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diff --git a/old/thbm10h.htm b/old/thbm10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d869129 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/thbm10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6614 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII"> +<title>Theocritus, Bion and Moschus rendered into English Prose</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Theocritus, Bion and Moschus rendered into English Prose, by Andrew Lang</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Theocritus, Bion and Moschus +by Andrew Lang +(#35 in our series by Andrew Lang) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Theocritus, Bion and Moschus rendered into English Prose + +Author: Andrew Lang + +Release Date: December, 2003 [EBook #4775] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on March 16, 2002] +[Most recently updated: March 16, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII +</pre> +<p> +Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk, from the 1889 +Macmillan and Co. edition. +<p> +<a name="startoftext"></a> +THEOCRITUS, BION AND MOSCHUS RENDERED INTO ENGLISH PROSE WITH AN INTRODUCTORY +ESSAY BY ANDREW LANG<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +LIFE OF THEOCRITUS<br> +(<i>From Suidas</i>)<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Theocritus, 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, The Pleasures +of Hope (‘Ελπιδες), +Hymns, The Heroines, Dirges, Ditties, Elegies, Iambics, 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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +LIFE OF THEOCRITUS<br> +ΘΕΟΚΡΙΤΟΥ ΓΕΝΟΣ<br> +(<i>Usually prefixed to the Idyls</i>)<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Theocritus the Bucolic poet was a Syracusan by extraction, and the son +of Simichidas, as he says himself, <i>Simichidas, 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 (σιμος), +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +THEOCRITUS AND HIS AGE<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +At 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 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 B.C.) 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 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 THEOCRITUS.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 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.’<br> +<br> +Theocritus was probably born in an early decade of the third century, +or, according to Couat, about 315 B.C., 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, 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 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 -<br> +<br> +<br> +‘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.’<br> +<br> +<br> +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 -<br> +<br> +‘Do thou farewell, and turn thy steeds to Ocean, lady, and my +pain I will endure, even as I have declared. Farewell, Selene +beautiful; farewell, ye other stars that follow the wheels of Night.’<br> +<br> +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">{0a}</a><br> +<br> +‘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.’<br> +<br> +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.’<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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,’ +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<br> +<br> +<br> +‘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">{0b}</a><br> +<br> +<br> +Theocritus never drives his flock so high, 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.’<br> +<br> +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 -<br> +<br> +<br> +‘<i>A son labeur il passe tout d’un coup,<br> +Et n’ira pas dormir sur la fougere,<br> +Ny s’oublier aupres d’une Bergere,<br> +Jusques au point d’en oublier le Loup.’ </i><a name="citation0c"></a><a href="#footnote0c">{0c}</a><br> +<br> +<br> +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 -<br> +<br> +<br> +Χελιδονακι +θα γενω, σ' τα χειλη +σου να καττω<br> +Να σε φιλησω +μια και δυο, και +παλε να πεταξω<br> +<br> +‘To flit towards these lips of thine, I fain would be a swallow,<br> +To kiss thee once, to kiss thee twice, and then go flying homeward.’ +<a name="citation0d"></a><a href="#footnote0d">{0d}</a><br> +<br> +<br> +In his despair, when Love ‘clung to him like a leech of the fen,’ +he might have murmured -<br> +<br> +<br> +‘Ηθελα να ειμαι +σ’ τα βουνα, μ' +αλαφια να κοιμουμαι +<br> +Και το δικον +σου το κορμι +να μη το συλλογιουμαι +<br> +<br> +‘Would that I were on the high hills, and lay where lie the stags, +and no more was troubled with the thought of thee.’<br> +<br> +<br> +Here, again, is a love-complaint from modern Epirus, exactly in the +tone of Battus’s song in the tenth idyl -<br> +<br> +<br> +‘White thou art not, thou art not golden haired,<br> +Thou art brown, and gracious, and meet for love.’<br> +<br> +<br> +Here is a longer love-ditty -<br> +<br> +‘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.’<br> +<br> +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’ -<br> +<br> +‘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!’<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 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, Thyrsis, </i>and <i>Adonais.<br> +<br> +</i>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 αδυ, +<i>sweet</i>. He finds all things delectable in the rural life:<br> +<br> +‘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.’<br> +<br> +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 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 -<br> +<br> +<br> +κεινος δ' ου +πολεμους, ου +δακρυα, Πανα δ' +εμελπε,<br> +και βουτασ ελιγαινε +και αειδων ενομευε<br> +<br> +‘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.’<br> +<br> +<br> +This was the training that Sicily, her hills, her seas, her lovers, +her poet-shepherds, gave 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 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">{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 υδατινα +βρακη<i>, </i>the thin undulating tissues which +Theugenis was to weave 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<br> +<br> +<br> +κουπω ταν μεσαταν +οδον ανυμες, +ουδε το σαμα +<br> +αμιν το Βρασιλα +κατεφαινετο<br> +<br> +<br> +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).<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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 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 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 +<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.<br> +<br> +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. +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.<br> +<br> +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 Pentaur to ‘the strong Bull,’ or the +‘Risen Sun,’ to Rameses or Thothmes.<br> +<br> +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">{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 ιον 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 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 ειδυλλια, ‘little +pictures.’ His fragments of epic, or imitations of the epic +hymns are not<br> +<br> +<br> +οσα ποντος αειδει<br> +<br> +<br> +- not full and sonorous as the songs of Homer 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">{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.<br> +<br> +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">{0h}</a> +Out of nearly two thousand Pompeian pictures, it is 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 -<br> +<br> +<br> +</i>‘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.’<br> +<br> +<br> +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 -<br> +<br> +‘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.’<br> +<br> +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 +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.<br> +<br> +Enough has perhaps been said about the social and artistic taste of +Alexandria to account 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">{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; 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.<br> +<br> +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 B.C.) 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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +THEOCRITUS<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL I<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>The shepherd Thyrsis meets a goatherd, in a shady place beside a +spring, and at his invitation sings the Song of Daphnis. This +ideal hero of Greek pastoral song had won for his bride the fairest +of the Nymphs. Confident in the strength of his passion, he boasted +that Love could never subdue him to a new question. Love avenged +himself by making Daphnis desire a strange maiden, but to this temptation +he never yielded, and so died a constant lover. The song tells +how the cattle and the wild things of the wood bewailed him, how Hermes +and Priapus gave him counsel in vain, and how with his last breath he +retorted the taunts of the implacable Aphrodite.<br> +<br> +The scene is in Sicily.<br> +<br> +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 falls to thee, and dainty +is the flesh of kids e’er the age when thou milkest them.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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?<br> +<br> +<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 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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +All about the cup is spread the soft acanthus, a miracle of varied work, +<a name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6">{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!<br> +<br> +<i>The Song of Thyrsis.<br> +<br> +Begin, ye Muses dear, 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.<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song</i>!<br> +<br> +For him the jackals, for him the wolves did cry; for him did even the +lion out of the forest lament. Kine and bulls by his feet right +many, and heifers plenty, with the young calves bewailed him.<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song</i>!<br> +<br> +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, -<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song</i>!<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song</i>!<br> +<br> +‘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.’<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song</i>!<br> +<br> +Yet these the herdsman answered not again, but he bare his bitter love +to the end, yea, to the fated end he bare it.<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song</i>!<br> +<br> +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?’<br> +<br> +<i>Begin ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song</i>!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song</i>!<br> +<br> +‘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!<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song</i>!<br> +<br> +‘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.”<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song</i>!<br> +<br> +‘Ye wolves, ye jackals, and ye bears in the mountain caves, farewell! +The herdsman Daphnis ye never shall see again, no more in 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.<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song</i>!<br> +<br> +‘That Daphnis am I who here do herd the kine, Daphnis who water +here the bulls and calves.<br> +<br> +‘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">{9}</a><br> +<br> +<i>Give o’er, ye Muses, come, give o’er the pastoral song</i>!<br> +<br> +‘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.<br> +<br> +<i>Give o’er, ye Muses, come, give o’er the pastoral song</i>!<br> +<br> +‘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 drag down the hounds, let owls from the +hills contend in song with the nightingales.’<br> +<br> +<i>Give o’er, ye Muses, come, give o’er the pastoral song</i>!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<i>Give o’er, ye Muses, come, give o’er the pastoral song</i>!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL II<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>Simaetha, madly in love with Delphis, who has forsaken her, endeavours +to subdue him to her by magic, and by invoking the Moon, in her character +of Hecate, and of Selene. She tells the tale of the growth of +her passion, and vows vengeance if her magic arts are unsuccessful.<br> +<br> +The scene is probably some garden beneath the moonlit shy, near the +town, and within sound of the sea. The characters are Simaetha, +and Thestylis, her handmaid.<br> +<br> +</i>Where 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">{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 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<i>My magic wheel, draw home to me the man I love</i>!<br> +<br> +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!’<br> +<br> +<i>My magic wheel, draw home to me the man I love</i>!<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +<i>My magic wheel, draw home to me the man I love</i>!<br> +<br> +Even as I melt this wax, with the god to aid, so speedily may he by +love be molten, the Myndian Delphis! And as whirls this brazen +wheel, <a name="citation13"></a><a href="#footnote13">{13}</a> so restless, +under Aphrodite’s spell, may he turn and turn about my doors.<br> +<br> +<i>My magic wheel, draw home to me the man I love</i>!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<i>My magic wheel, draw home to me the man I love</i>!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<i>My magic wheel, draw home to me the man I love</i>!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<i>My magic wheel, draw home to me the man I love</i>!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<i>My magic wheel, draw home to me the man I love</i>!<br> +<br> +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?<br> +<br> +<i>My magic wheel, draw home to me the man I love</i>!<br> +<br> +Lo, I will crush an eft, and a venomous draught to-morrow I will bring +thee!<br> +<br> +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.’<br> +<br> +<i>My magic wheel, draw home to me the man I love</i>!<br> +<br> +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 time, in the sacred show, and among them +a lioness.<br> +<br> +<i>Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon</i>!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<i>Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon</i>!<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +<i>Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon</i>!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<i>Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon</i>!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<i>Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon</i>!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<i>Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon</i>!<br> +<br> +‘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, -<br> +<br> +<i>Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon</i>!<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +<i>Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon</i>!<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +<i>Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon</i>!<br> +<br> +‘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.<br> +<br> +<i>Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon</i>!<br> +<br> +‘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.<br> +<br> +<i>Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon</i>!<br> +<br> +‘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.<br> +<br> +<i>Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon</i>!<br> +<br> +‘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!’<br> +<br> +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, saying that he would +cover with garlands the dwelling of his love.<br> +<br> +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">{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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL III<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>A goatherd, leaving his goats to feed on the hillside, in the charge +of Tityrus, approaches the cavern of Amaryllis, with its veil of ferns +and ivy, and attempts to win back the heart of the girl by song. +He mingles promises with harmless threats, and repeats, in exquisite +verses, the names of the famous lovers of old days, Milanion and Endymion. +Failing to move Amaryllis, the goatherd threatens to die where he has +thrown himself down, beneath the trees.<br> +<br> +</i>Courting 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.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +Lo, ten apples I bring thee, plucked from that very place where thou +didst bid me pluck them, and others to-morrow I will bring thee.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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">{21}</a><br> +<br> +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 I +had set all my heart on thee, but that thou didst nothing regard me.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Sweet as honey in the mouth may my death be to thee.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL IV<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>Battus and Corydon, two rustic fellows, meeting in a glade, gossip +about their neighbour, Aegon, who has gone to try his fortune at the +Olympic games. After some random banter, the talk turns on the +death of Amaryllis, and the grief of Battus is disturbed by the roaming +of his cattle. Corydon removes a thorn that has run into his friend’s +foot, and the conversation comes back to matters of rural scandal.<br> +<br> +The scene is in Southern Italy.<br> +<br> +Battus</i>. Tell me, Corydon, whose kine are these, - the cattle +of Philondas?<br> +<br> +<i>Corydon</i>. Nay, they are Aegon’s, he gave me them to +pasture.<br> +<br> +<i>Battus</i>. Dost thou ever find a way to milk them all, on +the sly, just before evening?<br> +<br> +<i>Corydon</i>. No chance of that, for the old man puts the calves +beneath their dams, and keeps watch on me.<br> +<br> +<i>Battus</i>. But the neatherd himself, - to what land has he +passed out of sight?<br> +<br> +<i>Corydon</i>. Hast thou not heard? Milon went and carried +him off to the Alpheus.<br> +<br> +<i>Battus</i>. And when, pray, did <i>he </i>ever set eyes on +the wrestlers’ oil?<br> +<br> +<i>Corydon</i>. They say he is a match for Heracles, in strength +and hardihood.<br> +<br> +<i>Battus</i>. And I, so mother says, am a better man than Polydeuces.<br> +<br> +<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">{24}</a><br> +<br> +<i>Battus</i>. Milo, thou’lt see, will soon be coaxing the +wolves to rave!<br> +<br> +<i>Corydon</i>. But Aegon’s heifers here are lowing pitifully, +and miss their master.<br> +<br> +<i>Battus</i>. Yes, wretched beasts that they are, how false a +neatherd was theirs!<br> +<br> +<i>Corydon</i>. Wretched enough in truth, and they have no more +care to pasture.<br> +<br> +<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?<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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!<br> +<br> +<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>!<i> </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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<i>Corydon</i>. Out, Cymaetha, get thee to the 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.<br> +<br> +<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?<br> +<br> +<i>Corydon</i>. Yes, yes, and I have caught it in my nails, see, +here it is.<br> +<br> +<i>Battus</i>. How tiny is the wound, and how tall a man it masters!<br> +<br> +<i>Corydon</i>. When thou goest to the hill, go not barefoot, +Battus, for on the hillside flourish thorns and brambles plenty.<br> +<br> +<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?<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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">{26}</a><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL V<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>This Idyl begins with a ribald debate between two hirelings, who, +at last, compete with each other in a match of pastoral song. +No other idyl of Theocritus is so frankly true to the rough side of +rustic manners. The scene is in Southern Italy.<br> +<br> +Comatas</i>. Goats of mine, keep clear of that notorious shepherd +of Sibyrtas, that Lacon; he stole my goat-skin yesterday.<br> +<br> +<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?<br> +<br> +<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?<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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, even then wert wasting with envy, and now, at last, thou hast +stripped me bare!<br> +<br> +<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!<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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!’<br> +<br> +<i>Comatas</i>. <i>The sow defied Athene</i>!<i> </i>See, +there is staked the kid, go to, do thou too put a fatted lamb against +him, for thy stake.<br> +<br> +<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?<br> +<br> +<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!<br> +<br> +<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 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.<br> +<br> +<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!<br> +<br> +<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!<br> +<br> +* * *<br> +<br> +But come this way, come, and thou shalt sing thy last of country song.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<i>Comatas</i>. Nay, but an if thou wilt come, 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.<br> +<br> +<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!<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<i>Lacon</i>. Let us shout, then!<br> +<br> +<i>Comatas</i>. Call thou to him.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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!<br> +<br> +<i>Comatas</i>. Best of men, I am for speaking the whole truth, +and boasting never, but thou art too fond of cutting speeches.<br> +<br> +<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!<br> +<br> +<br> +THE SINGING MATCH.<br> +<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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?’<br> +<br> +<i>Lacon</i>. Ah, ah, but Lacon here hath nigh twenty baskets +full of cheese, and Lacon lies with his darling in the flowers!<br> +<br> +<i>Comatas</i>. Clearista, too, pelts the goatherd with apples +as he drives past his she-goats, and a sweet word she murmurs.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<i>Lacon</i>. Nay, nor wild apples to acorns, for acorns are bitter +in the oaken rind, but apples are sweet as honey.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<i>Comatas</i>. Forth from the wild olive, my bleating she-goats, +feed here where the hillside slopes, and the tamarisks grove.<br> +<br> +<i>Lacon</i>. Conarus there, and Cynaetha, will you never leave +the oak? Graze here, where Phalarus feeds, where the hillside +fronts the dawn.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<i>Comatas</i>. Ye locusts that overleap our fence, see that ye +harm not our vines, for our vines are young.<br> +<br> +<i>Lacon</i>. Ye cicalas, see how I make the goatherd chafe: even +so, methinks, do ye vex the reapers.<br> +<br> +<i>Comatas</i>. I hate the foxes, with their bushy brushes, that +ever come at evening, and eat the grapes of Micon.<br> +<br> +<i>Lacon</i>. And I hate the lady-birds that devour the figs of +Philondas, and flit down the wind.<br> +<br> +<i>Comatas</i>. Dost thou not remember how I cudgelled thee, and +thou didst grin and nimbly writhe, and catch hold of yonder oak?<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<i>Comatas</i>. Let Himera flow with milk instead of water, and +thou, Crathis, run red with wine, and all thy reeds bear apples.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<i>Comatas</i>. My goats eat cytisus, and goatswort, and tread +the lentisk shoots, and lie at ease among the arbutus.<br> +<br> +<i>Lacon</i>. But my ewes have honey-wort to feed on, and luxuriant +creepers flower around, as fair as roses.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<i>Lacon</i>. But deeply I love my darling, for a kind kiss once +I got, in return for the gift of a shepherd’s pipe.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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">{34}</a> +not Comatas, if I do not cudgel thee.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL VI<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis and Damoetas, two herdsmen of the golden age, meet by a well-side, +and sing a match, their topic is the Cyclops, Polyphemus, and his love +for the sea-nymph, Galatea.<br> +<br> +The scene is in Sicily.<br> +<br> +</i>Damoetas, 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.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis’s Song of the Cyclops.<br> +<br> +</i>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 reveal him, <a name="citation36"></a><a href="#footnote36">{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!<br> +<br> +<i>He ended and Damoetas touched a prelude to his sweet song.<br> +<br> +</i>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 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL VII<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>The poet making his way through the noonday heat, with two friends, +to a harvest feast, meets the goatherd, Lycidas. To humour the +poet Lycidas sings a love song of his own, and the other replies with +verses about the passion of Aratus, the famous writer of didactic verse. +After a courteous parting from Lycidas, the poet and his two friends +repair to the orchard, where Demeter is being gratified with the first-fruits +of harvest and vintaging.<br> +<br> +In this idyl, Theocritus, speaking of himself by the name of Simichidas, +alludes to his teachers in poetry, and, perhaps, to some of the literary +quarrels of the time.<br> +<br> +The scene is in the isle of Cos. G. Hermann fancied that the scene +was in Lucania, and Mr. W. R. Paton thinks he can identify the places +named by the aid of inscriptions (</i>Classical Review<i>, ii. 8, 265). +See also Rayet, </i>Mémoire sur l’île de Cos<i>, +p. 18, Paris, 1876.<br> +<br> +The Harvest Feast.<br> +<br> +</i>It 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), 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:-<br> +<br> +‘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!’<br> +<br> +‘Dear Lycidas,’ I answered him, ‘they all say that +thou among herdsmen, yea, and reapers art far the chiefest flute-player. +In sooth this 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!’<br> +<br> +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">{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!’<br> +<br> +<i>The Song of Lycidas.<br> +<br> +</i>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.<br> +<br> +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">{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.<br> +<br> +Two shepherds shall be my flute-players, one from Acharnae, one from +Lycope, and hard by 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.<br> +<br> +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">{42}</a><br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +When he had chanted thus much he ceased, and I followed after him again, +with some such words as these:-<br> +<br> +‘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.’<br> +<br> +<i>The Song of Simichidas.<br> +<br> +</i>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">{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 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.<br> +<br> +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!’<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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?<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL VIII<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>The scene is among the high mountain pastures of Sicily:-<br> +<br> +‘On the sword, at the cliff top<br> +Lie strewn the white flocks,’<br> +<br> +and far below shines and murmurs the Sicilian sea. Here Daphnis +and Menalcas, two herdsmen of the golden age, meet, while still in their +earliest youth, and contend for the prize of pastoral. Their songs, +in elegiac measure, are variations on the themes of love and friendship +(for Menalcas sings of Milon, Daphnis of Nais), and of nature. +Daphnis is the winner,- it is his earliest victory, and the prelude +to his great renown among nymphs and shepherds. In this version +the strophes are arranged as in Fritzsche’s text. Some critics +take the poem to be a patchwork by various hands.<br> +<br> +</i>As 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.<br> +<br> +‘Daphnis, thou herdsman of the lowing kine, art thou minded to +sing a match with me? Methinks I shall vanquish thee, when I sing +in turn, as readily as I please.’<br> +<br> +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!’<br> +<br> +<i>Menalcas</i>. Dost thou care then, to try this and see, dost +thou care to risk a stake?<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. I do care to try this and see, a stake I am ready +to risk.<br> +<br> +<i>Menalcas</i>. But what shall we stake, what pledge shall we +find equal and sufficient?<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. I will pledge a calf, and do thou put down a lamb, +one that has grown to his mother’s height.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. But what, then, wilt thou lay, and where is to +be the victor’s gain?<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<i>Menalcas</i>. But who is to judge between us, who will listen +to our singing?<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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!<br> +<br> +<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<br> +<br> +<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 she depart, +then parched are the kine, and he that feeds them!<br> +<br> +<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.’<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. . . .<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis . </i>. . .<br> +<br> +<i>Menalcas . </i>. . .<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +Thus the boys sang in verses amoebaean, and thus Menalcas began the +crowning lay:<br> +<br> +<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 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.<br> +<br> +Then Daphnis followed again, and sweetly preluded to his singing:<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +Sweet is the voice of the heifer, sweet her breath, <a name="citation50"></a><a href="#footnote50">{50}</a> +sweet to lie beneath the sky in summer, by running water.<br> +<br> +Acorns are the pride of the oak, apples of the apple tree, the calf +of the heifer, and the neatherd glories in his kine.<br> +<br> +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.’<br> +<br> +Then was the boy as glad, - and leaped high, and clapped his hands over +his victory, - as a young fawn leaps about his mother.<br> +<br> +But the heart of the other was wasted with grief, and desolate, even +as a maiden sorrows that is newly wed.<br> +<br> +From this time Daphnis became the foremost among the shepherds, and +while yet in his earliest youth, he wedded the nymph Nais.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL IX<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis and Menalcas, at the bidding of the poet, sing the joys of +the neatherds and of the shepherds life. Both receive the thanks +of the poet, and rustic prizes - a staff and a horn, made of a spiral +shell. Doubts have been expressed as to the authenticity of the +prelude and concluding verses. The latter breathe all Theocritus’s +enthusiastic love of song.<br> +<br> +</i>Sing, 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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +And thus I heed no more the scorching summer, than a lover cares to +heed the words of father or of mother.<br> +<br> +So Daphnis sang to me, and thus, in turn, did Menalcas sing.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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">{53}</a><br> +<br> +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">{54}</a> +Whom they look on in happy hour, Circe hath never harmed with her enchanted +potion.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL X - THE REAPERS<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>This is an idyl of the same genre as Idyl IV. The sturdy reaper, +Milon, as he levels the swathes of corn, derides his languid and love-worn +companion, Buttus. The latter defends his gipsy love in verses +which have been the keynote of much later poetry, and which echo in +the fourth book of Lucretius, and in the Misanthrope of Molière. +Milon replies with the song of Lityerses - a string, apparently, of +popular rural couplets, such as Theocritus may have heard chanted in +the fields.<br> +<br> +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?<br> +<br> +<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?<br> +<br> +<i>Milan</i>. Never! What has a labouring man to do with +hankering after what he has not got?<br> +<br> +<i>Battus</i>. Then it never befell thee to lie awake for love?<br> +<br> +<i>Milan</i>. Forbid it; ‘tis an ill thing to let the dog +once taste of pudding.<br> +<br> +<i>Battus</i>. But I, Milon, am in love for almost eleven days!<br> +<br> +<i>Milan</i>. ‘Tis easily seen that thou drawest from a +wine-cask, while even vinegar is scarce with me.<br> +<br> +<i>Battus</i>. And for Love’s sake, the fields before my +doors are untilled since seed-time.<br> +<br> +<i>Milan</i>. But which of the girls afflicts thee so?<br> +<br> +<i>Battus</i>. The daughter of Polybotas, she that of late was +wont to pipe to the reapers on Hippocoon’s farm.<br> +<br> +<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!<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +</i>Yea, and the violet is swart, and swart the lettered hyacinth, but +yet these flowers are chosen the first in garlands.<br> +<br> +The goat runs after cytisus, the wolf pursues the goat, the crane follows +the plough, but I am wild for love of thee.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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">{57}</a><br> +<br> +<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<br> +<br> +THE LITYERSES SONG.<br> +<br> +<i>Demeter, rich in fruit, and rich in grain, may this corn be easy +to win, and fruitful exceedingly!<br> +<br> +Bind, ye bandsters, the sheaves, lest the wayfarer should cry, ‘Men +of straw were the workers here, ay, and their hire was wasted!’<br> +<br> +See that the cut stubble faces the North wind, or the West, ‘tis +thus the grain waxes richest.<br> +<br> +They that thresh corn should shun the noon-day steep; at noon the chaff +parts easiest from the straw.<br> +<br> +As for the reapers, let them begin when the crested lark is waking, +and cease when he sleeps, but take holiday in the heat.<br> +<br> +Lads, the frog has a jolly life, he is not cumbered about a butler to +his drink, for he has liquor by him unstinted!<br> +<br> +Boil the lentils better, thou miserly steward; take heed lest thou chop +thy fingers, when thou’rt splitting cumin-seed.<br> +<br> +</i>‘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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL XI - THE CYCLOPS IN LOVE<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>Nicias, the physician and poet, being in love, Theocritus reminds +him that in song lies the only remedy. It was by song, he says, +that the Cyclops, Polyphemus, got him some ease, when he was in love +with Galatea, the sea-nymph.<br> +<br> +The idyl displays, in the most graceful manner, the Alexandrian taste +for turning Greek mythology into love stories. No creature could +be more remote from love than the original Polyphemus, the cannibal +giant of the Odyssey.<br> +<br> +</i>There 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.<br> +<br> +‘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, 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!<br> +<br> +Yet this remedy he found, and sitting on the crest of the tall cliff, +and looking to the deep, ‘twas thus he would sing:-<br> +<br> +<i>Song of the Cyclops.<br> +<br> +</i>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.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +I know, thou gracious maiden, why it is 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.<br> +<br> +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">{61}</a> and four young +whelps of the bear.<br> +<br> +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?<br> +<br> +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 my very soul, and this my one eye, +the dearest thing that is mine.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +O Cyclops, Cyclops, whither are thy wits wandering? Ah that thou +wouldst go, and weave thy wicker-work, and gather broken boughs to carry +to thy lambs: in faith, if thou didst this, far wiser wouldst thou be!<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +<br> +Lo, thus Polyphemus still shepherded his love with song, and lived lighter +than if he had given gold for ease.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL XII - THE PASSIONATE FRIEND<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>This is rather a lyric than an idyl, being an expression of that +singular passion which existed between men in historical Greece. +The next idyl, like the Myrmidons of Aeschylus, attributes the same +manners to mythical and heroic Greece. It should be unnecessary +to say that the affection between Homeric warriors, like Achilles and +Patroclus, was only that of companions in arms and was quite unlike +the later sentiment.<br> +<br> +</i>Hast 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.<br> +<br> +Ah, would that equally the Loves may breathe upon us twain, may we become +a song in the ears of all men unborn.<br> +<br> +‘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.<br> +<br> +‘An equal yoke of friendship they bore: ah, surely then there +were golden men of old, when friends gave love for love!’<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +‘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.’<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL XIII - HYLAS AND HERACLES<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>As in the eleventh Idyl, Nicias is again addressed, by way of introduction +to the story of Hylas. This beautiful lad, a favourite companion +of Heracles, took part in the Quest of the Fleece of Gold. As +he went to draw water from a fountain, the water-nymphs dragged him +down to their home, and Heracles, after a long and vain search, was +compelled to follow the heroes of the Quest on foot to Phasis.<br> +<br> +</i>Not 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 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.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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 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.’<br> +<br> +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 +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.<br> +<br> +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">{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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL XIV<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>This Idyl, like the next, is dramatic in form. One Aeschines +tells Thyonichus the story of his quarrel with his mistress Cynisca. +He speaks of taking foreign service, and Thyonichus recommends that +of Ptolemy. The idyl was probably written at Alexandria, as a +compliment to Ptolemy, and an inducement to Greeks to join his forces. +There is nothing, however, to fix the date.<br> +<br> +Aeschines</i>. All hail to the stout Thyonichus!<br> +<br> +<i>Thyonichus</i>. As much to you, Aeschines.<br> +<br> +<i>Aeschines</i>. How long it is since we met!<br> +<br> +<i>Thyonichus</i>. Is it so long? But why, pray, this melancholy?<br> +<br> +<i>Aeschines</i>. I am not in the best of luck, Thyonichus.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<i>Aeschines</i>. Friend, you will always have your 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.<br> +<br> +<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?<br> +<br> +<i>Aeschines</i>. The Argive, and I, and the<i> </i>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">{72}</a> +then she kindled; yes, you could easily have 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!<br> +<br> +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">{73}</a><br> +<br> +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.’<br> +<br> +Since then there are twenty days, and eight 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">{74a}</a><br> +<br> +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">{74b}</a><br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<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, PTOLEMY +is the free man’s best paymaster!<br> +<br> +<i>Aeschines</i>. And in other respects, what kind of man?<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL XV<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>This famous idyl should rather, perhaps, be called a mimus. +It describes the visit paid by two Syracusan women residing in Alexandria, +to the festival of the resurrection of Adonis. The festival is +given by Arsinoë, wife and sister of Ptolemy Philadelphus, and +the poem cannot have been written earlier than his marriage, in 266 +B.C. [?] Nothing can be more gay and natural than the chatter +of the women, which has changed no more in two thousand years than the +song of birds. Theocritus is believed to have had a model for +this idyl in the Isthmiazusae of Sophron, an older poet. In the +Isthmiazusae two ladies described the spectacle of the Isthmian games.<br> +<br> +Gorgo</i>. Is Praxinoë at home?<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<i>Gorgo</i>. It does most charmingly as it is.<br> +<br> +<i>Praxinoë</i>. Do sit down.<br> +<br> +<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 +uniform! And the road is endless: yes, you really live <i>too +</i>far away!<br> +<br> +<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!<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<i>Praxinoë</i>. Our Lady! the child takes notice. <a name="citation77"></a><a href="#footnote77">{77}</a><br> +<br> +<i>Gorgo</i>. Nice papa!<br> +<br> +<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!<br> +<br> +<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 the Adonis; I hear the Queen has provided +something splendid!<br> +<br> +<i>Praxinoë</i>. Fine folks do everything finely.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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">{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.<br> +<br> +<i>Gorgo</i>. Praxinoë, that full body becomes you wonderfully. +Tell me how much did the stuff cost you just off the loom?<br> +<br> +<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!<br> +<br> +<i>Gorgo</i>. Well, it is <i>most </i>successful; all you could +wish. <a name="citation78b"></a><a href="#footnote78b">{78b}</a><br> +<br> +<i>Praxinoë</i>. Thanks for the pretty speech! 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.<br> +<br> +<i>[They go into the street.<br> +<br> +</i>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.<br> +<br> +<i>Gorgo</i>. Courage, Praxinoë. We are safe behind +them, now, and they have gone to their station.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<i>Gorgo (to an old Woman)</i>. Are you from the Court, mother?<br> +<br> +<i>Old Woman</i>. I am, my child.<br> +<br> +<i>Praxinoë</i>. Is it easy to get there?<br> +<br> +<i>Old Woman</i>. The Achaeans got into Troy by trying, my prettiest +of ladies. Trying will do everything in the long run.<br> +<br> +<i>Gorgo</i>. The old wife has spoken her oracles, and off she +goes.<br> +<br> +<i>Praxinoë</i>. Women know everything, yes, and how Zeus +married Hera!<br> +<br> +<i>Gorgo</i>. See Praxinoë, what a crowd there is about the +doors.<br> +<br> +<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!<br> +<br> +<i>Stranger</i>. I can hardly help myself, but for all that I +will be as careful as I can.<br> +<br> +<i>Praxinoë</i>. How close-packed the mob is, they hustle +like a herd of swine.<br> +<br> +<i>Stranger</i>. Courage, lady, all is well with us now.<br> +<br> +<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 the bridegroom, when he had shut himself in +with his bride.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<i>A Stranger</i>. You weariful women, do cease your endless cooing +talk! They bore one to death with their eternal broad vowels!<br> +<br> +<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?<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<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 year for dirge-singing. <a name="citation82"></a><a href="#footnote82">{82}</a> +I am sure she will give us something lovely; see, she is preluding with +her airs and graces.<br> +<br> +<i>The Psalm of Adonis.<br> +<br> +</i>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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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, and of things that creep, lo, here they are set before him.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +<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!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL XVI<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>In 265 B.C. Sicily was devastated by the Carthaginians, and by the +companies of disciplined free-lances who called themselves Mamertines, +or Mars’s men. The hopes of the Greek inhabitants of the +island were centred in Hiero, son of Hierocles, who was about to besiege +Messana (then held by the Carthaginians) and who had revived the courage +of the Syracusans. To him Theocritus addressed this idyl, in which +he complains of the sordid indifference of the rich, rehearses the merits +of song, dilates on the true nature of wealth, and of the happy lift, +and finally expresses his hope that Hiero will rid the isle of the foreign +foe, and will restore peace and pastoral joys. The idyl contains +some allusions to Simonides, the old lyric poet, and to his relations +with the famous Hiero tyrant of Syracuse.<br> +<br> +</i>Ever 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 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.<br> +<br> +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; first +let me get my own</i>! ‘<i>Tis the Gods’ affair to +honour minstrels</i>!<i> Homer is enough for every one, who wants +to hear any other</i>? <i>He is the best of bards who takes nothing +that is mine.<br> +<br> +</i>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 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Even now the Phoenicians that dwell beneath the setting sun on the spur +of Libya, shudder for dread, even now the Syracusans 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">{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!<br> +<br> +But the fame of Hiero may minstrels bear aloft, across the Scythian +sea, and where Semiramis reigned, that built the mighty wall, 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!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL XVII<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>The poet praises Ptolemy Philadelphus in a strain of almost religious +adoration. Hauler, in his Life of Theocritus, dates the poem about +259 B.C., but it may have been many years earlier.<br> +<br> +</i>From 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.<br> +<br> +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?<br> +<br> +Even by virtue of his sires, how mighty was he to accomplish some great +work, - Ptolemy 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +O dark-browed lady of Argos, <a name="citation93"></a><a href="#footnote93">{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, 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:<br> +<br> +‘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.’<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 +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?<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL XVIII<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>This epithalamium may have been written for the wedding of a friend +of the poet’s. The idea is said to have been borrowed from +an old poem by Stesichorus. The epithalamium was chanted at night +by a chorus of girls, outside the bridal chamber. Compare the +conclusion of the hymn of Adonis, in the fifteenth Idyl</i>.<br> +<br> +In 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.<br> +<br> +<i>The Chorus.<br> +<br> +</i>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 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.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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">{98}</a> +but of us all not one was faultless, when matched with Helen.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +WORSHIP ME, I AM THE TREE OF HELEN.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<i>Hymen, O Hymenae, rejoice thou in this bridal.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</i>IDYL XIX<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>This little piece is but doubtfully ascribed to Theocritus. +The motif is that of a well-known Anacreontic Ode. The idyl has +been translated by Ronsard.<br> +<br> +</i>The 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!’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL XX<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>A herdsman, who had been contemptuously rejected by Eunica, a girl +of the town, protests that he is beautiful, and that Eunica is prouder +than Cybele, Selene, and Aphrodite, all of whom loved mortal herdsmen. +For grammatical and other reasons, some critics consider this idyl apocryphal.<br> +<br> +</i>Eunica 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 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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +And didst not thou, too, Son of Cronos, take the shape of a wandering +bird, and all for a cowherd boy?<br> +<br> +But Eunica alone would not kiss the herdsman; Eunica, she that is greater +than Cybele, and Cypris, and Selene!<br> +<br> +Well, Cypris, never mayst thou, in city or on hillside, kiss thy darling, +<a name="citation104"></a><a href="#footnote104">{104}</a> and lonely +all the long night mayst thou sleep!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL XXI<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>After some verses addressed to Diophantus, a friend about whom nothing +is known, the poet describes the toilsome life of two old fishermen. +One of them has dreamed of catching a golden fish, and has sworn, in +his dream, never again to tempt the sea. The other reminds him +that his oath is as empty as his vision, and that he must angle for +common fish, if he would not starve among his golden dreams. The +idyl is, unfortunately, corrupt beyond hope of certain correction.<br> +<br> +</i>‘Tis 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">{105}</a> +in the night, cares throng about him, and suddenly disquiet his slumber.<br> +<br> +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">{106a}</a> +the lines, the weds, the lobster pots woven of rushes, the seines, two +oars, <a name="citation106b"></a><a href="#footnote106b">{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">{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.<br> +<br> +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">{106d}</a><br> +<br> +<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?<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<i>Asphalion</i>. Didst ever learn to interpret dreams? for good +dreams have I beheld. I 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">{107}</a><br> +<br> +<i>The Friend</i>. Tell me, then, the vision of the night; nay, +tell all to thy friend.<br> +<br> +<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 +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">{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">{108b}</a> +and swore that never again would I set foot on sea, but abide on land, +and lord it over the gold.<br> +<br> +This was even what wakened me, but, for the rest, set thy mind to it, +my friend, for I am in dismay about the oath I swore.<br> +<br> +<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!<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL XXII - THE DIOSCURI<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>This is a hymn, in the Homeric manner, to Castor and Polydeuces. +Compare the life and truth of the descriptions of nature, and of the +boxing-match, with the frigid manner of Apollonius Rhodius. -</i> Argonautica, +II. I. <i>seq.<br> +<br> +</i>We 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, +and the wide sea rings, being lashed by the gusts, and by showers of +iron hail.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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">{111}</a><br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +<i>Polydeuces</i>. Good luck to thee, stranger, whosoe’er +thou art! What men are they that possess this land?<br> +<br> +<i>Amycus</i>. What sort of luck, when I see men that I never +saw before?<br> +<br> +<i>Polydeuces</i>. Fear not! Be sure that those thou look’st +on are neither evil, nor the children of evil men.<br> +<br> +<i>Amycus</i>. No fear have I, and it is not for thee to teach +me that lesson.<br> +<br> +<i>Polydeuces</i>. Art thou a savage, resenting all address, or +some vainglorious man?<br> +<br> +<i>Amycus</i>. I am that thou see’st, and on thy land, at +least, I trespass not.<br> +<br> +<i>Polydeuces</i>. Come, and with kindly gifts return homeward +again!<br> +<br> +<i>Amycus</i>. Gift me no gifts, none such have I ready for thee.<br> +<br> +<i>Polydeuces</i>. Nay, wilt thou not even grant us leave to taste +this spring?<br> +<br> +<i>Amycus</i>. That shalt thou learn when thirst has parched thy +shrivelled lips.<br> +<br> +<i>Polydeuces</i>. Will silver buy the boon, or with what price, +prithee, may we gain thy leave?<br> +<br> +<i>Amycus</i>. Put up thy hands and stand in single combat, man +to man.<br> +<br> +<i>Polydeuces</i>. A boxing-match, or is kicking fair, when we +meet eye to eye?<br> +<br> +<i>Amycus</i>. Do thy best with thy fists and spare not thy skill!<br> +<br> +<i>Polydeuces</i>. And who is the man on whom I am to lay my hands +and gloves?<br> +<br> +<i>Amycus</i>. Thou see’st him close enough, the boxer will +not prove a maiden!<br> +<br> +<i>Polydeuces</i>. And is the prize ready, for which we two must +fight?<br> +<br> +<i>Amycus</i>. Thy man shall I be called (shouldst thou win), +or thou mine, if I be victor.<br> +<br> +<i>Polydeuces</i>. On such terms fight the red-crested birds of +the game.<br> +<br> +<i>Amycus</i>. Well, be we like birds or lions, we shall fight +for no other stake.<br> +<br> +So Amycus spoke, and seized and blew his hollow shell, and speedily +the long-haired Bebryces gathered beneath the shadowy planes, 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 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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:-<br> +<br> +‘Sirs, wherefore desire ye battle, and how 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.”<br> +<br> +‘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 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">{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.’<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +For you, O princes, the bard of Chios wrought renown, when he sang the +city of 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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL XXIII - THE VENGEANCE OF LOVE<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>A lover hangs himself at the gate of his obdurate darling who, in +turn, is slain by a statue of Love.<br> +<br> +This poem is not attributed with much certainty to Theocritus, and is +found in but a small proportion of manuscripts.<br> +<br> +</i>A love-sick 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 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:<br> +<br> +‘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.<br> +<br> +‘Behold I know the thing that is to be.<br> +<br> +‘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.<br> +<br> +‘That time will come when thou too shalt love, when thy heart +shall burn, and thou shalt weep salt tears.<br> +<br> +‘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.<br> +<br> +‘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, -<br> +<br> +<i>O friend, thou liest low</i>!<br> +<br> +And if thou wilt, add this also, -<br> +<br> +<i>Alas, my true friend is dead</i>!<br> +<br> +‘And this legend do thou write, that I will scratch on thy walls, +-<br> +<br> +<i>This man Love slew</i>! <i>Wayfarer, pass not heedless by,<br> +But stand, and say, </i>“<i>he had a cruel darling</i>.”’<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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">{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.<br> +<br> +<i>Rejoice, ye lovers, for he that hated is slain. Love, all ye +beloved, for the God knoweth how to deal righteous judgment.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +</i>IDYL XXIV - THE INFANT HERACLES<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>This poem describes the earliest feat of Heracles, the slaying of +the snakes sent against him by Hera, and gives an account of the hero’s +training. The vivacity and tenderness of the pictures of domestic +life, and the minute knowledge of expiatory ceremonies seem to stamp +this idyl as the work of Theocritus. As the following poem also +deals with an adventure of Heracles, it seems not impossible that Theocritus +wrote, or contemplated writing, a Heraclean epic, in a series of idyls.<br> +<br> +</i>When 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:-<br> +<br> +‘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.’<br> +<br> +So speaking she rocked the huge shield, and in a moment sleep laid hold +on them.<br> +<br> +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 pain, and strove to find some issue from the grasp of +iron.<br> +<br> +Now Alcmena heard the cry, and wakened first, -<br> +<br> +‘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">{127}</a> +There is some strange thing I trow within the house, there is, my dearest +lord!’<br> +<br> +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, -<br> +<br> +‘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.’<br> +<br> +Then quick the serving-men came speeding with torches burning, and the +house waxed full 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">{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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +‘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.’<br> +<br> +Thus spake the Queen, and thus he answered her:<br> +<br> +‘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 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.<br> +<br> +‘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.<br> +<br> +‘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">{129}</a> +beyond the march of your land, and return again without looking 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">{130}</a> +And to Zeus supreme, moreover, do ye sacrifice a young boar, that ye +may ever have the mastery over all your enemies.’<br> +<br> +So spake he, and thrust back his ivory chair, and departed, even Tiresias, +despite the weight of all his many years.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL XXV - HERACLES THE LION-SLAVER<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>This is another idyl of the epic sort. The poet’s interest +in the details of the rural life, and in the description of the herds +of King Augeas, seem to mark it as the work of Theocritus. It +has, however, been attributed by learned conjecture to various writers +of an older age. The idyl, or fragment, is incomplete. Heracles +visits the herds of Augeas (to clean their stalls was one of his labours), +and, after an encounter with a bull, describes to the king’s son +his battle with the lion of Nemea.<br> +<br> +</i>. . . 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.<br> +<br> +‘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 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.<br> +<br> +‘But, prithee, tell thou me, in thy turn (and 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 -<br> +<br> +‘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.’<br> +<br> +Then the old man, the worthy husbandman, answered him again -<br> +<br> +‘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 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.’<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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">{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 -<br> +<br> +‘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 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.’<br> +<br> +So he spake, and they hastened, and came even to that dwelling whither +they were faring.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Now these twain, even Phyleus and mighty Heracles, left the fat fields +there, and were making for the city. But just where they 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,<br> +<br> +‘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 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.’<br> +<br> +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,<br> +<br> +‘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.<br> +<br> +‘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 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 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 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.<br> +<br> +‘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">{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.<br> +<br> +‘Friend, lo even thus befel the slaying of the Nemean Lion, that +aforetime had brought many a bane on flocks and men.’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL XXVI<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>This idyl narrates the murder of Pentheus, who was torn to pieces +(after the Dionysiac Ritual) by his mother, Agave, and other Theban +women, for having watched the celebration of the mysteries of Dionysus. +It is still dangerous for an Australian native to approach the women +of the tribe while they are celebrating their savage rites. The +conservatism of Greek religion is well illustrated by Theocritus’s +apology for the truly savage revenge commemorated in the old Theban +legend.<br> +<br> +</i>Ino, 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">{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.<br> +<br> +Now Pentheus from a lofty cliff was watching 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.<br> +<br> +This much said Pentheus, ‘Women, what would ye?’ and thus +answered Autonoe, ‘That shalt thou straightway know, ere thou +hast heard it.’<br> +<br> +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">{145}</a><br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +From aegis-bearing Zeus hath this augury all honour, ‘to the children +of the godly the better fortune, but evil befall the offspring of the +ungodly.’<br> +<br> +‘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.’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL XXVII - THE WOOING OF DAPHNIS<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>The authenticity of this idyl has been denied, partly because the +Daphnis of the poem is not identical in character with the Daphnis of +the first idyl. But the piece is certainly worthy of a place beside +the work of Theocritus. The dialogue is here arranged as in the +text of Fritzsche.<br> +<br> +The Maiden</i>. Helen the wise did Paris, another neatherd, ravish!<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis. </i>‘Tis rather this Helen that kisses her shepherd, +even me! <a name="citation147"></a><a href="#footnote147">{147}</a><br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. Boast not, little satyr, for kisses they call +an empty favour.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. Nay, even in empty kisses there is a sweet delight.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. I wash my lips, I blow away from me thy kisses!<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. Dost thou wash thy lips? Then give me them +again to kiss!<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden. </i>‘Tis for thee to caress thy kine, not +a maiden unwed.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. Boast not, for swiftly thy youth flits by thee, +like a dream.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. The grapes turn to raisins, not wholly will +the dry rose perish.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. Come hither, beneath the wild olives, that I may +tell thee a tale.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. I will not come; ay, ere now with a sweet tale +didst thou beguile me.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. Come hither, beneath the elms, to listen to my +pipe!<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. Nay, please thyself, no woful tune delights +me.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. Ah maiden, see that thou too shun the anger of +the Paphian.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. Good-bye to the Paphian, let Artemis only be +friendly!<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. Say not so, lest she smite thee, and thou fall +into a trap whence there is no escape.<br> +<br> +<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">{148}</a><br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. From Love thou dost not flee, whom never yet maiden +fled.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. Escape him, by Pan, I do, but thou dost ever +bear his yoke.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. This is ever my fear lest he even give thee to +a meaner man.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. Many have been my wooers, but none has won +my heart.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. Yea I, out of many chosen, come here thy wooer.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. Dear love, what can I do? Marriage has +much annoy.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. Nor pain nor sorrow has marriage, but mirth and +dancing.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. Ay, but they say that women dread their lords.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. Nay, rather they always rule them, - whom do women +fear?<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. Travail I dread, and sharp is the shaft of +Eilithyia.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. But thy queen is Artemis, that lightens labour.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. But I fear childbirth, lest, perchance, I lose +my beauty.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. Nay, if thou bearest dear children thou wilt see +the light revive in thy sons.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. And what wedding gift dost thou bring me if +I consent?<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. My whole flock, all my groves, and all my pasture +land shall be thine.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. Swear that thou wilt not win me, and then depart +and leave me forlorn.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. So help me Pan I would not leave thee, didst thou +even choose to banish me!<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. Dost thou build me bowers, and a house, and +folds for flocks?<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. Yea, bowers I build thee, the flocks I tend are +fair.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. But to my grey old father, what tale, ah what, +shall I tell?<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. He will approve thy wedlock when he has heard +my name.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. Prithee, tell me that name of thine; in a name +there is often delight.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. Daphnis am I, Lycidas is my father, and Nomaea +is my mother.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. Thou comest of men well-born, but there I am +thy match.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. I know it, thou art of high degree, for thy father +is Menalcas. <a name="citation150a"></a><a href="#footnote150a">{150a}</a><br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. Show me thy grove, wherein is thy cattle-stall.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. See here, how they bloom, my slender cypress-trees.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. Graze on, my goats, I go to learn the herdsman’s +labours.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. Feed fair, my bulls, while I show my woodlands +to my lady!<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. What dost thou, little satyr; why dost thou +touch my breast?<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. I will show thee that these earliset apples are +ripe. <a name="citation150b"></a><a href="#footnote150b">{150b}</a><br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. By Pan, I swoon; away, take back thy hand.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. Courage, dear girl, why fearest thou me, thou +art over fearful!<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. Thou makest me lie down by the water-course, +defiling my fair raiment!<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. Nay, see, ‘neath thy raiment fair I am throwing +this soft fleece.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. Ah, ah, thou hast snatched my girdle too; why +hast thou loosed my girdle?<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. These first-fruits I offer, a gift to the Paphian.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. Stay, wretch, hark; surely a stranger cometh; +nay, I hear a sound.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. The cypresses do but whisper to each other of +thy wedding.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. Thou hast torn my mantle, and unclad am I.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. Another mantle I will give thee, and an ampler +far than thine.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. Thou dost promise all things, but soon thou +wilt not give me even a grain of salt.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. Ah, would that I could give thee my very life.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. Artemis, be not wrathful, thy votary breaks +her vow.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. I will slay a calf for Love, and for Aphrodite +herself a heifer.<br> +<br> +<i>The Maiden</i>. A maiden I came hither, a woman shall I go +homeward.<br> +<br> +<i>Daphnis</i>. Nay, a wife and a mother of children shalt thou +be, no more a maiden.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL XXVIII<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>This little piece of Aeolic verse accompanied the present of a distaff +which Theocritus brought from Syracuse to Theugenis, the wife of his +friend Nicias, the physician of Miletus. On the margin of a translation +by Longepierre (the famous book-collector), Louis XIV wrote that this +idyl is a model of honourable gallantry.<br> +<br> +</i>O distaff, 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, with her goodwill, the dainty-ankled Theugenis, so +notable is she, and cares for all things that wise matrons love.<br> +<br> +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">{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.<br> +<br> +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.’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL XXIX<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>This poem, like the preceding one, is written in the Aeolic dialect. +The first line is quoted from Alcaeus. The idyl is attributed +to Theocritus on the evidence of the scholiast on the Symposium of Plato.<br> +<br> +</i>‘Wine 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 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.<br> +<br> +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!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +FRAGMENT OF THE BERENICE.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>Athenaeus (vii. 284 A) quotes this fragment, which probably was part +of a panegyric on Berenice, the mother of Ptolemy Philadelphus.<br> +<br> +</i>And 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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL XXX - THE DEAD ADONIS<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>This idyl is usually printed with the poems of Theocritus, but almost +certainly is by another hand. I have therefore ventured to imitate +the metre of the original.<br> +<br> +</i>When 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.<br> +<br> +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> +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?’<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +EPIGRAMS<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>The Epigrams of Theocritus are, for the most part, either inscriptions +for tombs or cenotaphs, or for the pedestals of statues, or (as the +third epigram) are short occasional pieces. Several of them are +but doubtfully ascribed to the poet of the Idyls. The Greek has +little but brevity in common with the modern epigram.<br> +<br> +</i>I - <i>For a rustic Altar.<br> +<br> +</i>These 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.<br> +<br> +II - <i>For a Herdsman’s Offering.<br> +<br> +</i>Daphnis, the white-limbed Daphnis, that pipes on his fair flute +the pastoral strains offered to 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.<br> +<br> +III - <i>For a Picture.<br> +<br> +</i>Thou 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.<br> +<br> +IV - <i>Priapus.<br> +<br> +</i>When 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 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.<br> +<br> +V - <i>The rural Concert.<br> +<br> +</i>Ah, 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.<br> +<br> +VI - <i>The Dead are beyond hope.<br> +<br> +</i>Ah 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 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?<br> +<br> +VII - <i>For a statue of Asclepius.<br> +<br> +</i>Even 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.<br> +<br> +VIII - <i>Orthon’s Grave.<br> +<br> +</i>Stranger, 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.<br> +<br> +IX - <i>The Death of Cleonicus.<br> +<br> +</i>Man, husband thy life, nor go voyaging out of season, for brief +are the days of men! Unhappy 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!<br> +<br> +X - <i>A Group of the Muses.<br> +<br> +</i>For 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.<br> +<br> +XI - <i>The Grave of Eusthenes.<br> +<br> +</i>This 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.<br> +<br> +XII - <i>The Offering of Demoteles.<br> +<br> +</i>‘Twas Demoteles the choregus, O Dionysus, who dedicated this +tripod, and this statue of 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.<br> +<br> +XIII - <i>For a statue of Aphrodite.<br> +<br> +</i>This 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.<br> +<br> +XIV - <i>The Grave of Euryrnedon.<br> +<br> +</i>An 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.<br> +<br> +XV - <i>The Grave of Eurymedon.<br> +<br> +</i>Wayfarer, I shall know whether thou dost reverence the good, or +whether the coward is held by thee in the same esteem. ‘Hail +to this tomb,’ thou wilt say, for light it lies above the holy +head of Eurymedon.<br> +<br> +XVI - <i>For a statue of Anacreon.<br> +<br> +</i>Mark 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.<br> +<br> +XVII - <i>For a statue of Epicharmus.<br> +<br> +</i>Dorian 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">{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.<br> +<br> +XVIII - <i>The Grave of Cleita.<br> +<br> +</i>The little Medeus has raised this tomb by the wayside to the memory +of his Thracian nurse, and has added the inscription -<br> +<br> +HERE LIES CLEITA.<br> +<br> +The woman will have this recompense for all her careful nurture of the +boy, - and why?<i> - </i>because she was serviceable even to the end.<br> +<br> +XIX - <i>The statue of Archilochus.<br> +<br> +</i>Stay, 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.<br> +<br> +XX - <i>The statue of Pisander.<br> +<br> +</i>This 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 the people set him here, a statue of bronze, +when many months had gone by and many years.<br> +<br> +XXI - <i>The Grave of Hipponax.<br> +<br> +</i>Here 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.<br> +<br> +XXII - <i>For the Bank of Caicus.<br> +<br> +</i>To 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.<br> +<br> +XXIII - <i>On his own Poems</i>. <a name="citation167"></a><a href="#footnote167">{167}</a><br> +<br> +The 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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +BION<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Πιδακος εξ ιερης +ολιγη λιβας +ακρον αωτον. - +<i>Callimachus.<br> +<br> +</i>Bion 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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +I - THE LAMENT FOR ADONIS<br> +<br> +<i>This poem was probably intended to be sung at one of the spring celebrations +of the festival of Adonis, like that described by Theocritus in his +fifteenth idyl.<br> +<br> +</i>Woe, 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!’<br> +<br> +<i>Woe, woe for Adonis, the Loves join in the lament</i>!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +To Cypris his kiss is dear, though he lives no longer, but Adonis knew +not that she kissed him as he died.<br> +<br> +<i>Woe, woe for Adonis, the Loves join in the lament</i>!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<i>Woe, woe for Cytherea, the Loves join in the lament</i>!<br> +<br> +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 her beauty +has died with Adonis! <i>Woe, 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.<br> +<br> +<i>Woe, woe for Cytherea, he hath perished, the lovely Adonis</i>!<br> +<br> +And Echo cried in answer, <i>He hath perished, 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, 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.<br> +<br> +‘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?’<br> +<br> +So Cypris bewailed her, the Loves join in the lament:<br> +<br> +<i>Woe, woe for Cytherea, he hath perished the lovely Adonis</i>!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<i>Woe, woe for Adonis, he hath perished; the lovely Adonis</i>!<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<i>Woe, woe for Cytherea, the Loves join in the lament</i>!<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +‘<i>Woe, 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, the lovely Adonis.<br> +<br> +</i>And <i>woe, woe for Adonis, </i>shrilly cry the Muses, neglecting +Paeon, and they lament 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.<br> +<br> +Cease, Cytherea, from thy lamentations, to-day refrain from thy dirges. +Thou must again bewail him, again must weep for him another year.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +II - THE LOVE OF ACHILLES<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>Lycidas sings to Myrson a fragment about the loves of Achilles and +Deidamia.<br> +<br> +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?<br> +<br> +<i>Lycidas</i>. Yes, Myrson, and I too fain would pipe, but what +shall I sing?<br> +<br> +<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">{176}</a><br> +<br> +<i>Lycidas</i>. The herdsman bore off Helen, upon a time, and +carried her to Ida, sore sorrow to OEnone. 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Now he once even spake to her, saying -<br> +<br> +‘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 . . . ’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +III - THE SEASONS<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>Cleodamus and Myrson discuss the charms of the seasons, and give +the palm to a southern spring.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IV - THE BOY AND LOVE<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +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.’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +V - THE TUTOR OF LOVE<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Great Cypris stood beside me, while still I slumbered, and with her +beautiful hand she led 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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +VI - LOVE AND THE MUSES<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +FRAGMENTS<br> +VII<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +I know not the way, nor is it fitting to labour at what we have not +learned.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +VIII<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +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?<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IX<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +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">{181}</a><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +X<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +XI<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +XII<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +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 +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.<br> +<br> +XIII<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +XIV<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +XV<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +XVI<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +XVII<br> +<br> +The constant dropping of water, says the proverb, it wears a hole in +a stone.<br> +<br> +XVIII<br> +<br> +Nay, leave me not unrewarded, for even Phoebus sang for his reward. +And the meed of honour betters everything.<br> +<br> +XIX<br> +<br> +Beauty is the glory of womankind, and strength of men.<br> +<br> +XX<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +MOSCHUS<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Our 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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL I - LOVE THE RUNAWAY<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Cypris 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 he shoots his arrows, shoots +even to Acheron, and to the King of Hades.<br> +<br> +‘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.<br> +<br> +‘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.<br> +<br> +‘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.<br> +<br> +‘Yea, and if he wish to kiss thee, beware, for evil is his kiss, +and his lips enchanted.<br> +<br> +‘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.’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL II - EUROPA AND THE BULL<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +To 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +But Europa leaped forth from her strown 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<br> +<br> +‘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.<br> +<br> +‘Ye blessed gods, I pray you, prosper the fulfilment of the dream.’<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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 -<br> +<br> +‘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.’<br> +<br> +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, 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.<br> +<br> +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 -<br> +<br> +‘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 +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.<br> +<br> +‘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!’<br> +<br> +So spake she, and the horned bull made answer to her again -<br> +<br> +‘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 thou bear +glorious sons, to be sceptre-swaying kings over earthly men.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL III - THE LAMENT FOR BION<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Wail, 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.<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge.<br> +<br> +</i>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.<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge.<br> +<br> +</i>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 +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.<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge.<br> +<br> +</i>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.<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge.<br> +<br> +</i>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.<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge.<br> +<br> +</i>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 the +swallow on the long ranges of the hills, nor shrilled so loud the halcyon +o’er his sorrows;<br> +<br> +(<i>Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge</i>.)<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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!’<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge.<br> +<br> +</i>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?<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge.<br> +<br> +</i>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 than on the salt water. And now hath she forgotten +the wave, and sits on the lonely sands, but still she keeps thy kine.<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge.<br> +<br> +</i>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.<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge.<br> +<br> +</i>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.<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge.<br> +<br> +</i>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 how to kiss, and Love +he cherished in his bosom and woke the passion of Aphrodite.<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge.<br> +<br> +</i>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;<br> +<br> +<i>[Here seven verses are lost.]<br> +<br> +</i>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.<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge.<br> +<br> +</i>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 sing. Nay, him I would +not envy, for ‘tis no sweet song he singeth.<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge.<br> +<br> +</i>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.<br> +<br> +<i>Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge.<br> +<br> +</i>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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL IV<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>A sad dialogue between Megara the wife and Alcmena the mother of +the wandering Heracles. Megara had seen her own children slain +by her lord, in his frenzy, while Alcmena was constantly disquieted +by ominous dreams.<br> +<br> +</i>My 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 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 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.<br> +<br> +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">{205}</a><br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +‘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 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.<br> +<br> +It seemed to me that my son, the might of Heracles, held in both hands +a well-wrought 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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL V<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +When 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">{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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL VI<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Pan loved his neighbour Echo; Echo loved<br> +A gamesome Satyr; he, by her unmoved,<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL VII<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Alpheus, 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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL VIII<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Leaving 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> +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!’<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +IDYL IX<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Would 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">{210}</a><br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Footnotes<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote0a"></a><a href="#citation0a">{0a}</a> This fragment +is from the collection of M. Fauriel; <i>Chants Populaires de le Grèce.<br> +<br> +</i><a name="footnote0b"></a><a href="#citation0b">{0b}</a> <i>Empedocles +on Etna.<br> +<br> +</i><a name="footnote0c"></a><a href="#citation0c">{0c}</a> Ballet +des Arts, dansé par sa Majesté; le 8 janvier, 1663. +A Paris, par Robert Ballard, MDCLXIII.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote0d"></a><a href="#citation0d">{0d}</a> These +and the following ditties are from the modern Greek ballads collected +by MM. Fauriel and Legrand.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote0e"></a><a href="#citation0e">{0e}</a> See Couat, +<i>La Poesie Alexandrine</i>, p. 68 <i>et seq., </i>Paris 1882.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote0f"></a><a href="#citation0f">{0f}</a> See Couat, +<i>op</i>. <i>cit. </i>p. 395.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote0g"></a><a href="#citation0g">{0g}</a> Couat, +p. 434.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote0h"></a><a href="#citation0h">{0h}</a> See Helbig, +<i>Campenische Wandmalerie, </i>and Brunn, <i>Die griechischen Bukoliker +und die Bildende Kunst.<br> +<br> +</i><a name="footnote0i"></a><a href="#citation0i">{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.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6">{6}</a> Or reading +Αιολικον=Aeolian, cf. +Thucyd. iii. 102.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote9"></a><a href="#citation9">{9}</a> These are +places famous in the oldest legends of Arcadia.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote11"></a><a href="#citation11">{11}</a> Reading, +καταδησομαι<i>. +</i>Cf. Fritzsche’s note and Harpocration, s.v.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote13"></a><a href="#citation13">{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.<br> +<br> +</i><a name="footnote19"></a><a href="#citation19">{19}</a> Reading +καταδησομαι<i>. +</i>Cf. line 3, and note.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote21"></a><a href="#citation21">{21}</a> He refers +to a piece of folk-lore.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote24"></a><a href="#citation24">{24}</a> The shovel +was used for tossing the sand of the lists; the sheep were food for +Aegon’s great appetite.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote26"></a><a href="#citation26">{26}</a> Reading +ερισδεις<i>.<br> +<br> +</i><a name="footnote34"></a><a href="#citation34">{34}</a> Melanthius +was the treacherous goatherd put to a cruel death by Odysseus.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote36"></a><a href="#citation36">{36}</a> Ameis +and Fritzsche take νιν<i> </i>(as here) to be the dog, not +Galatea. The sex of the Cyclops’s sheep-dog makes the meaning +obscure.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote40"></a><a href="#citation40">{40}</a> Or, δομον +Ωρομεδοντος. +Hermann renders this <i>domum Oromedonteam </i>a gigantic house.’ +Oromedon or Eurymedon was the king of the Gigantes, mentioned in Odyssey +vii. 58.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote41"></a><a href="#citation41">{41}</a> εσχατα. +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.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote42"></a><a href="#citation42">{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.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote43"></a><a href="#citation43">{43}</a> Sneezing +in Sicily, as in most countries, was a happy omen.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote50"></a><a href="#citation50">{50}</a> A superfluous +and apocryphal line is here omitted.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote53"></a><a href="#citation53">{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.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote54"></a><a href="#citation54">{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.’<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote57"></a><a href="#citation57">{57}</a> ‘Quant +à ta manière, je ne puis la rendre.’ - SAINTE-BEUVE.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote61"></a><a href="#citation61">{61}</a> Reading +μηνοφορως.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote70"></a><a href="#citation70">{70}</a> Cf. Wordsworth’s +proposed conjecture -<br> +<br> +μεταρσι', ετων +παρεοντων.<br> +<br> +Meineke observes ‘tota haec carminis pars luxata et foedissime +depravata est’. There seems to be a rude early pun in lines +73, 74.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote72"></a><a href="#citation72">{72}</a> The reading +-<br> +<br> +ου φθεγξη; λυκον +ειδες; επαιξε +τις, ως σοφος, +ειπε, - makes good sense. ως +σοφος is put in the mouth of the girl, +and would mean ‘a good guess’!<i> </i>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.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote73"></a><a href="#citation73">{73}</a> Or, as +Wordsworth suggests, reading δακρυσι, +‘for him your cheeks are wet with tears.’<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote74a"></a><a href="#citation74a">{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.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote74b"></a><a href="#citation74b">{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.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote77"></a><a href="#citation77">{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.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote78a"></a><a href="#citation78a">{78a}</a> If +cats are meant, the proverb is probably Alexandrian. Common as +cats were in Egypt, they were late comers in Greece.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote78b"></a><a href="#citation78b">{78b}</a> Most +of the dialogue has been distributed as in the text of Fritzsche.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote82"></a><a href="#citation82">{82}</a> Reading +περυσιν<i>.<br> +<br> +</i><a name="footnote89"></a><a href="#citation89">{89}</a> <i>I.e</i>. +Syracuse, a colony of the Ephyraeans or Corinthians. The Maiden +is Persephone, the Mother Demeter.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote93"></a><a href="#citation93">{93}</a> Deipyle, +daughter of Adrastus.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote98"></a><a href="#citation98">{98}</a> Reading +- πιειρα ατε λαον +ανεδραμε κοσμος +αρουρα. See also Wordsworth’s +note on line 26.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote104"></a><a href="#citation104">{104}</a> For +αδεα Wordsworth and Hermann conjecture ‘Αρεα. +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.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote105"></a><a href="#citation105">{105}</a> Reading +επιμυσσησι.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote106a"></a><a href="#citation106a">{106a}</a> +Reading τα φυκιοεντα +τε λαιφη.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote106b"></a><a href="#citation106b">{106b}</a> +κωπα.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote106c"></a><a href="#citation106c">{106c}</a> +ουδος δ' ουχι +θυραν ειχ', and in the next +line α γαρ πενια σφας +ετηρει.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote106d"></a><a href="#citation106d">{106d}</a> +αυδαν.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote107"></a><a href="#citation107">{107}</a> Reading, +with Fritzsche -<br> +<br> +αλλ' ονος εν +ραμνω, το τε λυχνιον +εν πρυτανειω<br> +φαντι γαρ αγρυπνιαν +τοδ' εχειν<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote108a"></a><a href="#citation108a">{108a}</a> +Reading ηρεμ' ενυξα και +νυξας εχαλαξα. +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.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote108b"></a><a href="#citation108b">{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.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote111"></a><a href="#citation111">{111}</a> πυρεια +appear to have been ‘fire sticks,’ by rubbing which together +the heroes struck a light.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote118"></a><a href="#citation118">{118}</a> Or +εγχεα λουσαι, +‘wash the spears,’ as in the Zulu idiom.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote124"></a><a href="#citation124">{124}</a> In +line 57 for τηλε read Wordsworth’s conjecture +τηδε = ενταυθα<i>.<br> +<br> +</i><a name="footnote127"></a><a href="#citation127">{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.’<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote128"></a><a href="#citation128">{128}</a> ξηρον, +<i>prae timore non lacrymantem </i>(Paley).<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote129"></a><a href="#citation129">{129}</a> Reading, +after Fritzsche, ρωγαδος +εκ πετρας. 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.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote130"></a><a href="#citation130">{130}</a> Reading +εστεμμενω. If +εστεμμνον is read, the +phrase will mean ‘pure brimming water.’<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote135"></a><a href="#citation135">{135}</a> Reading +οσσον.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote143"></a><a href="#citation143">{143}</a> Reading +αλλη, as in Wordsworth’s conjecture, instead +of υλη.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote144"></a><a href="#citation144">{144}</a> Reading +ποπανευματα.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote145"></a><a href="#citation145">{145}</a> Πενθημα +και ου πενθηα, +a play on words difficult to retain in English. Compare Idyl xiii. +line 74.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote147"></a><a href="#citation147">{147}</a> The +conjecture εμα δ' gives a good sense, <i>mea +vero Helena me potius ultra petit.<br> +<br> +</i><a name="footnote148"></a><a href="#citation148">{148}</a> +Reading, as in Wordsworth’s conjecture, μη 'πιβαλης +ταν χειρα, και +ει γ' ετι χειλος, +αμυξω.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote150a"></a><a href="#citation150a">{150a}</a> +Reading οιδ', ακρατιμιη +εσσι, with Fritzsche. Compare the conjecture +of Wordsworth, ‘Ουδ' ακρα +τι μη εσσι.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote150b"></a><a href="#citation150b">{150b}</a> +See Wordsworth’s explanation.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote153"></a><a href="#citation153">{153}</a> Syracuse.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote165"></a><a href="#citation165">{165}</a> Reading, +πεδοικισται +(that is, the Corinthian founders of Syracuse), and following Wordsworth’s +other conjectures.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote167"></a><a href="#citation167">{167}</a> This +epigram may have been added by the first editor of Theocritus, Artemidorus +the Grammarian.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote176"></a><a href="#citation176">{176}</a> This +conjecture of Meineke’s offers, at least, a meaning.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote181"></a><a href="#citation181">{181}</a> <i>Les +hommes sont tous condamnés à mort, avec des sursis indéfinis. +-</i> VICTOR HUGO.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote205"></a><a href="#citation205">{205}</a> Alcmena +bore Iphicles to Amphictyon, Hercules to Zeus.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote208"></a><a href="#citation208">{208}</a> Reading, +with Weise, ποταγει δε +πολυ πλεον αμμε +γαλανα.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote210"></a><a href="#citation210">{210}</a> For +the translations into verse I have to thank Mr. Ernest Myers.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THEOCRITUS, BION AND MOSCHUS ***<br> +<pre> + +******This file should be named thbm10h.htm or thbm10h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, thbm11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, thbm10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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