even Alcmena, took him, on a time, and +Iphicles his brother, younger by one night, and gave them both +their bath, and their fill of milk, then laid them down in the +buckler of bronze, that goodly piece whereof Amphitryon had +strippen the fallen Pterelaus. And then the lady stroked +her children’s heads, and spoke, saying:—</p> +<p>‘Sleep, my little ones, a light delicious sleep; sleep, +soul of mine, two brothers, babes unharmed; blessed be your +sleep, and blessed may ye come to the dawn.’</p> +<p><a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 126</span>So +speaking she rocked the huge shield, and in a moment sleep laid +hold on them.</p> +<p>But when the <i>Bear</i> at midnight wheels westward over +against <i>Orion</i> that shows his mighty shoulder, even then +did crafty Hera send forth two monstrous things, two snakes +bristling up their coils of azure; against the broad threshold, +where are the hollow pillars of the house-door she urged them; +with intent that they should devour the young child +Heracles. Then these twain crawled forth, writhing their +ravenous bellies along the ground, and still from their eyes a +baleful fire was shining as they came, and they spat out their +deadly venom. But when with their flickering tongues they +were drawing near the children, then Alcmena’s dear babes +wakened, by the will of Zeus that knows all things, and there was +a bright light in the chamber. Then truly one child, even +Iphicles, screamed out straightway, when he beheld the hideous +monsters above the hollow shield, and saw their pitiless fangs, +and he kicked off the woollen coverlet with his feet, in his +eagerness to flee. But Heracles set his force against them, +and grasped them with his hands, binding them both in a grievous +bond, having got them by the throat, wherein lies the evil venom +of baleful snakes, the venom detested even by the gods. +Then the serpents, in their turn, wound with their coils about +the young child, the child unweaned, that wept never in his +nursling days; but again they relaxed their spines in stress, of +<a name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>pain, +and strove to find some issue from the grasp of iron.</p> +<p>Now Alcmena heard the cry, and wakened first,—</p> +<p>‘Arise, Amphitryon, for numbing fear lays hold of me: +arise, nor stay to put shoon beneath thy feet! Hearest thou +not how loud the younger child is wailing? Mark’st +thou not that though it is the depth of the night, the walls are +all plain to see as in the clear dawn? <a +name="citation127"></a><a href="#footnote127" +class="citation">[127]</a> There is some strange thing I +trow within the house, there is, my dearest lord!’</p> +<p>Thus she spake, and at his wife’s bidding he stepped +down out of his bed, and made for his richly dight sword that he +kept always hanging on its pin above his bed of cedar. +Verily he was reaching out for his new-woven belt, lifting with +the other hand the mighty sheath, a work of lotus wood, when lo, +the wide chamber was filled again with night. Then he cried +aloud on his thralls, who were drawing the deep breath of +sleep,—</p> +<p>‘Lights! Bring lights as quick as may be from the +hearth, my thralls, and thrust back the strong bolts of the +doors. Arise, ye serving-men, stout of heart, ’tis +the master calls.’</p> +<p>Then quick the serving-men came speeding with torches burning, +and the house waxed full <a name="page128"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 128</span>as each man hasted along. Then +truly when they saw the young child Heracles clutching the snakes +twain in his tender grasp, they all cried out and smote their +hands together. But he kept showing the creeping things to +his father, Amphitryon, and leaped on high in his childish glee, +and laughing, at his father’s feet he laid them down, the +dread monsters fallen on the sleep of death. Then Alcmena +in her own bosom took and laid Iphicles, dry-eyed and wan with +fear; <a name="citation128"></a><a href="#footnote128" +class="citation">[128]</a> but Amphitryon, placing the other +child beneath a lamb’s-wool coverlet, betook himself again +to his bed, and gat him to his rest.</p> +<p>The cocks were now but singing their third welcome to the +earliest dawn, when Alcmena called forth Tiresias, the seer that +cannot lie, and told him of the new portent, and bade him declare +what things should come to pass.</p> +<p>‘Nay, and even if the gods devise some mischief, conceal +it not from me in ruth and pity; and how that mortals may not +escape the doom that Fate speeds from her spindle, O soothsayer +Euerides, I am teaching thee, that thyself knowest it right +well.’</p> +<p>Thus spake the Queen, and thus he answered her:</p> +<p>‘Be of good cheer, daughter of Perseus, woman that hast +borne the noblest of children [and lay up in thy heart the better +of the things that are to be]. For by the sweet light that +long hath left mine eyes, I swear that <a +name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 129</span>many +Achaean women, as they card the soft wool about their knees, +shall sing at eventide, of Alcmena’s name, and thou shalt +be honourable among the women of Argos. Such a man, even +this thy son, shall mount to the starry firmament, the hero broad +of breast, the master of all wild beasts, and of all +mankind. Twelve labours is he fated to accomplish, and +thereafter to dwell in the house of Zeus, but all his mortal part +a Trachinian pyre shall possess.</p> +<p>‘And the son of the Immortals, by virtue of his bride, +shall he be called, even of them that urged forth these snakes +from their dens to destroy the child. Verily that day shall +come when the ravening wolf, beholding the fawn in his lair, will +not seek to work him harm.</p> +<p>‘But lady, see that thou hast fire at hand, beneath the +embers, and let make ready dry fuel of gorse, or thorn, or +bramble, or pear boughs dried with the wind’s buffeting, +and on the wild fire burn these serpents twain, at midnight, even +at the hour when they would have slain thy child. But at +dawn let one of thy maidens gather the dust of the fire, and bear +and cast it all, every grain, over the river from the brow of the +broken cliff, <a name="citation129"></a><a href="#footnote129" +class="citation">[129]</a> beyond the march of your land, and +return again without looking <a name="page130"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 130</span>behind. Then cleanse your +house with the fire of unmixed sulphur first, and then, as is +ordained, with a filleted bough sprinkle holy water over all, +mingled with salt. <a name="citation130"></a><a +href="#footnote130" class="citation">[130]</a> And to Zeus +supreme, moreover, do ye sacrifice a young boar, that ye may ever +have the mastery over all your enemies.’</p> +<p>So spake he, and thrust back his ivory chair, and departed, +even Tiresias, despite the weight of all his many years.</p> +<p>But Heracles was reared under his mother’s care, like +some young sapling in a garden close, being called the son of +Amphitryon of Argos. And the lad was taught his letters by +the ancient Linus, Apollo’s son, a tutor ever +watchful. And to draw the bow, and send the arrow to the +mark did Eurytus teach him, Eurytus rich in wide ancestral +lands. And Eumolpus, son of Philammon, made the lad a +minstrel, and formed his hands to the boxwood lyre. And all +the tricks wherewith the nimble Argive cross-buttockers give each +other the fall, and all the wiles of boxers skilled with the +gloves, and all the art that the rough and tumble fighters have +sought out to aid their science, all these did Heracles learn +from Harpalacus of Phanes, the son of Hermes. Him no man +that beheld, even from afar, would have confidently met as a +wrestler in the lists, so grim a brow overhung his dreadful +face. And to drive forth his horses ’neath the +chariot, and safely to guide them <a name="page131"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 131</span>round the goals, with the naves of +the wheels unharmed, Amphitryon taught his son in his +loving-kindness, Amphitryon himself, for many a prize had he +borne away from the fleet races in Argos, pasture-land of steeds, +and unbroken were the chariots that he mounted, till time +loosened their leathern thongs.</p> +<p>But to charge with spear in rest, against a foe, guarding, +meanwhile, his back with the shield, to bide the biting swords, +to order a company, and to measure, in his onslaught, the ambush +of foemen, and to give horsemen the word of command, he was +taught by knightly Castor. An outlaw came Castor out of +Argos, when Tydeus was holding all the land and all the wide +vineyards, having received Argos, a land of steeds, from the hand +of Adrastus. No peer in war among the demigods had Castor, +till age wore down his youth.</p> +<p>Thus did his dear mother let train Heracles, and the +child’s bed was made hard by his father’s; a +lion’s skin was the coverlet he loved; his dinner was roast +meat, and a great Dorian loaf in a basket, a meal to satisfy a +delving hind. At the close of day he would take a meagre +supper that needed no fire to the cooking, and his plain kirtle +fell no lower than the middle of his shin.</p> +<h3><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 132</span>IDYL +XXV<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">HERACLES THE LION-SLAYER</span></h3> +<p><i>This is another idyl of the epic sort</i>. <i>The +poet’s interest in the details of the rural life</i>, +<i>and in the description of the herds of King Augeas</i>, +<i>seem to mark it as the work of Theocritus</i>. <i>It +has</i>, <i>however</i>, <i>been attributed by learned conjecture +to various writers of an older age</i>. <i>The idyl</i>, +<i>or fragment</i>, <i>is incomplete</i>. <i>Heracles +visits the herds of Augeas</i> (<i>to clean their stalls was one +of his labours</i>), <i>and</i>, <i>after an encounter with a +bull</i>, <i>describes to the king’s son his battle with +the lion of Nemea</i>.</p> +<p>. . . Him answered the old man, a husbandman that had the care +of the tillage, ceasing a moment from the work that lay betwixt +his hands—‘Right readily will I tell thee, stranger, +concerning the things whereof thou inquirest, for I revere the +awful wrath of Hermes of the roadside. Yea he, they say, is +of all the heavenly Gods the most in anger, if any deny the +wayfarer that asks eagerly for the way.</p> +<p>‘The fleecy flocks of the king Augeas feed not all on +one pasture, nor in one place, but some there be that graze by +the river-banks <a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +133</span>round Elisus, and some by the sacred stream of divine +Alpheius, and some by Buprasium rich in clusters of the vine, and +some even in this place. And behold, the pens for each herd +after its kind are builded apart. Nay, but for all the +herds of Augeas, overflowing as they be, these pasture lands are +ever fresh and flowering, around the great marsh of Peneus, for +with herbage honey-sweet the dewy water-meadows are ever +blossoming abundantly, and this fodder it is that feeds the +strength of horned kine. And this their steading, on thy +right hand stands all plain to view, beyond the running river, +there, where the plane-trees grow luxuriant, and the green wild +olive, a sacred grove, O stranger, of Apollo of the pastures, a +God most gracious unto prayer. Next thereto are builded +long rows of huts for the country folk, even for us that do +zealously guard the great and marvellous wealth of the king; +casting in season the seed in fallow lands, thrice, ay, and four +times broken by the plough. As for the marches, truly, the +ditchers know them, men of many toils, who throng to the +wine-press at the coming of high summer tide. For, behold, +all this plain is held by gracious Augeas, and the wheat-bearing +plough-land, and the orchards with their trees, as far as the +upland farm of the ridge, whence the fountains spring; over all +which lands we go labouring, the whole day long, as is the wont +of thralls that live their lives among the fields.</p> +<p>‘But, prithee, tell thou me, in thy turn (and <a +name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 134</span>for thine +own gain it will be), whom comest thou hither to seek; in quest, +perchance, of Augeas, or one of his servants? Of all these +things, behold, I have knowledge, and could tell thee plainly, +for methinks that thou, for thy part, comest of no churlish +stock, nay, nor hath thy shape aught of the churl, so excellent +in might shows thy form. Lo, now, even such are the +children of the immortal Gods among mortal men.’ Then +the mighty son of Zeus answered him, saying—</p> +<p>‘Yea, old man, I fain would see Augeas, prince of the +Epeans, for truly ’twas need of him that brought me +hither. If he abides at the town with his citizens, caring +for his people, and settling the pleas, do thou, old man, bid one +of the servants to guide me on the way, a head-man of the more +honourable sort in these fields, to whom I may both tell my +desire, and learn in turn what I would, for God has made all men +dependent, each on each.’</p> +<p>Then the old man, the worthy husbandman, answered him +again—</p> +<p>‘By the guidance of some one of the immortals hast thou +come hither, stranger, for verily all that thou requirest hath +quickly been fulfilled. For hither hath come Augeas, the +dear son of Helios, with his own son, the strong and princely +Phyleus. But yesterday he came hither from the city, to be +overseeing after many days his substance, that he hath uncounted +in the fields. Thus do even kings in their inmost hearts +believe that the eye of the <a name="page135"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 135</span>master makes the house more +prosperous. Nay come, let us hasten to him, and I will lead +thee to our dwelling, where methinks we shall find the +king.’</p> +<p>So he spake, and began to lead the way, but in his mind, as he +marked the lion’s hide, and the club that filled the +stranger’s fist, the old man was deeply pondering as to +whence he came, and ever he was eager to inquire of him. +But back again he kept catching the word as it rose to his lips, +in fear lest he should speak somewhat out of season (his +companion being in haste) for hard it is to know another’s +mood.</p> +<p>Now as they began to draw nigh, the dogs from afar were +instantly aware of them, both by the scent, and by the sound of +footsteps, and, yelling furiously, they charged from all sides +against Heracles, son of Amphitryon, while with faint yelping, on +the other side, they greeted the old man, and fawned around +him. But he just lifted stones from the ground, <a +name="citation135"></a><a href="#footnote135" +class="citation">[135]</a> and scared them away, and, raising his +voice, he right roughly chid them all, and made them cease from +their yelping, being glad in his heart withal for that they +guarded his dwelling, even when he was afar. Then thus he +spake—</p> +<p>‘Lo, what a comrade for men have the Gods, the lords of +all, made in this creature, how mindful is he! If he had +but so much wit within him as to know against whom he should <a +name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 136</span>rage, and +with whom he should forbear, no beast in the world could vie with +his deserts. But now he is something over-fierce and +blindly furious.’</p> +<p>So he spake, and they hastened, and came even to that dwelling +whither they were faring.</p> +<p>Now Helios had turned his steeds to the west, bringing the +late day, and the fatted sheep came up from the pastures to the +pens and folds. Next thereafter the kine approaching, ten +thousand upon ten thousand, showed for multitude even like the +watery clouds that roll forward in heaven under the stress of the +South Wind, or the Thracian North (and countless are they, and +ceaseless in their airy passage, for the wind’s might rolls +up the rear as numerous as the van, and hosts upon hosts again +are moving in infinite array), even so many did herds upon herds +of kine move ever forwards. And, lo, the whole plain was +filled, and all the ways, as the cattle fared onwards, and the +rich fields could not contain their lowing, and the stalls were +lightly filled with kine of trailing feet, and the sheep were +being penned in the folds.</p> +<p>There no man, for lack of labour, stood idle by the cattle, +though countless men were there, but one was fastening guards of +wood, with shapely thongs, about the feet of the kine, that he +might draw near and stand by, and milk them. And another +beneath their mothers kind was placing the calves right eager to +drink of the sweet milk. Yet another held a <a +name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>milking +pail, while his fellow was fixing the rich cheese, and another +led in the bulls apart from the cows. Meanwhile Augeas was +going round all the stalls, and marking the care his herdsmen +bestowed upon all that was his. And the king’s son, +and the mighty, deep-pondering Heracles, went along with the +king, as he passed through his great possessions. Then +though he bore a stout spirit in his heart, and a mind stablished +always imperturbable, yet the son of Amphitryon still marvelled +out of measure, as he beheld these countless troops of +cattle. Yea none would have deemed or believed that the +substance of one man could be so vast, nay, nor ten men’s +wealth, were they the richest in sheep of all the kings in the +world. But Helios to his son gave this gift pre-eminent, +namely to abound in flocks far above all other men, and Helios +himself did ever and always give increase to the cattle, for upon +his herds came no disease, of them that always minish the +herdman’s toil. But always more in number waxed the +horned kine, and goodlier, year by year, for verily they all +brought forth exceeding abundantly, and never cast their young, +and chiefly bare heifers.</p> +<p>With the kine went continually three hundred bulls, +white-shanked, and curved of horn,—and two hundred others, +red cattle,—and all these already were of an age to mate +with the kine. Other twelve bulls, again, besides these, +went together in a herd, being sacred to Helios. They were +white as swans, and shone among <a name="page138"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 138</span>all the herds of trailing +gait. And these disdaining the herds grazed still on the +rich herbage in the pastures, and they were exceeding high of +heart. And whensoever the swift wild beasts came down from +the rough oakwood to the plain, to seek the wilder cattle, afield +went these bulls first to the fight, at the smell of the savour +of the beasts, bellowing fearfully, and glancing slaughter from +their brows.</p> +<p>Among these bulls was one pre-eminent for strength and might, +and for reckless pride, even the mighty Phaethon, that all the +herdsmen still likened to a star, because he always shone so +bright when he went among the other cattle, and was right easy to +be discerned. Now when this bull beheld the dried skin of +the fierce-faced lion, he rushed against the keen-eyed Heracles +himself, to dash his head and stalwart front against the sides of +the hero. Even as he charged, the prince forthwith grasped +him with strong hand by the left horn, and bowed his neck down to +the ground, puissant as he was, and, with the weight of his +shoulder, crushed him backwards, while clear stood out the +strained muscle over the sinews on the hero’s upper +arm. Then marvelled the king himself, and his son, the +warlike Phyleus, and the herdsmen that were set over the horned +kine,—when they beheld the exceeding strength of the son of +Amphitryon.</p> +<p>Now these twain, even Phyleus and mighty Heracles, left the +fat fields there, and were making for the city. But just +where they <a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +139</span>entered on the highway, after quickly speeding over the +narrow path that stretched through the vineyard from the +farmhouses, a dim path through the green wood, thereby the dear +son of Augeas bespake the child of supreme Zeus, who was behind +him, slightly turning his head over his right shoulder,</p> +<p>‘Stranger, long time ago I heard a tale, which, as of +late I guess, surely concerneth thee. For there came +hither, in his wayfaring out of Argos, a certain young Achaean, +from Helicé, by the seashore, who verily told a tale and +that among many Epeians here,—how, even in his presence, a +certain Argive slew a wild beast, a lion dread, a curse of evil +omen to the country folk. The monster had its hollow lair +by the grove of Nemean Zeus, but as for him that slew it, I know +not surely whether he was a man of sacred Argos, there, or a +dweller in Tiryns city, or in Mycenae, as he that told the tale +declared. By birth, howbeit, he said (if rightly, I recall +it) that the hero was descended from Perseus. Methinks that +none of the Aegialeis had the hardihood for this deed save +thyself; nay, the hide of the beast that covers thy sides doth +clearly proclaim the mighty deed of thy hands. But come +now, hero, tell thou me first, that truly I may know, whether my +foreboding be right or wrong,—if thou art that man of whom +the Achaean from Helicé spake in our hearing, and if I +read thee aright. Tell me how single-handed thou didst slay +this ruinous pest, and <a name="page140"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 140</span>how it came to the well-watered +ground of Nemea, for not in Apis couldst thou find,—not +though thou soughtest after it,—so great a monster. +For the country feeds no such large game, but bears, and boars, +and the pestilent race of wolves. Wherefore all were in +amaze that listened to the story, and there were some who said +that the traveller was lying, and pleasing them that stood by +with the words of an idle tongue.’</p> +<p>Thus Phyleus spake, and stepped out of the middle of the road, +that there might be space for both to walk abreast, and that so +he might hear the more easily the words of Heracles who now came +abreast with him, and spake thus,</p> +<p>‘O son of Augeas, concerning that whereof thou first +didst ask me, thyself most easily hast discerned it aright. +Nay then, about this monster I will tell thee all, even how all +was done,—since thou art eager to hear,—save, indeed, +as to whence he came, for, many as the Argives be, not one can +tell that clearly. Only we guess that some one of the +Immortals, in wrath for sacrifice unoffered, sent this bane +against the children of Phoroneus. For over all the men of +Pisa the lion swept, like a flood, and still ravaged insatiate, +and chiefly spoiled the Bembinaeans, that were his neighbours, +and endured things intolerable.</p> +<p>‘Now this labour did Eurystheus enjoin on me to fulfil +the first of all, and bade me slay the dreadful monster. So +I took my supple bow, and hollow quiver full of arrows, and set +<a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 141</span>forth; +and in my other hand I held my stout club, well balanced, and +wrought, with unstripped bark, from a shady wild olive-tree, that +I myself had found, under sacred Helicon, and dragged up the +whole tree, with the bushy roots. But when I came to the +place whereby the lion abode, even then I grasped my bow and +slipped the string up to the curved tip, and straightway laid +thereon the bitter arrow. Then I cast my eyes on every +side, spying for the baneful monster, if perchance I might see +him, or ever he saw me. It was now midday, and nowhere +might I discern the tracks of the monster, nor hear his +roaring. Nay, nor was there one man to be seen with the +cattle, and the tillage through all the furrowed lea, of whom I +might inquire, but wan fear still held them all within the +homesteads. Yet I stayed not in my going, as I quested +through the deep-wooded hill, till I beheld him, and instantly +essayed my prowess. Now early in the evening he was making +for his lair, full fed with blood and flesh, and all his +bristling mane was dashed with carnage, and his fierce face, and +his breast, and still with his tongue he kept licking his bearded +chin. Then instantly I hid me in the dark undergrowth, on +the wooded hill, awaiting his approach, and as he came nearer I +smote him on the left flank, but all in vain, for naught did the +sharp arrow pierce through his flesh, but leaped back, and fell +on the green grass. Then quickly he raised his tawny head +from the ground, in amaze, glancing all around with <a +name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 142</span>his eyes, +and with jaws distent he showed his ravenous teeth. Then I +launched against him another shaft from the string, in wrath that +the former flew vainly from my hand, and I smote him right in the +middle of the breast, where the lung is seated, yet not even so +did the cruel arrow sink into his hide, but fell before his feet, +in vain, to no avail. Then for the third time was I making +ready to draw my bow again, in great shame and wrath, but the +furious beast glanced his eyes around, and spied me. With +his long tail he lashed his flanks, and straightway bethought him +of battle. His neck was clothed with wrath, and his tawny +hair bristled round his lowering brow, and his spine was curved +like a bow, his whole force being gathered up from under towards +his flanks and loins. And as when a wainwright, one skilled +in many an art, doth bend the saplings of seasoned fig-tree, +having first tempered them in the fire, to make tires for the +axles of his chariot, and even then the fig-tree wood is like to +leap from his hands in the bending, and springs far away at a +single bound, even so the dread lion leaped on me from afar, +huddled in a heap, and keen to glut him with my flesh. Then +with one hand I thrust in front of me my arrows, and the double +folded cloak from my shoulder, and with the other raised the +seasoned club above my head, and drove at his crest, and even on +the shaggy scalp of the insatiate beast brake my grievous cudgel +of wild olive-tree. Then or ever he <a +name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 143</span>reached me, +he fell from his flight, on to the ground, and stood on trembling +feet, with wagging head, for darkness gathered about both his +eyes, his brain being shaken in his skull with the violence of +the blow. Then when I marked how he was distraught with the +grievous torment, or ever he could turn and gain breath again, I +fell on him, and seized him by the column of his stubborn +neck. To earth I cast my bow, and woven quiver, and +strangled him with all my force, gripping him with stubborn clasp +from the rear, lest he should rend my flesh with his claws, and I +sprang on him and kept firmly treading his hind feet into the +soil with my heels, while I used his sides to guard my thighs, +till I had strained his shoulders utterly, then lifted him up, +all breathless,—and Hell took his monstrous life.</p> +<p>‘And then at last I took thought how I should strip the +rough hide from the dead beast’s limbs, a right hard +labour, for it might not be cut with steel, when I tried, nor +stone, nor with aught else. <a name="citation143"></a><a +href="#footnote143" class="citation">[143]</a> Thereon one +of the Immortals put into my mind the thought to cleave the +lion’s hide with his own claws. With these I speedily +flayed it off, and cast it about my limbs, for my defence against +the brunt of wounding war.</p> +<p>‘Friend, lo even thus befel the slaying of the Nemean +Lion, that aforetime had brought many a bane on flocks and +men.’</p> +<h3><a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 144</span>IDYL +XXVI</h3> +<p><i>This idyl narrates the murder of Pentheus</i>, <i>who was +torn to pieces</i> (<i>after the Dionysiac Ritual</i>) <i>by his +mother</i>, <i>Agave</i>, <i>and other Theban women</i>, <i>for +having watched the celebration of the mysteries of +Dionysus</i>. <i>It is still dangerous for an Australian +native to approach the women of the tribe while they are +celebrating their savage rites</i>. <i>The conservatism of +Greek religion is well illustrated by Theocritus’s apology +for the truly savage revenge commemorated in the old Theban +legend</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Ino</span>, and Autonoe, and Agave of the +apple cheeks,—three bands of Maenads to the mountain-side +they led, these ladies three. They stripped the wild leaves +of a rugged oak, and fresh ivy, and asphodel of the upper earth, +and in an open meadow they built twelve altars; for Semele three, +and nine for Dionysus. The mystic cakes <a +name="citation144"></a><a href="#footnote144" +class="citation">[144]</a> from the mystic chest they had taken +in their hands, and in silence had laid them on the altars of +new-stripped boughs; so Dionysus ever taught the rite, and +herewith was he wont to be well pleased.</p> +<p>Now Pentheus from a lofty cliff was watching <a +name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 145</span>all, deep +hidden in an ancient lentisk hush, a plant of that land. +Autonoe first beheld him, and shrieked a dreadful yell, and, +rushing suddenly, with her feet dashed all confused the mystic +things of Bacchus the wild. For these are things unbeholden +of men profane. Frenzied was she, and then forthwith the +others too were frenzied. Then Pentheus fled in fear, and +they pursued after him, with raiment kirtled through the belt +above the knee.</p> +<p>This much said Pentheus, ‘Women, what would ye?’ +and thus answered Autonoe, ‘That shalt thou straightway +know, ere thou hast heard it.’</p> +<p>The mother seized her child’s head, and cried loud, as +is the cry of a lioness over her cubs, while Ino, for her part, +set her heel on the body, and brake asunder the broad shoulder, +shoulder-blade and all, and in the same strain wrought +Autonoe. The other women tore the remnants piecemeal, and +to Thebes they came, all bedabbled with blood, from the mountains +bearing not Pentheus but repentance. <a name="citation145"></a><a +href="#footnote145" class="citation">[145]</a></p> +<p>I care for none of these things, nay, nor let another take +thought to make himself the foe of Dionysus, not though one +should suffer yet greater torments than these,—being but a +child of nine years old or entering, perchance, on his tenth +year. For me, may I be pure and holy, and find favour in +the eyes of the pure!</p> +<p>From aegis-bearing Zeus hath this augury <a +name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 146</span>all honour, +‘to the children of the godly the better fortune, but evil +befall the offspring of the ungodly.’</p> +<p>‘Hail to Dionysus, whom Zeus supreme brought forth in +snowy Dracanus, when he had unburdened his mighty thigh, and hail +to beautiful Semele: and to her sisters,—Cadmeian ladies +honoured of all daughters of heroes,—who did this deed at +the behest of Dionysus, a deed not to be blamed; let no man blame +the actions of the gods.’</p> +<h3><a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>IDYL +XXVII<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE WOOING OF DAPHNIS</span></h3> +<p><i>The authenticity of this idyl has been denied</i>, +<i>partly because the Daphnis of the poem is not identical in +character with the Daphnis of the first idyl</i>. <i>But +the piece is certainly worthy of a place beside the work of +Theocritus</i>. <i>The dialogue is here arranged as in the +text of Fritzsche</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Helen the wise did Paris, another +neatherd, ravish!</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. ’Tis rather this Helen that kisses +her shepherd, even me! <a name="citation147"></a><a +href="#footnote147" class="citation">[147]</a></p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Boast not, little satyr, for kisses +they call an empty favour.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Nay, even in empty kisses there is a +sweet delight.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. I wash my lips, I blow away from me +thy kisses!</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Dost thou wash thy lips? Then give +me them again to kiss!</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. ’Tis for thee to caress thy +kine, not a maiden unwed.</p> +<p><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +148</span><i>Daphnis</i>. Boast not, for swiftly thy youth +flits by thee, like a dream.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. The grapes turn to raisins, not +wholly will the dry rose perish.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Come hither, beneath the wild olives, +that I may tell thee a tale.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. I will not come; ay, ere now with a +sweet tale didst thou beguile me.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Come hither, beneath the elms, to listen +to my pipe!</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Nay, please thyself, no woful tune +delights me.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Ah maiden, see that thou too shun the +anger of the Paphian.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Good-bye to the Paphian, let Artemis +only be friendly!</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Say not so, lest she smite thee, and +thou fall into a trap whence there is no escape.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Let her smite an she will; Artemis +again would be my defender. Lay no hand on me; nay, if thou +do more, and touch me with thy lips, I will bite thee. <a +name="citation148"></a><a href="#footnote148" +class="citation">[148]</a></p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. From Love thou dost not flee, whom never +yet maiden fled.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Escape him, by Pan, I do, but thou +dost ever bear his yoke.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. This is ever my fear lest he even give +thee to a meaner man.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Many have been my wooers, but none +has won my heart.</p> +<p><a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +149</span><i>Daphnis</i>. Yea I, out of many chosen, come +here thy wooer.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Dear love, what can I do? +Marriage has much annoy.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Nor pain nor sorrow has marriage, but +mirth and dancing.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Ay, but they say that women dread +their lords.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Nay, rather they always rule +them,—whom do women fear?</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Travail I dread, and sharp is the +shaft of Eilithyia.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. But thy queen is Artemis, that lightens +labour.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. But I fear childbirth, lest, +perchance, I lose my beauty.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Nay, if thou bearest dear children thou +wilt see the light revive in thy sons.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. And what wedding gift dost thou bring +me if I consent?</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. My whole flock, all my groves, and all +my pasture land shall be thine.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Swear that thou wilt not win me, and +then depart and leave me forlorn.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. So help me Pan I would not leave thee, +didst thou even choose to banish me!</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Dost thou build me bowers, and a +house, and folds for flocks?</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Yea, bowers I build thee, the flocks I +tend are fair.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. But to my grey old father, what tale, +ah what, shall I tell?</p> +<p><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +150</span><i>Daphnis</i>. He will approve thy wedlock when +he has heard my name.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Prithee, tell me that name of thine; +in a name there is often delight.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Daphnis am I, Lycidas is my father, and +Nomaea is my mother.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Thou comest of men well-born, but +there I am thy match.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. I know it, thou art of high degree, for +thy father is Menalcas. <a name="citation150a"></a><a +href="#footnote150a" class="citation">[150a]</a></p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Show me thy grove, wherein is thy +cattle-stall.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. See here, how they bloom, my slender +cypress-trees.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Graze on, my goats, I go to learn the +herdsman’s labours.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Feed fair, my bulls, while I show my +woodlands to my lady!</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. What dost thou, little satyr; why +dost thou touch my breast?</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. I will show thee that these earliset +apples are ripe. <a name="citation150b"></a><a +href="#footnote150b" class="citation">[150b]</a></p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. By Pan, I swoon; away, take back thy +hand.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Courage, dear girl, why fearest thou me, +thou art over fearful!</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Thou makest me lie down by the +water-course, defiling my fair raiment!</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Nay, see, ’neath thy raiment fair +I am throwing this soft fleece.</p> +<p><a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +151</span><i>The Maiden</i>. Ah, ah, thou hast snatched my +girdle too; why hast thou loosed my girdle?</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. These first-fruits I offer, a gift to +the Paphian.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Stay, wretch, hark; surely a stranger +cometh; nay, I hear a sound.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. The cypresses do but whisper to each +other of thy wedding.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Thou hast torn my mantle, and unclad +am I.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Another mantle I will give thee, and an +ampler far than thine.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Thou dost promise all things, but +soon thou wilt not give me even a grain of salt.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Ah, would that I could give thee my very +life.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Artemis, be not wrathful, thy votary +breaks her vow.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. I will slay a calf for Love, and for +Aphrodite herself a heifer.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. A maiden I came hither, a woman shall +I go homeward.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Nay, a wife and a mother of children +shalt thou be, no more a maiden.</p> +<p>So, each to each, in the joy of their young fresh limbs they +were murmuring: it was the hour of secret love. Then she +arose, and stole to herd her sheep; with shamefast eyes she went, +but her heart was comforted within her. And he went to his +herds of kine, rejoicing in his wedlock.</p> +<h3><a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 152</span>IDYL +XXVIII</h3> +<p><i>This little piece of Aeolic verse accompanied the present +of a distaff which Theocritus brought from Syracuse to +Theugenis</i>, <i>the wife of his friend Nicias</i>, <i>the +physician of Miletus</i>. <i>On the margin of a translation +by Longepierre</i> (<i>the famous book-collector</i>), <i>Louis +XIV wrote that this idyl is a model of honourable +gallantry</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>O <span class="smcap">distaff</span>, thou friend of them that +spin, gift of grey-eyed Athene to dames whose hearts are set on +housewifery; come, boldly come with me to the bright city of +Neleus, where the shrine of the Cyprian is green ’neath its +roof of delicate rushes. Thither I pray that we may win +fair voyage and favourable breeze from Zeus, that so I may +gladden mine eyes with the sight of Nicias my friend, and be +greeted of him in turn;—a sacred scion is he of the +sweet-voiced Graces. And thee, distaff, thou child of fair +carven ivory, I will give into the hands of the wife of Nicias: +with her shalt thou fashion many a thing, garments for men, and +much rippling raiment that women wear. For the mothers of +lambs in the meadows might twice be shorn of their wool in the +year, <a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +153</span>with her goodwill, the dainty-ankled Theugenis, so +notable is she, and cares for all things that wise matrons +love.</p> +<p>Nay, not to houses slatternly or idle would I have given thee, +distaff, seeing that thou art a countryman of mine. For +that is thy native city which Archias out of Ephyre founded, long +ago, the very marrow of the isle of the three capes, a town of +honourable men. <a name="citation153"></a><a href="#footnote153" +class="citation">[153]</a> But now shalt thou abide in the +house of a wise physician, who has learned all the spells that +ward off sore maladies from men, and thou shalt dwell in glad +Miletus with the Ionian people, to this end,—that of all +the townsfolk Theugenis may have the goodliest distaff and that +thou mayst keep her ever mindful of her friend, the lover of +song.</p> +<p>This proverb will each man utter that looks on thee, +‘Surely great grace goes with a little gift, and all the +offerings of friends are precious.’</p> +<h3><a name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 154</span>IDYL +XXIX</h3> +<p><i>This poem</i>, <i>like the preceding one</i>, <i>is written +in the Aeolic dialect</i>. <i>The first line is quoted from +Alcaeus</i>. <i>The idyl is attributed to Theocritus on the +evidence of the scholiast on the Symposium of Plato</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Wine</span> and truth,’ dear +child, says the proverb, and in wine are we, and the truth we +must tell. Yes, I will say to thee all that lies in my +soul’s inmost chamber. Thou dost not care to love me +with thy whole heart! I know, for I live half my life in +the sight of thy beauty, but all the rest is ruined. When +thou art kind, my day is like the days of the Blessed, but when +thou art unkind, ’tis deep in darkness. How can it be +right thus to torment thy friend? Nay, if thou wilt listen +at all, child, to me, that am thine elder, happier thereby wilt +thou be, and some day thou wilt thank me. Build one nest in +one tree, where no fierce snake can come; for now thou dost perch +on one branch to-day, and on another to-morrow, always seeking +what is new. And if a stranger see and praise thy pretty +face, instantly to him thou art more than a friend of three +years’ standing, while him that <a name="page155"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 155</span>loved thee first thou holdest no +higher than a friend of three days. Thou savourest, +methinks, of the love of some great one; nay, choose rather all +thy life ever to keep the love of one that is thy peer. If +this thou dost thou wilt be well spoken of by thy townsmen, and +Love will never be hard to thee, Love that lightly vanquishes the +minds of men, and has wrought to tenderness my heart that was of +steel. Nay, by thy delicate mouth I approach and beseech +thee, remember that thou wert younger yesteryear, and that we wax +grey and wrinkled, or ever we can avert it; and none may +recapture his youth again, for the shoulders of youth are winged, +and we are all too slow to catch such flying pinions.</p> +<p>Mindful of this thou shouldst be gentler, and love me without +guile as I love thee, so that, when thou hast a manly beard, we +may be such friends as were Achilles and Patroclus!</p> +<p>But, if thou dost cast all I say to the winds to waft afar, +and cry, in anger, ‘Why, why, dost thou torment me?’ +then I,—that now for thy sake would go to fetch the golden +apples, or to bring thee Cerberus, the watcher of the +dead,—would not go forth, didst thou stand at the +court-doors and call me. I should have rest from my cruel +love.</p> +<h4><a name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +156</span><span class="smcap">Fragment of the +Berenice</span>.</h4> +<p><i>Athenaeus</i> (<i>vii.</i> 284 <i>A</i>) <i>quotes this +fragment</i>, <i>which probably was part of a panegyric on +Berenice</i>, <i>the mother of Ptolemy Philadelphus</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">And</span> if any man that hath his +livelihood from the salt sea, and whose nets serve him for +ploughs, prays for wealth, and luck in fishing, let him +sacrifice, at midnight, to this goddess, the sacred fish that +they call ‘silver white,’ for that it is brightest of +sheen of all,—then let the fisher set his nets, and he +shall draw them full from the sea.</p> +<h3><a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 157</span>IDYL +XXX<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE DEAD ADONIS</span></h3> +<p><i>This idyl is usually printed with the poems of +Theocritus</i>, <i>but almost certainly is by another +hand</i>. <i>I have therefore ventured to imitate the metre +of the original</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> Cypris saw +Adonis,<br /> +In death already lying<br /> +With all his locks dishevelled,<br /> +And cheeks turned wan and ghastly,<br /> +She bade the Loves attendant<br /> +To bring the boar before her.</p> +<p class="poetry">And lo, the winged ones, fleetly<br /> +They scoured through all the wild wood;<br /> +The wretched boar they tracked him,<br /> +And bound and doubly bound him.<br /> +One fixed on him a halter,<br /> +And dragged him on, a captive,<br /> +Another drave him onward,<br /> +And smote him with his arrows.<br /> +But terror-struck the beast came,<br /> +For much he feared Cythere.<br /> +<a name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 158</span>To him +spake Aphrodite,—<br /> +‘Of wild beasts all the vilest,<br /> +This thigh, by thee was ’t wounded?<br /> +Was ’t thou that smote my lover?’<br /> +To her the beast made answer—<br /> +‘I swear to thee, Cythere,<br /> +By thee, and by thy lover,<br /> +Yea, and by these my fetters,<br /> +And them that do pursue me,—<br /> +Thy lord, thy lovely lover<br /> +I never willed to wound him;<br /> +I saw him, like a statue,<br /> +And could not bide the burning,<br /> +Nay, for his thigh was naked,<br /> +And mad was I to kiss it,<br /> +And thus my tusk it harmed him.<br /> +Take these my tusks, O Cypris,<br /> +And break them, and chastise them,<br /> +For wherefore should I wear them,<br /> +These passionate defences?<br /> +If this doth not suffice thee,<br /> +Then cut my lips out also,<br /> +Why dared they try to kiss him?’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Cypris had compassion;<br /> +She bade the Loves attendant<br /> +To loose the bonds that bound him.<br /> +From that day her he follows,<br /> +And flees not to the wild wood<br /> +But joins the Loves, and always<br /> +He bears Love’s flame unflinching.</p> +<h3><a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +159</span>EPIGRAMS</h3> +<p><i>The Epigrams of Theocritus are</i>, <i>for the most +part</i>, <i>either inscriptions for tombs or cenotaphs</i>, +<i>or for the pedestals of statues</i>, <i>or</i> (<i>as the +third epigram</i>) <i>are short occasional pieces</i>. +<i>Several of them are but doubtfully ascribed to the poet of the +Idyls</i>. <i>The Greek has little but brevity in common +with the modern epigram</i>.</p> +<h4>I<br /> +<i>For a rustic Altar</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">These</span> dew-drenched roses and that +tufted thyme are offered to the ladies of Helicon. And the +dark-leaved laurels are thine, O Pythian Paean, since the rock of +Delphi bare this leafage to thine honour. The altar this +white-horned goat shall stain with blood, this goat that browses +on the tips of the terebinth boughs.</p> +<h4>II<br /> +<i>For a Herdsman’s Offering</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Daphnis</span>, the white-limbed Daphnis, +that pipes on his fair flute the pastoral strains offered to <a +name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 160</span>Pan these +gifts,—his pierced reed-pipes, his crook, a javelin keen, a +fawn-skin, and the scrip wherein he was wont, on a time, to carry +the apples of Love.</p> +<h4>III<br /> +<i>For a Picture</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Thou</span> sleepest on the leaf-strewn +ground, O Daphnis, resting thy weary limbs, and the stakes of thy +nets are newly fastened on the hills. But Pan is on thy +track, and Priapus, with the golden ivy wreath twined round his +winsome head,—both are leaping at one bound into thy +cavern. Nay, flee them, flee, shake off thy slumber, shake +off the heavy sleep that is falling upon thee.</p> +<h4>IV<br /> +<i>Priapus</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> thou hast turned yonder lane, +goatherd, where the oak-trees are, thou wilt find an image of +fig-tree wood, newly carven; three-legged it is, the bark still +covers it, and it is earless withal, yet meet for the arts of +Cypris. A right holy precinct runs round it, and a +ceaseless stream that falleth from the rocks on every side is +green with laurels, and myrtles, and fragrant cypress. And +all around the place that child of the grape, the vine, doth +flourish with its tendrils, and the merles in <a +name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 161</span>spring with +their sweet songs utter their wood-notes wild, and the brown +nightingales reply with their complaints, pouring from their +bills the honey-sweet song. There, prithee, sit down and +pray to gracious Priapus, that I may be delivered from my love of +Daphnis, and say that instantly thereon I will sacrifice a fair +kid. But if he refuse, ah then, should I win +Daphnis’s love, I would fain sacrifice three +victims,—and offer a calf, a shaggy he-goat, and a lamb +that I keep in the stall, and oh that graciously the god may hear +my prayer.</p> +<h4>V<br /> +<i>The rural Concert</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Ah</span>, in the Muses’ name, wilt +thou play me some sweet air on the double flute, and I will take +up the harp, and touch a note, and the neatherd Daphnis will +charm us the while, breathing music into his wax-bound +pipe. And beside this rugged oak behind the cave will we +stand, and rob the goat-foot Pan of his repose.</p> +<h4>VI<br /> +<i>The Dead are beyond hope</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Ah</span> hapless Thyrsis, where is thy +gain, shouldst thou lament till thy two eyes are consumed with +tears? She has passed away,—the kid, the youngling +beautiful,—she has <a name="page162"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 162</span>passed away to Hades. Yea, the +jaws of the fierce wolf have closed on her, and now the hounds +are baying, but what avail they when nor bone nor cinder is left +of her that is departed?</p> +<h4>VII<br /> +<i>For a statue of Asclepius</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Even</span> to Miletus he hath come, the +son of Paeon, to dwell with one that is a healer of all sickness, +with Nicias, who even approaches him day by day with sacrifices, +and hath let carve this statue out of fragrant cedar-wood; and to +Eetion he promised a high guerdon for his skill of hand: on this +work Eetion has put forth all his craft.</p> +<h4>VIII<br /> +<i>Orthon’s Grave</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Stranger</span>, the Syracusan Orthon lays +this behest on thee; go never abroad in thy cups on a night of +storm. For thus did I come by my end, and far from my rich +fatherland I lie, clothed on with alien soil.</p> +<h4>IX<br /> +<i>The Death of Cleonicus</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Man</span>, husband thy life, nor go +voyaging out of season, for brief are the days of men! +Unhappy <a name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +163</span>Cleonicus, thou wert eager to win rich Thasus, from +Coelo-Syria sailing with thy merchandise,—with thy +merchandise, O Cleonicus, at the setting of the Pleiades didst +thou cross the sea,—and didst sink with the sinking +Pleiades!</p> +<h4>X<br /> +<i>A Group of the Muses</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">For</span> your delight, all ye Goddesses +Nine, did Xenocles offer this statue of marble, Xenocles that +hath music in his soul, as none will deny. And inasmuch as +for his skill in this art he wins renown, he forgets not to give +their due to the Muses.</p> +<h4>XI<br /> +<i>The Grave of Eusthenes</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">This</span> is the memorial stone of +Eusthenes, the sage; a physiognomist was he, and skilled to read +the very spirit in the eyes. Nobly have his friends buried +him—a stranger in a strange land—and most dear was +he, yea, to the makers of song. All his dues in death has +the sage, and, though he was no great one, ’tis plain he +had friends to care for him.</p> +<h4>XII<br /> +<i>The Offering of Demoteles</i>.</h4> +<p>’<span class="smcap">Twas</span> Demoteles the choregus, +O Dionysus, who dedicated this tripod, and this statue of <a +name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 164</span>thee, the +dearest of the blessed gods. No great fame he won when he +gave a chorus of boys, but with a chorus of men he bore off the +victory, for he knew what was fair and what was seemly.</p> +<h4>XIII<br /> +<i>For a statue of Aphrodite</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">This</span> is Cypris,—not she of +the people; nay, venerate the goddess by her name—the +Heavenly Aphrodite. The statue is the offering of chaste +Chrysogone, even in the house of Amphicles, whose children and +whose life were hers! And always year by year went well +with them, who began each year with thy worship, Lady, for +mortals who care for the Immortals have themselves thereby the +better fortune.</p> +<h4>XIV<br /> +<i>The Grave of Euryrnedon</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">An</span> infant son didst thou leave +behind, and in the flower of thine own age didst die, Eurymedon, +and win this tomb. For thee a throne is set among men made +perfect, but thy son the citizens will hold in honour, +remembering the excellence of his father.</p> +<h4>XV<br /> +<i>The Grave of Eurymedon</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Wayfarer</span>, I shall know whether thou +dost reverence the good, or whether the coward is <a +name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 165</span>held by +thee in the same esteem. ‘Hail to this tomb,’ +thou wilt say, for light it lies above the holy head of +Eurymedon.</p> +<h4>XVI<br /> +<i>For a statue of Anacreon</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Mark</span> well this statue, stranger, +and say, when thou hast returned to thy home, ‘In Teos I +beheld the statue of Anacreon, who surely excelled all the +singers of times past.’ And if thou dost add that he +delighted in the young, thou wilt truly paint all the man.</p> +<h4>XVII<br /> +<i>For a statue of Epicharmus</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorian</span> is the strain, and Dorian +the man we sing; he that first devised Comedy, even +Epicharmus. O Bacchus, here in bronze (as the man is now no +more) they have erected his statue, the colonists <a +name="citation165"></a><a href="#footnote165" +class="citation">[165]</a> that dwell in Syracuse, to the honour +of one that was their fellow-citizen. Yea, for a gift he +gave, wherefore we should be mindful thereof and pay him what +wage we may, for many maxims he spoke that were serviceable to +the life of all men. Great thanks be his.</p> +<h4><a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +166</span>XVIII<br /> +<i>The Grave of Cleita</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> little Medeus has raised this +tomb by the wayside to the memory of his Thracian nurse, and has +added the inscription—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Here lies Cleita</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> woman will have this recompense +for all her careful nurture of the boy,—and +why?—because she was serviceable even to the end.</p> +<h4>XIX<br /> +<i>The statue of Archilochus</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Stay</span>, and behold Archilochus, him +of old time, the maker of iambics, whose myriad fame has passed +westward, alike, and towards the dawning day. Surely the +Muses loved him, yea, and the Delian Apollo, so practised and so +skilled he grew in forging song, and chanting to the lyre.</p> +<h4>XX<br /> +<i>The statue of Pisander</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">This</span> man, behold, Pisander of +Corinth, of all the ancient makers was the first who wrote of the +son of Zeus, the lion-slayer, the ready of hand, and spake of all +the adventures that with toil he achieved. Know this +therefore, that <a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +167</span>the people set him here, a statue of bronze, when many +months had gone by and many years.</p> +<h4>XXI<br /> +<i>The Grave of Hipponax</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Here</span> lies the poet Hipponax! +If thou art a sinner draw not near this tomb, but if thou art a +true man, and the son of righteous sires, sit boldly down here, +yea, and sleep if thou wilt.</p> +<h4>XXII<br /> +<i>For the Bank of Caicus</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">To</span> citizens and strangers alike +this counter deals justice. If thou hast deposited aught, +draw out thy money when the balance-sheet is cast up. Let +others make false excuse, but Caicus tells back money lent, ay, +even if one wish it after nightfall.</p> +<h4>XXIII<br /> +<i>On his own Poems</i>. <a name="citation167"></a><a +href="#footnote167" class="citation">[167]</a></h4> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Chian is another man, but I, +Theocritus, who wrote these songs, am a Syracusan, a man of the +people, being the son of Praxagoras and renowned Philinna. +Never laid I claim to any Muse but mine own.</p> +<h2><a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +169</span>BION</h2> +<blockquote><p>Πίδακος +έξ ίερης +ολίγη +λιβας +ακρον +αωτον.—<i>Callimachus</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Bion</span> was born at Smyrna, one of the +towns which claimed the honour of being Homer’s +birthplace. On the evidence of a detached verse (94) of the +dirge by Moschus, some have thought that Theocritus survived +Bion. In that case Theocritus must have been a +preternaturally aged man. The same dirge tells us that Bion +was poisoned by certain enemies, and that while he left to others +his wealth, to Moschus he left his minstrelsy.</p> +<h3><a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 171</span>I<br +/> +<span class="GutSmall">THE LAMENT FOR ADONIS</span></h3> +<p><i>This poem was probably intended to be sung at one of the +spring celebrations of the festival of Adonis</i>, <i>like that +described by Theocritus in his fifteenth idyl</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Woe</span>, woe for Adonis, he hath +perished, the beauteous Adonis, dead is the beauteous Adonis, the +Loves join in the lament. No more in thy purple raiment, +Cypris, do thou sleep; arise, thou wretched one, sable-stoled, +and beat thy breasts, and say to all, ‘He hath perished, +the lovely Adonis!’</p> +<p><i>Woe</i>, <i>woe for Adonis</i>, <i>the Loves join in the +lament</i>!</p> +<p>Low on the hills is lying the lovely Adonis, and his thigh +with the boar’s tusk, his white thigh with the boar’s +tusk is wounded, and sorrow on Cypris he brings, as softly he +breathes his life away.</p> +<p><a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 172</span>His +dark blood drips down his skin of snow, beneath his brows his +eyes wax heavy and dim, and the rose flees from his lip, and +thereon the very kiss is dying, the kiss that Cypris will never +forego.</p> +<p>To Cypris his kiss is dear, though he lives no longer, but +Adonis knew not that she kissed him as he died.</p> +<p><i>Woe</i>, <i>woe for Adonis</i>, <i>the Loves join in the +lament</i>!</p> +<p>A cruel, cruel wound on his thigh hath Adonis, but a deeper +wound in her heart doth Cytherea bear. About him his dear +hounds are loudly baying, and the nymphs of the wild wood wail +him; but Aphrodite with unbound locks through the glades goes +wandering,—wretched, with hair unbraided, with feet +unsandaled, and the thorns as she passes wound her and pluck the +blossom of her sacred blood. Shrill she wails as down the +long woodlands she is borne, lamenting her Assyrian lord, and +again calling him, and again. But round his navel the dark +blood leapt forth, with blood from his thighs his chest was +scarlet, and beneath Adonis’s breast, the spaces that afore +were snow-white, were purple with blood.</p> +<p><i>Woe</i>, <i>woe for Cytherea</i>, <i>the Loves join in the +lament</i>!</p> +<p>She hath lost her lovely lord, with him she hath lost her +sacred beauty. Fair was the form of Cypris, while Adonis +was living, but <a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +173</span>her beauty has died with Adonis! <i>Woe</i>, +<i>woe for Cypris</i>, the mountains all are saying, and the +oak-trees answer, <i>Woe for Adonis</i>. And the rivers +bewail the sorrows of Aphrodite, and the wells are weeping Adonis +on the mountains. The flowers flush red for anguish, and +Cytherea through all the mountain-knees, through every dell doth +shrill the piteous dirge.</p> +<p><i>Woe</i>, <i>woe for Cytherea</i>, <i>he hath perished</i>, +<i>the lovely Adonis</i>!</p> +<p>And Echo cried in answer, <i>He hath perished</i>, <i>the +lovely Adonis</i>. Nay, who but would have lamented the +grievous love of Cypris? When she saw, when she marked the +unstaunched wound of Adonis, when she saw the bright red blood +about his languid thigh, she cast her arms abroad and moaned, +‘Abide with me, Adonis, hapless Adonis abide, that this +last time of all I may possess thee, that I may cast myself about +thee, and lips with lips may mingle. Awake Adonis, for a +little while, and kiss me yet again, the latest kiss! Nay +kiss me but a moment, but the lifetime of a kiss, till from thine +inmost soul into my lips, into my heart, thy life-breath ebb, and +till I drain thy sweet love-philtre, and drink down all thy +love. This kiss will I treasure, even as thyself; Adonis, +since, ah ill-fated, thou art fleeing me, thou art fleeing far, +Adonis, and art faring to Acheron, to that hateful king and +cruel, while wretched I yet live, being a goddess, and may not +follow thee! Persephone, <a name="page174"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 174</span>take thou my lover, my lord, for thy +self art stronger than I, and all lovely things drift down to +thee. But I am all ill-fated, inconsolable is my anguish, +and I lament mine Adonis, dead to me, and I have no rest for +sorrow.</p> +<p>‘Thou diest, O thrice-desired, and my desire hath flown +away as a dream. Nay, widowed is Cytherea, and idle are the +Loves along the halls! With thee has the girdle of my +beauty perished. For why, ah overbold, didst thou follow +the chase, and being so fair, why wert thou thus overhardy to +fight with beasts?’</p> +<p>So Cypris bewailed her, the Loves join in the lament:</p> +<p><i>Woe</i>, <i>woe for Cytherea</i>, <i>he hath perished the +lovely Adonis</i>!</p> +<p>A tear the Paphian sheds for each blood-drop of Adonis, and +tears and blood on the earth are turned to flowers. The +blood brings forth the rose, the tears, the wind-flower.</p> +<p><i>Woe</i>, <i>woe for Adonis</i>, <i>he hath perished</i>; +<i>the lovely Adonis</i>!</p> +<p>No more in the oak-woods, Cypris, lament thy lord. It is +no fair couch for Adonis, the lonely bed of leaves! Thine +own bed, Cytherea, let him now possess,—the dead +Adonis. Ah, even in death he is beautiful, beautiful in +death, as one that hath fallen on sleep. Now lay him down +to sleep in his own soft coverlets, wherein with thee through the +night he shared <a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +175</span>the holy slumber in a couch all of gold, that yearns +for Adonis, though sad is he to look upon. Cast on him +garlands and blossoms: all things have perished in his death, yea +all the flowers are faded. Sprinkle him with ointments of +Syria, sprinkle him with unguents of myrrh. Nay, perish all +perfumes, for Adonis, who was thy perfume, hath perished.</p> +<p>He reclines, the delicate Adonis, in his raiment of purple, +and around him the Loves are weeping, and groaning aloud, +clipping their locks for Adonis. And one upon his shafts, +another on his bow is treading, and one hath loosed the sandal of +Adonis, and another hath broken his own feathered quiver, and one +in a golden vessel bears water, and another laves the wound, and +another from behind him with his wings is fanning Adonis.</p> +<p><i>Woe</i>, <i>woe for Cytherea</i>, <i>the Loves join in the +lament</i>!</p> +<p>Every torch on the lintels of the door has Hymenaeus quenched, +and hath torn to shreds the bridal crown, and <i>Hymen</i> no +more, <i>Hymen</i> no more is the song, but a new song is sung of +wailing.</p> +<p>‘<i>Woe</i>, <i>woe for Adonis</i>,’ rather than +the nuptial song the Graces are shrilling, lamenting the son of +Cinyras, and one to the other declaring, <i>He hath perished</i>, +<i>the lovely Adonis</i>.</p> +<p>And <i>woe</i>, <i>woe for Adonis</i>, shrilly cry the Muses, +neglecting Paeon, and they lament <a name="page176"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 176</span>Adonis aloud, and songs they chant +to him, but he does not heed them, not that he is loth to hear, +but that the Maiden of Hades doth not let him go.</p> +<p>Cease, Cytherea, from thy lamentations, to-day refrain from +thy dirges. Thou must again bewail him, again must weep for +him another year.</p> +<h3>II<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE LOVE OF ACHILLES</span></h3> +<p><i>Lycidas sings to Myrson a fragment about the loves of +Achilles and Deidamia</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><i>Myrson</i>. Wilt thou be pleased now, Lycidas, to +sing me sweetly some sweet Sicilian song, some wistful strain +delectable, some lay of love, such as the Cyclops Polyphemus sang +on the sea-banks to Galatea?</p> +<p><i>Lycidas</i>. Yes, Myrson, and I too fain would pipe, +but what shall I sing?</p> +<p><i>Myrson</i>. A song of Scyra, Lycidas, is my +desire,—a sweet love-story,—the stolen kisses of the +son of Peleus, the stolen bed of love how he, that was a boy, did +on the weeds of women, and how he belied his form, and how among +the heedless daughters of Lycomedes, Deidamia cherished Achilles +in her bower. <a name="citation176"></a><a href="#footnote176" +class="citation">[176]</a></p> +<p><a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +177</span><i>Lycidas</i>. The herdsman bore off Helen, upon +a time, and carried her to Ida, sore sorrow to Œnone. +And Lacedaemon waxed wroth, and gathered together all the Achaean +folk; there was never a Hellene, not one of the Mycenaeans, nor +any man of Elis, nor of the Laconians, that tarried in his house, +and shunned the cruel Ares.</p> +<p>But Achilles alone lay hid among the daughters of Lycomedes, +and was trained to work in wools, in place of arms, and in his +white hand held the bough of maidenhood, in semblance a +maiden. For he put on women’s ways, like them, and a +bloom like theirs blushed on his cheek of snow, and he walked +with maiden gait, and covered his locks with the snood. But +the heart of a man had he, and the love of a man. From dawn +to dark he would sit by Deidamia, and anon would kiss her hand, +and oft would lift the beautiful warp of her loom and praise the +sweet threads, having no such joy in any other girl of her +company. Yea, all things he essayed, and all for one end, +that they twain might share an undivided sleep.</p> +<p>Now he once even spake to her, saying—</p> +<p>‘With one another other sisters sleep, but I lie alone, +and alone, maiden, dost thou lie, both being girls unwedded of +like age, both fair, and single both in bed do we sleep. +The wicked Nysa, the crafty nurse it is that cruelly severs me +from thee. For not of thee have I . . . ’</p> +<h3><a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +178</span>III<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE SEASONS</span></h3> +<p><i>Cleodamus and Myrson discuss the charms of the seasons</i>, +<i>and give the palm to a southern spring</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><i>Cleodamus</i>. Which is sweetest, to thee, Myrson, +spring, or winter or the late autumn or the summer; of which dost +thou most desire the coming? Summer, when all are ended, +the toils whereat we labour, or the sweet autumn, when hunger +weighs lightest on men, or even idle winter, for even in winter +many sit warm by the fire, and are lulled in rest and +indolence. Or has beautiful spring more delight for +thee? Say, which does thy heart choose? For our +leisure lends us time to gossip.</p> +<p><i>Myrson</i>. It beseems not mortals to judge the works +of God; for sacred are all these things, and all are sweet, yet +for thy sake I will speak out, Cleodamus, and declare what is +sweeter to me than the rest. I would not have summer here, +for then the sun doth scorch me, and autumn I would not choose, +for the ripe fruits breed disease. The ruinous winter, +bearing snow and frost, I dread. But spring, the thrice +desirable, be with me the whole year through, when there is +neither frost, nor is the sun so heavy upon us. In +springtime all is fruitful, all sweet things blossom in spring, +and night and dawn are evenly meted to men.</p> +<h3><a name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +179</span>IV<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE BOY AND LOVE</span></h3> +<p>A fowler, while yet a boy, was hunting birds in a woodland +glade, and there he saw the winged Love, perched on a box-tree +bough. And when he beheld him, he rejoiced, so big the bird +seemed to him, and he put together all his rods at once, and lay +in wait for Love, that kept hopping, now here, now there. +And the boy, being angered that his toil was endless, cast down +his fowling gear, and went to the old husbandman, that had taught +him his art, and told him all, and showed him Love on his +perch. But the old man, smiling, shook his head, and +answered the lad, ‘Pursue this chase no longer, and go not +after this bird. Nay, flee far from him. ’Tis +an evil creature. Thou wilt be happy, so long as thou dost +not catch him, but if thou comest to the measure of manhood, this +bird that flees thee now, and hops away, will come uncalled, and +of a sudden, and settle on thy head.’</p> +<h3>V<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE TUTOR OF LOVE</span></h3> +<p>Great Cypris stood beside me, while still I slumbered, and +with her beautiful hand she led <a name="page180"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 180</span>the child Love, whose head was +earthward bowed. This word she spake to me, ‘Dear +herdsman, prithee, take Love, and teach him to sing.’ +So said she, and departed, and I—my store of pastoral song +I taught to Love, in my innocence, as if he had been fain to +learn. I taught him how the cross-flute was invented by +Pan, and the flute by Athene, and by Hermes the tortoise-shell +lyre, and the harp by sweet Apollo. All these things I +taught him as best I might; but he, not heeding my words, himself +would sing me ditties of love, and taught me the desires of +mortals and immortals, and all the deeds of his mother. And +I clean forgot the lore I was teaching to Love, but what Love +taught me, and his love ditties, I learned them all.</p> +<h3>VI<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">LOVE AND THE MUSES</span></h3> +<p>The Muses do not fear the wild Love, but heartily they +cherish, and fleetly follow him. Yea, and if any man sing +that hath a loveless heart, him do they flee, and do not choose +to teach him. But if the mind of any be swayed by Love, and +sweetly he sings, to him the Muses all run eagerly. A +witness hereto am I, that this saying is wholly true, for if I +sing of any other, mortal or immortal, then falters my tongue, +and sings no longer as of old, but if again to Love, and Lycidas +I sing, then gladly from my lips flows forth the voice of +song.</p> +<h3><a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +181</span>FRAGMENTS</h3> +<h4>VII</h4> +<p>I know not the way, nor is it fitting to labour at what we +have not learned.</p> +<h4>VIII</h4> +<p>If my ditties be fair, lo these alone will win me glory, these +that the Muse aforetime gave to me. And if these be not +sweet, what gain is it to me to labour longer?</p> +<h4>IX</h4> +<p>Ah, if a double term of life were given us by Zeus, the son of +Cronos, or by changeful Fate, ah, could we spend one life in joy +and merriment, and one in labour, then perchance a man might +toil, and in some later time might win his reward. But if +the gods have willed that man enters into life but once (and that +life brief, and too short to hold all we desire), then, wretched +men and weary that we are, how sorely we toil, how greatly we +cast our souls away on gain, and laborious arts, continually +coveting yet more wealth! Surely we have all forgotten that +we are men condemned to die, and how short in the hour, that to +us is allotted by Fate. <a name="citation181"></a><a +href="#footnote181" class="citation">[181]</a></p> +<h4><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +182</span>X</h4> +<p>Happy are they that love, when with equal love they are +rewarded. Happy was Theseus, when Pirithous was by his +side, yea, though he went down to the house of implacable +Hades. Happy among hard men and inhospitable was Orestes, +for that Pylades chose to share his wanderings. And +<i>he</i> was happy, Achilles Æacides, while his darling +lived,—happy was he in his death, because he avenged the +dread fate of Patroclus.</p> +<h4>XI</h4> +<p>Hesperus, golden lamp of the lovely daughter of the foam, dear +Hesperus, sacred jewel of the deep blue night, dimmer as much +than the moon, as thou art among the stars pre-eminent, hail, +friend, and as I lead the revel to the shepherd’s hut, in +place of the moonlight lend me thine, for to-day the moon began +her course, and too early she sank. I go not free-booting, +nor to lie in wait for the benighted traveller, but a lover am I, +and ’tis well to favour lovers.</p> +<h4>XII</h4> +<p>Mild goddess, in Cyprus born,—thou child, not of the +sea, but of Zeus,—why art thou thus vexed with mortals and +immortals? Nay, my <a name="page183"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 183</span>word is too weak, why wert thou thus +bitterly wroth, yea, even with thyself, as to bring forth Love, +so mighty a bane to all,—cruel and heartless Love, whose +spirit is all unlike his beauty? And wherefore didst thou +furnish him with wings, and give him skill to shoot so far, that, +child as he is, we never may escape the bitterness of Love.</p> +<h4>XIII</h4> +<p>Mute was Phoebus in this grievous anguish. All herbs he +sought, and strove to win some wise healing art, and he anointed +all the wound with nectar and ambrosia, but remedeless are all +the wounds of Fate.</p> +<h4>XIV</h4> +<p>But I will go my way to yon sloping hill; by the sand and the +sea-banks murmuring my song, and praying to the cruel +Galatea. But of my sweet hope never will I leave hold, till +I reach the uttermost limit of old age.</p> +<h4>XV</h4> +<p>It is not well, my friend, to run to the craftsman, whatever +may befall, nor in every matter to need another’s aid, nay, +fashion a pipe thyself, and to thee the task is easy.</p> +<h4><a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +184</span>XVI</h4> +<p>May Love call to him the Muses, may the Muses bring with them +Love. Ever may the Muses give song to me that yearn for +it,—sweet song,—than song there is no sweeter +charm.</p> +<h4>XVII</h4> +<p>The constant dropping of water, says the proverb, it wears a +hole in a stone.</p> +<h4>XVIII</h4> +<p>Nay, leave me not unrewarded, for even Phoebus sang for his +reward. And the meed of honour betters everything.</p> +<h4>XIX</h4> +<p>Beauty is the glory of womankind, and strength of men.</p> +<h4>XX</h4> +<p>All things, god-willing, all things may be achieved by +mortals. From the hands of the blessed come tasks most +easy, and that find their accomplishment.</p> +<h2><a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +185</span>MOSCHUS</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Our</span> only certain information about +Moschus is contained in his own Dirge for Bion. He speaks +of his verse as ‘Ausonian song,’ and of himself as +Mion’s pupil and successor. It is plain that he was +acquainted with the poems of Theocritus.</p> +<h3><a name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 187</span>IDYL +I<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">LOVE THE RUNAWAY</span></h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Cypris</span> was raising the hue and cry +for Love, her child,—‘Who, where the three ways meet, +has seen Love wandering? He is my runaway, whosoever has +aught to tell of him shall win his reward. His prize is the +kiss of Cypris, but if thou bringest him, not the bare kiss, O +stranger, but yet more shalt thou win. The child is most +notable, thou couldst tell him among twenty together, his skin is +not white, but flame coloured, his eyes are keen and burning, an +evil heart and a sweet tongue has he, for his speech and his mind +are at variance. Like honey is his voice, but his heart of +gall, all tameless is he, and deceitful, the truth is not in him, +a wily brat, and cruel in his pastime. The locks of his +hair are lovely, but his brow is impudent, and tiny are his +little hands, yet far <a name="page188"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 188</span>he shoots his arrows, shoots even to +Acheron, and to the King of Hades.</p> +<p>‘The body of Love is naked, but well is his spirit +hidden, and winged like a bird he flits and descends, now here, +now there, upon men and women, and nestles in their inmost +hearts. He hath a little bow, and an arrow always on the +string, tiny is the shaft, but it carries as high as +heaven. A golden quiver on his back he bears, and within it +his bitter arrows, wherewith full many a time he wounds even +me.</p> +<p>‘Cruel are all these instruments of his, but more cruel +by far the little torch, his very own, wherewith he lights up the +sun himself.</p> +<p>‘And if thou catch Love, bind him, and bring him, and +have no pity, and if thou see him weeping, take heed lest he give +thee the slip; and if he laugh, hale him along.</p> +<p>‘Yea, and if he wish to kiss thee, beware, for evil is +his kiss, and his lips enchanted.</p> +<p>‘And should he say, “Take these, I give thee in +free gift all my armoury,” touch not at all his treacherous +gifts, for they all are dipped in fire.’</p> +<h3><a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 189</span>IDYL +II<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">EUROPA AND THE BULL</span></h3> +<p><span class="smcap">To</span> Europa, once on a time, a sweet +dream was sent by Cypris, when the third watch of the night sets +in, and near is the dawning; when sleep more sweet than honey +rests on the eyelids, limb-loosening sleep, that binds the eyes +with his soft bond, when the flock of truthful dreams fares +wandering.</p> +<p>At that hour she was sleeping, beneath the roof-tree of her +home, Europa, the daughter of Phoenix, being still a maid +unwed. Then she beheld two Continents at strife for her +sake, Asia, and the farther shore, both in the shape of +women. Of these one had the guise of a stranger, the other +of a lady of that land, and closer still she clung about her +maiden, and kept saying how ‘she was her mother, and +herself had nursed Europa.’ But that other with +mighty hands, and forcefully, kept haling the maiden, nothing +loth; declaring that, by the will of Ægis-bearing Zeus, +Europa was destined to be her prize.</p> +<p>But Europa leaped forth from her strown <a +name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 190</span>bed in +terror, with beating heart, in such clear vision had she beheld +the dream. Then she sat upon her bed, and long was silent, +still beholding the two women, albeit with waking eyes; and at +last the maiden raised her timorous voice</p> +<p>‘Who of the gods of heaven has sent forth to me these +phantoms? What manner of dreams have scared me when right +sweetly slumbering on my strown bed, within my bower? Ah, +and who was the alien woman that I beheld in my sleep? How +strange a longing for her seized my heart, yea, and how +graciously she herself did welcome me, and regard me as it had +been her own child.</p> +<p>‘Ye blessed gods, I pray you, prosper the fulfilment of +the dream.’</p> +<p>Therewith she arose, and began to seek the dear maidens of her +company, girls of like age with herself, born in the same year, +beloved of her heart, the daughters of noble sires, with whom she +was always wont to sport, when she was arrayed for the dance, or +when she would bathe her bright body at the mouths of the rivers, +or would gather fragrant lilies on the leas.</p> +<p>And soon she found them, each bearing in her hand a basket to +fill with flowers, and to the meadows near the salt sea they set +forth, where always they were wont to gather in their company, +delighting in the roses, and the sound of the waves. But +Europa herself bore a basket of gold, a marvel well worth gazing +on, a choice work of Hephaestus. He gave it <a +name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>to Libya, +for a bridal-gift, when she approached the bed of the Shaker of +the Earth, and Libya gave it to beautiful Telephassa, who was of +her own blood; and to Europa, still an unwedded maid, her mother, +Telephassa, gave the splendid gift.</p> +<p>Many bright and cunning things were wrought in the basket: +therein was Io, daughter of Inachus, fashioned in gold; still in +the shape of a heifer she was, and had not her woman’s +shape, and wildly wandering she fared upon the salt sea-ways, +like one in act to swim; and the sea was wrought in blue +steel. And aloft upon the double brow of the shore, two men +were standing together and watching the heifer’s +sea-faring. There too was Zeus, son of Cronos, lightly +touching with his divine hand the cow of the line of Inachus, and +her, by Nile of the seven streams, he was changing again, from a +horned heifer to a woman. Silver was the stream of Nile, +and the heifer of bronze and Zeus himself was fashioned in +gold. And all about, beneath the rim of the rounded basket, +was the story of Hermes graven, and near him lay stretched out +Argus, notable for his sleepless eyes. And from the red +blood of Argus was springing a bird that rejoiced in the +flower-bright colour of his feathers, and spreading abroad his +tail, even as some swift ship on the sea doth spread all canvas, +was covering with his plumes the lips of the golden vessel. +Even thus was wrought the basket of the lovely Europa.</p> +<p><a name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 192</span>Now +the girls, so soon as they were come to the flowering meadows, +took great delight in various sorts of flowers, whereof one would +pluck sweet-breathed narcissus, another the hyacinth, another the +violet, a fourth the creeping thyme, and on the ground there fell +many petals of the meadows rich with spring. Others again +were emulously gathering the fragrant tresses of the yellow +crocus; but in the midst of them all the princess culled with her +hand the splendour of the crimson rose, and shone pre-eminent +among them all like the foam-born goddess among the Graces. +Verily she was not for long to set her heart’s delight upon +the flowers, nay, nor long to keep untouched her maiden +girdle. For of a truth, the son of Cronos, so soon as he +beheld her, was troubled, and his heart was subdued by the sudden +shafts of Cypris, who alone can conquer even Zeus. +Therefore, both to avoid the wrath of jealous Hera, and being +eager to beguile the maiden’s tender heart, he concealed +his godhead, and changed his shape, and became a bull. Not +such an one as feeds in the stall nor such as cleaves the furrow, +and drags the curved plough, nor such as grazes on the grass, nor +such a bull as is subdued beneath the yoke, and draws the +burdened wain. Nay, but while all the rest of his body was +bright chestnut, a silver circle shone between his brows, and his +eyes gleamed softly, and ever sent forth lightning of +desire. From his brow branched horns of even length, like +the crescent of the horned <a name="page193"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 193</span>moon, when her disk is cloven in +twain. He came into the meadow, and his coming terrified +not the maidens, nay, within them all wakened desire to draw nigh +the lovely bull, and to touch him, and his heavenly fragrance was +scattered afar, exceeding even the sweet perfume of the +meadows. And he stood before the feet of fair Europa, and +kept licking her neck, and cast his spell over the maiden. +And she still caressed him, and gently with her hands she wiped +away the deep foam from his lips, and kissed the bull. Then +he lowed so gently, ye would think ye heard the Mygdonian flute +uttering a dulcet sound.</p> +<p>He bowed himself before her feet, and, bending back his neck, +he gazed on Europa, and showed her his broad back. Then she +spake among her deep-tressed maidens, saying—</p> +<p>‘Come, dear playmates, maidens of like age with me, let +us mount the bull here and take our pastime, for truly, he will +bear us on his back, and carry all of us; and how mild he is, and +dear, and gentle to behold, and no whit like other bulls. A +mind as honest as a man’s possesses him, and he lacks +nothing but speech.’</p> +<p>So she spake, and smiling, she sat down on the back of the +bull, and the others were about to follow her. But the bull +leaped up immediately, now he had gotten her that he desired, and +swiftly he sped to the deep. The maiden turned, and called +again and again to her dear playmates, stretching out her hands, +<a name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 194</span>but they +could not reach her. The strand he gained, and forward he +sped like a dolphin, faring with unwetted hooves over the wide +waves. And the sea, as he came, grew smooth, and the +sea-monsters gambolled around, before the feet of Zeus, and the +dolphin rejoiced, and rising from the deeps, he tumbled on the +swell of the sea. The Nereids arose out of the salt water, +and all of them came on in orderly array, riding on the backs of +sea-beasts. And himself, the thund’rous Shaker of the +World, appeared above the sea, and made smooth the wave, and +guided his brother on the salt sea path; and round him were +gathered the Tritons, these hoarse trumpeters of the deep, +blowing from their long conches a bridal melody.</p> +<p>Meanwhile Europa, riding on the back of the divine bull, with +one hand clasped the beast’s great horn, and with the other +caught up the purple fold of her garment, lest it might trail and +be wet in the hoar sea’s infinite spray. And her deep +robe was swelled out by the winds, like the sail of a ship, and +lightly still did waft the maiden onward. But when she was +now far off from her own country, and neither sea-beat headland +nor steep hill could now be seen, but above, the air, and +beneath, the limitless deep, timidly she looked around, and +uttered her voice, saying—</p> +<p>‘Whither bearest thou me, bull-god? What art thou? +how dost thou fare on thy feet through the path of the +sea-beasts, nor fearest <a name="page195"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 195</span>the sea? The sea is a path +meet for swift ships that traverse the brine, but bulls dread the +salt sea-ways. What drink is sweet to thee, what food shalt +thou find from the deep? Nay, art thou then some god, for +godlike are these deeds of thine? Lo, neither do dolphins +of the brine fare on land, nor bulls on the deep, but dreadless +dost thou rush o’er land and sea alike, thy hooves serving +thee for oars.</p> +<p>‘Nay, perchance thou wilt rise above the grey air, and +flee on high, like the swift birds. Alas for me, and alas +again, for mine exceeding evil fortune, alas for me that have +left my father’s house, and following this bull, on a +strange sea-faring I go, and wander lonely. But I pray thee +that rulest the grey salt sea, thou Shaker of the Earth, +propitious meet me, and methinks I see thee smoothing this path +of mine before me. For surely it is not without a god to +aid, that I pass through these paths of the waters!’</p> +<p>So spake she, and the horned bull made answer to her +again—</p> +<p>‘Take courage, maiden, and dread not the swell of the +deep. Behold I am Zeus, even I, though, closely beheld, I +wear the form of a bull, for I can put on the semblance of what +thing I will. But ’tis love of thee that has +compelled me to measure out so great a space of the salt sea, in +a bull’s shape. Lo, Crete shall presently receive +thee, Crete that was mine own foster-mother, where thy bridal +chamber shall be. Yea, and from me shalt <a +name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 196</span>thou bear +glorious sons, to be sceptre-swaying kings over earthly men.</p> +<p>So spake he, and all he spake was fulfilled. And verily +Crete appeared, and Zeus took his own shape again, and he loosed +her girdle, and the Hours arrayed their bridal bed. She +that before was a maiden straightway became the bride of Zeus, +and she bare children to Zeus, yea, anon she was a mother.</p> +<h3><a name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 197</span>IDYL +III<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE LAMENT FOR BION</span></h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Wail</span>, let me hear you wail, ye +woodland glades, and thou Dorian water; and weep ye rivers, for +Bion, the well beloved! Now all ye green things mourn, and +now ye groves lament him, ye flowers now in sad clusters breathe +yourselves away. Now redden ye roses in your sorrow, and +now wax red ye wind-flowers, now thou hyacinth, whisper the +letters on thee graven, and add a deeper <i>ai ai</i> to thy +petals; he is dead, the beautiful singer.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>Ye nightingales that lament among the thick leaves of the +trees, tell ye to the Sicilian waters of Arethusa the tidings +that Bion the herdsman is dead, and that with Bion song too has +died, and perished hath the Dorian minstrelsy.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>Ye Strymonian swans, sadly wail ye by the waters, and chant +with melancholy notes the dolorous song, even such a song as in +his time <a name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +198</span>with voice like yours he was wont to sing. And +tell again to the Œagrian maidens, tell to all the Nymphs +Bistonian, how that he hath perished, the Dorian Orpheus.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>No more to his herds he sings, that beloved herdsman, no more +’neath the lonely oaks he sits and sings, nay, but by +Pluteus’s side he chants a refrain of oblivion. The +mountains too are voiceless: and the heifers that wander by the +bulls lament and refuse their pasture.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>Thy sudden doom, O Bion, Apollo himself lamented, and the +Satyrs mourned thee, and the Priapi in sable raiment, and the +Panes sorrow for thy song, and the fountain fairies in the wood +made moan, and their tears turned to rivers of waters. And +Echo in the rocks laments that thou art silent, and no more she +mimics thy voice. And in sorrow for thy fall the trees cast +down their fruit, and all the flowers have faded. From the +ewes hath flowed no fair milk, nor honey from the hives, nay, it +hath perished for mere sorrow in the wax, for now hath thy honey +perished, and no more it behoves men to gather the honey of the +bees.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>Not so much did the dolphin mourn beside the sea-banks, nor +ever sang so sweet the nightingale on the cliffs, nor so much +lamented <a name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +199</span>the swallow on the long ranges of the hills, nor +shrilled so loud the halcyon o’er his sorrows;</p> +<p>(<i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.)</p> +<p>Nor so much, by the grey sea-waves, did ever the sea-bird +sing, nor so much in the dells of dawn did the bird of Memnon +bewail the son of the Morning, fluttering around his tomb, as +they lamented for Bion dead.</p> +<p>Nightingales, and all the swallows that once he was wont to +delight, that he would teach to speak, they sat over against each +other on the boughs and kept moaning, and the birds sang in +answer, ‘Wail, ye wretched ones, even ye!’</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>Who, ah who will ever make music on thy pipe, O thrice desired +Bion, and who will put his mouth to the reeds of thine +instrument? who is so bold?</p> +<p>For still thy lips and still thy breath survive, and Echo, +among the reeds, doth still feed upon thy songs. To Pan +shall I bear the pipe? Nay, perchance even he would fear to +set his mouth to it, lest, after thee, he should win but the +second prize.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>Yea, and Galatea laments thy song, she whom once thou wouldst +delight, as with thee she sat by the sea-banks. For not +like the Cyclops didst thou sing—him fair Galatea ever +fled, but on thee she still looked more kindly <a +name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 200</span>than on the +salt water. And now hath she forgotten the wave, and sits +on the lonely sands, but still she keeps thy kine.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>All the gifts of the Muses, herdsman, have died with thee, the +delightful kisses of maidens, the lips of boys; and woful round +thy tomb the loves are weeping. But Cypris loves thee far +more than the kiss wherewith she kissed the dying Adonis.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>This, O most musical of rivers, is thy second sorrow, this, +Meles, thy new woe. Of old didst thou lose Homer, that +sweet mouth of Calliope, and men say thou didst bewail thy goodly +son with streams of many tears, and didst fill all the salt sea +with the voice of thy lamentation—now again another son +thou weepest, and in a new sorrow art thou wasting away.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>Both were beloved of the fountains, and one ever drank of the +Pegasean fount, but the other would drain a draught of +Arethusa. And the one sang the fair daughter of Tyndarus, +and the mighty son of Thetis, and Menelaus Atreus’s son, +but that other,—not of wars, not of tears, but of Pan, +would he sing, and of herdsmen would he chant, and so singing, he +tended the herds. And pipes he would fashion, and would +milk the sweet heifer, and taught lads <a +name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 201</span>how to +kiss, and Love he cherished in his bosom and woke the passion of +Aphrodite.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>Every famous city laments thee, Bion, and all the towns. +Ascra laments thee far more than her Hesiod, and Pindar is less +regretted by the forests of Boeotia. Nor so much did +pleasant Lesbos mourn for Alcaeus, nor did the Teian town so +greatly bewail her poet, while for thee more than for Archilochus +doth Paros yearn, and not for Sappho, but still for thee doth +Mytilene wail her musical lament;</p> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>Here seven verses are +lost</i>.]</p> +<p>And in Syracuse Theocritus; but I sing thee the dirge of an +Ausonian sorrow, I that am no stranger to the pastoral song, but +heir of the Doric Muse which thou didst teach thy pupils. +This was thy gift to me; to others didst thou leave thy wealth, +to me thy minstrelsy.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>Ah me, when the mallows wither in the garden, and the green +parsley, and the curled tendrils of the anise, on a later day +they live again, and spring in another year; but we men, we, the +great and mighty, or wise, when once we have died, in hollow +earth we sleep, gone down into silence; a right long, and +endless, and unawakening sleep. And thou too, in the earth +wilt be lapped in silence, but the nymphs have thought good that +the frog should eternally <a name="page202"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 202</span>sing. Nay, him I would not +envy, for ’tis no sweet song he singeth.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>Poison came, Bion, to thy mouth, thou didst know poison. +To such lips as thine did it come, and was not sweetened? +What mortal was so cruel that could mix poison for thee, or who +could give thee the venom that heard thy voice? surely he had no +music in his soul.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>But justice hath overtaken them all. Still for this +sorrow I weep, and bewail thy ruin. But ah, if I might have +gone down like Orpheus to Tartarus, or as once Odysseus, or +Alcides of yore, I too would speedily have come to the house of +Pluteus, that thee perchance I might behold, and if thou singest +to Pluteus, that I might hear what is thy song. Nay, sing +to the Maiden some strain of Sicily, sing some sweet pastoral +lay.</p> +<p>And she too is Sicilian, and on the shores by Aetna she was +wont to play, and she knew the Dorian strain. Not +unrewarded will the singing be; and as once to Orpheus’s +sweet minstrelsy she gave Eurydice to return with him, even so +will she send thee too, Bion, to the hills. But if I, even +I, and my piping had aught availed, before Pluteus I too would +have sung.</p> +<h3><a name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 203</span>IDYL +IV</h3> +<p><i>A sad dialogue between Megara the wife and Alcmena the +mother of the wandering Heracles</i>. <i>Megara had seen +her own children slain by her lord</i>, <i>in his frenzy</i>, +<i>while Alcmena was constantly disquieted by ominous +dreams</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">My</span> mother, wherefore art thou thus +smitten in thy soul with exceeding sorrow, and the rose is no +longer firm in thy cheeks as of yore? why, tell me, art thou thus +disquieted? Is it because thy glorious son is suffering +pains unnumbered in bondage to a man of naught, as it were a lion +in bondage to a fawn? Woe is me, why, ah why have the +immortal gods thus brought on me so great dishonour, and +wherefore did my parents get me for so ill a doom? Wretched +woman that I am, who came to the bed of a man without reproach +and ever held him honourable and dear as mine own eyes,—ay +and still worship and hold him sacred in my heart—yet none +other of men living hath had more evil hap or tasted in his soul +so many griefs. In madness once, with the bow +Apollo’s self had given him—dread weapon of some Fury +or spirit of Death—he struck down <a +name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 204</span>his own +children, and took their dear life away, as his frenzy raged +through the house till it swam in blood. With mine own +eyes, I saw them smitten, woe is me, by their father’s +arrows—a thing none else hath suffered even in +dreams. Nor could I aid them as they cried ever on their +mother; the evil that was upon them was past help. As a +bird mourneth for her perishing little ones, devoured in the +thicket by some terrible serpent while as yet they are +fledglings, and the kind mother flutters round them making most +shrill lament, but cannot help her nestlings, yea, and herself +hath great fear to approach the cruel monster; so I unhappy +mother, wailing for my brood, with frenzied feet went wandering +through the house. Would that by my children’s side I +had died myself, and were lying with the envenomed arrow through +my heart. Would that this had been, O Artemis, thou that +art queen chief of power to womankind. Then would our +parents have embraced and wept for us and with ample obsequies +have laid us on one common pyre, and have gathered the bones of +all of us into one golden urn, and buried them in the place where +first we came to be. But now they dwell in Thebes, fair +nurse of youth, ploughing the deep soil of the Aonian plain, +while I in Tiryns, rocky city of Hera, am ever thus wounded at +heart with many sorrows, nor is any respite to me from +tears. My husband I behold but a little time in our house, +for he hath many labours at his hand, whereat he laboureth <a +name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 205</span>in +wanderings by land and sea, with his soul strong as rock or steel +within his breast. But thy grief is as the running waters, +as thou lamentest through the nights and all the days of +Zeus.</p> +<p>Nor is there any one of my kinsfolk nigh at hand to cheer me: +for it is not the house wall that severs them, but they all dwell +far beyond the pine-clad Isthmus, nor is there any to whom, as a +woman all hapless, I may look up and refresh my heart, save only +my sister Pyrrha; nay, but she herself grieves yet more for her +husband Iphicles thy son: for methinks ’tis thou that hast +borne the most luckless children of all, to a God, and a mortal +man. <a name="citation205"></a><a href="#footnote205" +class="citation">[205]</a></p> +<p>Thus spake she, and ever warmer the tears were pouring from +her eyes into her sweet bosom, as she bethought her of her +children and next of her own parents. And in like manner +Alcmena bedewed her pale cheeks with tears, and deeply sighing +from her very heart she thus bespoke her dear daughter with +thick-coming words:</p> +<p>‘Dear child, what is this that hath come into the +thoughts of thy heart? How art thou fain to disquiet us +both with the tale of griefs that cannot be forgotten? Not +for the first time are these woes wept for now. Are they +not enough, the woes that possess us from our birth continually +to our day of death? In love with sorrow surely would he be +that should <a name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +206</span>have the heart to count up our woes; such destiny have +we received from God. Thyself, dear child, I behold vext by +endless pains, and thy grief I can pardon, yea, for even of joy +there is satiety. And exceedingly do I mourn over and pity +thee, for that thou hast partaken of our cruel lot, the burden +whereof is hung above our heads. For so witness Persephone +and fair-robed Demeter (by whom the enemy that wilfully forswears +himself, lies to his own hurt), that I love thee no less in my +heart than if thou hadst been born of my womb, and wert the +maiden darling of my house: nay, and methinks that thou knowest +this well. Therefore say never, my flower, that I heed thee +not, not even though I wail more ceaselessly than Niobe of the +lovely locks. No shame it is for a mother to make moan for +the affliction of her son: for ten months I went heavily, even +before I saw him, while I bare him under my girdle, and he +brought me near the gates of the warden of Hell; so fierce the +pangs I endured in my sore travail of him. And now my son +is gone from me in a strange land to accomplish some new labour; +nor know I in my sorrow whether I shall again receive him +returning here or no. Moreover in sweet sleep a dreadful +dream hath fluttered me; and I exceedingly fear for the +ill-omened vision that I have seen, lest something that I would +not be coming on my children.</p> +<p>It seemed to me that my son, the might of Heracles, held in +both hands a well-wrought <a name="page207"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 207</span>spade, wherewith, as one labouring +for hire, he was digging a ditch at the edge of a fruitful field, +stripped of his cloak and belted tunic. And when he had +come to the end of all his work and his labours at the stout +defence of the vine-filled close, he was about to lean his shovel +against the upstanding mound and don the clothes he had +worn. But suddenly blazed up above the deep trench a +quenchless fire, and a marvellous great flame encompassed +him. But he kept ever giving back with hurried feet, +striving to flee the deadly bolt of Hephaestus; and ever before +his body he kept his spade as it were a shield; and this way and +that he glared around him with his eyes, lest the angry fire +should consume him. Then brave Iphicles, eager, methought, +to help him, stumbled and fell to earth ere he might reach him, +nor could he stand upright again, but lay helpless, like a weak +old man, whom joyless age constrains to fall when he would not; +so he lieth on the ground as he fell, till one passing by lift +him up by the hand, regarding the ancient reverence for his hoary +beard. Thus lay on the earth Iphicles, wielder of the +shield. But I kept wailing as I beheld my sons in their +sore plight, until deep sleep quite fled from my eyes, and +straightway came bright morn. Such dreams, beloved, flitted +through my mind all night; may they all turn against Eurystheus +nor come nigh our dwelling, and to his hurt be my soul prophetic, +nor may fate bring aught otherwise to pass.</p> +<h3><a name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 208</span>IDYL +V</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> the wind on the grey salt sea +blows softly, then my weary spirits rise, and the land no longer +pleases me, and far more doth the calm allure me. <a +name="citation208"></a><a href="#footnote208" +class="citation">[208]</a> But when the hoary deep is +roaring, and the sea is broken up in foam, and the waves rage +high, then lift I mine eyes unto the earth and trees, and fly the +sea, and the land is welcome, and the shady wood well pleasing in +my sight, where even if the wind blow high the pine-tree sings +her song. Surely an evil life lives the fisherman, whose +home is his ship, and his labours are in the sea, and fishes +thereof are his wandering spoil. Nay, sweet to me is sleep +beneath the broad-leaved plane-tree; let me love to listen to the +murmur of the brook hard by, soothing, not troubling the +husbandman with its sound.</p> +<h3>IDYL VI</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Pan</span> loved his +neighbour Echo; Echo loved<br /> +A gamesome Satyr; he, by her unmoved,<br /> +<a name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 209</span>Loved +only Lyde; thus through Echo, Pan,<br /> +Lyde, and Satyr, Love his circle ran.<br /> +Thus all, while their true lovers’ hearts they grieved,<br +/> +Were scorned in turn, and what they gave received.<br /> +O all Love’s scorners, learn this lesson true;<br /> +Be kind to Love, that he be kind to you.</p> +<h3>IDYL VII</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Alpheus</span>, when he leaves Pisa and +makes his way through beneath the deep, travels on to Arethusa +with his waters that the wild olives drank, bearing her bridal +gifts, fair leaves and flowers and sacred soil. Deep in the +waves he plunges, and runs beneath the sea, and the salt water +mingles not with the sweet. Nought knows the sea as the +river journeys through. Thus hath the knavish boy, the +maker of mischief, the teacher of strange ways—thus hath +Love by his spell taught even a river to dive.</p> +<h3>IDYL VIII</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Leaving</span> his torch +and his arrows, a wallet strung on his back,<br /> +One day came the mischievous Love-god to follow the +plough-share’s track:<br /> +And he chose him a staff for his driving, and yoked him a sturdy +steer,<br /> +<a name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 210</span>And +sowed in the furrows the grain to the Mother of Earth most +dear.<br /> +Then he said, looking up to the sky: ‘Father Zeus, to my +harvest be good,<br /> +Lest I yoke that bull to my plough that Europa once rode through +the flood!’</p> +<h3>IDYL IX</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Would</span> that my father +had taught me the craft of a keeper of sheep,<br /> +For so in the shade of the elm-tree, or under the rocks on the +steep,<br /> +Piping on reeds I had sat, and had lulled my sorrow to sleep. <a +name="citation210"></a><a href="#footnote210" +class="citation">[210]</a></p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote0a"></a><a href="#citation0a" +class="footnote">[0a]</a> This fragment is from the +collection of M. Fauriel; <i>Chants Populaires de le +Grèce</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0b"></a><a href="#citation0b" +class="footnote">[0b]</a> <i>Empedocles on Etna</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0c"></a><a href="#citation0c" +class="footnote">[0c]</a> Ballet des Arts, dansé par +sa Majesté; le 8 janvier, 1663. A Paris, par Robert +Ballard, <span class="GutSmall">MDCLXIII</span>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0d"></a><a href="#citation0d" +class="footnote">[0d]</a> These and the following ditties +are from the modern Greek ballads collected by MM. Fauriel and +Legrand.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0e"></a><a href="#citation0e" +class="footnote">[0e]</a> See Couat, <i>La Poesie +Alexandrine</i>, p. 68 <i>et seq.</i>, Paris 1882.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0f"></a><a href="#citation0f" +class="footnote">[0f]</a> See Couat, <i>op. cit.</i> p. +395.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0g"></a><a href="#citation0g" +class="footnote">[0g]</a> Couat, p. 434.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0h"></a><a href="#citation0h" +class="footnote">[0h]</a> See Helbig, <i>Campenische +Wandmalerie</i>, and Brunn, <i>Die griechischen Bukoliker und die +Bildende Kunst</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0i"></a><a href="#citation0i" +class="footnote">[0i]</a> The <i>Hecale</i> of Callimachus, +or Theseus and the Marathonian Bull, seems to have been rather a +heroic idyl than an epic.</p> +<p><a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6" +class="footnote">[6]</a> Or reading +Αίολικόν=Aeolian, +cf. Thucyd. iii. 102.</p> +<p><a name="footnote9"></a><a href="#citation9" +class="footnote">[9]</a> These are places famous in the +oldest legends of Arcadia.</p> +<p><a name="footnote11"></a><a href="#citation11" +class="footnote">[11]</a> Reading, +καταδήσομαι. +Cf. Fritzsche’s note and Harpocration, s.v.</p> +<p><a name="footnote13"></a><a href="#citation13" +class="footnote">[13]</a> On the word +ραμβος, see Lobeck, +<i>Aglaoph.</i> p. 700; and ‘The Bull Roarer,’ in the +translator’s <i>Custom and Myth</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote19"></a><a href="#citation19" +class="footnote">[19]</a> Reading +καταδήσομαι. +Cf. line 3, and note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote21"></a><a href="#citation21" +class="footnote">[21]</a> He refers to a piece of +folk-lore.</p> +<p><a name="footnote24"></a><a href="#citation24" +class="footnote">[24]</a> The shovel was used for tossing +the sand of the lists; the sheep were food for Aegon’s +great appetite.</p> +<p><a name="footnote26"></a><a href="#citation26" +class="footnote">[26]</a> Reading +έρίσδεις.</p> +<p><a name="footnote34"></a><a href="#citation34" +class="footnote">[34]</a> Melanthius was the treacherous +goatherd put to a cruel death by Odysseus.</p> +<p><a name="footnote36"></a><a href="#citation36" +class="footnote">[36]</a> Ameis and Fritzsche take +νιν (as here) to be the dog, not Galatea. The +sex of the Cyclops’s sheep-dog makes the meaning +obscure.</p> +<p><a name="footnote40"></a><a href="#citation40" +class="footnote">[40]</a> Or, +δόμον +Ώρομέδοντος. +Hermann renders this <i>domum Oromedonteam</i> a gigantic +house.’ Oromedon or Eurymedon was the king of the +Gigantes, mentioned in Odyssey vii. 58.</p> +<p><a name="footnote41"></a><a href="#citation41" +class="footnote">[41]</a> +έσχατα. This is taken by +some to mean <i>algam infimam</i>, ‘the bottom weeds of the +deepest seas’, by others, the sea-weed highest on the +shore, at high watermark.</p> +<p><a name="footnote42"></a><a href="#citation42" +class="footnote">[42]</a> Comatas was a goatherd who +devoutly served the Muses, and sacrificed to them his masters +goats. His master therefore shut him up in a cedar chest, +opening which at the year’s end he found Comatas alive, by +miracle, the bees having fed him with honey. Thus, in a +mediaeval legend, the Blessed Virgin took the place, for a year, +of the frail nun who had devoutly served her.</p> +<p><a name="footnote43"></a><a href="#citation43" +class="footnote">[43]</a> Sneezing in Sicily, as in most +countries, was a happy omen.</p> +<p><a name="footnote50"></a><a href="#citation50" +class="footnote">[50]</a> A superfluous and apocryphal line +is here omitted.</p> +<p><a name="footnote53"></a><a href="#citation53" +class="footnote">[53]</a> An allusion to the common +superstition (cf. Idyl xii. 24) that perjurers and liars were +punished by pimples and blotches. The old Irish held that +blotches showed themselves on the faces of Brehons who gave +unjust judgments.</p> +<p><a name="footnote54"></a><a href="#citation54" +class="footnote">[54]</a> Spring in the south, like Night +in the tropics, comes ‘at one stride’; but Wordsworth +finds the rendering distasteful ‘neque sic redditum valde +placet.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote57"></a><a href="#citation57" +class="footnote">[57]</a> ‘Quant à ta +manière, je ne puis la rendre.’—<span +class="smcap">Sainte-Beuve</span>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote61"></a><a href="#citation61" +class="footnote">[61]</a> Reading +μηνοφόρως.</p> +<p><a name="footnote70"></a><a href="#citation70" +class="footnote">[70]</a> Cf. Wordsworth’s proposed +conjecture—</p> +<blockquote><p>μετάρσι’, +έτων +παρεόντων.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Meineke observes ‘tota haec carminis pars luxata et +foedissime depravata est’. There seems to be a rude +early pun in lines 73, 74.</p> +<p><a name="footnote72"></a><a href="#citation72" +class="footnote">[72]</a> The reading—</p> +<p>ού φθεγξη; +λύκον +εΐδες; +επαιξέ τις, +ως σοφός, +εΐπε,—makes good sense. +ως σοφός is put in the +mouth of the girl, and would mean ‘a good +guess’! The allusion of a guest to the superstition +that the wolf struck people dumb is taken by Cynisca for a +reference to young Wolf, her secret lover.</p> +<p><a name="footnote73"></a><a href="#citation73" +class="footnote">[73]</a> Or, as Wordsworth suggests, +reading δάκρυσι, +‘for him your cheeks are wet with tears.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote74a"></a><a href="#citation74a" +class="footnote">[74a]</a> Shaving in the bronze, and still +more, of course, in the stone age, was an uncomfortable and +difficult process. The backward and barbarous Thracians +were therefore trimmed in the roughest way, like Aeschines, with +his long gnawed moustache.</p> +<p><a name="footnote74b"></a><a href="#citation74b" +class="footnote">[74b]</a> The Megarians having inquired of +the Delphic oracle as to their rank among Greek cities, were told +that they were absolute last, and not in the reckoning at +all.</p> +<p><a name="footnote77"></a><a href="#citation77" +class="footnote">[77]</a> Our Lady, here, is +Persephone. The ejaculation served for the old as well as +for the new religion of Sicily. The dialogue is here +arranged as in Fritzsche’s text, and in line 8 his +punctuation is followed.</p> +<p><a name="footnote78a"></a><a href="#citation78a" +class="footnote">[78a]</a> If cats are meant, the proverb +is probably Alexandrian. Common as cats were in Egypt, they +were late comers in Greece.</p> +<p><a name="footnote78b"></a><a href="#citation78b" +class="footnote">[78b]</a> Most of the dialogue has been +distributed as in the text of Fritzsche.</p> +<p><a name="footnote82"></a><a href="#citation82" +class="footnote">[82]</a> Reading +πέρυσιν.</p> +<p><a name="footnote89"></a><a href="#citation89" +class="footnote">[89]</a> <i>I.e.</i> Syracuse, a colony of +the Ephyraeans or Corinthians. The Maiden is Persephone, +the Mother Demeter.</p> +<p><a name="footnote93"></a><a href="#citation93" +class="footnote">[93]</a> Deipyle, daughter of +Adrastus.</p> +<p><a name="footnote98"></a><a href="#citation98" +class="footnote">[98]</a> +Reading—πιείρα +ατε λαον +ανέδραμε +κόσμος +αρούρα. See also +Wordsworth’s note on line 26.</p> +<p><a name="footnote104"></a><a href="#citation104" +class="footnote">[104]</a> For αδέα +Wordsworth and Hermann conjecture +Ἄρεα. The sense would be that +Eunica, who thinks herself another Cypris, or Aphrodite is, in +turn, to be rejected by her Ares, her soldier-lover, as she has +rejected the herdsman.</p> +<p><a name="footnote105"></a><a href="#citation105" +class="footnote">[105]</a> Reading +επιμύσσησι.</p> +<p><a name="footnote106a"></a><a href="#citation106a" +class="footnote">[106a]</a> Reading τα +φυκιοέντα +τε λαίφη.</p> +<p><a name="footnote106b"></a><a href="#citation106b" +class="footnote">[106b]</a> κώπα.</p> +<p><a name="footnote106c"></a><a href="#citation106c" +class="footnote">[106c]</a> +ουδος δ’ +ουχι θύραν +εΐχ’, and in the next line ά +γαρ πενία +σφας +ετήρει.</p> +<p><a name="footnote106d"></a><a href="#citation106d" +class="footnote">[106d]</a> +αυδάν.</p> +<p><a name="footnote107"></a><a href="#citation107" +class="footnote">[107]</a> Reading, with +Fritzsche—</p> +<blockquote><p>αλλ’ +όνος εν +ράμνω, το τε +λύχνιον εν +πρυτανείω</p> +<p>φαντι γαρ +αγρυπνίαν +τόδ’ εχειν</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The lines seem to contain two popular saws, of which it is +difficult to guess the meaning. The first saw appears to +express helplessness; the second, to hint that such comforts as +lamps lit all night long exist in towns, but are out of the reach +of poor fishermen.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108a"></a><a href="#citation108a" +class="footnote">[108a]</a> Reading +ηρέμ’ ενυξα +και νύξας +εχάλαξα. Asphalion +first hooked his fish, which ran gamely, and nearly doubled up +the rod. Then the fish sulked, and the angler half +despaired of landing him. To stir the sullen fish, he +reminded him of his wound, probably, as we do now, by keeping a +tight line, and tapping the butt of the rod. Then he +slackened, giving the fish line in case of a sudden rush; but as +there was no such rush, he took in line, or perhaps only showed +his fish the butt (for it is not probable that Asphalion had a +reel), and so landed him. The Mediterranean fishers +generally toss the fish to land with no display of science, but +Asphalion’s imaginary capture was a monster.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108b"></a><a href="#citation108b" +class="footnote">[108b]</a> It is difficult to understand +this proceeding. Perhaps Asphalion had some small net +fastened with strings to his boat, in which he towed fish to +shore, that the contact with the water might keep them fresher +than they were likely to be in the bottom of the coble. On +the other hand, Asphalion was fishing from a rock. His +dream may have been confused.</p> +<p><a name="footnote111"></a><a href="#citation111" +class="footnote">[111]</a> +πυρεΐα appear to have been +‘fire sticks,’ by rubbing which together the heroes +struck a light.</p> +<p><a name="footnote118"></a><a href="#citation118" +class="footnote">[118]</a> Or +εγχεα +λοΰσαι, ‘wash the +spears,’ as in the Zulu idiom.</p> +<p><a name="footnote124"></a><a href="#citation124" +class="footnote">[124]</a> In line 57 for +τηλε read Wordsworth’s conjecture +τηδε = +ενταΰθα.</p> +<p><a name="footnote127"></a><a href="#citation127" +class="footnote">[127]</a> Odyssey. xix. 36 seq. +(Reading απερ not +ατερ.) ‘Father, surely a great +marvel is this that I behold with mine eyes meseems, at least, +that the walls of the hall . . . are bright as it were with +flaming fire’ . . . ‘Lo! this is the wont of the gods +that hold Olympus.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote128"></a><a href="#citation128" +class="footnote">[128]</a> ξηρον, +<i>prae timore non lacrymantem</i> (Paley).</p> +<p><a name="footnote129"></a><a href="#citation129" +class="footnote">[129]</a> Reading, after Fritzsche, +ρωγάδος +εκ πέτρας. We +should have expected the accursed ashes (like those of Wyclif) to +be thrown <i>into</i> the river; cf. Virgil, Ecl. viii. 101, +‘Fer cineres, Amarylli, foras, rivoque fluenti transque +caput lace nec respexeris.’ Virgil’s knowledge +of these observances was not inferior to that of Theocritus.</p> +<p><a name="footnote130"></a><a href="#citation130" +class="footnote">[130]</a> Reading +εστεμμένω. If +εστεμμνον is read, +the phrase will mean ‘pure brimming water.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote135"></a><a href="#citation135" +class="footnote">[135]</a> Reading +οσσον.</p> +<p><a name="footnote143"></a><a href="#citation143" +class="footnote">[143]</a> Reading +αλλη, as in Wordsworth’s +conjecture, instead of υλη.</p> +<p><a name="footnote144"></a><a href="#citation144" +class="footnote">[144]</a> Reading +ποπανεύματα.</p> +<p><a name="footnote145"></a><a href="#citation145" +class="footnote">[145]</a> +Πένθημα και +ου πενθηα, a play +on words difficult to retain in English. Compare Idyl xiii. +line 74.</p> +<p><a name="footnote147"></a><a href="#citation147" +class="footnote">[147]</a> The conjecture +εμα δ’ gives a good sense, <i>mea +vero Helena me potius ultra petit</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote148"></a><a href="#citation148" +class="footnote">[148]</a> Reading, as in +Wordsworth’s conjecture, μη +’πιβάλης +ταν χεΐρα, +και ει γ’ +ετι +χεΐλος, +αμύξω.</p> +<p><a name="footnote150a"></a><a href="#citation150a" +class="footnote">[150a]</a> Reading +οΐδ’, +ακρατιμίη +εσσι, with Fritzsche. Compare the +conjecture of Wordsworth, Ὀύδ’ +ακρα τι μη +εσσι.</p> +<p><a name="footnote150b"></a><a href="#citation150b" +class="footnote">[150b]</a> See Wordsworth’s +explanation.</p> +<p><a name="footnote153"></a><a href="#citation153" +class="footnote">[153]</a> Syracuse.</p> +<p><a name="footnote165"></a><a href="#citation165" +class="footnote">[165]</a> Reading, +πεδοικισται +(that is, the Corinthian founders of Syracuse), and following +Wordsworth’s other conjectures.</p> +<p><a name="footnote167"></a><a href="#citation167" +class="footnote">[167]</a> This epigram may have been added +by the first editor of Theocritus, Artemidorus the +Grammarian.</p> +<p><a name="footnote176"></a><a href="#citation176" +class="footnote">[176]</a> This conjecture of +Meineke’s offers, at least, a meaning.</p> +<p><a name="footnote181"></a><a href="#citation181" +class="footnote">[181]</a> <i>Les hommes sont tous +condamnés à mort</i>, <i>avec des sursis +indéfinis</i>.—<span class="smcap">Victor +Hugo</span>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote205"></a><a href="#citation205" +class="footnote">[205]</a> Alcmena bore Iphicles to +Amphictyon, Hercules to Zeus.</p> +<p><a name="footnote208"></a><a href="#citation208" +class="footnote">[208]</a> Reading, with Weise, +ποτάγει δε +πολυ πλεον +αμμε +γαλάνα.</p> +<p><a name="footnote210"></a><a href="#citation210" +class="footnote">[210]</a> For the translations into verse +I have to thank Mr. Ernest Myers.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THEOCRITUS, BION AND MOSCHUS***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 4775-h.htm or 4775-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/7/7/4775 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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