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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/4775-0.txt b/4775-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fadcdac --- /dev/null +++ b/4775-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6461 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Theocritus, Bion and Moschus, by Theocritus, +et al, Translated by Andrew Lang + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Theocritus, Bion and Moschus + + +Author: Theocritus + + + +Release Date: August 6, 2014 [eBook #4775] +[This file was first posted on March 16, 2002] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THEOCRITUS, BION AND MOSCHUS*** + + +Transcribed from the 1889 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: Book cover] + + + + + + THEOCRITUS, BION + AND + MOSCHUS + + + RENDERED INTO ENGLISH PROSE + WITH + _AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY_ + + BY + ANDREW LANG, M.A. + + _Lately Fellow of Merton College_, _Oxford_ + + [Picture: Decorative graphic] + + LONDON + + MACMILLAN AND CO. + AND NEW YORK + 1889 + + _All rights reserved_ + + * * * * * + + TO + + ERNEST MYERS + + ’Εκ Μοισᾶν ξεινήιον + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE +THEOCRITUS AND HIS AGE xi +THEOCRITUS— + Idyl I 3 + ,, II 11 + ,, III 20 + ,, IV 23 + ,, V 27 + ,, VI 35 + ,, VII 38 + ,, VIII 46 + ,, IX 52 + ,, X 55 + ,, XI 59 + ,, XII 64 + ,, XIII 67 + ,, XIV 71 + ,, XV 76 + ,, XVI 85 + ,, XVII 91 + ,, XVIII 97 + ,, XIX 101 + ,, XX 102 + ,, XXI 105 + ,, XXII 110 + ,, XXIII 121 + ,, XXIV 125 + ,, XXV 132 + ,, XXVI 144 + ,, XXVII 147 + ,, XXVIII 152 + ,, XXIX 154 + ,, XXX 147 + Epigrams 159 +BION— + Idyl I 171 + ,, II 176 + ,, III 178 + ,, IV 179 + ,, V 179 + ,, VI 180 + Fragments 181 +MOSCHUS— + Idyl I 187 + ,, II 189 + ,, III 197 + ,, IV 203 + ,, V 208 + ,, VI 208 + ,, VII 209 + ,, VIII 209 + ,, IX 210 + + + + +LIFE OF THEOCRITUS + + + (_From Suidas_) + +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 _Bucolics_ in the Dorian dialect. Some attribute to +him the following works:—_The Proetidae_, _The Pleasures of Hope_ +(Ἐλπίδες), _Hymns_, _The Heroines_, _Dirges_, _Ditties_, _Elegies_, +_Iambics_, _Epigrams_. But it known that there are three Bucolic poets: +this Theocritus, Moschus of Sicily, and Bion of Smyrna, from a village +called Phlossa. + + + + +LIFE OF THEOCRITUS +ΘΕΟΚΡΙΤΟΥ ΓΕΝΟΣ + + + (_Usually prefixed to the Idyls_) + +THEOCRITUS the Bucolic poet was a Syracusan by extraction, and the son of +Simichidas, as he says himself, _Simichidas_, _pray whither through the +noon dost thou dray thy feet_? (Idyl VII). Some say that this was an +assumed name, for he seems to have been snub-nosed (σιμός), and that his +father was Praxagoras, and his mother Philinna. He became the pupil of +Philetas and Asclepiades, of whom he speaks (Idyl VII), and flourished +about the time of Ptolemy Lagus. He gained much fame for his skill in +bucolic poetry. According to some his original name was Moschus, and +Theocritus was a name he later assumed. + + + + +THEOCRITUS AND HIS AGE + + +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 (_founded_ 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. + +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. + +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.’ + +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, _volks-lieder_, 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— + + ‘With his head full of wine, and his hair crown’d, + Touching his harp as the whim came on him, + And praised and spoil’d by master and by guests, + Almost as much as the new dancing girl.’ + +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— + + ‘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.’ + +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: {0a} + + ‘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.’ + +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.’ + +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. + +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 + + ‘The track winds down to the clear stream, + To cross the sparkling shallows; there + The cattle love to gather, on their way + To the high mountain pastures and to stay, + Till the rough cow-herds drive them past, + Knee-deep in the cool ford; for ’tis the last + Of all the woody, high, well-water’d dells + On Etna, . . . + . . . glade, + And stream, and sward, and chestnut-trees, + End here; Etna beyond, in the broad glare + Of the hot noon, without a shade, + Slope behind slope, up to the peak, lies bare; + The peak, round which the white clouds play.’ {0b} + +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.’ + +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— + + ‘_A son labeur il passe tout d’un coup_, + _Et n’ira pas dormir sur la fougere_, + _Ny s’oublier aupres d’une Bergere_, + _Jusques au point d’en oublier le Loup_.’ {0c} + +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— + + Χελιδονάκι θα γενω, σ’ τα χείλη σου να καττώ + Να σε φιλήσω μια και δυό, και πάλε να πετάξω + + ‘To flit towards these lips of thine, I fain would be a swallow, + To kiss thee once, to kiss thee twice, and then go flying homeward.’ + {0d} + +In his despair, when Love ‘clung to him like a leech of the fen,’ he +might have murmured— + + ’Ηθελα να εΐμαι σ’ τα βουνα, μ’ αλάφια να κοιμοΰμαι + Και το δικον σου το κορμι να μη το συλλογιοΰμαι + + ‘Would that I were on the high hills, and lay where lie the stags, + and no more was troubled with the thought of thee.’ + +Here, again, is a love-complaint from modern Epirus, exactly in the tone +of Battus’s song in the tenth idyl— + + ‘White thou art not, thou art not golden haired, + Thou art brown, and gracious, and meet for love.’ + +Here is a longer love-ditty— + + ‘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.’ + +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’— + + ‘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!’ + +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. + +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 +_Lycidas_, _Thyrsis_, and _Adonais_. + +Theocritus did more than borrow a note from the country people. He +brought the gifts of his own spirit to the contemplation of the world. +He had the clearest vision, and he had the most ardent love of poetry, +‘of song may all my dwelling be full, for neither is sleep more sweet, +nor sudden spring, nor are flowers more delicious to the bees, so dear to +me are the Muses.’ . . . ‘Never may we be sundered, the Muses of Pieria +and I.’ Again, he had perhaps in greater measure than any other poet the +gift of the undisturbed enjoyment of life. The undertone of all his +idyls is joy in the sunshine and in existence. His favourite word, the +word that opens the first idyl, and, as it were, strikes the keynote, is +αδύ, _sweet_. He finds all things delectable in the rural life: + + ‘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.’ + +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— + + κείνος δ’ ού πολέμους, ού δάκρυα, Πανα δ’ έμελπε, + και βούτασ έλίγαινε και άείδων ενόμευε + + ‘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.’ + +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 _him_, 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. {0e} +Philetas seems a strange master for Theocritus, but, whatever the +qualities of the teacher, Cos, the home of the luxurious old age of +Meleager, was a beautiful school. The island was one of the most ancient +colonies of the Dorians, and the Syracusan scholar found himself among a +people who spoke his own broad and liquid dialect. The sides of the +limestone hills were clothed with vines, and with shadowy plane-trees +which still attain extraordinary size and age, while the wine-presses +where Demeter smiled, ‘with sheaves and poppies in her hands,’ yielded a +famous vintage. The people had a soft industry of their own, they +fashioned the ‘Coan stuff,’ transparent robes for woman’s wear, like the +ύδάτινα βράκη, the thin undulating tissues which Theugenis was to weave +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 + + κουπω ταν μεσάταν όδον ανυμες, ουδε το σαμα + άμιν το Βρασίλα κατεφαίνετο— + +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). + +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 _Clitophon and Leucippe_) 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. + +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 _thyrsi_, 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 _vannus Iacchi_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. {0f} +The temper of the time was crudely critical. The Museum and the +Libraries, with their hundreds of thousands of volumes, were hot-houses +of grammarians and of learned poets. Callimachus, the head librarian, +was also the most eminent man of letters. Unable, himself, to compose a +poem of epic length and copiousness, he discouraged all long poems. He +shone in epigrams, pedantic hymns, and didactic verses. He toyed with +anagrams, and won court favour by discovering that the letters of +‘Arsinoë,’ the name of Ptolemy’s wife, made the words ίον Ηρας, the +violet of Hera. In another masterpiece the genius of Callimachus +followed the stolen tress of Queen Berenice to the skies, where the locks +became a constellation. A contemporary of Callimachus was Zenodotus, the +critic, who was for improving the Iliad and Odyssey by cutting out all +the epic commonplaces which seemed to him to be needless repetitions. It +is pretty plain that, in literary society, Homer was thought out of date +and _rococo_. 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 _Argonautica_. Theocritus has been supposed to aim at him as a +vain rival of Homer, but M. Couat points out that Theocritus was seventy +when Apollonius began to write. The literary fashions of Alexandria are +only of moment to us so far as they directly affected Theocritus. They +could not make him obscure, affected, tedious, but his nature probably +inclined him to obey fashion so far as only to write short poems. His +rural poems are ειδύλλια, ‘little pictures.’ His fragments of epic, or +imitations of the epic hymns are not + + όσα πόντος άείδει + +—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.’ {0g} They are, what a German critic has +called them, _mythologischen genre-bilder_, cabinet pictures in the +manner called _genre_, 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 _genre_, 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. + +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. {0h} 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 _The Palace of Art_ are +intended to describe _picture_— + + ‘Or sweet Europa’s mantle blew unclasp’d, + From off her shoulder backward borne: + From one hand droop’d a crocus: one hand grasp’d + The mild bull’s golden horn.’ + +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— + + ‘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.’ + +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. + +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. {0i} He was also to shun close imitation +of what are so easily imitated, the regular recurring _formulae_, 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 _Europa_ 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 _Idylls of the +King_ 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. + +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. + + + + +THEOCRITUS + + +IDYL 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_. + +_The scene is in Sicily_. + + * * * * * + +_Thyrsis_. 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. + +_The Goatherd_. 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. + +_Thyrsis_. 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? + +_Goatherd_. 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 _The +Affliction of Daphnis_, 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. + +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. + +All about the cup is spread the soft acanthus, a miracle of varied work, +{6} 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! + + _The Song of Thyrsis_. + +_Begin_, _ye Muses dear_, _begin the pastoral song_! 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. + +_Begin_, _ye Muses dear_, _begin the pastoral song_! + +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. + +_Begin_, _ye Muses dear_, _begin the pastoral song_! + +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,— + +_Begin_, _ye Muses dear_, _begin the pastoral song_! + +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: + +_Begin_, _ye Muses dear_, _begin the pastoral song_! + +‘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.’ + +_Begin_, _ye Muses dear_, _begin the pastoral song_! + +Yet these the herdsman answered not again, but he bare his bitter love to +the end, yea, to the fated end he bare it. + +_Begin_, _ye Muses dear_, _begin the pastoral song_! + +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?’ + +_Begin ye Muses dear_, _begin the pastoral song_! + +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. + +_Begin_, _ye Muses dear_, _begin the pastoral song_! + +‘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! + +_Begin_, _ye Muses dear_, _begin the pastoral song_! + +‘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.” + +_Begin_, _ye Muses dear_, _begin the pastoral song_! + +‘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. + +_Begin_, _ye Muses dear_, _begin the pastoral song_! + +‘That Daphnis am I who here do herd the kine, Daphnis who water here the +bulls and calves. + +‘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. {9} + +_Give o’er_, _ye Muses_, _come_, _give o’er the pastoral song_! + +‘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. + +_Give o’er_, _ye Muses_, _come_, _give o’er the pastoral song_! + +‘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.’ + +_Give o’er_, _ye Muses_, _come_, _give o’er the pastoral song_! + +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. + +_Give o’er_, _ye Muses_, _come_, _give o’er the pastoral song_! + +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. + +_The Goatherd_. 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. + + + +IDYL II + + +_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_. + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +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, {11} 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. + +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. + +_My magic wheel_, _draw home to me the man I love_! + +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!’ + +_My magic wheel_, _draw home to me the man I love_! + +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! + +_My magic wheel_, _draw home to me the man I love_! + +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, {13} so +restless, under Aphrodite’s spell, may he turn and turn about my doors. + +_My magic wheel_, _draw home to me the man I love_! + +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. + +_My magic wheel_, _draw home to me the man I love_! + +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. + +_My magic wheel_, _draw home to me the man I love_! + +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. + +_My magic wheel_, _draw home to me the man I love_! + +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. + +_My magic wheel_, _draw home to me the man I love_! + +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? + +_My magic wheel_, _draw home to me the man I love_! + +Lo, I will crush an eft, and a venomous draught to-morrow I will bring +thee! + +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.’ + +_My magic wheel_, _draw home to me the man I love_! + +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. + +_Bethink thee of my love_, _and whence it came_, _my Lady Moon_! + +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. + +_Bethink thee of my love_, _and whence it came_, _my Lady Moon_! + +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! + +_Bethink thee of my love_, _and whence it came_, _my Lady Moon_! + +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. + +_Bethink thee of my love_, _and whence it came_, _my Lady Moon_! + +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. + +_Bethink thee of my love_, _and whence it came_, _my Lady Moon_! + +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. + +_Bethink thee of my love_, _and whence it came_, _my Lady Moon_! + +‘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,— + +_Bethink thee of my love_, _and whence it came_, _my Lady Moon_! + +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. + +_Bethink thee of my love_, _and whence it came_, _my Lady Moon_! + +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: + +_Bethink thee of my love_, _and whence it came_, _my Lady Moon_! + +‘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. + +_Bethink thee of my love_, _and whence it came_, _my Lady Moon_! + +‘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. + +_Bethink thee of my love_, _and whence it came_, _my Lady Moon_! + +‘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. + +_Bethink thee of my love_, _and whence it came_, _my Lady Moon_! + +‘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!’ + +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. + +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, {19} 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. + +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. + + + +IDYL III + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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! + +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! + +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. + +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. {21} + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Sweet as honey in the mouth may my death be to thee. + + + +IDYL IV + + +_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_. + +_The scene is in Southern Italy_. + + * * * * * + +_Battus_. Tell me, Corydon, whose kine are these,—the cattle of +Philondas? + +_Corydon_. Nay, they are Aegon’s, he gave me them to pasture. + +_Battus_. Dost thou ever find a way to milk them all, on the sly, just +before evening? + +_Corydon_. No chance of that, for the old man puts the calves beneath +their dams, and keeps watch on me. + +_Battus_. But the neatherd himself,—to what land has he passed out of +sight? + +_Corydon_. Hast thou not heard? Milon went and carried him off to the +Alpheus. + +_Battus_. And when, pray, did _he_ ever set eyes on the wrestlers’ oil? + +_Corydon_. They say he is a match for Heracles, in strength and +hardihood. + +_Battus_. And I, so mother says, am a better man than Polydeuces. + +_Corydon_. Well, off he has gone, with a shovel, and with twenty sheep +from his flock here. {24} + +_Battus_. Milo, thou’lt see, will soon be coaxing the wolves to rave! + +_Corydon_. But Aegon’s heifers here are lowing pitifully, and miss their +master. + +_Battus_. Yes, wretched beasts that they are, how false a neatherd was +theirs! + +_Corydon_. Wretched enough in truth, and they have no more care to +pasture. + +_Battus_. Nothing is left, now, of that heifer, look you, bones, that’s +all. She does not live on dewdrops, does she, like the grasshopper? + +_Corydon_. 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. + +_Battus_. 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. + +_Corydon_. 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. + +_Battus_. 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! + +_Corydon_. 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 _Glaucé_ and well the strain of +_Pyrrhus_, and _the praise of Croton I sing_, and _Zacynthus is a goodly +town_, and _Lacinium that fronts the dawn_! 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. + +_Battus_. 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. + +_Corydon_. 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. + +_Battus_. Enough of thy comforting! Drive the calves from the lower +ground, the cursed beasts are grazing on the olive-shoots. Hie on, white +face. + +_Corydon_. 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. + +_Battus_. 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? + +_Corydon_. Yes, yes, and I have caught it in my nails, see, here it is. + +_Battus_. How tiny is the wound, and how tall a man it masters! + +_Corydon_. When thou goest to the hill, go not barefoot, Battus, for on +the hillside flourish thorns and brambles plenty. + +_Battus_. Come, tell me, Corydon, the old man now, does he still run +after that little black-browed darling whom he used to dote on? + +_Corydon_. He is after her still, my lad; but yesterday I came upon +them, by the very byre, and right loving were they. + +_Battus_. Well done, thou ancient lover! Sure, thou art near akin to +the satyrs, or a rival of the slim-shanked Pans! {26} + + + +IDYL V + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +_Comatas_. Goats of mine, keep clear of that notorious shepherd of +Sibyrtas, that Lacon; he stole my goat-skin yesterday. + +_Lacon_. Will ye never leave the well-head? Off, my lambs, see ye not +Comatas; him that lately stole my shepherd’s pipe? + +_Comatas_. What manner of pipe might that be, for when gat’st _thou_ a +pipe, thou slave of Sibyrtas? Why does it no more suffice thee to keep a +flute of straw, and whistle with Corydon? + +_Lacon_. 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. + +_Comatas_. ’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! + +_Lacon_. 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! + +_Comatas_. 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. + +_Lacon_. 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!’ + +_Comatas_. _The sow defied Athene_! See, there is staked the kid, go +to, do thou too put a fatted lamb against him, for thy stake. + +_Lacon_. 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? + +_Comatas_. 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! + +_Lacon_. 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. + +_Comatas_. 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! + +_Lacon_. And what good thing have I to remember that I ever learned or +heard from thee, thou envious thing, thou mere hideous manikin! + + . . . . . + +But come this way, come, and thou shalt sing thy last of country song. + +_Comatas_. 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. + +_Lacon_. 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. + +_Comatas_. 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. + +_Lacon_. 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! + +_Comatas_. 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. + +_Lacon_. Let us shout, then! + +_Comatas_. Call thou to him. + +_Lacon_. 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. + +_Comatas_. Yes, dear Morson, for the nymphs’ sake neither lean in thy +judgment to Comatas, nor, prithee, favour _him_. 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. + +_Lacon_. 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! + +_Comatas_. Best of men, I am for speaking the whole truth, and boasting +never, but thou art too fond of cutting speeches. + +_Lacon_. 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! + + +THE SINGING MATCH. + + +_Comatas_. The Muses love me better far than the minstrel Daphnis; but a +little while ago I sacrificed two young she-goats to the Muses. + +_Lacon_. 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. + +_Comatas_. The she-goats that I milk have all borne twins save two. The +maiden saw me, and ‘alas,’ she cried, ‘dost thou milk alone?’ + +_Lacon_. Ah, ah, but Lacon here hath nigh twenty baskets full of cheese, +and Lacon lies with his darling in the flowers! + +_Comatas_. Clearista, too, pelts the goatherd with apples as he drives +past his she-goats, and a sweet word she murmurs. + +_Lacon_. 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. + +_Comatas_. 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. + +_Lacon_. Nay, nor wild apples to acorns, for acorns are bitter in the +oaken rind, but apples are sweet as honey. + +_Comatas_. 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. + +_Lacon_. But I will give my darling a soft fleece to make a cloak, a +free gift, when I shear the black ewe. + +_Comatas_. Forth from the wild olive, my bleating she-goats, feed here +where the hillside slopes, and the tamarisks grove. + +_Lacon_. Conarus there, and Cynaetha, will you never leave the oak? +Graze here, where Phalarus feeds, where the hillside fronts the dawn. + +_Comatas_. Ay, and I have a vessel of cypress wood, and a mixing bowl, +the work of Praxiteles, and I hoard them for my maiden. + +_Lacon_. 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. + +_Comatas_. Ye locusts that overleap our fence, see that ye harm not our +vines, for our vines are young. + +_Lacon_. Ye cicalas, see how I make the goatherd chafe: even so, +methinks, do ye vex the reapers. + +_Comatas_. I hate the foxes, with their bushy brushes, that ever come at +evening, and eat the grapes of Micon. + +_Lacon_. And I hate the lady-birds that devour the figs of Philondas, +and flit down the wind. + +_Comatas_. Dost thou not remember how I cudgelled thee, and thou didst +grin and nimbly writhe, and catch hold of yonder oak? + +_Lacon_. 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. + +_Comatas_. 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. + +_Lacon_. And I too, Morson, I make some one chafe, and thou dost +perceive it. Be off now to the Hales stream, and dig cyclamen. + +_Comatas_. Let Himera flow with milk instead of water, and thou, +Crathis, run red with wine, and all thy reeds bear apples. + +_Lacon_. 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. + +_Comatas_. My goats eat cytisus, and goatswort, and tread the lentisk +shoots, and lie at ease among the arbutus. + +_Lacon_. But my ewes have honey-wort to feed on, and luxuriant creepers +flower around, as fair as roses. + +_Comatas_. I love not Alcippe, for yesterday she did not kiss me, and +take my face between her hands, when I gave her the dove. + +_Lacon_. But deeply I love my darling, for a kind kiss once I got, in +return for the gift of a shepherd’s pipe. + +_Comatas_. Lacon, it never was right that pyes should contend with the +nightingale, nor hoopoes with swans, but thou, unhappy swain, art ever +for contention. + +_Morson’s Judgement_. 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. + +_Comatas_. 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, {34} not +Comatas, if I do not cudgel thee. + + + +IDYL VI + + +_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_. + +_The scene is in Sicily_. + + * * * * * + +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. + + _Daphnis’s Song of the Cyclops_. + +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, {36} 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! + + _He ended and Damoetas touched a prelude to his sweet song_. + +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. + +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. + + + +IDYL VII + + +_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_. + +_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_. + +_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_ (Classical Review, ii. 8, 265). _See +also Rayet_, Mémoire sur l’île de Cos, p. 18, _Paris_, 1876. + + * * * * * + + _The Harvest Feast_. + +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:— + +‘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!’ + +‘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!’ + +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, {40} 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!’ + + _The Song of Lycidas_. + +Fair voyaging befall Ageanax to Mytilene, both when the _Kids_ 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. + +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, {41} 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. + +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. + +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. {42} + +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! + +When he had chanted thus much he ceased, and I followed after him again, +with some such words as these:— + +‘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.’ + + _The Song of Simichidas_. + +For Simichidas the Loves have sneezed, for truly the wretch loves Myrto +as dearly as goats love the spring. {43} 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. + +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!’ + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + + + +IDYL VIII + + +_The scene is among the high mountain pastures of Sicily_:— + + ‘_On the sward_, _at the cliff top_ + _Lie strewn the white flocks_;’ + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +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. + +‘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.’ + +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!’ + +_Menalcas_. Dost thou care then, to try this and see, dost thou care to +risk a stake? + +_Daphnis_. I do care to try this and see, a stake I am ready to risk. + +_Menalcas_. But what shall we stake, what pledge shall we find equal and +sufficient? + +_Daphnis_. I will pledge a calf, and do thou put down a lamb, one that +has grown to his mother’s height. + +_Menalcas_. Nay, never will I stake a lamb, for stern is my father, and +stern my mother, and they number all the sheep at evening. + +_Daphnis_. But what, then, wilt thou lay, and where is to be the +victor’s gain? + +_Menalcas_. 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. + +_Daphnis_. 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. + +_Menalcas_. But who is to judge between us, who will listen to our +singing? + +_Daphnis_. 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. + +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: + +_Menalcas_. 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. + +_Daphnis_. 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! + +_Menalcas_. 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 + +_Daphnis_. 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! + +_Menalcas_. 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.’ + +_Daphnis_. . . . + +_Menalcas_. 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. + +_Daphnis_ . . . . + +_Menalcas_ . . . . + +_Daphnis_. 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. + +Thus the boys sang in verses amoebaean, and thus Menalcas began the +crowning lay: + +_Menalcas_. 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. + +Then Daphnis followed again, and sweetly preluded to his singing: + +_Daphnis_. 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. + +Sweet is the voice of the heifer, sweet her breath, {50} sweet to lie +beneath the sky in summer, by running water. + +Acorns are the pride of the oak, apples of the apple tree, the calf of +the heifer, and the neatherd glories in his kine. + +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.’ + +Then was the boy as glad,—and leaped high, and clapped his hands over his +victory,—as a young fawn leaps about his mother. But the heart of the +other was wasted with grief, and desolate, even as a maiden sorrows that +is newly wed. + +From this time Daphnis became the foremost among the shepherds, and while +yet in his earliest youth, he wedded the nymph Nais. + + + +IDYL IX + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +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. + +_Daphnis_. 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. + +And thus I heed no more the scorching summer, than a lover cares to heed +the words of father or of mother. + +So Daphnis sang to me, and thus, in turn, did Menalcas sing. + +_Menalcas_. 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. + +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. + +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. {53} + +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. {54} Whom they look on in happy hour, +Circe hath never harmed with her enchanted potion. + + + +IDYL X +THE REAPERS + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +_Milan_. 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? + +_Battus_. 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? + +_Milan_. Never! What has a labouring man to do with hankering after +what he has not got? + +_Battus_. Then it never befell thee to lie awake for love? + +_Milan_. Forbid it; ’tis an ill thing to let the dog once taste of +pudding. + +_Battus_. But I, Milon, am in love for almost eleven days! + +_Milan_. ’Tis easily seen that thou drawest from a wine-cask, while even +vinegar is scarce with me. + +_Battus_. And for Love’s sake, the fields before my doors are untilled +since seed-time. + +_Milan_. But which of the girls afflicts thee so? + +_Battus_. The daughter of Polybotas, she that of late was wont to pipe +to the reapers on Hippocoon’s farm. + +_Milan_. 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! + +_Battus_. 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. + +_Milan_. 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. + +_Battus_. Ye Muses Pierian, sing ye with me the slender maiden, for +whatsoever ye do but touch, ye goddesses, ye make wholly fair. + +They all call thee a _gipsy_, gracious Bombyca, and _lean_, and +_sunburnt_, ’tis only I that call thee _honey-pale_. + +Yea, and the violet is swart, and swart the lettered hyacinth, but yet +these flowers are chosen the first in garlands. + +The goat runs after cytisus, the wolf pursues the goat, the crane follows +the plough, but I am wild for love of thee. + +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. + +Ah gracious Bombyca, thy feet are fashioned like carven ivory, thy voice +is drowsy sweet, and thy ways, I cannot tell of them! {57} + +_Milan_. 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 + + +THE LITYERSES SONG. + + +_Demeter_, _rich in fruit_, _and rich in grain_, _may this corn be easy +to win_, _and fruitful exceedingly_! + +_Bind_, _ye bandsters_, _the sheaves_, _lest the wayfarer __should cry_, +‘_Men of straw were the workers here_, _ay_, _and their hire was +wasted_!’ + +_See that the cut stubble faces the North wind_, _or the West_, _’tis +thus the grain waxes richest_. + +_They that thresh corn should shun the noon-day steep_; _at noon the +chaff parts easiest from the straw_. + +_As for the reapers_, _let them begin when the crested lark is waking_, +_and cease when he sleeps_, _but take holiday in the heat_. + +_Lads_, _the frog has a jolly life_, _he is not cumbered about a butler +to his drink_, _for he has liquor by him unstinted_! + +_Boil the lentils better_, _thou miserly steward_; _take heed lest thou +chop thy fingers_, _when thou’rt splitting cumin-seed_. + +’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. + + + +IDYL XI +THE CYCLOPS IN LOVE + + +_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_. + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +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. + +’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! + +Yet this remedy he found, and sitting on the crest of the tall cliff, and +looking to the deep, ’twas thus he would sing:— + + _Song of the Cyclops_. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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, {61} and four young whelps of the bear. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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! + + * * * * * + +Lo, thus Polyphemus still shepherded his love with song, and lived +lighter than if he had given gold for ease. + + + +IDYL XII +THE PASSIONATE FRIEND + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +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. + +Ah, would that equally the Loves may breathe upon us twain, may we become +a song in the ears of all men unborn. + +‘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. + +‘An equal yoke of friendship they bore: ah, surely then there were golden +men of old, when friends gave love for love!’ + +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. + +‘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.’ + +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! + +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. + + + +IDYL XIII +HYLAS AND HERACLES + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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! + +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.’ + +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. + +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, {70} 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. + +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. + + + +IDYL XIV + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +_Aeschines_. All hail to the stout Thyonichus! + +_Thyonichus_. As much to you, Aeschines. + +_Aeschines_. How long it is since we met! + +_Thyonichus_. Is it so long? But why, pray, this melancholy? + +_Aeschines_. I am not in the best of luck, Thyonichus. + +_Thyonichus_. ’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. + +_Aeschines_. 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. + +_Thyonichus_. 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? + +_Aeschines_. The Argive, and I, and the Thessalian rough rider, Apis, +and Cleunichus the free lance, were drinking together, at my farm. I had +killed two chickens, and a sucking pig, and had opened the Bibline wine +for them,—nearly four years old,—but fragrant as when it left the +wine-press. Truffles and shellfish had been brought out, it was a jolly +drinking match. And when things were now getting forwarder, we +determined that each of us should toast whom he pleased, in unmixed wine, +only he must name his toast. So we all drank, and called our toasts as +had been agreed. Yet She said nothing, though I was there; how think you +I liked that? ‘Won’t you call a toast? You have seen the wolf!’ some +one said in jest, ‘as the proverb goes,’ {72} 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! + +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!’ {73} + +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.’ + +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. {74a} + +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. {74b} + +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. + +_Thyonichus_. 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! + +_Aeschines_. And in other respects, what kind of man? + +_Thyonichus_. 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. + + + +IDYL XV + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +_Gorgo_. Is Praxinoë at home? + +_Praxinoë_. Dear Gorgo, how long it is since you have been here! She +_is_ 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. + +_Gorgo_. It does most charmingly as it is. + +_Praxinoë_. Do sit down. + +_Gorgo_. 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 _too_ far away! + +_Praxinoë_. 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! + +_Gorgo_. 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. + +_Praxinoë_. Our Lady! the child takes notice. {77} + +_Gorgo_. Nice papa! + +_Praxinoë_. 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! + +_Gorgo_. 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! + +_Praxinoë_. Fine folks do everything finely. + +_Gorgo_. 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. + +_Praxinoë_. 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! {78a} 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. + +_Gorgo_. Praxinoë, that full body becomes you wonderfully. Tell me how +much did the stuff cost you just off the loom? + +_Praxinoë_. 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! + +_Gorgo_. Well, it is _most_ successful; all you could wish. {78b} + +_Praxinoë_. 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. + + [_They go into the street_. + +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. + +_Gorgo_. Courage, Praxinoë. We are safe behind them, now, and they have +gone to their station. + +_Praxinoë_. 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. + +_Gorgo_ (_to an old Woman_). Are you from the Court, mother? + +_Old Woman_. I am, my child. + +_Praxinoë_. Is it easy to get there? + +_Old Woman_. The Achaeans got into Troy by trying, my prettiest of +ladies. Trying will do everything in the long run. + +_Gorgo_. The old wife has spoken her oracles, and off she goes. + +_Praxinoë_. Women know everything, yes, and how Zeus married Hera! + +_Gorgo_. See Praxinoë, what a crowd there is about the doors. + +_Praxinoë_. 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! + +_Stranger_. I can hardly help myself, but for all that I will be as +careful as I can. + +_Praxinoë_. How close-packed the mob is, they hustle like a herd of +swine. + +_Stranger_. Courage, lady, all is well with us now. + +_Praxinoë_. 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. + +_Gorgo_. Do come here, Praxinoë. Look first at these embroideries. How +light and how lovely! You will call them the garments of the gods. + +_Praxinoë_. 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. + +_A Stranger_. You weariful women, do cease your endless cooing talk! +They bore one to death with their eternal broad vowels! + +_Gorgo_. Indeed! And where may this person come from? What is it to +you if we _are_ 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? + +_Praxinoë_. Lady Persephone, never may we have more than one master. I +am not afraid of _your_ putting me on short commons. + +_Gorgo_. Hush, hush, Praxinoë—the Argive woman’s daughter, the great +singer, is beginning the _Adonis_; she that won the prize last year for +dirge-singing. {82} I am sure she will give us something lovely; see, +she is preluding with her airs and graces. + + _The Psalm of Adonis_. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +_Gorgo_. 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! + + + + +IDYL XVI + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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; _the shin is further than the knee_; _first let me get my own_! +_’Tis the Gods’ affair to honour minstrels_! _Homer is enough for every +one_, _who wants to hear any other_? _He is the best of bards who takes +nothing that is mine_. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, {89} +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! + +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! + + + + +IDYL XVII + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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_ begin the tale, for there are countless things ready for the +telling, wherewith the Gods have graced the most excellent of kings? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +O dark-browed lady of Argos, {93} 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: + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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. + +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 _his_ 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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +IDYL XVIII + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +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. + + _The Chorus_. + +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. + +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! + +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, {98} but of us +all not one was faultless, when matched with Helen. + +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. + +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: + + WORSHIP ME, I AM THE TREE OF HELEN. + +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. + +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. + +_Hymen_, _O Hymenae_, _rejoice thou in this bridal_. + + + +IDYL XIX + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +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!’ + + + +IDYL XX + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +And didst not thou, too, Son of Cronos, take the shape of a wandering +bird, and all for a cowherd boy? + +But Eunica alone would not kiss the herdsman; Eunica, she that is greater +than Cybele, and Cypris, and Selene! + +Well, Cypris, never mayst thou, in city or on hillside, kiss thy darling, +{104} and lonely all the long night mayst thou sleep! + + + +IDYL XXI + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +’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 +{105} in the night, cares throng about him, and suddenly disquiet his +slumber. + +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, {106a} the lines, the weds, the +lobster pots woven of rushes, the seines, two oars, {106b} 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; {106c} 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. + +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. {106d} + +_Asphalion_. 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? + +_The Friend_. 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. + +_Asphalion_. 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. {107} + +_The Friend_. Tell me, then, the vision of the night; nay, tell all to +thy friend. + +_Asphalion_. 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, {108a} 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, {108b} and swore that +never again would I set foot on sea, but abide on land, and lord it over +the gold. + +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. + +_The Friend_. 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! + + + +IDYL XXII +THE DIOSCURI + + +_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_.—Argonautica, II. I. _seq._ + + * * * * * + +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. + +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 _Bears_ appear, and in the midst, dimly seen, the +_Asses’ manger_, declaring that all is smooth for sailing. + +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. + +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. {111} + +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. + +_Polydeuces_. Good luck to thee, stranger, whosoe’er thou art! What men +are they that possess this land? + +_Amycus_. What sort of luck, when I see men that I never saw before? + +_Polydeuces_. Fear not! Be sure that those thou look’st on are neither +evil, nor the children of evil men. + +_Amycus_. No fear have I, and it is not for thee to teach me that +lesson. + +_Polydeuces_. Art thou a savage, resenting all address, or some +vainglorious man? + +_Amycus_. I am that thou see’st, and on thy land, at least, I trespass +not. + +_Polydeuces_. Come, and with kindly gifts return homeward again! + +_Amycus_. Gift me no gifts, none such have I ready for thee. + +_Polydeuces_. Nay, wilt thou not even grant us leave to taste this +spring? + +_Amycus_. That shalt thou learn when thirst has parched thy shrivelled +lips. + +_Polydeuces_. Will silver buy the boon, or with what price, prithee, may +we gain thy leave? + +_Amycus_. Put up thy hands and stand in single combat, man to man. + +_Polydeuces_. A boxing-match, or is kicking fair, when we meet eye to +eye? + +_Amycus_. Do thy best with thy fists and spare not thy skill! + +_Polydeuces_. And who is the man on whom I am to lay my hands and +gloves? + +_Amycus_. Thou see’st him close enough, the boxer will not prove a +maiden! + +_Polydeuces_. And is the prize ready, for which we two must fight? + +_Amycus_. Thy man shall I be called (shouldst thou win), or thou mine, +if I be victor. + +_Polydeuces_. On such terms fight the red-crested birds of the game. + +_Amycus_. Well, be we like birds or lions, we shall fight for no other +stake. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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:— + +‘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.” + +‘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, {118} 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.’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +IDYL XXIII +THE VENGEANCE OF LOVE + + +_A lover hangs himself at the gate of his obdurate darling who_, _in +turn_, _is slain by a statue of Love_. + +_This poem is not attributed with much certainty to Theocritus_, _and is +found in but a small proportion of manuscripts_. + + * * * * * + +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: + +‘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. + +‘Behold I know the thing that is to be. + +‘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. + +‘That time will come when thou too shalt love, when thy heart shall burn, +and thou shalt weep salt tears. + +‘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. + +‘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,— + + _O friend_, _thou liest low_! + +And if thou wilt, add this also,— + + _Alas_, _my true friend is dead_! + +‘And this legend do thou write, that I will scratch on thy walls,— + + _This man Love slew_! _Wayfarer_, _pass not heedless by_, + _But stand_, _and say_, “_he had a cruel darling_.”’ + +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. + +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. {124} 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. + +_Rejoice_, _ye lovers_, _for he that hated is slain_. _Love_, _all ye +beloved_, _for the God knoweth how to deal righteous judgment_. + + + +IDYL XXIV +THE INFANT HERACLES + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +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:— + +‘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.’ + +So speaking she rocked the huge shield, and in a moment sleep laid hold +on them. + +But when the _Bear_ at midnight wheels westward over against _Orion_ 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. + +Now Alcmena heard the cry, and wakened first,— + +‘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? {127} There is some +strange thing I trow within the house, there is, my dearest lord!’ + +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,— + +‘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.’ + +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; {128} but +Amphitryon, placing the other child beneath a lamb’s-wool coverlet, +betook himself again to his bed, and gat him to his rest. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +Thus spake the Queen, and thus he answered her: + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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, {129} 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. {130} And to Zeus supreme, +moreover, do ye sacrifice a young boar, that ye may ever have the mastery +over all your enemies.’ + +So spake he, and thrust back his ivory chair, and departed, even +Tiresias, despite the weight of all his many years. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +IDYL XXV +HERACLES THE LION-SLAYER + + +_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_. + +. . . 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. + +‘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. + +‘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— + +‘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.’ + +Then the old man, the worthy husbandman, answered him again— + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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, {135} 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— + +‘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.’ + +So he spake, and they hastened, and came even to that dwelling whither +they were faring. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, + +‘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.’ + +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, + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. {143} 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. + +‘Friend, lo even thus befel the slaying of the Nemean Lion, that +aforetime had brought many a bane on flocks and men.’ + + + +IDYL XXVI + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +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 {144} 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. + +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. + +This much said Pentheus, ‘Women, what would ye?’ and thus answered +Autonoe, ‘That shalt thou straightway know, ere thou hast heard it.’ + +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. {145} + +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! + +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.’ + +‘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.’ + + + +IDYL XXVII +THE WOOING OF DAPHNIS + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +_The Maiden_. Helen the wise did Paris, another neatherd, ravish! + +_Daphnis_. ’Tis rather this Helen that kisses her shepherd, even me! +{147} + +_The Maiden_. Boast not, little satyr, for kisses they call an empty +favour. + +_Daphnis_. Nay, even in empty kisses there is a sweet delight. + +_The Maiden_. I wash my lips, I blow away from me thy kisses! + +_Daphnis_. Dost thou wash thy lips? Then give me them again to kiss! + +_The Maiden_. ’Tis for thee to caress thy kine, not a maiden unwed. + +_Daphnis_. Boast not, for swiftly thy youth flits by thee, like a dream. + +_The Maiden_. The grapes turn to raisins, not wholly will the dry rose +perish. + +_Daphnis_. Come hither, beneath the wild olives, that I may tell thee a +tale. + +_The Maiden_. I will not come; ay, ere now with a sweet tale didst thou +beguile me. + +_Daphnis_. Come hither, beneath the elms, to listen to my pipe! + +_The Maiden_. Nay, please thyself, no woful tune delights me. + +_Daphnis_. Ah maiden, see that thou too shun the anger of the Paphian. + +_The Maiden_. Good-bye to the Paphian, let Artemis only be friendly! + +_Daphnis_. Say not so, lest she smite thee, and thou fall into a trap +whence there is no escape. + +_The Maiden_. 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. {148} + +_Daphnis_. From Love thou dost not flee, whom never yet maiden fled. + +_The Maiden_. Escape him, by Pan, I do, but thou dost ever bear his +yoke. + +_Daphnis_. This is ever my fear lest he even give thee to a meaner man. + +_The Maiden_. Many have been my wooers, but none has won my heart. + +_Daphnis_. Yea I, out of many chosen, come here thy wooer. + +_The Maiden_. Dear love, what can I do? Marriage has much annoy. + +_Daphnis_. Nor pain nor sorrow has marriage, but mirth and dancing. + +_The Maiden_. Ay, but they say that women dread their lords. + +_Daphnis_. Nay, rather they always rule them,—whom do women fear? + +_The Maiden_. Travail I dread, and sharp is the shaft of Eilithyia. + +_Daphnis_. But thy queen is Artemis, that lightens labour. + +_The Maiden_. But I fear childbirth, lest, perchance, I lose my beauty. + +_Daphnis_. Nay, if thou bearest dear children thou wilt see the light +revive in thy sons. + +_The Maiden_. And what wedding gift dost thou bring me if I consent? + +_Daphnis_. My whole flock, all my groves, and all my pasture land shall +be thine. + +_The Maiden_. Swear that thou wilt not win me, and then depart and leave +me forlorn. + +_Daphnis_. So help me Pan I would not leave thee, didst thou even choose +to banish me! + +_The Maiden_. Dost thou build me bowers, and a house, and folds for +flocks? + +_Daphnis_. Yea, bowers I build thee, the flocks I tend are fair. + +_The Maiden_. But to my grey old father, what tale, ah what, shall I +tell? + +_Daphnis_. He will approve thy wedlock when he has heard my name. + +_The Maiden_. Prithee, tell me that name of thine; in a name there is +often delight. + +_Daphnis_. Daphnis am I, Lycidas is my father, and Nomaea is my mother. + +_The Maiden_. Thou comest of men well-born, but there I am thy match. + +_Daphnis_. I know it, thou art of high degree, for thy father is +Menalcas. {150a} + +_The Maiden_. Show me thy grove, wherein is thy cattle-stall. + +_Daphnis_. See here, how they bloom, my slender cypress-trees. + +_The Maiden_. Graze on, my goats, I go to learn the herdsman’s labours. + +_Daphnis_. Feed fair, my bulls, while I show my woodlands to my lady! + +_The Maiden_. What dost thou, little satyr; why dost thou touch my +breast? + +_Daphnis_. I will show thee that these earliset apples are ripe. {150b} + +_The Maiden_. By Pan, I swoon; away, take back thy hand. + +_Daphnis_. Courage, dear girl, why fearest thou me, thou art over +fearful! + +_The Maiden_. Thou makest me lie down by the water-course, defiling my +fair raiment! + +_Daphnis_. Nay, see, ’neath thy raiment fair I am throwing this soft +fleece. + +_The Maiden_. Ah, ah, thou hast snatched my girdle too; why hast thou +loosed my girdle? + +_Daphnis_. These first-fruits I offer, a gift to the Paphian. + +_The Maiden_. Stay, wretch, hark; surely a stranger cometh; nay, I hear +a sound. + +_Daphnis_. The cypresses do but whisper to each other of thy wedding. + +_The Maiden_. Thou hast torn my mantle, and unclad am I. + +_Daphnis_. Another mantle I will give thee, and an ampler far than +thine. + +_The Maiden_. Thou dost promise all things, but soon thou wilt not give +me even a grain of salt. + +_Daphnis_. Ah, would that I could give thee my very life. + +_The Maiden_. Artemis, be not wrathful, thy votary breaks her vow. + +_Daphnis_. I will slay a calf for Love, and for Aphrodite herself a +heifer. + +_The Maiden_. A maiden I came hither, a woman shall I go homeward. + +_Daphnis_. Nay, a wife and a mother of children shalt thou be, no more a +maiden. + +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. + + + +IDYL XXVIII + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. {153} 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. + +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.’ + + + +IDYL XXIX + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +‘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. + +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! + +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. + + +FRAGMENT OF THE BERENICE. + + +_Athenaeus_ (_vii._ 284 _A_) _quotes this fragment_, _which probably was +part of a panegyric on Berenice_, _the mother of Ptolemy Philadelphus_. + + * * * * * + +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. + + + +IDYL XXX +THE DEAD ADONIS + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + + WHEN Cypris saw Adonis, + In death already lying + With all his locks dishevelled, + And cheeks turned wan and ghastly, + She bade the Loves attendant + To bring the boar before her. + + And lo, the winged ones, fleetly + They scoured through all the wild wood; + The wretched boar they tracked him, + And bound and doubly bound him. + One fixed on him a halter, + And dragged him on, a captive, + Another drave him onward, + And smote him with his arrows. + But terror-struck the beast came, + For much he feared Cythere. + To him spake Aphrodite,— + ‘Of wild beasts all the vilest, + This thigh, by thee was ’t wounded? + Was ’t thou that smote my lover?’ + To her the beast made answer— + ‘I swear to thee, Cythere, + By thee, and by thy lover, + Yea, and by these my fetters, + And them that do pursue me,— + Thy lord, thy lovely lover + I never willed to wound him; + I saw him, like a statue, + And could not bide the burning, + Nay, for his thigh was naked, + And mad was I to kiss it, + And thus my tusk it harmed him. + Take these my tusks, O Cypris, + And break them, and chastise them, + For wherefore should I wear them, + These passionate defences? + If this doth not suffice thee, + Then cut my lips out also, + Why dared they try to kiss him?’ + + Then Cypris had compassion; + She bade the Loves attendant + To loose the bonds that bound him. + From that day her he follows, + And flees not to the wild wood + But joins the Loves, and always + He bears Love’s flame unflinching. + + + +EPIGRAMS + + +_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_. + + +I +_For a rustic Altar_. + + +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. + + +II +_For a Herdsman’s Offering_. + + +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. + + +III +_For a Picture_. + + +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. + + +IV +_Priapus_. + + +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. + + +V +_The rural Concert_. + + +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. + + +VI +_The Dead are beyond hope_. + + +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? + + +VII +_For a statue of Asclepius_. + + +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. + + +VIII +_Orthon’s Grave_. + + +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. + + +IX +_The Death of Cleonicus_. + + +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! + + +X +_A Group of the Muses_. + + +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. + + +XI +_The Grave of Eusthenes_. + + +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. + + +XII +_The Offering of Demoteles_. + + +’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. + + +XIII +_For a statue of Aphrodite_. + + +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. + + +XIV +_The Grave of Euryrnedon_. + + +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. + + +XV +_The Grave of Eurymedon_. + + +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. + + +XVI +_For a statue of Anacreon_. + + +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. + + +XVII +_For a statue of Epicharmus_. + + +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 {165} 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. + + +XVIII +_The Grave of Cleita_. + + +THE little Medeus has raised this tomb by the wayside to the memory of +his Thracian nurse, and has added the inscription— + + HERE LIES CLEITA. + +THE woman will have this recompense for all her careful nurture of the +boy,—and why?—because she was serviceable even to the end. + + +XIX +_The statue of Archilochus_. + + +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. + + +XX +_The statue of Pisander_. + + +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. + + +XXI +_The Grave of Hipponax_. + + +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. + + +XXII +_For the Bank of Caicus_. + + +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. + + +XXIII +_On his own Poems_. {167} + + +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. + + + + +BION + + + Πίδακος έξ ίερης ολίγη λιβας ακρον αωτον.—_Callimachus_. + +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. + + + +I +THE LAMENT FOR ADONIS + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +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!’ + +_Woe_, _woe for Adonis_, _the Loves join in the lament_! + +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. + +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. + +To Cypris his kiss is dear, though he lives no longer, but Adonis knew +not that she kissed him as he died. + +_Woe_, _woe for Adonis_, _the Loves join in the lament_! + +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. + +_Woe_, _woe for Cytherea_, _the Loves join in the lament_! + +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! _Woe_, _woe for Cypris_, the mountains all are saying, +and the oak-trees answer, _Woe for Adonis_. 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. + +_Woe_, _woe for Cytherea_, _he hath perished_, _the lovely Adonis_! + +And Echo cried in answer, _He hath perished_, _the lovely Adonis_. 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. + +‘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?’ + +So Cypris bewailed her, the Loves join in the lament: + +_Woe_, _woe for Cytherea_, _he hath perished the lovely Adonis_! + +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. + +_Woe_, _woe for Adonis_, _he hath perished_; _the lovely Adonis_! + +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. + +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. + +_Woe_, _woe for Cytherea_, _the Loves join in the lament_! + +Every torch on the lintels of the door has Hymenaeus quenched, and hath +torn to shreds the bridal crown, and _Hymen_ no more, _Hymen_ no more is +the song, but a new song is sung of wailing. + +‘_Woe_, _woe for Adonis_,’ rather than the nuptial song the Graces are +shrilling, lamenting the son of Cinyras, and one to the other declaring, +_He hath perished_, _the lovely Adonis_. + +And _woe_, _woe for Adonis_, 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. + +Cease, Cytherea, from thy lamentations, to-day refrain from thy dirges. +Thou must again bewail him, again must weep for him another year. + + + +II +THE LOVE OF ACHILLES + + +_Lycidas sings to Myrson a fragment about the loves of Achilles and +Deidamia_. + + * * * * * + +_Myrson_. 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? + +_Lycidas_. Yes, Myrson, and I too fain would pipe, but what shall I +sing? + +_Myrson_. 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. {176} + +_Lycidas_. The herdsman bore off Helen, upon a time, and carried her to +Ida, sore sorrow to Œnone. And Lacedaemon waxed wroth, and gathered +together all the Achaean folk; there was never a Hellene, not one of the +Mycenaeans, nor any man of Elis, nor of the Laconians, that tarried in +his house, and shunned the cruel Ares. + +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. + +Now he once even spake to her, saying— + +‘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 . . . ’ + + + +III +THE SEASONS + + +_Cleodamus and Myrson discuss the charms of the seasons_, _and give the +palm to a southern spring_. + + * * * * * + +_Cleodamus_. 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. + +_Myrson_. 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. + + + +IV +THE BOY AND LOVE + + +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.’ + + + +V +THE TUTOR OF LOVE + + +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. + + + +VI +LOVE AND THE MUSES + + +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. + + + +FRAGMENTS + + +VII + + +I know not the way, nor is it fitting to labour at what we have not +learned. + + +VIII + + +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? + + +IX + + +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. {181} + + +X + + +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 _he_ was +happy, Achilles Æacides, while his darling lived,—happy was he in his +death, because he avenged the dread fate of Patroclus. + + +XI + + +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. + + +XII + + +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. + + +XIII + + +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. + + +XIV + + +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. + + +XV + + +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. + + +XVI + + +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. + + +XVII + + +The constant dropping of water, says the proverb, it wears a hole in a +stone. + + +XVIII + + +Nay, leave me not unrewarded, for even Phoebus sang for his reward. And +the meed of honour betters everything. + + +XIX + + +Beauty is the glory of womankind, and strength of men. + + +XX + + +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. + + + + +MOSCHUS + + +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. + + + +IDYL I +LOVE THE RUNAWAY + + +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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘Yea, and if he wish to kiss thee, beware, for evil is his kiss, and his +lips enchanted. + +‘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.’ + + + +IDYL II +EUROPA AND THE BULL + + +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. + +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. + +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 + +‘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. + +‘Ye blessed gods, I pray you, prosper the fulfilment of the dream.’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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— + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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— + +‘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. + +‘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!’ + +So spake she, and the horned bull made answer to her again— + +‘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. + +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. + + + +IDYL III +THE LAMENT FOR BION + + +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 _ai ai_ to thy petals; he is dead, the beautiful +singer. + +_Begin_, _ye Sicilian Muses_, _begin the dirge_. + +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. + +_Begin_, _ye Sicilian Muses_, _begin the dirge_. + +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. + +_Begin_, _ye Sicilian Muses_, _begin the dirge_. + +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. + +_Begin_, _ye Sicilian Muses_, _begin the dirge_. + +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. + +_Begin_, _ye Sicilian Muses_, _begin the dirge_. + +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; + +(_Begin_, _ye Sicilian Muses_, _begin the dirge_.) + +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. + +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!’ + +_Begin_, _ye Sicilian Muses_, _begin the dirge_. + +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? + +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. + +_Begin_, _ye Sicilian Muses_, _begin the dirge_. + +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. + +_Begin_, _ye Sicilian Muses_, _begin the dirge_. + +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. + +_Begin_, _ye Sicilian Muses_, _begin the dirge_. + +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. + +_Begin_, _ye Sicilian Muses_, _begin the dirge_. + +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. + +_Begin_, _ye Sicilian Muses_, _begin the dirge_. + +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; + + [_Here seven verses are lost_.] + +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. + +_Begin_, _ye Sicilian Muses_, _begin the dirge_. + +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. + +_Begin_, _ye Sicilian Muses_, _begin the dirge_. + +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. + +_Begin_, _ye Sicilian Muses_, _begin the dirge_. + +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. + +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. + + + +IDYL IV + + +_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_. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. {205} + +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: + +‘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. + +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. + + + +IDYL V + + +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. {208} 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. + + + +IDYL VI + + + PAN loved his neighbour Echo; Echo loved + A gamesome Satyr; he, by her unmoved, + Loved only Lyde; thus through Echo, Pan, + Lyde, and Satyr, Love his circle ran. + Thus all, while their true lovers’ hearts they grieved, + Were scorned in turn, and what they gave received. + O all Love’s scorners, learn this lesson true; + Be kind to Love, that he be kind to you. + + + +IDYL VII + + +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. + + + +IDYL VIII + + + LEAVING his torch and his arrows, a wallet strung on his back, + One day came the mischievous Love-god to follow the plough-share’s + track: + And he chose him a staff for his driving, and yoked him a sturdy + steer, + And sowed in the furrows the grain to the Mother of Earth most dear. + Then he said, looking up to the sky: ‘Father Zeus, to my harvest be + good, + Lest I yoke that bull to my plough that Europa once rode through the + flood!’ + + + +IDYL IX + + + WOULD that my father had taught me the craft of a keeper of sheep, + For so in the shade of the elm-tree, or under the rocks on the steep, + Piping on reeds I had sat, and had lulled my sorrow to sleep. {210} + + + + +FOOTNOTES + + +{0a} This fragment is from the collection of M. Fauriel; _Chants +Populaires de le Grèce_. + +{0b} _Empedocles on Etna_. + +{0c} Ballet des Arts, dansé par sa Majesté; le 8 janvier, 1663. A +Paris, par Robert Ballard, MDCLXIII. + +{0d} These and the following ditties are from the modern Greek ballads +collected by MM. Fauriel and Legrand. + +{0e} See Couat, _La Poesie Alexandrine_, p. 68 _et seq._, Paris 1882. + +{0f} See Couat, _op. cit._ p. 395. + +{0g} Couat, p. 434. + +{0h} See Helbig, _Campenische Wandmalerie_, and Brunn, _Die griechischen +Bukoliker und die Bildende Kunst_. + +{0i} The _Hecale_ of Callimachus, or Theseus and the Marathonian Bull, +seems to have been rather a heroic idyl than an epic. + +{6} Or reading Αίολικόν=Aeolian, cf. Thucyd. iii. 102. + +{9} These are places famous in the oldest legends of Arcadia. + +{11} Reading, καταδήσομαι. Cf. Fritzsche’s note and Harpocration, s.v. + +{13} On the word ραμβος, see Lobeck, _Aglaoph._ p. 700; and ‘The Bull +Roarer,’ in the translator’s _Custom and Myth_. + +{19} Reading καταδήσομαι. Cf. line 3, and note. + +{21} He refers to a piece of folk-lore. + +{24} The shovel was used for tossing the sand of the lists; the sheep +were food for Aegon’s great appetite. + +{26} Reading έρίσδεις. + +{34} Melanthius was the treacherous goatherd put to a cruel death by +Odysseus. + +{36} Ameis and Fritzsche take νιν (as here) to be the dog, not Galatea. +The sex of the Cyclops’s sheep-dog makes the meaning obscure. + +{40} Or, δόμον Ώρομέδοντος. Hermann renders this _domum Oromedonteam_ a +gigantic house.’ Oromedon or Eurymedon was the king of the Gigantes, +mentioned in Odyssey vii. 58. + +{41} έσχατα. This is taken by some to mean _algam infimam_, ‘the bottom +weeds of the deepest seas’, by others, the sea-weed highest on the shore, +at high watermark. + +{42} 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. + +{43} Sneezing in Sicily, as in most countries, was a happy omen. + +{50} A superfluous and apocryphal line is here omitted. + +{53} 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. + +{54} Spring in the south, like Night in the tropics, comes ‘at one +stride’; but Wordsworth finds the rendering distasteful ‘neque sic +redditum valde placet.’ + +{57} ‘Quant à ta manière, je ne puis la rendre.’—SAINTE-BEUVE. + +{61} Reading μηνοφόρως. + +{70} Cf. Wordsworth’s proposed conjecture— + + μετάρσι’, έτων παρεόντων. + +Meineke observes ‘tota haec carminis pars luxata et foedissime depravata +est’. There seems to be a rude early pun in lines 73, 74. + +{72} The reading— + +ού φθεγξη; λύκον εΐδες; επαιξέ τις, ως σοφός, εΐπε,—makes good sense. ως +σοφός is put in the mouth of the girl, and would mean ‘a good guess’! +The allusion of a guest to the superstition that the wolf struck people +dumb is taken by Cynisca for a reference to young Wolf, her secret lover. + +{73} Or, as Wordsworth suggests, reading δάκρυσι, ‘for him your cheeks +are wet with tears.’ + +{74a} 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. + +{74b} 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. + +{77} 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. + +{78a} If cats are meant, the proverb is probably Alexandrian. Common as +cats were in Egypt, they were late comers in Greece. + +{78b} Most of the dialogue has been distributed as in the text of +Fritzsche. + +{82} Reading πέρυσιν. + +{89} _I.e._ Syracuse, a colony of the Ephyraeans or Corinthians. The +Maiden is Persephone, the Mother Demeter. + +{93} Deipyle, daughter of Adrastus. + +{98} Reading—πιείρα ατε λαον ανέδραμε κόσμος αρούρα. See also +Wordsworth’s note on line 26. + +{104} For αδέα Wordsworth and Hermann conjecture Ἄρεα. The sense would +be that Eunica, who thinks herself another Cypris, or Aphrodite is, in +turn, to be rejected by her Ares, her soldier-lover, as she has rejected +the herdsman. + +{105} Reading επιμύσσησι. + +{106a} Reading τα φυκιοέντα τε λαίφη. + +{106b} κώπα. + +{106c} ουδος δ’ ουχι θύραν εΐχ’, and in the next line ά γαρ πενία σφας +ετήρει. + +{106d} αυδάν. + +{107} Reading, with Fritzsche— + + αλλ’ όνος εν ράμνω, το τε λύχνιον εν πρυτανείω + + φαντι γαρ αγρυπνίαν τόδ’ εχειν + +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. + +{108a} Reading ηρέμ’ ενυξα και νύξας εχάλαξα. Asphalion first hooked +his fish, which ran gamely, and nearly doubled up the rod. Then the fish +sulked, and the angler half despaired of landing him. To stir the sullen +fish, he reminded him of his wound, probably, as we do now, by keeping a +tight line, and tapping the butt of the rod. Then he slackened, giving +the fish line in case of a sudden rush; but as there was no such rush, he +took in line, or perhaps only showed his fish the butt (for it is not +probable that Asphalion had a reel), and so landed him. The +Mediterranean fishers generally toss the fish to land with no display of +science, but Asphalion’s imaginary capture was a monster. + +{108b} 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. + +{111} πυρεΐα appear to have been ‘fire sticks,’ by rubbing which +together the heroes struck a light. + +{118} Or εγχεα λοΰσαι, ‘wash the spears,’ as in the Zulu idiom. + +{124} In line 57 for τηλε read Wordsworth’s conjecture τηδε = ενταΰθα. + +{127} 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.’ + +{128} ξηρον, _prae timore non lacrymantem_ (Paley). + +{129} Reading, after Fritzsche, ρωγάδος εκ πέτρας. We should have +expected the accursed ashes (like those of Wyclif) to be thrown _into_ +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. + +{130} Reading εστεμμένω. If εστεμμνον is read, the phrase will mean +‘pure brimming water.’ + +{135} Reading οσσον. + +{143} Reading αλλη, as in Wordsworth’s conjecture, instead of υλη. + +{144} Reading ποπανεύματα. + +{145} Πένθημα και ου πενθηα, a play on words difficult to retain in +English. Compare Idyl xiii. line 74. + +{147} The conjecture εμα δ’ gives a good sense, _mea vero Helena me +potius ultra petit_. + +{148} Reading, as in Wordsworth’s conjecture, μη ’πιβάλης ταν χεΐρα, και +ει γ’ ετι χεΐλος, αμύξω. + +{150a} Reading οΐδ’, ακρατιμίη εσσι, with Fritzsche. Compare the +conjecture of Wordsworth, Ὀύδ’ ακρα τι μη εσσι. + +{150b} See Wordsworth’s explanation. + +{153} Syracuse. + +{165} Reading, πεδοικισται (that is, the Corinthian founders of +Syracuse), and following Wordsworth’s other conjectures. + +{167} This epigram may have been added by the first editor of +Theocritus, Artemidorus the Grammarian. + +{176} This conjecture of Meineke’s offers, at least, a meaning. + +{181} _Les hommes sont tous condamnés à mort_, _avec des sursis +indéfinis_.—VICTOR HUGO. + +{205} Alcmena bore Iphicles to Amphictyon, Hercules to Zeus. + +{208} Reading, with Weise, ποτάγει δε πολυ πλεον αμμε γαλάνα. + +{210} For the translations into verse I have to thank Mr. Ernest Myers. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THEOCRITUS, BION AND MOSCHUS*** + + +******* This file should be named 4775-0.txt or 4775-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/7/7/4775 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Theocritus, Bion and Moschus + + +Author: Theocritus + + + +Release Date: August 6, 2014 [eBook #4775] +[This file was first posted on March 16, 2002] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THEOCRITUS, BION AND MOSCHUS*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1889 Macmillan and Co. edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/coverb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Book cover" +title= +"Book cover" +src="images/covers.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>THEOCRITUS, BION<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">AND</span><br /> +MOSCHUS</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">RENDERED +INTO ENGLISH PROSE</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">WITH</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall"><i>AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY</i></span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br +/> +ANDREW LANG, M.A.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Lately Fellow of Merton +College</i>, <i>Oxford</i></p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic" +title= +"Decorative graphic" +src="images/tps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON</p> +<p style="text-align: center">MACMILLAN AND CO.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">AND NEW YORK</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">1889</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>All rights reserved</i></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="pagev"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. v</span>TO</p> +<p style="text-align: center">ERNEST MYERS</p> +<p style="text-align: center">’Εκ +Μοισᾶν +ξεινήιον</p> +<h2><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vii</span>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p><span class="smcap">Theocritus and his +age</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#pagexi">xi</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="4"><p><span +class="smcap">Theocritus</span>—</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Idyl</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">I</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page3">3</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">II</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page11">11</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">III</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page20">20</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">IV</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page23">23</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">V</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page27">27</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">VI</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page35">35</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">VII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page38">38</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">VIII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page46">46</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">IX</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page52">52</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">X</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page55">55</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XI</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page59">59</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page64">64</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XIII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page67">67</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XIV</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page71">71</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XV</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page76">76</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XVI</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page85">85</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XVII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page91">91</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XVIII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page97">97</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XIX</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page101">101</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XX</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page102">102</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XXI</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page105">105</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XXII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page110">110</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XXIII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page121">121</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XXIV</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page125">125</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XXV</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page132">132</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center"><a name="pageviii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. viii</span>,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XXVI</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page144">144</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XXVII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page147">147</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XXVIII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page152">152</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XXIX</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page154">154</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">XXX</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page147">147</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>Epigrams</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page159">159</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="4"><p><span class="smcap">Bion</span>—</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Idyl</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">I</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page171">171</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">II</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page176">176</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">III</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page178">178</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">IV</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page179">179</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">V</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page179">179</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">VI</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page180">180</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>Fragments</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page181">181</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="4"><p><span class="smcap">Moschus</span>—</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Idyl</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">I</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page187">187</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">II</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page189">189</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">III</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page197">197</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">IV</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page203">203</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">V</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page208">208</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">VI</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page208">208</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">VII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page209">209</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">VIII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page209">209</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">IX</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page210">210</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="pageix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. ix</span>LIFE +OF THEOCRITUS</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>From Suidas</i>)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Theocritus</span>, the Chian. But +there is another Theocritus, the son of Praxagoras and Philinna +(see Epigram XXIII), or as some say of Simichus. (This is +plainly derived from the assumed name Simichidas in Idyl +VII.) He was a Syracusan, or, as others say, a Coan settled +in Syracuse. He wrote the so-called <i>Bucolics</i> in the +Dorian dialect. Some attribute to him the following +works:—<i>The Proetidae</i>, <i>The Pleasures of Hope</i> +(Ἐλπίδες), +<i>Hymns</i>, <i>The Heroines</i>, <i>Dirges</i>, <i>Ditties</i>, +<i>Elegies</i>, <i>Iambics</i>, <i>Epigrams</i>. But it +known that there are three Bucolic poets: this Theocritus, +Moschus of Sicily, and Bion of Smyrna, from a village called +Phlossa.</p> +<h2>LIFE OF THEOCRITUS<br /> + +ΘΕΟΚΡΙΤΟΥ +ΓΕΝΟΣ</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Usually prefixed to the +Idyls</i>)</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Theocritus</span> the Bucolic poet was a +Syracusan by extraction, and the son of Simichidas, as he says +himself, <i>Simichidas</i>, <i>pray whither through the noon dost +thou dray thy feet</i>? (Idyl VII). Some say that this was +an assumed name, for he seems to have been snub-nosed +(σιμός), and that his father was +Praxagoras, and his mother Philinna. He became the pupil of +Philetas and Asclepiades, of whom he speaks (Idyl VII), and +flourished about the time of Ptolemy Lagus. He gained much +fame for his skill in bucolic poetry. According to some his +original name was Moschus, and Theocritus was a name he later +assumed.</p> +<h2><a name="pagexi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xi</span>THEOCRITUS AND HIS AGE</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">At</span> the beginning of the third +century before Christ, in the years just preceding those in which +Theocritus wrote, the genius of Greece seemed to have lost her +productive force. Nor would it have been strange if that +force had really been exhausted. Greek poetry had hitherto +enjoyed a peculiarly free development, each form of art +succeeding each without break or pause, because each—epic, +lyric, dithyramb, the drama—had responded to some new need +of the state and of religion. Now in the years that +followed the fall of Athens and the conquests of Macedonia, Greek +religion and the Greek state had ceased to be themselves. +Religion and the state had been the patrons of poetry; on their +decline poetry seemed dead. There were no heroic kings, +like those for whom epic minstrels had chanted. The cities +could no longer welcome an Olympian winner with Pindaric +hymns. There was no imperial Athens to fill the theatres +with a crowd of citizens and strangers eager to listen to new <a +name="pagexii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xii</span>tragic +masterpieces. There was no humorous democracy to laugh at +all the world, and at itself, with Aristophanes. The very +religion of Sophocles and Aeschylus was debased. A vulgar +usurper had stripped the golden ornaments from Athene of the +Parthenon. The ancient faith in the protecting gods of +Athens, of Sparta, and of Thebes, had become a lax readiness to +bow down in the temple of any Oriental Rimmon, of Serapis or +Adonis. Greece had turned her face, with Alexander of +Macedon, to the East; Alexander had fallen, and Greece had become +little better than the western portion of a divided Oriental +empire. The centre of intellectual life had been removed +from Athens to Alexandria (<i>founded</i> 332 <span +class="GutSmall">B.C.</span>) The new Greek cities of Egypt +and Asia, and above all Alexandria, seemed no cities at all to +Greeks who retained the pure Hellenic traditions. +Alexandria was thirty times larger than the size assigned by +Aristotle to a well-balanced state. Austere spectators saw +in Alexandria an Eastern capital and mart, a place of harems and +bazaars, a home of tyrants, slaves, dreamers, and +pleasure-seekers. Thus a Greek of the old school must have +despaired of Greek poetry. There was nothing (he would have +said) to evoke it; no dawn of liberty could flush this silent +Memnon into song. The collectors, critics, librarians of +Alexandria could only produce literary imitations of the epic and +the hymn, or could at best write epigrams or inscriptions for the +statue of some alien and <a name="pagexiii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xiii</span>luxurious god. Their critical +activity in every field of literature was immense, their original +genius sterile. In them the intellect of the Hellenes still +faintly glowed, like embers on an altar that shed no light on the +way. Yet over these embers the god poured once again the +sacred oil, and from the dull mass leaped, like a many-coloured +frame, the genius of <span class="smcap">Theocritus</span>.</p> +<p>To take delight in that genius, so human, so kindly, so +musical in expression, requires, it may be said, no long +preparation. The art of Theocritus scarcely needs to be +illustrated by any description of the conditions among which it +came to perfection. It is always impossible to analyse into +its component parts the genius of a poet. But it is not +impossible to detect some of the influences that worked on +Theocritus. We can study his early +‘environment’; the country scenes he knew, and the +songs of the neatherds which he elevated into art. We can +ascertain the nature of the demand for poetry in the chief cities +and in the literary society of the time. As a result, we +can understand the broad twofold division of the poems of +Theocritus into rural and epic idyls, and with this we must rest +contented.</p> +<p>It is useless to attempt a regular biography of +Theocritus. Facts and dates are alike wanting, the ancient +accounts (p. ix) are clearly based on his works, but it is by no +means impossible to construct a ‘legend’ or romance +of his life, by aid of his own verses, and of hints and <a +name="pagexiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xiv</span>fragments +which reach us from the past and the present. The genius of +Theocritus was so steeped in the colours of human life, he bore +such true and full witness as to the scenes and men he knew, that +life (always essentially the same) becomes in turn a witness to +his veracity. He was born in the midst of nature that, +through all the changes of things, has never lost its sunny +charm. The existence he loved best to contemplate, that of +southern shepherds, fishermen, rural people, remains what it +always has been in Sicily and in the isles of Greece. The +habits and the passions of his countryfolk have not altered, the +echoes of their old love-songs still sound among the pines, or by +the sea-banks, where Theocritus ‘watched the visionary +flocks.’</p> +<p>Theocritus was probably born in an early decade of the third +century, or, according to Couat, about 315 <span +class="GutSmall">B.C.</span>, and was a native of Syracuse, +‘the greatest of Greek cities, the fairest of all +cities.’ So Cicero calls it, describing the four +quarters that were encircled by its walls,—each quarter as +large as a town,—the fountain Arethusa, the stately temples +with their doors of ivory and gold. On the fortunate +dwellers in Syracuse, Cicero says, the sun shone every day, and +there was never a morning so tempestuous but the sunlight +conquered at last, and broke through the clouds. That +perennial sunlight still floods the poems of Theocritus with its +joyous glow. His birthplace was the proper home of an +idyllic poet, <a name="pagexv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xv</span>of one who, with all his enjoyment of the city life of +Greece, had yet been ‘breathed on by the rural Pan,’ +and best loved the sights and sounds and fragrant air of the +forests and the coast. Thanks to the mountainous regions of +Sicily, to Etna, with her volcanic cliffs and snow-fed streams, +thanks also to the hills of the interior, the populous island +never lost the charm of nature. Sicily was not like the +overcrowded and over-cultivated Attica; among the Sicilian +heights and by the coast were few enclosed estates and narrow +farms. The character of the people, too, was attuned to +poetry. The Dorian settlers had kept alive the magic of +rivers, of pools where the Nereids dance, and uplands haunted by +Pan. This popular poetry influenced the literary verse of +Sicily. The songs of Stesichorus, a minstrel of the early +period, and the little rural ‘mimes’ or interludes of +Sophron are lost, and we have only fragments of Epicharmus. +But it seems certain that these poets, predecessors of +Theocritus, liked to mingle with their own composition strains of +rustic melody, <i>volks-lieder</i>, ballads, love-songs, ditties, +and dirges, such as are still chanted by the peasants of Greece +and Italy. Thus in Syracuse and the other towns of the +coast, Theocritus would have always before his eyes the spectacle +of refined and luxurious manners, and always in his ears the +babble of the Dorian women, while he had only to pass the gates, +and wander through the fens of Lysimeleia, by the brackish mere, +or <a name="pagexvi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xvi</span>ride +into the hills, to find himself in the golden world of +pastoral. Thinking of his early years, and of the education +that nature gives the poet, we can imagine him, like Callicles in +Mr. Arnold’s poem, singing at the banquet of a merchant or +a general—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘With his head full of wine, and his hair +crown’d,<br /> +Touching his harp as the whim came on him,<br /> +And praised and spoil’d by master and by guests,<br /> +Almost as much as the new dancing girl.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>We can recover the world that met his eyes and inspired his +poems, though the dates of the composition of these poems are +unknown. We can follow him, in fancy, as he breaks from the +revellers and wanders out into the night. Wherever he +turned his feet, he could find such scenes as he has painted in +the idyls. If the moon rode high in heaven, as he passed +through the outlying gardens he might catch a glimpse of some +deserted girl shredding the magical herbs into the burning +brazier, and sending upward to the ‘lady Selene’ the +song which was to charm her lover home. The magical image +melted in the burning, the herbs smouldered, the tale of love was +told, and slowly the singer ‘drew the quiet night into her +blood.’ Her lay ended with a passage of softened +melancholy—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Do thou farewell, and turn thy steeds to +Ocean, lady, and my pain I will endure, even as I have +declared. Farewell, Selene beautiful; <a +name="pagexvii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xvii</span>farewell, +ye other stars that follow the wheels of Night.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A grammarian says that Theocritus borrowed this second idyl, +the story of Simaetha, from a piece by Sophron. But he had +no need to borrow from anything but the nature before his +eyes. Ideas change so little among the Greek country +people, and the hold of superstition is so strong, that betrayed +girls even now sing to the Moon their prayer for pity and +help. Theocritus himself could have added little passion to +this incantation, still chanted in the moonlit nights of Greece: +<a name="citation0a"></a><a href="#footnote0a" +class="citation">[0a]</a></p> +<blockquote><p>‘Bright golden Moon, that now art near to +thy setting, go thou and salute my lover, he that stole my love, +and that kissed me, and said, “Never will I leave +thee.” And, lo, he has left me, like a field reaped +and gleaned, like a church where no man comes to pray, like a +city desolate. Therefore I would curse him, and yet again +my heart fails me for tenderness, my heart is vexed within me, my +spirit is moved with anguish. Nay, even so I will lay my +curse on him, and let God do even as He will, with my pain and +with my crying, with my flame, and mine imprecations.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is thus that the women of the islands, like the girl of +Syracuse two thousand years ago, hope to lure back love or +avenged love betrayed, and thus they ‘win more ease from +song than could be bought with gold.’</p> +<p><a name="pagexviii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xviii</span>In whatever direction the path of the Syracusan +wanderer lay, he would find then, as he would find now in Sicily, +some scene of the idyllic life, framed between the distant Etna +and the sea. If he strayed in the faint blue of the summer +dawn, through the fens to the shore, he might reach the wattled +cabin of the two old fishermen in the twenty-first idyl. +There is nothing in Wordsworth more real, more full of the +incommunicable sense of nature, rounding and softening the +toilsome days of the aged and the poor, than the Theocritean poem +of the Fisherman’s Dream. It is as true to nature as +the statue of the naked fisherman in the Vatican. One +cannot read these verses but the vision returns to one, of +sandhills by the sea, of a low cabin roofed with grass, where +fishing-rods of reed are leaning against the door, while the +Mediterranean floats up her waves that fill the waste with +sound. This nature, grey and still, seems in harmony with +the wise content of old men whose days are waning on the limit of +life, as they have all been spent by the desolate margin of the +sea.</p> +<p>The twenty-first idyl is one of the rare poems of Theocritus +that are not filled with the sunlight of Sicily, or of +Egypt. The landscapes he prefers are often seen under the +noonday heat, when shade is most pleasant to men. His +shepherds invite each other to the shelter of oak-trees or of +pines, where the dry fir-needles are strown, or where the +feathered ferns make a luxurious ‘couch more soft than +sleep,’ <a name="pagexix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xix</span>or where the flowers bloom whose musical names sing in +the idyls. Again, Theocritus will sketch the bare +beginnings of the hillside, as in the third idyl, just where the +olive-gardens cease, and where the short grass of the heights +alternates with rocks, and thorns, and aromatic plants. +None of his pictures seem complete without the presence of +water. It may be but the wells that the maidenhair fringes, +or the babbling runnel of the fountain of the Nereids. The +shepherds may sing of Crathon, or Sybaris, or Himeras, waters so +sweet that they seem to flow with milk and honey. Again, +Theocritus may encounter his rustics fluting in rivalry, like +Daphnis and Menalcas in the eighth idyl, ‘on the long +ranges of the hills.’ Their kine and sheep have fed +upwards from the lower valleys to the place where</p> +<blockquote><p>‘The track winds down to the clear +stream,<br /> +To cross the sparkling shallows; there<br /> +The cattle love to gather, on their way<br /> +To the high mountain pastures and to stay,<br /> +Till the rough cow-herds drive them past,<br /> +Knee-deep in the cool ford; for ’tis the last<br /> +Of all the woody, high, well-water’d dells<br /> +On Etna, . . .<br /> +. . . glade,<br /> +And stream, and sward, and chestnut-trees,<br /> +End here; Etna beyond, in the broad glare<br /> +Of the hot noon, without a shade,<br /> +Slope behind slope, up to the peak, lies bare;<br /> +The peak, round which the white clouds play.’ <a +name="citation0b"></a><a href="#footnote0b" +class="citation">[0b]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>Theocritus never drives his flock so high, <a +name="pagexx"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xx</span>and rarely +muses on such thoughts as come to wanderers beyond the shade of +trees and the sound of water among the scorched rocks and the +barren lava. The day is always cooled and soothed, in his +idyls, with the ‘music of water that falleth from the high +face of the rock,’ or with the murmurs of the sea. +From the cliffs and their seat among the bright red berries on +the arbutus shrubs, his shepherds flute to each other, as they +watch the tunny fishers cruising far below, while the echo floats +upwards of the sailors’ song. These shepherds have +some touch in them of the satyr nature; we might fancy that their +ears are pointed like those of Hawthorne’s Donatello, in +‘Transformation.’</p> +<p>It should be noticed, as a proof of the truthfulness of +Theocritus, that the songs of his shepherds and goatherds are all +such as he might really have heard on the shores of Sicily. +This is the real answer to the criticism which calls him +affected. When mock pastorals flourished at the court of +France, when the long dispute as to the merits of the ancients +and moderns was raging, critics vowed that the hinds of +Theocritus were too sentimental and polite in their +wooings. Refinement and sentiment were to be reserved for +princely shepherds dancing, crook in hand, in the court +ballets. Louis XIV sang of himself—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘<i>A son labeur il passe tout d’un +coup</i>,<br /> +<i>Et n’ira pas dormir sur la fougere</i>,<br /> +<a name="pagexxi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxi</span><i>Ny +s’oublier aupres d’une Bergere</i>,<br /> +<i>Jusques au point d’en oublier le Loup</i>.’ <a +name="citation0c"></a><a href="#footnote0c" +class="citation">[0c]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>Accustomed to royal goatherds in silk and lace, Fontenelle (a +severe critic of Theocritus) could not believe in the delicacy of +a Sicilian who wore a skin ‘stripped from the roughest of +he-goats, with the smell of the rennet clinging to it +still.’ Thus Fontenelle cries, ‘Can any one +suppose that there ever was a shepherd who could say “Would +I were the humming bee, Amaryllis, to flit to thy cave, and dip +beneath the branches, and the ivy leaves that hide +thee”?’ and then he quotes other graceful passages +from the love-verses of Theocritean swains. Certainly no +such fancies were to be expected from the French peasants of +Fontenelle’s age, ‘creatures blackened with the sun, +and bowed with labour and hunger.’ The imaginative +grace of Battus is quite as remote from our own hinds. But +we have the best reason to suppose that the peasants of +Theocritus’s time expressed refined sentiment in language +adorned with colour and music, because the modern love-songs of +Greek shepherds sound like memories of Theocritus. The +lover of Amaryllis might have sung this among his +ditties—</p> + +<blockquote><p>Χελιδονάκι +θα γενω, σ’ +τα χείλη +σου να +καττώ<br /> +Να σε +φιλήσω μια +και δυό, και +πάλε να +πετάξω</p> +<p>‘To flit towards these lips of thine, I fain would be a +swallow,<br /> +<a name="pagexxii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxii</span>To +kiss thee once, to kiss thee twice, and then go flying +homeward.’ <a name="citation0d"></a><a href="#footnote0d" +class="citation">[0d]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>In his despair, when Love ‘clung to him like a leech of +the fen,’ he might have murmured—</p> +<blockquote><p>’Ηθελα +να εΐμαι σ’ +τα βουνα, μ’ +αλάφια να +κοιμοΰμαι<br /> +Και το +δικον σου +το κορμι να +μη το +συλλογιοΰμαι</p> +<p>‘Would that I were on the high hills, and lay where lie +the stags, and no more was troubled with the thought of +thee.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Here, again, is a love-complaint from modern Epirus, exactly +in the tone of Battus’s song in the tenth idyl—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘White thou art not, thou art not golden +haired,<br /> +Thou art brown, and gracious, and meet for love.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Here is a longer love-ditty—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘I will begin by telling thee first of thy +perfections: thy body is as fair as an angel’s; no painter +could design it. And if any man be sad, he has but to look +on thee, and despite himself he takes courage, the hapless one, +and his heart is joyous. Upon thy brows are shining the +constellated Pleiades, thy breast is full of the flowers of May, +thy breasts are lilies. Thou hast the eyes of a princess, +the glance of a queen, and but one fault hast thou, that thou +deignest not to speak to me.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="pagexxiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxiii</span>Battus might have cried thus, with a modern Greek +singer, to the shade of the dead Amaryllis (Idyl IV), the +‘gracious Amaryllis, unforgotten even in +death’—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Ah, light of mine eyes, what gift shall I +send thee; what gift to the other world? The apple rots, +and the quince decayeth, and one by one they perish, the petals +of the rose! I send thee my tears bound in a napkin, and +what though the napkin burns, if my tears reach thee at +last!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The difficulty is to stop choosing, where all the verses of +the modern Greek peasants are so rich in Theocritean memories, so +ardent, so delicate, so full of flowers and birds and the music +of fountains. Enough has been said, perhaps, to show what +the popular poetry of Sicily could lend to the genius of +Theocritus.</p> +<p>From her shepherds he borrowed much,—their bucolic +melody; their love-complaints; their rural superstitions; their +system of answering couplets, in which each singer refines on the +utterance of his rival. But he did not borrow their +‘pastoral melancholy.’ There is little of +melancholy in Theocritus. When Battus is chilled by the +thought of the death of Amaryllis, it is but as one is chilled +when a thin cloud passes over the sun, on a bright day of early +spring. And in an epigram the dead girl is spoken of as the +kid that the wolf has seized, while the hounds bay all too +late. Grief will not bring her back. The world <a +name="pagexxiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxiv</span>must go +its way, and we need not darken its sunlight by long +regret. Yet when, for once, Theocritus adopted the accent +of pastoral lament, when he raised the rural dirge for Daphnis +into the realm of art, he composed a masterpiece, and a model for +all later poets, as for the authors of <i>Lycidas</i>, +<i>Thyrsis</i>, and <i>Adonais</i>.</p> +<p>Theocritus did more than borrow a note from the country +people. He brought the gifts of his own spirit to the +contemplation of the world. He had the clearest vision, and +he had the most ardent love of poetry, ‘of song may all my +dwelling be full, for neither is sleep more sweet, nor sudden +spring, nor are flowers more delicious to the bees, so dear to me +are the Muses.’ . . . ‘Never may we be +sundered, the Muses of Pieria and I.’ Again, he had +perhaps in greater measure than any other poet the gift of the +undisturbed enjoyment of life. The undertone of all his +idyls is joy in the sunshine and in existence. His +favourite word, the word that opens the first idyl, and, as it +were, strikes the keynote, is αδύ, +<i>sweet</i>. He finds all things delectable in the rural +life:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Sweet are the voices of the calves, and +sweet the heifers’ lowing; sweet plays the shepherd on the +shepherd’s pipe, and sweet is the echo.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Even in courtly poems, and in the artificial hymns of which we +are to speak in their place, the memory of the joyful country +life comes over him. He praises Hiero, because Hiero is <a +name="pagexxv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxv</span>to restore +peace to Syracuse, and when peace returns, then ‘thousands +of sheep fattened in the meadows will bleat along the plain, and +the kine, as they flock in crowds to the stalls, will make the +belated traveller hasten on his way.’ The words evoke +a memory of a narrow country lane in the summer evening, when +light is dying out of the sky, and the fragrance of wild roses by +the roadside is mingled with the perfumed breath of cattle that +hurry past on their homeward road. There was scarcely a +form of the life he saw that did not seem to him worthy of song, +though it might be but the gossip of two rude hinds, or the +drinking bout of the Thessalian horse-jobber, and the false girl +Cynisca and her wild lover Æschines. But it is the +sweet country that he loves best to behold and to remember. +In his youth Sicily and Syracuse were disturbed by civil and +foreign wars, wars of citizens against citizens, of Greeks +against Carthaginians, and against the fierce ‘men of +Mars,’ the banded mercenaries who possessed themselves of +Messana. But this was not matter for his joyous +Muse—</p> +<blockquote><p>κείνος +δ’ ού +πολέμους, +ού δάκρυα, +Πανα δ’ +έμελπε,<br /> +και βούτασ +έλίγαινε +και άείδων +ενόμευε</p> +<p>‘Not of wars, not of tears, but of Pan would he chant, +and of the neatherds he sweetly sang, and singing he shepherded +his flocks.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This was the training that Sicily, her hills, her seas, her +lovers, her poet-shepherds, gave <a name="pagexxvi"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxvi</span>to Theocritus. Sicily showed +him subjects which he imitated in truthful art. Unluckily +the later pastoral poets of northern lands have imitated +<i>him</i>, and so have gone far astray from northern +nature. The pupil of nature had still to be taught the +‘rules’ of the critics, to watch the temper and +fashion of his time, and to try his fortune among the courtly +poets and grammarians of the capital of civilisation. +Between the years of early youth in Sicily and the years of +waiting for court patronage at Alexandria, it seems probable that +we must place a period of education in the island of Cos. +The testimonies of the Grammarians who handed on to us the scanty +traditions about Theocritus, agree in making him the pupil of +Philetas of Cos. This Philetas was a critic, a commentator +on Homer, and an elegiac poet whose love-songs were greatly +admired by the Romans of the Augustan age. He is said to +have been the tutor of Ptolemy Philadelphus, who was himself +born, as Theocritus records, in the isle of Cos. It has +been conjectured that Ptolemy and Theocritus were fellow pupils, +and that the poet may have hoped to obtain court favour at +Alexandria from this early connection. About this point +nothing is certainly known, nor can we exactly understand the +sort of education that was given in the school of the poet +Philetas. The ideas of that artificial age make it not +improbable that Philetas professed to teach the art of +poetry. A French critic and poet of our own time, M. +Baudelaire, was willing <a name="pagexxvii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxvii</span>to do as much ‘in thirty +lessons.’ Possibly Philetas may have imparted +technical rules then in vogue, and the fashionable knack of +introducing obscure mythological allusions. He was a +logician as well as a poet, and is fabled to have died of +vexation because he could not unriddle one of the metaphysical +catches or puzzles of the sophists. His varied activity +seems to have worn him to a shadow; the contemporary satirists +bantered him about his leanness, and it was alleged that he wore +leaden soles to his sandals lest the wind should blow him, as it +blew the calves of Daphnis (Idyl IX) over a cliff against the +rocks, or into the sea. <a name="citation0e"></a><a +href="#footnote0e" class="citation">[0e]</a> Philetas seems +a strange master for Theocritus, but, whatever the qualities of +the teacher, Cos, the home of the luxurious old age of Meleager, +was a beautiful school. The island was one of the most +ancient colonies of the Dorians, and the Syracusan scholar found +himself among a people who spoke his own broad and liquid +dialect. The sides of the limestone hills were clothed with +vines, and with shadowy plane-trees which still attain +extraordinary size and age, while the wine-presses where Demeter +smiled, ‘with sheaves and poppies in her hands,’ +yielded a famous vintage. The people had a soft industry of +their own, they fashioned the ‘Coan stuff,’ +transparent robes for woman’s wear, like the +ύδάτινα +βράκη, the thin undulating tissues which +Theugenis was to weave <a name="pagexxviii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxviii</span>with the ivory distaff, the gift +of Theocritus. As a colony of Epidaurus, Cos naturally +cultivated the worship of Asclepius, the divine physician, the +child of Apollo. In connection with his worship and with +the clan of the Asclepiadae (that widespread stock to which +Aristotle belonged, and in which the practice of leechcraft was +hereditary), Cos possessed a school of medicine. In the +temple of Asclepius patients hung up as votive offerings +representations of their diseased limbs, and thus the temple +became a museum of anatomical specimens. Cos was therefore +resorted to by young students from all parts of the East, and +Theocritus cannot but have made many friends of his own +age. Among these he alludes in various passages to Nicias, +afterwards a physician at Miletus, to Philinus, noted in later +life as the head of a medical sect, and to Aratus. +Theocritus has sung of Aratus’s love-affairs, and St. Paul +has quoted him as a witness to man’s instinctive consent in +the doctrine of the universal fatherhood of God. These +strangely various notices have done more for the memory of Aratus +than his own didactic poem on the meteorological theories of his +age. He lives, with Philinus and the rest of the Coan +students, because Theocritus introduced them into the picture of +a happy summer’s day. In the seventh idyl, that one +day of Demeter’s harvest-feast is immortal, and the sun +never goes down on its delight. We see Theocritus</p> +<blockquote><p><a name="pagexxix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxix</span>κουπω ταν +μεσάταν +όδον +ανυμες, +ουδε το +σαμα<br /> +άμιν το +Βρασίλα +κατεφαίνετο—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>when he ‘had not yet reached the mid-point of the way, +nor had the tomb yet risen on his sight.’ He reveals +himself as he was at the height of morning, at the best moment of +the journey, in midsummer of a genius still unchecked by doubt, +or disappointment, or neglect. Life seems to accost him +with the glance of the goatherd Lycidas, ‘and still he +smiled as he spoke, with laughing eyes, and laughter dwelling on +his lips.’ In Cos, Theocritus found friendship, and +met Myrto, ‘the girl he loved as dearly as goats love the +spring.’ Here he could express, without any +afterthought, an enthusiastic adoration for the disinterested +joys, the enchanted moments of human existence. Before he +entered the thronged streets of Alexandria, and tuned his +shepherd’s pipe to catch the ear of princes, and to sing +the epithalamium of a royal and incestuous love, he rested with +his friends in the happy island. Deep in a cave, among the +ruins of ancient aqueducts, there still bubbles up, from the Coan +limestone, the well-spring of the Nymphs. ‘There they +reclined on beds of fragrant rushes, lowly strown, and rejoicing +they lay in new stript leaves of the vine. And high above +their heads waved many a poplar, many an elm-tree, while close at +hand the sacred water from the nymph’s own cave welled +forth with murmurs musical’ (Idyl VII).</p> +<p><a name="pagexxx"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxx</span>The +old Dorian settlers in Syracuse pleased themselves with the fable +that their fountain, Arethusa, had been a Grecian nymph, who, +like themselves, had crossed the sea to Sicily. The poetry +of Theocritus, read or sung in sultry Alexandria, must have +seemed like a new welling up of the waters of Arethusa in the +sandy soil of Egypt. We cannot certainly say when the poet +first came from Syracuse, or from Cos, to Alexandria. It is +evident however from the allusions in the fifteenth and +seventeenth idyls that he was living there after Ptolemy +Philadelphus married his own sister, Arsinoë. It is +not impossible to form some idea of the condition of Alexandrian +society, art, religion, literature and learning at the court of +Ptolemy Philadelphus. The vast city, founded some sixty +years before, was now completed. The walls, many miles in +circuit, protected a population of about eight hundred thousand +souls. Into that changing crowd were gathered adventurers +from all the known world. Merchantmen brought to Ptolemy +the wares of India and the porcelains of China. Marauders +from upper Egypt skulked about the native quarters, and sallied +forth at night to rob the wayfarer. The king’s guards +were recruited with soldiers from turbulent Greece, from Asia, +from Italy. Settlers were attracted from Syracuse by the +prospect of high wages and profitable labour. The Jewish +quarters were full of Israelites who did not disdain Greek +learning. The city in which this multitude found a home <a +name="pagexxxi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxxi</span>was +beautifully constructed. The Mediterranean filled the +northern haven, the southern walls were washed by the Mareotic +lake. If the isle of Pharos shone dazzling white, and +wearied the eyes, there was shade beneath the long marble +colonnades, and in the groves and cool halls of the Museum and +the Libraries. The Etesian winds blew fresh in summer from +the north, across the sea, and refreshed the people in their +gardens. No town seemed greater nor wealthier to the +voyager, who (like the hero of the Greek novel <i>Clitophon and +Leucippe</i>) entered by the gate of the Sun, and found that, +after nightfall, the torches borne by men and women hastening to +some religious feast, filled the dusk with a light like that of +‘the sun cut up into fragments.’ At the same +time no town was more in need of the memories of the country, +which came to her in well-watered gardens, in +landscape-paintings, and in the verse of Theocritus.</p> +<p>It is impossible to give a clearer idea of the opulence and +luxury of Alexandria and her kings, than will be conveyed by the +description of the coronation-feast of Ptolemy +Philadelphus. This great masquerade and banquet was +prepared by the elder Ptolemy on the occasion of his admitting +his son to share his throne. The entertainment was +described (in a work now lost) by Callixenus of Rhodes, and the +record has been preserved by Atheneaus (v. 25). The inner +pavilion in which the guests of Ptolemy reclined, contained one +hundred and thirty-five <a name="pagexxxii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxxii</span>couches. Over the roof was +placed a scarlet awning, with a fringe of white, and there were +many other awnings, richly embroidered with mythological +designs. The pillars which sustained the roof were shaped +in the likeness of palm-trees, and of <i>thyrsi</i>, the weapons +of the wine-god Dionysus. Round three outer sides ran +arcades, draped with purple tissues, and with the skins of +strange beasts. The fourth side, open to the air, was shady +with the foliage of myrtles and laurels. Everywhere the +ground was carpeted with flowers, though the season was +mid-winter, with roses and white lilies and blossoms of the +gardens. By the columns round the whole pavilion were +arrayed a hundred effigies in marble, executed by the most famous +sculptors, and on the middle spaces were hung works by the +painters of Sicyon and tapestry woven with stories of the +adventures of the gods. Above these, again, ran a frieze of +gold and silver shields, while in the higher niches were placed +comic, tragic, and satiric sculptured groups ‘dressed in +real clothes,’ says the historian, much admiring this +realism. It is impossible to number the tripods, and +flagons, and couches of gold, resting on golden figures of +sphinxes, the salvers, the bowls, the jewelled vases. The +masquerade of this winter festival began with the procession of +the Morning-star, Heosphoros, and then followed a masque of kings +and a revel of various gods, while the company of Hesperus, the +Evening-star followed, and ended all. The <a +name="pagexxxiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxxiii</span>revel +of Dionysus was introduced by men disguised as Sileni, wild +woodland beings in raiment of purple and scarlet. Then came +scores of satyrs with gilded lamps in their hands. Next +appeared beautiful maidens, attired as Victories, waving golden +wings and swinging vessels of burning incense. The altar of +the God of the Vine was borne behind them, crowned and covered +with leaves of gold, and next boys in purple robes scattered +fragrant scents from golden salvers. Then came a throng of +gold-crowned satyrs, their naked bodies stained with purple and +vermilion, and among them was a tall man who represented the year +and carried a horn of plenty. He was followed by a +beautiful woman in rich attire, carrying in one hand branches of +the palm-tree, in the other a rod of the peach-tree, starred with +its constellated flowers. Then the masque of the Seasons +swept by, and Philiscus followed, Philiscus the Corcyraean, the +priest of Dionysus, and the favourite tragic poet of the +court. After the prizes for the athletes had been borne +past, Dionysus himself was charioted along, a gigantic figure +clad in purple, and pouring libations out of a golden +goblet. Around him lay huge drinking-cups, and smoking +censers of gold, and a bower of vine leaves grew up, and shaded +the head of the god. Then hurried by a crowd of priests and +priestesses, Maenads, Bacchantes, Bassarids, women crowned with +the vine, or with garlands of snakes, and girls bearing the +mystic <a name="pagexxxiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxxiv</span><i>vannus Iacchi</i>. And still the procession +was not ended. A mechanical figure of Nysa passed, in a +chariot drawn by eighty men, among clusters of grapes formed of +precious stones, and the figure arose, and poured milk out of a +golden horn. The Satyrs and Sileni followed close, and +behind them six hundred men dragged on a wain, a silver vessel +that held six hundred measures of wine. This was only the +first of countless symbolic vessels that were carried past, till +last came a multitude of sixteen hundred boys clad in white +tunics, and garlanded with ivy, who bore and handed to the guests +golden and silver vessels full of sweet wine. All this was +only part of one procession, and the festival ended when Ptolemy +and Berenice and Ptolemy Philadelphus had been crowned with +golden crowns from many subject cities and lands.</p> +<p>This festival was obviously arranged to please the taste of a +prince with late Greek ideas of pictorial display, and with +barbaric wealth at his command. Theocritus himself enables +us in the seventeenth idyl to estimate the opulence and the +dominion of Ptolemy. He was not master of fertile Aegypt +alone, where the Nile breaks the rich dank soil, and where myriad +cities pour their taxes into his treasuries. Ptolemy held +lands also in Phoenicia, and Arabia; he claimed Syria and Libya +and Aethiopia; he was lord of the distant Pamphylians, of the +Cilicians, the Lycians and the Carians, and the Cyclades owned +his mastery. <a name="pagexxxv"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxxv</span>Thus the wealth of the richest part +of the world flowed into Alexandria, attracting thither the +priests of strange religions, the possessors of Greek learning, +the painters and sculptors whose work has left its traces on the +genius of Theocritus.</p> +<p>Looking at this early Alexandrian age, three points become +clear to us. First, the fashion of the times was Oriental, +Oriental in religion and in society. Nothing could be less +Hellenic, than the popular cult of Adonis. The fifteenth +idyl of Theocritus shows us Greek women worshipping in their +manner at an Assyrian shrine, the shrine of that effeminate lover +of Aphrodite, whom Heracles, according to the Greek proverb, +thought ‘no great divinity.’ The hymn of Bion, +with its luxurious lament, was probably meant to be chanted at +just such a festival as Theocritus describes, while a crowd of +foreigners gossiped among the flowers and embroideries, the +strangely-shaped sacred cakes, the ebony, the gold, and the +ivory. Not so much Oriental as barbarous was the impulse +which made Ptolemy Philadelphus choose his own sister, +Arsinoë, for wife, as if absolute dominion had already +filled the mind of the Macedonian royal race with the incestuous +pride of the Incas, or of Queen Hatasu, in an elder Egyptian +dynasty. This nascent barbarism has touched a few of the +Alexandrian poems even of Theocritus, and his panegyric of +Ptolemy, of his divine ancestors, and his sister-bride is not +much more Greek in sentiment than are those old native hymns of +<a name="pagexxxvi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxxvi</span>Pentaur to ‘the strong Bull,’ or the +‘Risen Sun,’ to Rameses or Thothmes.</p> +<p>Again, the early Alexandrian was what we call a +‘literary’ age. Literature was not an affair of +religion and of the state, but ministered to the pleasure of +individuals, and at their pleasure was composed. <a +name="citation0f"></a><a href="#footnote0f" +class="citation">[0f]</a> The temper of the time was +crudely critical. The Museum and the Libraries, with their +hundreds of thousands of volumes, were hot-houses of grammarians +and of learned poets. Callimachus, the head librarian, was +also the most eminent man of letters. Unable, himself, to +compose a poem of epic length and copiousness, he discouraged all +long poems. He shone in epigrams, pedantic hymns, and +didactic verses. He toyed with anagrams, and won court +favour by discovering that the letters of +‘Arsinoë,’ the name of Ptolemy’s wife, +made the words ίον Ηρας, the +violet of Hera. In another masterpiece the genius of +Callimachus followed the stolen tress of Queen Berenice to the +skies, where the locks became a constellation. A +contemporary of Callimachus was Zenodotus, the critic, who was +for improving the Iliad and Odyssey by cutting out all the epic +commonplaces which seemed to him to be needless +repetitions. It is pretty plain that, in literary society, +Homer was thought out of date and <i>rococo</i>. The +favourite topics of poets were now, not the tales of Troy and +Thebes, but the amorous adventures of the gods. When +Apollonius Rhodius attempted to <a name="pagexxxvii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxxvii</span>revive the epic, it is said that +the influence of Callimachus quite discomfited the young +poet. A war of epigrams began, and while Apollonius called +Callimachus a ‘blockhead’ (so finished was his +invective), the veteran compared his rival to the Ibis, the +scavenger-bird. Other singers satirised each others’ +legs, and one, the Aretino of the time, mocked at king Ptolemy +and scourged his failings in verse. The literary quarrels +(to which Theocritus seems to allude in Idyl VII, where Lycidas +says he ‘hates the birds of the Muses that cackle in vain +rivalry with Homer’) were as stupid as such affairs usually +are. The taste for artificial epic was to return; although +many people already declared that Homer was the world’s +poet, and that the world needed no other. This epic +reaction brought into favour Apollonius Rhodius, author of the +<i>Argonautica</i>. Theocritus has been supposed to aim at +him as a vain rival of Homer, but M. Couat points out that +Theocritus was seventy when Apollonius began to write. The +literary fashions of Alexandria are only of moment to us so far +as they directly affected Theocritus. They could not make +him obscure, affected, tedious, but his nature probably inclined +him to obey fashion so far as only to write short poems. +His rural poems are +ειδύλλια, +‘little pictures.’ His fragments of epic, or +imitations of the epic hymns are not</p> +<blockquote><p>όσα +πόντος +άείδει</p> +</blockquote> +<p>—not full and sonorous as the songs of Homer <a +name="pagexxxviii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xxxviii</span>and +the sea. ‘Ce poète est le moins naïf qui +se puisse rencontrer, et il se dégage de son oeuvre un +parfum de naïveté rustique.’ <a +name="citation0g"></a><a href="#footnote0g" +class="citation">[0g]</a> They are, what a German critic +has called them, <i>mythologischen genre-bilder</i>, cabinet +pictures in the manner called <i>genre</i>, full of pretty detail +and domestic feeling. And this brings us to the third +characteristic of the age,—its art was elaborately +pictorial. Poetry seems to have sought inspiration from +painting, while painting, as we have said, inclined to +<i>genre</i>, to luxurious representations of the amours of the +gods or the adventures of heroes, with backgrounds of pastoral +landscape. Shepherds fluted while Perseus slew Medusa.</p> +<p>The old order of things in Greece had been precisely the +opposite of this Alexandrian manner. Homer and the later +Homeric legends, with the tragedians, inspired the sculptors, and +even the artisans who decorated vases. When a new order of +subjects became fashionable, and when every rich Alexandrian had +pictures or frescoes on his walls, it appears that the painters +took the lead, that the initiative in art was theirs. The +Alexandrian pictures perished long ago, but the relics of +Alexandrian style which remain in the buried cities of Campania, +in Pompeii especially, bear testimony to the taste of the period. +<a name="citation0h"></a><a href="#footnote0h" +class="citation">[0h]</a> Out of nearly two thousand +Pompeian pictures, it is <a name="pagexxxix"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xxxix</span>calculated that some fourteen +hundred (roughly speaking) are mythological in subject. The +loves of the gods are repeated in scores of designs, and these +designs closely correspond to the mythological poems of +Theocritus and his younger contemporaries Bion and Moschus. +Take as an example the adventure of Europa: Lord Tennyson’s +lines, in <i>The Palace of Art</i> are intended to describe +<i>picture</i>—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Or sweet Europa’s mantle blew +unclasp’d,<br /> + From off her shoulder backward borne:<br /> +From one hand droop’d a crocus: one hand grasp’d<br +/> + The mild bull’s golden +horn.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The words of Moschus also seem as if they might have derived +their inspiration from a painting, the touches are so minute, and +so picturesque—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Meanwhile Europa, riding on the back of the +divine bull, with one hand clasped the beast’s great horn, +and with the other caught up her garment’s purple fold, +lest it might trail and be drenched in the hoar sea’s +infinite spray. And her deep robe was blown out in the +wind, like the sail of a ship, and lightly ever it wafted the +maiden onward.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Now every single ‘motive’ of this +description,—Europa with one hand holding the bull’s +horn, with the other lifting her dress, the wind puffing out her +shawl like a sail, is repeated in the Pompeian wall-pictures, +which themselves are believed to be derived from Alexandrian +originals. There are more curious coincidences <a +name="pagexl"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xl</span>than +this. In the sixth idyl of Theocritus, Damoetas makes the +Cyclops say that Galatea ‘will send him many a +messenger.’ The mere idea of describing the monstrous +cannibal Polyphemus in love, is artificial and Alexandrian. +But who were the ‘messengers’ of the sea-nymph +Galatea? A Pompeian picture illustrates the point, by +representing a little Love riding up to the shore on the back of +a dolphin, with a letter in his hand for Polyphemus. Greek +art in Egypt suffered from an Egyptian plague of Loves. +Loves flutter through the Pompeian pictures as they do through +the poems of Moschus and Bion. They are carried about in +cages, for sale, like birds. They are caught in +bird-traps. They don the lion-skin of Heracles. They +flutter about baskets laden with roses; round rosy Loves, like +the cupids of Boucher. They are not akin to ‘the +grievous Love,’ the mighty wrestler who threw Daphnis a +fall, in the first idyl of Theocritus. They are ‘the +children that flit overhead, the little Loves, like the young +nightingales upon the budding trees,’ which flit round the +dead Adonis in the fifteenth idyl. They are the birds that +shun the boy fowler, in Bion’s poem, and perch uncalled (as +in a bronze in the Uffizi) on the grown man. In one or +other of the sixteen Pompeian pictures of Venus and Adonis, the +Loves are breaking their bows and arrows for grief, as in the +hymn of Bion.</p> +<p>Enough has perhaps been said about the social and artistic +taste of Alexandria to account <a name="pagexli"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xli</span>for the remarkable differences in +manner between the rustic idyls of Theocritus and the epic idyls +of himself and his followers Moschus and Bion. In the rural +idyls, Theocritus was himself and wrote to please himself. +In the epic idyls, as in the Hymn to the Dioscuri, and in the two +poems on Heracles, he was writing to please the taste of +Alexandria. He had to choose epic topics, but he was warned +by the famous saying of Callimachus (‘a great book is a +great evil’) not to imitate the length of the epic. <a +name="citation0i"></a><a href="#footnote0i" +class="citation">[0i]</a> He was also to shun close +imitation of what are so easily imitated, the regular recurring +<i>formulae</i>, the commonplace of Homer. He was to add +minute pictorial touches, as in the description of +Alcmena’s waking when the serpents attacked her +child,—a passage rich in domestic pathos and incident which +contrast strongly with Pindar’s bare narrative of the same +events. We have noted the same pictorial quality in the +<i>Europa</i> of Moschus. Our own age has often been +compared to the Alexandrian epoch, to that era of large cities, +wealth, refinement, criticism, and science; and the pictorial +<i>Idylls of the King</i> very closely resemble the epico-idyllic +manner of Alexandria. We have tried to examine the society +in which Theocritus lived. But our impressions about the +poet are more distinct. In him we find the most genial +character; pious as Greece counted piety; <a +name="pagexlii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xlii</span>tender as +became the poet of love; glad as the singer of a happy southern +world should be; gifted, above all, with humour, and with +dramatic power. ‘His lyre has all the chords’; +his is the last of all the perfect voices of Hellas; after him no +man saw life with eyes so steady and so mirthful.</p> +<p>About the lives of the three idyllic poets literary history +says little. About their deaths she only tells us through +the dirge by Moschus, that Bion was poisoned. The lovers of +Theocritus would willingly hope that he returned from Alexandria +to Sicily, about the time when he wrote the sixteenth idyl, and +that he lived in the enjoyment of the friendship and the domestic +happiness and honour which he sang so well, through the golden +age of Hiero (264 <span class="GutSmall">B.C.</span>) No +happier fortune could befall him who wrote the epigram of the +lady of heavenly love, who worshipped with the noble wife of +Nicias under the green roof of Milesian Aphrodite, and who +prophesied of the return of peace and of song to Sicily and +Syracuse.</p> +<h2><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +3</span>THEOCRITUS</h2> +<h3>IDYL I</h3> +<p><i>The shepherd Thyrsis meets a goatherd</i>, <i>in a shady +place beside a spring</i>, <i>and at his invitation sings the +Song of Daphnis</i>. <i>This ideal hero of Greek pastoral +song had won for his bride the fairest of the Nymphs</i>. +<i>Confident in the strength of his passion</i>, <i>he boasted +that Love could never subdue him to a new question</i>. +<i>Love avenged himself by making Daphnis desire a strange +maiden</i>, <i>but to this temptation he never yielded</i>, +<i>and so died a constant lover</i>. <i>The song tells how +the cattle and the wild things of the wood bewailed him</i>, +<i>how Hermes and Priapus gave him counsel in vain</i>, <i>and +how with his last breath he retorted the taunts of the implacable +Aphrodite</i>.</p> +<p><i>The scene is in Sicily</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><i>Thyrsis</i>. Sweet, meseems, is the whispering sound +of yonder pine tree, goatherd, that murmureth by the wells of +water; and sweet are thy pipings. After Pan the second +prize shalt thou bear away, and if he take the horned goat, the +she-goat shalt thou win; but if he choose the she-goat for his +meed, the kid <a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +4</span>falls to thee, and dainty is the flesh of kids e’er +the age when thou milkest them.</p> +<p><i>The Goatherd</i>. Sweeter, O shepherd, is thy song +than the music of yonder water that is poured from the high face +of the rock! Yea, if the Muses take the young ewe for their +gift, a stall-fed lamb shalt thou receive for thy meed; but if it +please them to take the lamb, thou shalt lead away the ewe for +the second prize.</p> +<p><i>Thyrsis</i>. Wilt thou, goatherd, in the +nymphs’ name, wilt thou sit thee down here, among the +tamarisks, on this sloping knoll, and pipe while in this place I +watch thy flocks?</p> +<p><i>Goatherd</i>. Nay, shepherd, it may not be; we may +not pipe in the noontide. ’Tis Pan we dread, who +truly at this hour rests weary from the chase; and bitter of mood +is he, the keen wrath sitting ever at his nostrils. But, +Thyrsis, for that thou surely wert wont to sing <i>The Affliction +of Daphnis</i>, and hast most deeply meditated the pastoral muse, +come hither, and beneath yonder elm let us sit down, in face of +Priapus and the fountain fairies, where is that resting-place of +the shepherds, and where the oak trees are. Ah! if thou +wilt but sing as on that day thou sangest in thy match with +Chromis out of Libya, I will let thee milk, ay, three times, a +goat that is the mother of twins, and even when she has suckled +her kids her milk doth fill two pails. A deep bowl of +ivy-wood, too, I will give thee, rubbed with sweet +bees’-wax, a <a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +5</span>twy-eared bowl newly wrought, smacking still of the knife +of the graver. Round its upper edges goes the ivy winding, +ivy besprent with golden flowers; and about it is a tendril +twisted that joys in its saffron fruit. Within is designed +a maiden, as fair a thing as the gods could fashion, arrayed in a +sweeping robe, and a snood on her head. Beside her two +youths with fair love-locks are contending from either side, with +alternate speech, but her heart thereby is all untouched. +And now on one she glances, smiling, and anon she lightly flings +the other a thought, while by reason of the long vigils of love +their eyes are heavy, but their labour is all in vain.</p> +<p>Beyond these an ancient fisherman and a rock are fashioned, a +rugged rock, whereon with might and main the old man drags a +great net for his cast, as one that labours stoutly. Thou +wouldst say that he is fishing with all the might of his limbs, +so big the sinews swell all about his neck, grey-haired though he +be, but his strength is as the strength of youth. Now +divided but a little space from the sea-worn old man is a +vineyard laden well with fire-red clusters, and on the rough wall +a little lad watches the vineyard, sitting there. Round him +two she-foxes are skulking, and one goes along the vine-rows to +devour the ripe grapes, and the other brings all her cunning to +bear against the scrip, and vows she will never leave the lad, +till she strand him bare and breakfastless. But the boy is +plaiting a pretty <a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +6</span>locust-cage with stalks of asphodel, and fitting it with +reeds, and less care of his scrip has he, and of the vines, than +delight in his plaiting.</p> +<p>All about the cup is spread the soft acanthus, a miracle of +varied work, <a name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6" +class="citation">[6]</a> a thing for thee to marvel on. For +this bowl I paid to a Calydonian ferryman a goat and a great +white cream cheese. Never has its lip touched mine, but it +still lies maiden for me. Gladly with this cup would I gain +thee to my desire, if thou, my friend, wilt sing me that +delightful song. Nay, I grudge it thee not at all. +Begin, my friend, for be sure thou canst in no wise carry thy +song with thee to Hades, that puts all things out of mind!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Song of Thyrsis</i>.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>! Thyrsis of Etna am I, and this is the voice of +Thyrsis. Where, ah! where were ye when Daphnis was +languishing; ye Nymphs, where were ye? By Peneus’s +beautiful dells, or by dells of Pindus? for surely ye dwelt not +by the great stream of the river Anapus, nor on the watch-tower +of Etna, nor by the sacred water of Acis.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p>For him the jackals, for him the wolves did cry; for him did +even the lion out of the forest <a name="page7"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 7</span>lament. Kine and bulls by his +feet right many, and heifers plenty, with the young calves +bewailed him.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p>Came Hermes first from the hill, and said, ‘Daphnis, who +is it that torments thee; child, whom dost thou love with so +great desire?’ The neatherds came, and the shepherds; +the goatherds came: all they asked what ailed him. Came +also Priapus,—</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p>And said: ‘Unhappy Daphnis, wherefore dost thou +languish, while for thee the maiden by all the fountains, through +all the glades is fleeting, in search of thee? Ah! thou art +too laggard a lover, and thou nothing availest! A neatherd +wert thou named, and now thou art like the goatherd:</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p>‘For the goatherd, when he marks the young goats at +their pastime, looks on with yearning eyes, and fain would be +even as they; and thou, when thou beholdest the laughter of +maidens, dost gaze with yearning eyes, for that thou dost not +join their dances.’</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p>Yet these the herdsman answered not again, but he bare his +bitter love to the end, yea, to the fated end he bare it.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 8</span>Ay, but +she too came, the sweetly smiling Cypris, craftily smiling she +came, yet keeping her heavy anger; and she spake, saying: +‘Daphnis, methinks thou didst boast that thou wouldst throw +Love a fall, nay, is it not thyself that hast been thrown by +grievous Love?’</p> +<p><i>Begin ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p>But to her Daphnis answered again: ‘Implacable Cypris, +Cypris terrible, Cypris of mortals detested, already dost thou +deem that my latest sun has set; nay, Daphnis even in Hades shall +prove great sorrow to Love.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p>‘Where it is told how the herdsman with Cypris—Get +thee to Ida, get thee to Anchises! There are oak +trees—here only galingale blows, here sweetly hum the bees +about the hives!</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p>‘Thine Adonis, too, is in his bloom, for he herds the +sheep and slays the hares, and he chases all the wild +beasts. Nay, go and confront Diomedes again, and say, +“The herdsman Daphnis I conquered, do thou join battle with +me.”</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p>‘Ye wolves, ye jackals, and ye bears in the mountain +caves, farewell! The herdsman Daphnis ye never shall see +again, no more in <a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +9</span>the dells, no more in the groves, no more in the +woodlands. Farewell Arethusa, ye rivers, good-night, that +pour down Thymbris your beautiful waters.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Muses dear</i>, <i>begin the pastoral +song</i>!</p> +<p>‘That Daphnis am I who here do herd the kine, Daphnis +who water here the bulls and calves.</p> +<p>‘O Pan, Pan! whether thou art on the high hills of +Lycaeus, or rangest mighty Maenalus, haste hither to the Sicilian +isle! Leave the tomb of Helice, leave that high cairn of +the son of Lycaon, which seems wondrous fair, even in the eyes of +the blessed. <a name="citation9"></a><a href="#footnote9" +class="citation">[9]</a></p> +<p><i>Give o’er</i>, <i>ye Muses</i>, <i>come</i>, <i>give +o’er the pastoral song</i>!</p> +<p>‘Come hither, my prince, and take this fair pipe, +honey-breathed with wax-stopped joints; and well it fits thy lip: +for verily I, even I, by Love am now haled to Hades.</p> +<p><i>Give o’er</i>, <i>ye Muses</i>, <i>come</i>, <i>give +o’er the pastoral song</i>!</p> +<p>‘Now violets bear, ye brambles, ye thorns bear violets; +and let fair narcissus bloom on the boughs of juniper! Let +all things with all be confounded,—from pines let men +gather pears, for Daphnis is dying! Let the stag <a +name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span>drag down the +hounds, let owls from the hills contend in song with the +nightingales.’</p> +<p><i>Give o’er</i>, <i>ye Muses</i>, <i>come</i>, <i>give +o’er the pastoral song</i>!</p> +<p>So Daphnis spake, and ended; but fain would Aphrodite have +given him back to life. Nay, spun was all the thread that +the Fates assigned, and Daphnis went down the stream. The +whirling wave closed over the man the Muses loved, the man not +hated of the nymphs.</p> +<p><i>Give o’er</i>, <i>ye Muses</i>, <i>come</i>, <i>give +o’er the pastoral song</i>!</p> +<p>And thou, give me the bowl, and the she-goat, that I may milk +her and poor forth a libation to the Muses. Farewell, oh, +farewells manifold, ye Muses, and I, some future day, will sing +you yet a sweeter song.</p> +<p><i>The Goatherd</i>. Filled may thy fair mouth be with +honey, Thyrsis, and filled with the honeycomb; and the sweet +dried fig mayst thou eat of Aegilus, for thou vanquishest the +cicala in song! Lo here is thy cup, see, my friend, of how +pleasant a savour! Thou wilt think it has been dipped in +the well-spring of the Hours. Hither, hither, Cissaetha: do +thou milk her, Thyrsis. And you young she-goats, wanton not +so wildly lest you bring up the he-goat against you.</p> +<h3><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 11</span>IDYL +II</h3> +<p><i>Simaetha</i>, <i>madly in love with Delphis</i>, <i>who has +forsaken her</i>, <i>endeavours to subdue him to her by +magic</i>, <i>and by invoking the Moon</i>, <i>in her character +of Hecate</i>, <i>and of Selene</i>. <i>She tells the tale +of the growth of her passion</i>, <i>and vows vengeance if her +magic arts are unsuccessful</i>.</p> +<p><i>The scene is probably some garden beneath the moonlit +shy</i>, <i>near the town</i>, <i>and within sound of the +sea</i>. <i>The characters are Simaetha</i>, <i>and +Thestylis</i>, <i>her handmaid</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Where</span> are my laurel leaves? come, +bring them, Thestylis; and where are the love-charms? +Wreath the bowl with bright-red wool, that I may knit the +witch-knots against my grievous lover, <a +name="citation11"></a><a href="#footnote11" +class="citation">[11]</a> who for twelve days, oh cruel, has +never come hither, nor knows whether I am alive or dead, nor has +once knocked at my door, unkind that he is! Hath Love flown +off with his light desires by some other path—Love and +Aphrodite? To-morrow I will go to the wrestling school of +Timagetus, to see my love and to reproach him with all the wrong +he is doing me. But now I will <a name="page12"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 12</span>bewitch him with my +enchantments! Do thou, Selene, shine clear and fair, for +softly, Goddess, to thee will I sing, and to Hecate of +hell. The very whelps shiver before her as she fares +through black blood and across the barrows of the dead.</p> +<p>Hail, awful Hecate! to the end be thou of our company, and +make this medicine of mine no weaker than the spells of Circe, or +of Medea, or of Perimede of the golden hair.</p> +<p><i>My magic wheel</i>, <i>draw home to me the man I +love</i>!</p> +<p>Lo, how the barley grain first smoulders in the +fire,—nay, toss on the barley, Thestylis! Miserable +maid, where are thy wits wandering? Even to thee, wretched +that I am, have I become a laughing-stock, even to thee? +Scatter the grain, and cry thus the while, ‘’Tis the +bones of Delphis I am scattering!’</p> +<p><i>My magic wheel</i>, <i>draw home to me the man I +love</i>!</p> +<p>Delphis troubled me, and I against Delphis am burning this +laurel; and even as it crackles loudly when it has caught the +flame, and suddenly is burned up, and we see not even the dust +thereof, lo, even thus may the flesh of Delphis waste in the +burning!</p> +<p><i>My magic wheel</i>, <i>draw home to me the man I +love</i>!</p> +<p>Even as I melt this wax, with the god to aid, so speedily may +he by love be molten, the <a name="page13"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 13</span>Myndian Delphis! And as whirls +this brazen wheel, <a name="citation13"></a><a href="#footnote13" +class="citation">[13]</a> so restless, under Aphrodite’s +spell, may he turn and turn about my doors.</p> +<p><i>My magic wheel</i>, <i>draw home to me the man I +love</i>!</p> +<p>Now will I burn the husks, and thou, O Artemis, hast power to +move hell’s adamantine gates, and all else that is as +stubborn. Thestylis, hark, ’tis so; the hounds are +baying up and down the town! The Goddess stands where the +three ways meet! Hasten, and clash the brazen cymbals.</p> +<p><i>My magic wheel</i>, <i>draw home to me the man I +love</i>!</p> +<p>Lo, silent is the deep, and silent the winds, but never silent +the torment in my breast. Nay, I am all on fire for him +that made me, miserable me, no wife but a shameful thing, a girl +no more a maiden.</p> +<p><i>My magic wheel</i>, <i>draw home to me the man I +love</i>!</p> +<p>Three times do I pour libation, and thrice, my Lady Moon, I +speak this spell:—Be it with a friend that he lingers, be +it with a leman he lies, may he as clean forget them as Theseus, +of old, in Dia—so legends tell—did utterly forget the +fair-tressed Ariadne.</p> +<p><i>My magic wheel</i>, <i>draw home to me the man I +love</i>!</p> +<p><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +14</span>Coltsfoot is an Arcadian weed that maddens, on the +hills, the young stallions and fleet-footed mares. Ah! even +as these may I see Delphis; and to this house of mine, may he +speed like a madman, leaving the bright palaestra.</p> +<p><i>My magic wheel</i>, <i>draw home to me the man I +love</i>!</p> +<p>This fringe from his cloak Delphis lost; that now I shred and +cast into the cruel flame. Ah, ah, thou torturing Love, why +clingest thou to me like a leech of the fen, and drainest all the +black blood from my body?</p> +<p><i>My magic wheel</i>, <i>draw home to me the man I +love</i>!</p> +<p>Lo, I will crush an eft, and a venomous draught to-morrow I +will bring thee!</p> +<p>But now, Thestylis, take these magic herbs and secretly smear +the juice on the jambs of his gate (whereat, even now, my heart +is captive, though nothing he recks of me), and spit and whisper, +‘’Tis the bones of Delphis that I smear.’</p> +<p><i>My magic wheel</i>, <i>draw home to me the man I +love</i>!</p> +<p>And now that I am alone, whence shall I begin to bewail my +love? Whence shall I take up the tale: who brought on me +this sorrow? The maiden-bearer of the mystic vessel came +our way, Anaxo, daughter of Eubulus, to the grove of Artemis; and +behold, she had many other wild beasts paraded for that <a +name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 15</span>time, in the +sacred show, and among them a lioness.</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p>And the Thracian servant of Theucharidas,—my nurse that +is but lately dead, and who then dwelt at our +doors,—besought me and implored me to come and see the +show. And I went with her, wretched woman that I am, clad +about in a fair and sweeping linen stole, over which I had thrown +the holiday dress of Clearista.</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p>Lo! I was now come to the mid-point of the highway, near +the dwelling of Lycon, and there I saw Delphis and Eudamippus +walking together. Their beards were more golden than the +golden flower of the ivy; their breasts (they coming fresh from +the glorious wrestler’s toil) were brighter of sheen than +thyself Selene!</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p>Even as I looked I loved, loved madly, and all my heart was +wounded, woe is me, and my beauty began to wane. No more +heed took I of that show, and how I came home I know not; but +some parching fever utterly overthrew me, and I lay a-bed ten +days and ten nights.</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 16</span>And +oftentimes my skin waxed wan as the colour of boxwood, and all my +hair was falling from my head, and what was left of me was but +skin and bones. Was there a wizard to whom I did not seek, +or a crone to whose house I did not resort, of them that have art +magical? But this was no light malady, and the time went +fleeting on.</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p>Thus I told the true story to my maiden, and said, ‘Go, +Thestylis, and find me some remedy for this sore disease. +Ah me, the Myndian possesses me, body and soul! Nay, +depart, and watch by the wrestling-ground of Timagetus, for there +is his resort, and there he loves to loiter.</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p>‘And when thou art sure he is alone, nod to him +secretly, and say, “Simaetha bids thee to come to +her,” and lead him hither privily.’ So I spoke; +and she went and brought the bright-limbed Delphis to my +house. But I, when I beheld him just crossing the threshold +of the door, with his light step,—</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p>Grew colder all than snow, and the sweat streamed from my brow +like the dank dews, and I had no strength to speak, nay, nor to +<a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 17</span>utter as +much as children murmur in their slumber, calling to their mother +dear: and all my fair body turned stiff as a puppet of wax.</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p>Then when he had gazed on me, he that knows not love, he fixed +his eyes on the ground, and sat down on my bed, and spake as he +sat him down: ‘Truly, Simaetha, thou didst by no more +outrun mine own coming hither, when thou badst me to thy roof, +than of late I outran in the race the beautiful Philinus:</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p>‘For I should have come; yea, by sweet Love, I should +have come, with friends of mine, two or three, as soon as night +drew on, bearing in my breast the apples of Dionysus, and on my +head silvery poplar leaves, the holy boughs of Heracles, all +twined with bands of purple.</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p>‘And if you had received me, they would have taken it +well, for among all the youths unwed I have a name for beauty and +speed of foot. With one kiss of thy lovely mouth I had been +content; but an if ye had thrust me forth, and the door had been +fastened with the bar, then truly should torch and axe have +broken in upon you.</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>‘And now to Cypris first, methinks, my thanks are +due, and after Cypris it is thou that hast caught me, lady, from +the burning, in that thou badst me come to this thy house, half +consumed as I am! Yea, Love, ’tis plain, lights oft a +fiercer blaze than Hephaestus the God of Lipara.</p> +<p><i>Bethink thee of my love</i>, <i>and whence it came</i>, +<i>my Lady Moon</i>!</p> +<p>‘With his madness dire, he scares both the maiden from +her bower and the bride from the bridal bed, yet warm with the +body of her lord!’</p> +<p>So he spake, and I, that was easy to win, took his hand, and +drew him down on the soft bed beside me. And immediately +body from body caught fire, and our faces glowed as they had not +done, and sweetly we murmured. And now, dear Selene, to +tell thee no long tale, the great rites were accomplished, and we +twain came to our desire. Faultless was I in his sight, +till yesterday, and he, again, in mine. But there came to +me the mother of Philista, my flute player, and the mother of +Melixo, to-day, when the horses of the Sun were climbing the sky, +bearing Dawn of the rosy arms from the ocean stream. Many +another thing she told me; and chiefly this, that Delphis is a +lover, and whom he loves she vowed she knew not surely, but this +only, that ever he filled up his cup with the unmixed wine, to +drink a toast to his dearest. And at last he went off +hastily, <a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +19</span>saying that he would cover with garlands the dwelling of +his love.</p> +<p>This news my visitor told me, and she speaks the truth. +For indeed, at other seasons, he would come to me thrice, or four +times, in the day, and often would leave with me his Dorian oil +flask. But now it is the twelfth day since I have even +looked on him! Can it be that he has not some other +delight, and has forgotten me? Now with magic rites I will +strive to bind him, <a name="citation19"></a><a +href="#footnote19" class="citation">[19]</a> but if still he +vexes me, he shall beat, by the Fates I vow it, at the gate of +Hell. Such evil medicines I store against him in a certain +coffer, the use whereof, my lady, an Assyrian stranger taught +me.</p> +<p>But do thou farewell, and turn thy steeds to Ocean, Lady, and +my pain I will bear, as even till now I have endured it. +Farewell, Selene bright and fair, farewell ye other stars, that +follow the wheels of quiet Night.</p> +<h3><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 20</span>IDYL +III</h3> +<p><i>A goatherd</i>, <i>leaving his goats to feed on the +hillside</i>, <i>in the charge of Tityrus</i>, <i>approaches the +cavern of Amaryllis</i>, <i>with its veil of ferns and ivy</i>, +<i>and attempts to win back the heart of the girl by +song</i>. <i>He mingles promises with harmless threats</i>, +<i>and repeats</i>, <i>in exquisite verses</i>, <i>the names of +the famous lovers of old days</i>, <i>Milanion and +Endymion</i>. <i>Failing to move Amaryllis</i>, <i>the +goatherd threatens to die where he has thrown himself down</i>, +<i>beneath the trees</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Courting</span> Amaryllis with song I go, +while my she-goats feed on the hill, and Tityrus herds +them. Ah, Tityrus, my dearly beloved, feed thou the goats, +and to the well-side lead them, Tityrus, and ’ware the +yellow Libyan he-goat, lest he butt thee with his horns.</p> +<p>Ah, lovely Amaryllis, why no more, as of old, dust thou glance +through this cavern after me, nor callest me, thy sweetheart, to +thy side. Can it be that thou hatest me? Do I seem +snub-nosed, now thou hast seen me near, maiden, and +under-hung? Thou wilt make me strangle myself!</p> +<p>Lo, ten apples I bring thee, plucked from that very place +where thou didst bid me <a name="page21"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 21</span>pluck them, and others to-morrow I +will bring thee.</p> +<p>Ah, regard my heart’s deep sorrow! ah, would I were that +humming bee, and to thy cave might come dipping beneath the fern +that hides thee, and the ivy leaves!</p> +<p>Now know I Love, and a cruel God is he. Surely he sucked +the lioness’s dug, and in the wild wood his mother reared +him, whose fire is scorching me, and bites even to the bone.</p> +<p>Ah, lovely as thou art to look upon, ah heart of stone, ah +dark-browed maiden, embrace me, thy true goatherd, that I may +kiss thee, and even in empty kisses there is a sweet delight!</p> +<p>Soon wilt thou make me rend the wreath in pieces small, the +wreath of ivy, dear Amaryllis, that I keep for thee, with +rose-buds twined, and fragrant parsley. Ah me, what +anguish! Wretched that I am, whither shall I turn! +Thou dust not hear my prayer!</p> +<p>I will cast off my coat of skins, and into yonder waves I will +spring, where the fisher Olpis watches for the tunny shoals, and +even if I die not, surely thy pleasure will have been done.</p> +<p>I learned the truth of old, when, amid thoughts of thee, I +asked, ‘Loves she, loves she not?’ and the poppy +petal clung not, and gave no crackling sound, but withered on my +smooth forearm, even so. <a name="citation21"></a><a +href="#footnote21" class="citation">[21]</a></p> +<p>And she too spoke sooth, even Agroeo, she that divineth with a +sieve, and of late was binding sheaves behind the reapers, who +said that <a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>I had set all my heart on thee, but that thou didst +nothing regard me.</p> +<p>Truly I keep for thee the white goat with the twin kids that +Mermnon’s daughter too, the brown-skinned Erithacis, prays +me to give her; and give her them I will, since thou dost flout +me.</p> +<p>My right eyelid throbs, is it a sign that I am to see +her? Here will I lean me against this pine tree, and sing, +and then perchance she will regard me, for she is not all of +adamant.</p> +<p>Lo, Hippomenes when he was eager to marry the famous maiden, +took apples in his hand, and so accomplished his course; and +Atalanta saw, and madly longed, and leaped into the deep waters +of desire. Melampus too, the soothsayer, brought the herd +of oxen from Othrys to Pylos, and thus in the arms of Bias was +laid the lovely mother of wise Alphesiboea.</p> +<p>And was it not thus that Adonis, as he pastured his sheep upon +the hills, led beautiful Cytherea to such heights of frenzy, that +not even in his death doth she unclasp him from her bosom? +Blessed, methinks is the lot of him that sleeps, and tosses not, +nor turns, even Endymion; and, dearest maiden, blessed I call +Iason, whom such things befell, as ye that be profane shall never +come to know.</p> +<p>My head aches, but thou carest not. I will sing no more, +but dead will I lie where I fall, and here may the wolves devour +me.</p> +<p>Sweet as honey in the mouth may my death be to thee.</p> +<h3><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 23</span>IDYL +IV</h3> +<p><i>Battus and Corydon</i>, <i>two rustic fellows</i>, +<i>meeting in a glade</i>, <i>gossip about their neighbour</i>, +<i>Aegon</i>, <i>who has gone to try his fortune at the Olympic +games</i>. <i>After some random banter</i>, <i>the talk +turns on the death of Amaryllis</i>, <i>and the grief of Battus +is disturbed by the roaming of his cattle</i>. <i>Corydon +removes a thorn that has run into his friend’s foot</i>, +<i>and the conversation comes back to matters of rural +scandal</i>.</p> +<p><i>The scene is in Southern Italy</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Tell me, Corydon, whose kine are +these,—the cattle of Philondas?</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. Nay, they are Aegon’s, he gave me +them to pasture.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Dost thou ever find a way to milk them +all, on the sly, just before evening?</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. No chance of that, for the old man puts +the calves beneath their dams, and keeps watch on me.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. But the neatherd himself,—to what +land has he passed out of sight?</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. Hast thou not heard? Milon went +and carried him off to the Alpheus.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. And when, pray, did <i>he</i> ever set +eyes on the wrestlers’ oil?</p> +<p><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +24</span><i>Corydon</i>. They say he is a match for +Heracles, in strength and hardihood.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. And I, so mother says, am a better man +than Polydeuces.</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. Well, off he has gone, with a shovel, +and with twenty sheep from his flock here. <a +name="citation24"></a><a href="#footnote24" +class="citation">[24]</a></p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Milo, thou’lt see, will soon be +coaxing the wolves to rave!</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. But Aegon’s heifers here are +lowing pitifully, and miss their master.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Yes, wretched beasts that they are, how +false a neatherd was theirs!</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. Wretched enough in truth, and they have +no more care to pasture.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Nothing is left, now, of that heifer, +look you, bones, that’s all. She does not live on +dewdrops, does she, like the grasshopper?</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. No, by Earth, for sometimes I take her +to graze by the banks of Aesarus, fair handfuls of fresh grass I +give her too, and otherwhiles she wantons in the deep shade round +Latymnus.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. How lean is the red bull too! May +the sons of Lampriades, the burghers to wit, get such another for +their sacrifice to Hera, for the township is an ill +neighbour.</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. And yet that bull is driven to the +mere’s mouth, and to the meadows of Physcus, and to the +Neaethus, where all fair herbs bloom, red goat-wort, and endive, +and fragrant bees-wort.</p> +<p><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span><i>Battus</i>. Ah, wretched Aegon, thy very kine +will go to Hades, while thou too art in love with a luckless +victory, and thy pipe is flecked with mildew, the pipe that once +thou madest for thyself!</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. Not the pipe, by the nymphs, not so, for +when he went to Pisa, he left the same as a gift to me, and I am +something of a player. Well can I strike up the air of +<i>Glaucé</i> and well the strain of <i>Pyrrhus</i>, and +<i>the praise of Croton I sing</i>, and <i>Zacynthus is a goodly +town</i>, and <i>Lacinium that fronts the dawn</i>! There +Aegon the boxer, unaided, devoured eighty cakes to his own share, +and there he caught the bull by the hoof, and brought him from +the mountain, and gave him to Amaryllis. Thereon the women +shrieked aloud, and the neatherd,—he burst out +laughing.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Ah, gracious Amaryllis! Thee alone +even in death will we ne’er forget. Dear to me as my +goats wert thou, and thou art dead! Alas, too cruel a +spirit hath my lot in his keeping.</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. Dear Battus, thou must needs be +comforted. The morrow perchance will bring better +fortune. The living may hope, the dead alone are +hopeless. Zeus now shows bright and clear, and anon he +rains.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Enough of thy comforting! Drive the +calves from the lower ground, the cursed beasts are grazing on +the olive-shoots. Hie on, white face.</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. Out, Cymaetha, get thee to the <a +name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>hill! +Dost thou not hear? By Pan, I will soon come and be the +death of you, if you stay there! Look, here she is creeping +back again! Would I had my crook for hare killing: how I +would cudgel thee.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. In the name of Zeus, prithee look here, +Corydon! A thorn has just run into my foot under the +ankle. How deep they grow, the arrow-headed thorns. +An ill end befall the heifer; I was pricked when I was gaping +after her. Prithee dost see it?</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. Yes, yes, and I have caught it in my +nails, see, here it is.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. How tiny is the wound, and how tall a man +it masters!</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. When thou goest to the hill, go not +barefoot, Battus, for on the hillside flourish thorns and +brambles plenty.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Come, tell me, Corydon, the old man now, +does he still run after that little black-browed darling whom he +used to dote on?</p> +<p><i>Corydon</i>. He is after her still, my lad; but +yesterday I came upon them, by the very byre, and right loving +were they.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Well done, thou ancient lover! +Sure, thou art near akin to the satyrs, or a rival of the +slim-shanked Pans! <a name="citation26"></a><a href="#footnote26" +class="citation">[26]</a></p> +<h3><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>IDYL +V</h3> +<p><i>This Idyl begins with a ribald debate between two +hirelings</i>, <i>who</i>, <i>at last</i>, <i>compete with each +other in a match of pastoral song</i>. <i>No other idyl of +Theocritus is so frankly true to the rough side of rustic +manners</i>. <i>The scene is in Southern Italy</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Goats of mine, keep clear of that +notorious shepherd of Sibyrtas, that Lacon; he stole my goat-skin +yesterday.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Will ye never leave the well-head? +Off, my lambs, see ye not Comatas; him that lately stole my +shepherd’s pipe?</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. What manner of pipe might that be, for +when gat’st <i>thou</i> a pipe, thou slave of +Sibyrtas? Why does it no more suffice thee to keep a flute +of straw, and whistle with Corydon?</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. What pipe, free sir? why, the pipe that +Lycon gave me. And what manner of goat-skin hadst thou, +that Lacon made off with? Tell me, Comatas, for truly even +thy master, Eumarides, had never a goat-skin to sleep in.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. ’Twas the skin that Crocylus gave +me, the dappled one, when he sacrificed the she-goat to the +nymphs; but thou, wretch, <a name="page28"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 28</span>even then wert wasting with envy, and +now, at last, thou hast stripped me bare!</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Nay verily, so help me Pan of the +seashore, it was not Lacon the son of Calaethis that filched the +coat of skin. If I lie, sirrah, may I leap frenzied down +this rock into the Crathis!</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Nay verily, my friend, so help me these +nymphs of the mere (and ever may they be favourable, as now, and +kind to me), it was not Comatas that pilfered thy pipe.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. If I believe thee, may I suffer the +afflictions of Daphnis! But see, if thou carest to stake a +kid—though indeed ’tis scarce worth my +while—then, go to, I will sing against thee, and cease not, +till thou dust cry ‘enough!’</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. <i>The sow defied Athene</i>! See, +there is staked the kid, go to, do thou too put a fatted lamb +against him, for thy stake.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Thou fox, and where would be our even +betting then? Who ever chose hair to shear, in place of +wool? and who prefers to milk a filthy bitch, when he can have a +she-goat, nursing her first kid?</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Why, he that deems himself as sure of +getting the better of his neighbour as thou dost, a wasp that +buzzes against the cicala. But as it is plain thou thinkst +the kid no fair stake, lo, here is this he-goat. Begin the +match!</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. No such haste, thou art not on fire! +More sweetly wilt thou sing, if thou wilt sit down beneath the +wild olive tree, and the <a name="page29"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 29</span>groves in this place. Chill +water falls there, drop by drop, here grows the grass, and here a +leafy bed is strown, and here the locusts prattle.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Nay, no whit am I in haste, but I am +sorely vexed, that thou shouldst dare to look me straight in the +face, thou whom I used to teach while thou wert still a +child. See where gratitude goes! As well rear +wolf-whelps, breed hounds, that they may devour thee!</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. And what good thing have I to remember +that I ever learned or heard from thee, thou envious thing, thou +mere hideous manikin!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">. . . . .</p> +<p>But come this way, come, and thou shalt sing thy last of +country song.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. That way I will not go! Here be +oak trees, and here the galingale, and sweetly here hum the bees +about the hives. There are two wells of chill water, and on +the tree the birds are warbling, and the shadow is beyond compare +with that where thou liest, and from on high the pine tree pelts +us with her cones.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Nay, but lambs’ wool, truly, and +fleeces, shalt thou tread here, if thou wilt but +come,—fleeces more soft than sleep, but the goat-skins +beside thee stink—worse than thyself. And I will set +a great bowl of white milk for the nymphs, and another will I +offer of sweet olive oil.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Nay, but an if thou wilt come, <a +name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>thou shalt +tread here the soft feathered fern, and flowering thyme, and +beneath thee shall be strown the skins of she-goats, four times +more soft than the fleeces of thy lambs. And I will set out +eight bowls of milk for Pan, and eight bowls full of the richest +honeycombs.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Thence, where thou art, I pray thee, begin +the match, and there sing thy country song, tread thine own +ground and keep thine oaks to thyself. But who, who shall +judge between us? Would that Lycopas, the neatherd, might +chance to come this way!</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. I want nothing with him, but that man, +if thou wilt, that woodcutter we will call, who is gathering +those tufts of heather near thee. It is Morson.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Let us shout, then!</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Call thou to him.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Ho, friend, come hither and listen for a +little while, for we two have a match to prove which is the +better singer of country song. So Morson, my friend, +neither judge me too kindly, no, nor show him favour.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Yes, dear Morson, for the nymphs’ +sake neither lean in thy judgment to Comatas, nor, prithee, +favour <i>him</i>. The flock of sheep thou seest here +belongs to Sibyrtas of Thurii, and the goats, friend, that thou +beholdest are the goats of Eumarides of Sybaris.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Now, in the name of Zeus did any one ask +thee, thou make-mischief, who owned the flock, I or +Sibyrtas? What a chatterer thou art!</p> +<p><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +31</span><i>Comatas</i>. Best of men, I am for speaking the +whole truth, and boasting never, but thou art too fond of cutting +speeches.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Come, say whatever thou hast to say, and +let the stranger get home to the city alive; oh, Paean, what a +babbler thou art, Comatas!</p> +<h4><span class="smcap">The Singing Match</span>.</h4> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. The Muses love me better far than the +minstrel Daphnis; but a little while ago I sacrificed two young +she-goats to the Muses.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Yea, and me too Apollo loves very dearly, +and a noble ram I rear for Apollo, for the feast of the Carnea, +look you, is drawing nigh.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. The she-goats that I milk have all borne +twins save two. The maiden saw me, and ‘alas,’ +she cried, ‘dost thou milk alone?’</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Ah, ah, but Lacon here hath nigh twenty +baskets full of cheese, and Lacon lies with his darling in the +flowers!</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Clearista, too, pelts the goatherd with +apples as he drives past his she-goats, and a sweet word she +murmurs.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. And wild with love am I too, for my fair +young darling, that meets the shepherd, with the bright hair +floating round the shapely neck.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Nay, ye may not liken dog-roses to the +rose, or wind-flowers to the roses of the garden; by the garden +walls their beds are blossoming.</p> +<p><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +32</span><i>Lacon</i>. Nay, nor wild apples to acorns, for +acorns are bitter in the oaken rind, but apples are sweet as +honey.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Soon will I give my maiden a ring-dove +for a gift; I will take it from the juniper tree, for there it is +brooding.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. But I will give my darling a soft fleece +to make a cloak, a free gift, when I shear the black ewe.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Forth from the wild olive, my bleating +she-goats, feed here where the hillside slopes, and the tamarisks +grove.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Conarus there, and Cynaetha, will you +never leave the oak? Graze here, where Phalarus feeds, +where the hillside fronts the dawn.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Ay, and I have a vessel of cypress wood, +and a mixing bowl, the work of Praxiteles, and I hoard them for +my maiden.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. I too have a dog that loves the flock, the +dog to strangle wolves; him I am giving to my darling to chase +all manner of wild beasts.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Ye locusts that overleap our fence, see +that ye harm not our vines, for our vines are young.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Ye cicalas, see how I make the goatherd +chafe: even so, methinks, do ye vex the reapers.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. I hate the foxes, with their bushy +brushes, that ever come at evening, and eat the grapes of +Micon.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. And I hate the lady-birds that <a +name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>devour the +figs of Philondas, and flit down the wind.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Dost thou not remember how I cudgelled +thee, and thou didst grin and nimbly writhe, and catch hold of +yonder oak?</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. That I have no memory of, but how +Eumarides bound thee there, upon a time, and flogged thee through +and through, that I do very well remember.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Already, Morson, some one is waxing +bitter, dust thou see no sign of it? Go, go, and pluck, +forthwith, the squills from some old wife’s grave.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. And I too, Morson, I make some one chafe, +and thou dost perceive it. Be off now to the Hales stream, +and dig cyclamen.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Let Himera flow with milk instead of +water, and thou, Crathis, run red with wine, and all thy reeds +bear apples.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. Would that the fount of Sybaris may flow +with honey, and may the maiden’s pail, at dawning, be +dipped, not in water, but in the honeycomb.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. My goats eat cytisus, and goatswort, and +tread the lentisk shoots, and lie at ease among the arbutus.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. But my ewes have honey-wort to feed on, +and luxuriant creepers flower around, as fair as roses.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. I love not Alcippe, for yesterday she +did not kiss me, and take my face between her hands, when I gave +her the dove.</p> +<p><i>Lacon</i>. But deeply I love my darling, for a <a +name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>kind kiss +once I got, in return for the gift of a shepherd’s +pipe.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. Lacon, it never was right that pyes +should contend with the nightingale, nor hoopoes with swans, but +thou, unhappy swain, art ever for contention.</p> +<p><i>Morson’s Judgement</i>. I bid the shepherd +cease. But to thee, Comatas, Morson presents the +lamb. And thou, when thou hast sacrificed her to the +nymphs, send Morson, anon, a goodly portion of her flesh.</p> +<p><i>Comatas</i>. I will, by Pan. Now leap, and +snort, my he-goats, all the herd of you, and see here how loud I +ever will laugh, and exult over Lacon, the shepherd, for that, at +last, I have won the lamb. See, I will leap sky high with +joy. Take heart, my horned goats, to-morrow I will dip you +all in the fountain of Sybaris. Thou white he-goat, I will +beat thee if thou dare to touch one of the herd before I +sacrifice the lamb to the nymphs. There he is at it +again! Call me Melanthius, <a name="citation34"></a><a +href="#footnote34" class="citation">[34]</a> not Comatas, if I do +not cudgel thee.</p> +<h3><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>IDYL +VI</h3> +<p><i>Daphnis and Damoetas</i>, <i>two herdsmen of the golden +age</i>, <i>meet by a well-side</i>, <i>and sing a match</i>, +<i>their topic is the Cyclops</i>, <i>Polyphemus</i>, <i>and his +love for the sea-nymph</i>, <i>Galatea</i>.</p> +<p><i>The scene is in Sicily</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Damoetas</span>, and Daphnis the herdsman, +once on a time, Aratus, led the flock together into one +place. Golden was the down on the chin of one, the beard of +the other was half-grown, and by a well-head the twain sat them +down, in the summer noon, and thus they sang. ’Twas +Daphnis that began the singing, for the challenge had come from +Daphnis.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Daphnis’s Song of the +Cyclops</i>.</p> +<p>Galatea is pelting thy flock with apples, Polyphemus, she says +the goatherd is a laggard lover! And thou dost not glance +at her, oh hard, hard that thou art, but still thou sittest at +thy sweet piping. Ah see, again, she is pelting thy dog, +that follows thee to watch thy sheep. He barks, as he looks +into the brine, and now the beautiful waves that softly plash <a +name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>reveal him, +<a name="citation36"></a><a href="#footnote36" +class="citation">[36]</a> as he runs upon the shore. Take +heed that he leap not on the maiden’s limbs as she rises +from the salt water, see that he rend not her lovely body! +Ah, thence again, see, she is wantoning, light as dry +thistle-down in the scorching summer weather. She flies +when thou art wooing her; when thou woo’st not she pursues +thee, she plays out all her game and leaves her king +unguarded. For truly to Love, Polyphemus, many a time doth +foul seem fair!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>He ended and Damoetas touched a +prelude to his sweet song</i>.</p> +<p>I saw her, by Pan, I saw her when she was pelting my +flock. Nay, she escaped not me, escaped not my one dear +eye,—wherewith I shall see to my life’s +end,—let Telemus the soothsayer, that prophesies hateful +things, hateful things take home, to keep them for his +children! But it is all to torment her, that I, in my turn, +give not back her glances, pretending that I have another +love. To hear this makes her jealous of me, by Paean, and +she wastes with pain, and springs madly from the sea, gazing at +my caves and at my herds. And I hiss on my dog to bark at +her, for when I loved Galatea he would whine with joy, and lay +his muzzle on her lap. Perchance when she marks how I use +her she will send me many a messenger, but on her envoys I will +<a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>shut my +door till she promises that herself will make a glorious +bridal-bed on this island for me. For in truth, I am not so +hideous as they say! But lately I was looking into the sea, +when all was calm; beautiful seemed my beard, beautiful my one +eye—as I count beauty—and the sea reflected the gleam +of my teeth whiter than the Parian stone. Then, all to shun +the evil eye, did I spit thrice in my breast; for this spell was +taught me by the crone, Cottytaris, that piped of yore to the +reapers in Hippocoon’s field.</p> +<p>Then Damoetas kissed Daphnis, as he ended his song, and he +gave Daphnis a pipe, and Daphnis gave him a beautiful +flute. Damoetas fluted, and Daphnis piped, the +herdsman,—and anon the calves were dancing in the soft +green grass. Neither won the victory, but both were +invincible.</p> +<h3><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 38</span>IDYL +VII</h3> +<p><i>The poet making his way through the noonday heat</i>, +<i>with two friends</i>, <i>to a harvest feast</i>, <i>meets the +goatherd</i>, <i>Lycidas</i>. <i>To humour the poet Lycidas +sings a love song of his own</i>, <i>and the other replies with +verses about the passion of Aratus</i>, <i>the famous writer of +didactic verse</i>. <i>After a courteous parting from +Lycidas</i>, <i>the poet and his two friends repair to the +orchard</i>, <i>where Demeter is being gratified with the +first-fruits of harvest and vintaging</i>.</p> +<p><i>In this idyl</i>, <i>Theocritus</i>, <i>speaking of himself +by the name of Simichidas</i>, <i>alludes to his teachers in +poetry</i>, <i>and</i>, <i>perhaps</i>, <i>to some of the +literary quarrels of the time</i>.</p> +<p><i>The scene is in the isle of Cos</i>. <i>G. Hermann +fancied that the scene was in Lucania</i>, <i>and Mr. W. R. Paton +thinks he can identify the places named by the aid of +inscriptions</i> (Classical Review, ii. 8, 265). <i>See +also Rayet</i>, Mémoire sur l’île de Cos, p. +18, <i>Paris</i>, 1876.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Harvest Feast</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> fell upon a time when Eucritus +and I were walking from the city to the Hales water, and Amyntas +was the third in our company. The harvest-feast of Deo was +then being held by Phrasidemus and Antigenes, two sons of +Lycopeus (if aught there be of noble and old descent), <a +name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>whose lineage +dates from Clytia, and Chalcon himself—Chalcon, beneath +whose foot the fountain sprang, the well of Buriné. +He set his knee stoutly against the rock, and straightway by the +spring poplars and elm trees showed a shadowy glade, arched +overhead they grew, and pleached with leaves of green. We +had not yet reached the mid-point of the way, nor was the tomb of +Brasilas yet risen upon our sight, when,—thanks be to the +Muses—we met a certain wayfarer, the best of men, a +Cydonian. Lycidas was his name, a goatherd was he, nor +could any that saw him have taken him for other than he was, for +all about him bespoke the goatherd. Stripped from the +roughest of he-goats was the tawny skin he wore on his shoulders, +the smell of rennet clinging to it still, and about his breast an +old cloak was buckled with a plaited belt, and in his right hand +he carried a crooked staff of wild olive: and quietly he accosted +me, with a smile, a twinkling eye, and a laugh still on his +lips:—</p> +<p>‘Simichidas, whither, pray, through the noon dost thou +trail thy feet, when even the very lizard on the rough stone wall +is sleeping, and the crested larks no longer fare afield? +Art thou hastening to a feast, a bidden guest, or art thou for +treading a townsman’s wine-press? For such is thy +speed that every stone upon the way spins singing from thy +boots!’</p> +<p>‘Dear Lycidas,’ I answered him, ‘they all +say that thou among herdsmen, yea, and reapers art far the +chiefest flute-player. In sooth this <a +name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>greatly +rejoices our hearts, and yet, to my conceit, meseems I can vie +with thee. But as to this journey, we are going to the +harvest-feast, for, look you some friends of ours are paying a +festival to fair-robed Demeter, out of the first-fruits of their +increase, for verily in rich measure has the goddess filled their +threshing-floor with barley grain. But come, for the way +and the day are thine alike and mine, come, let us vie in +pastoral song, perchance each will make the other delight. +For I, too, am a clear-voiced mouth of the Muses, and they all +call me the best of minstrels, but I am not so credulous; no, by +Earth, for to my mind I cannot as yet conquer in song that great +Sicelidas—the Samian—nay, nor yet Philetas. +’Tis a match of frog against cicala!’</p> +<p>So I spoke, to win my end, and the goatherd with his sweet +laugh, said, ‘I give thee this staff, because thou art a +sapling of Zeus, and in thee is no guile. For as I hate +your builders that try to raise a house as high as the mountain +summit of Oromedon, <a name="citation40"></a><a +href="#footnote40" class="citation">[40]</a> so I hate all birds +of the Muses that vainly toil with their cackling notes against +the Minstrel of Chios! But come, Simichidas, without more +ado let us begin the pastoral song. And I—nay, see +friend—if it please thee at all, this ditty that I lately +fashioned on the mountain side!’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page41"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 41</span><i>The Song of Lycidas</i>.</p> +<p>Fair voyaging befall Ageanax to Mytilene, both when the +<i>Kids</i> are westering, and the south wind the wet waves +chases, and when Orion holds his feet above the Ocean! Fair +voyaging betide him, if he saves Lycidas from the fire of +Aphrodite, for hot is the love that consumes me.</p> +<p>The halcyons will lull the waves, and lull the deep, and the +south wind, and the east, that stirs the sea-weeds on the +farthest shores, <a name="citation41"></a><a href="#footnote41" +class="citation">[41]</a> the halcyons that are dearest to the +green-haired mermaids, of all the birds that take their prey from +the salt sea. Let all things smile on Ageanax to Mytilene +sailing, and may he come to a friendly haven. And I, on +that day, will go crowned with anise, or with a rosy wreath, or a +garland of white violets, and the fine wine of Ptelea I will dip +from the bowl as I lie by the fire, while one shall roast beans +for me, in the embers. And elbow-deep shall the flowery bed +be thickly strewn, with fragrant leaves and with asphodel, and +with curled parsley; and softly will I drink, toasting Ageanax +with lips clinging fast to the cup, and draining it even to the +lees.</p> +<p>Two shepherds shall be my flute-players, one from Acharnae, +one from Lycope, and hard by <a name="page42"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 42</span>Tityrus shall sing, how the herdsman +Daphnis once loved a strange maiden, and how on the hill he +wandered, and how the oak trees sang his dirge—the oaks +that grow by the banks of the river Himeras—while he was +wasting like any snow under high Haemus, or Athos, or Rhodope, or +Caucasus at the world’s end.</p> +<p>And he shall sing how, once upon a time, the great chest +prisoned the living goatherd, by his lord’s infatuate and +evil will, and how the blunt-faced bees, as they came up from the +meadow to the fragrant cedar chest, fed him with food of tender +flowers, because the Muse still dropped sweet nectar on his lips. +<a name="citation42"></a><a href="#footnote42" +class="citation">[42]</a></p> +<p>O blessed Comatas, surely these joyful things befell thee, and +thou wast enclosed within the chest, and feeding on the honeycomb +through the springtime didst thou serve out thy bondage. +Ah, would that in my days thou hadst been numbered with the +living, how gladly on the hills would I have herded thy pretty +she-goats, and listened to thy voice, whilst thou, under oaks or +pine trees lying, didst sweetly sing, divine Comatas!</p> +<p>When he had chanted thus much he ceased, <a +name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>and I +followed after him again, with some such words as +these:—</p> +<p>‘Dear Lycidas, many another song the Nymphs have taught +me also, as I followed my herds upon the hillside, bright songs +that Rumour, perchance, has brought even to the throne of +Zeus. But of them all this is far the most excellent, +wherewith I will begin to do thee honour: nay listen as thou art +dear to the Muses.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Song of Simichidas</i>.</p> +<p>For Simichidas the Loves have sneezed, for truly the wretch +loves Myrto as dearly as goats love the spring. <a +name="citation43"></a><a href="#footnote43" +class="citation">[43]</a> But Aratus, far the dearest of my +friends, deep, deep his heart he keeps Desire,—and +Aratus’s love is young! Aristis knows it, an +honourable man, nay of men the best, whom even Phoebus would +permit to stand and sing lyre in hand, by his tripods. +Aristis knows how deeply love is burning Aratus to the +bone. Ah, Pan, thou lord of the beautiful plain of Homole, +bring, I pray thee, the darling of Aratus unbidden to his arms, +whosoe’er it be that he loves. If this thou dost, +dear Pan, then never may the boys of Arcady flog thy sides and +shoulders with stinging herbs, when scanty meats are left them on +thine altar. But if thou shouldst otherwise decree, then +may all thy skin be frayed and torn with thy nails, yea, and in +nettles mayst <a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +44</span>thou couch! In the hills of the Edonians mayst +thou dwell in mid-winter time, by the river Hebrus, close +neighbour to the Polar star! But in summer mayst thou range +with the uttermost Æthiopians beneath the rock of the +Blemyes, whence Nile no more is seen.</p> +<p>And you, leave ye the sweet fountain of Hyetis and Byblis, and +ye that dwell in the steep home of golden Dione, ye Loves as rosy +as red apples, strike me with your arrows, the desired, the +beloved; strike, for that ill-starred one pities not my friend, +my host! And yet assuredly the pear is over-ripe, and the +maidens cry ‘alas, alas, thy fair bloom fades +away!’</p> +<p>Come, no more let us mount guard by these gates, Aratus, nor +wear our feet away with knocking there. Nay, let the +crowing of the morning cock give others over to the bitter cold +of dawn. Let Molon alone, my friend, bear the torment at +that school of passion! For us, let us secure a quiet life, +and some old crone to spit on us for luck, and so keep all +unlovely things away.</p> +<p>Thus I sang, and sweetly smiling, as before, he gave me the +staff, a pledge of brotherhood in the Muses. Then he bent +his way to the left, and took the road to Pyxa, while I and +Eucritus, with beautiful Amyntas, turned to the farm of +Phrasidemus. There we reclined on deep beds of fragrant +lentisk, lowly strown, and rejoicing we lay in new stript leaves +of the vine. And high above our heads waved many a poplar, +many an elm tree, while close at hand <a name="page45"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 45</span>the sacred water from the +nymphs’ own cave welled forth with murmurs musical. +On shadowy boughs the burnt cicalas kept their chattering toil, +far off the little owl cried in the thick thorn brake, the larks +and finches were singing, the ring-dove moaned, the yellow bees +were flitting about the springs. All breathed the scent of +the opulent summer, of the season of fruits; pears at our feet +and apples by our sides were rolling plentiful, the tender +branches, with wild plums laden, were earthward bowed, and the +four-year-old pitch seal was loosened from the mouth of the +wine-jars.</p> +<p>Ye nymphs of Castaly that hold the steep of Parnassus, say, +was it ever a bowl like this that old Chiron set before Heracles +in the rocky cave of Pholus? Was it nectar like this that +beguiled the shepherd to dance and foot it about his folds, the +shepherd that dwelt by Anapus, on a time, the strong Polyphemus +who hurled at ships with mountains? Had these ever such a +draught as ye nymphs bade flow for us by the altar of Demeter of +the threshing-floor?</p> +<p>Ah, once again may I plant the great fan on her corn-heap, +while she stands smiling by, with sheaves and poppies in her +hands.</p> +<h3><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>IDYL +VIII</h3> +<p><i>The scene is among the high mountain pastures of +Sicily</i>:—</p> +<p class="poetry">‘<i>On the sward</i>, <i>at the cliff +top</i><br /> +<i>Lie strewn the white flocks</i>;’</p> +<p><i>and far below shines and murmurs the Sicilian +sea</i>. <i>Here Daphnis and Menalcas</i>, <i>two herdsmen +of the golden age</i>, <i>meet</i>, <i>while still in their +earliest youth</i>, <i>and contend for the prize of +pastoral</i>. <i>Their songs</i>, <i>in elegiac +measure</i>, <i>are variations on the themes of love and +friendship</i> (<i>for Menalcas sings of Milon</i>, <i>Daphnis of +Nais</i>), <i>and of nature</i>. <i>Daphnis is the +winner</i>; <i>it is his earliest victory</i>, <i>and the prelude +to his great renown among nymphs and shepherds</i>. <i>In +this version the strophes are arranged as in Fritzsche’s +text</i>. <i>Some critics take the poem to be a patchwork +by various hands</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">As</span> beautiful Daphnis was following +his kine, and Menalcas shepherding his flock, they met, as men +tell, on the long ranges of the hills. The beards of both +had still the first golden bloom, both were in their earliest +youth, both were pipe-players skilled, both skilled in +song. Then first Menalcas, looking at Daphnis, thus bespoke +him.</p> +<p>‘Daphnis, thou herdsman of the lowing kine, <a +name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span>art thou +minded to sing a match with me? Methinks I shall vanquish +thee, when I sing in turn, as readily as I please.’</p> +<p>Then Daphnis answered him again in this wise, ‘Thou +shepherd of the fleecy sheep, Menalcas, the pipe-player, never +wilt thou vanquish me in song, not thou, if thou shouldst sing +till some evil thing befall thee!’</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i>. Dost thou care then, to try this and +see, dost thou care to risk a stake?</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. I do care to try this and see, a stake I +am ready to risk.</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i>. But what shall we stake, what pledge +shall we find equal and sufficient?</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. I will pledge a calf, and do thou put +down a lamb, one that has grown to his mother’s height.</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i>. Nay, never will I stake a lamb, for +stern is my father, and stern my mother, and they number all the +sheep at evening.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. But what, then, wilt thou lay, and where +is to be the victor’s gain?</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i>. The pipe, the fair pipe with nine +stops, that I made myself, fitted with white wax, and smoothed +evenly, above as below. This would I readily wager, but +never will I stake aught that is my father’s.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. See then, I too, in truth, have a pipe +with nine stops, fitted with white wax, and smoothed evenly, +above as below. But lately I put it together, and this +finger still aches, where the reed split, and cut it deeply.</p> +<p><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +48</span><i>Menalcas</i>. But who is to judge between us, +who will listen to our singing?</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. That goatherd yonder, he will do, if we +call him hither, the man for whom that dog, a black hound with a +white patch, is barking among the kids.</p> +<p>Then the boys called aloud, and the goatherd gave ear, and +came, and the boys began to sing, and the goatherd was willing to +be their umpire. And first Menalcas sang (for he drew the +lot) the sweet-voiced Menalcas, and Daphnis took up the answering +strain of pastoral song—and ’twas thus Menalcas +began:</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i>. Ye glades, ye rivers, issue of the +Gods, if ever Menalcas the flute-player sang a song ye loved, to +please him, feed his lambs; and if ever Daphnis come hither with +his calves, nay he have no less a boon.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Ye wells and pastures, sweet growth +o’ the world, if Daphnis sings like the nightingales, do ye +fatten this herd of his, and if Menalcas hither lead a flock, may +he too have pasture ungrudging to his full desire!</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i>. There doth the ewe bear twins, and +there the goats; there the bees fill the hives, and there oaks +grow loftier than common, wheresoever beautiful Milon’s +feet walk wandering; ah, if he depart, then withered and lean is +the shepherd, and lean the pastures</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Everywhere is spring, and pastures +everywhere, and everywhere the cows’ udders are swollen +with milk, and the younglings are fostered, wheresoever fair Nais +roams; ah, if <a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +49</span>she depart, then parched are the kine, and he that feeds +them!</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i>. O bearded goat, thou mate of the white +herd, and O ye blunt-faced kids, where are the manifold deeps of +the forest, thither get ye to the water, for thereby is Milon; +go, thou hornless goat, and say to him, ‘Milon, Proteus was +a herdsman, and that of seals, though he was a god.’</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. . . .</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i>. Not mine be the land of Pelops, not +mine to own talents of gold, nay, nor mine to outrun the speed of +the winds! Nay, but beneath this rock will I sing, with +thee in mine arms, and watch our flocks feeding together, and, +before us, the Sicilian sea.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i> . . . .</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i> . . . .</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Tempest is the dread pest of the trees, +drought of the waters, snares of the birds, and the +hunter’s net of the wild beasts, but ruinous to man is the +love of a delicate maiden. O father, O Zeus, I have not +been the only lover, thou too hast longed for a mortal woman.</p> +<p>Thus the boys sang in verses amoebaean, and thus Menalcas +began the crowning lay:</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i>. Wolf, spare the kids, spare the mothers +of my herd, and harm not me, so young as I am to tend so great a +flock. Ah, Lampurus, my dog, dost thou then sleep so +soundly? a dog should not sleep so sound, that helps a boyish +shepherd. Ewes of mine, spare ye not to take your fill of +the tender herb, ye <a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span>shall not weary, ’ere all this grass grows +again. Hist, feed on, feed on, fill, all of you, your +udders, that there may be milk for the lambs, and somewhat for me +to store away in the cheese-crates.</p> +<p>Then Daphnis followed again, and sweetly preluded to his +singing:</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Me, even me, from the cave, the girl +with meeting eyebrows spied yesterday as I was driving past my +calves, and she cried, ‘How fair, how fair he +is!’ But I answered her never the word of railing, +but cast down my eyes, and plodded on my way.</p> +<p>Sweet is the voice of the heifer, sweet her breath, <a +name="citation50"></a><a href="#footnote50" +class="citation">[50]</a> sweet to lie beneath the sky in summer, +by running water.</p> +<p>Acorns are the pride of the oak, apples of the apple tree, the +calf of the heifer, and the neatherd glories in his kine.</p> +<p>So sang the lads; and the goatherd thus bespoke them, +‘Sweet is thy mouth, O Daphnis, and delectable thy +song! Better is it to listen to thy singing, than to taste +the honeycomb. Take thou the pipe, for thou hast conquered +in the singing match. Ah, if thou wilt but teach some lay, +even to me, as I tend the goats beside thee, this blunt-horned +she-goat will I give thee, for the price of thy teaching, this +she-goat that ever fills the milking pail above the +brim.’</p> +<p>Then was the boy as glad,—and leaped high, and clapped +his hands over his victory,—as a young fawn leaps about his +mother. <a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +51</span>But the heart of the other was wasted with grief, and +desolate, even as a maiden sorrows that is newly wed.</p> +<p>From this time Daphnis became the foremost among the +shepherds, and while yet in his earliest youth, he wedded the +nymph Nais.</p> +<h3><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>IDYL +IX</h3> +<p><i>Daphnis and Menalcas</i>, <i>at the bidding of the +poet</i>, <i>sing the joys of the neatherds and of the shepherds +life</i>. <i>Both receive the thanks of the poet</i>, +<i>and rustic prizes</i>—<i>a staff and a horn</i>, <i>made +of a spiral shell</i>. <i>Doubts have been expressed as to +the authenticity of the prelude and concluding verses</i>. +<i>The latter breathe all Theocritus’s enthusiastic love of +song</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Sing</span>, Daphnis, a pastoral lay, do +thou first begin the song, the song begin, O Daphnis; but let +Menalcas join in the strain, when ye have mated the heifers and +their calves, the barren kine and the bulls. Let them all +pasture together, let them wander in the coppice, but never leave +the herd. Chant thou for me, first, and on the other side +let Menalcas reply.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Ah, sweetly lows the calf, and sweetly +the heifer, sweetly sounds the neatherd with his pipe, and +sweetly also I! My bed of leaves is strown by the cool +water, and thereon are heaped fair skins from the white calves +that were all browsing upon the arbutus, on a time, when the +south-west wind dashed me them from the height.</p> +<p><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>And +thus I heed no more the scorching summer, than a lover cares to +heed the words of father or of mother.</p> +<p>So Daphnis sang to me, and thus, in turn, did Menalcas +sing.</p> +<p><i>Menalcas</i>. Aetna, mother mine, I too dwell in a +beautiful cavern in the chamber of the rock, and, lo, all the +wealth have I that we behold in dreams; ewes in plenty and +she-goats abundant, their fleeces are strown beneath my head and +feet. In the fire of oak-faggots puddings are hissing-hot, +and dry beech-nuts roast therein, in the wintry weather, and, +truly, for the winter season I care not even so much as a +toothless man does for walnuts, when rich pottage is beside +him.</p> +<p>Then I clapped my hands in their honour, and instantly gave +each a gift, to Daphnis a staff that grew in my father’s +close, self-shapen, yet so straight, that perchance even a +craftsman could have found no fault in it. To the other I +gave a goodly spiral shell, the meat that filled it once I had +eaten after stalking the fish on the Icarian rocks (I cut it into +five shares for five of us),—and Menalcas blew a blast on +the shell.</p> +<p>Ye pastoral Muses, farewell! Bring ye into the light the +song that I sang there to these shepherds on that day! +Never let the pimple grow on my tongue-tip. <a +name="citation53"></a><a href="#footnote53" +class="citation">[53]</a></p> +<p><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>Cicala +to cicala is dear, and ant to ant, and hawks to hawks, but to me +the Muse and song. Of song may all my dwelling be full, for +sleep is not more sweet, nor sudden spring, nor flowers are more +delicious to the bees—so dear to me are the Muses. <a +name="citation54"></a><a href="#footnote54" +class="citation">[54]</a> Whom they look on in happy hour, +Circe hath never harmed with her enchanted potion.</p> +<h3><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>IDYL +X<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE REAPERS</span></h3> +<p><i>This is an idyl of the same genre as Idyl IV</i>. +<i>The sturdy reaper</i>, <i>Milon</i>, <i>as he levels the +swathes of corn</i>, <i>derides his languid and love-worn +companion</i>, <i>Buttus</i>. <i>The latter defends his +gipsy love in verses which have been the keynote of much later +poetry</i>, <i>and which echo in the fourth book of +Lucretius</i>, <i>and in the Misanthrope of +Molière</i>. <i>Milon replies with the song of +Lityerses</i>—<i>a string</i>, <i>apparently</i>, <i>of +popular rural couplets</i>, <i>such as Theocritus may have heard +chanted in the fields</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><i>Milan</i>. Thou toilsome clod; what ails thee now, +thou wretched fellow? Canst thou neither cut thy swathe +straight, as thou wert wont to do, nor keep time with thy +neighbour in thy reaping, but thou must fall out, like an ewe +that is foot-pricked with a thorn and straggles from the +herd? What manner of man wilt thou prove after mid-noon, +and at evening, thou that dost not prosper with thy swathe when +thou art fresh begun?</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Milon, thou that canst toil till late, +thou chip of the stubborn stone, has it never befallen thee to +long for one that was not with thee?</p> +<p><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +56</span><i>Milan</i>. Never! What has a labouring +man to do with hankering after what he has not got?</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Then it never befell thee to lie awake +for love?</p> +<p><i>Milan</i>. Forbid it; ’tis an ill thing to let +the dog once taste of pudding.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. But I, Milon, am in love for almost +eleven days!</p> +<p><i>Milan</i>. ’Tis easily seen that thou drawest +from a wine-cask, while even vinegar is scarce with me.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. And for Love’s sake, the fields +before my doors are untilled since seed-time.</p> +<p><i>Milan</i>. But which of the girls afflicts thee +so?</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. The daughter of Polybotas, she that of +late was wont to pipe to the reapers on Hippocoon’s +farm.</p> +<p><i>Milan</i>. God has found out the guilty! Thou +hast what thou’st long been seeking, that grasshopper of a +girl will lie by thee the night long!</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Thou art beginning thy mocks of me, but +Plutus is not the only blind god; he too is blind, the heedless +Love! Beware of talking big.</p> +<p><i>Milan</i>. Talk big I do not! Only see that +thou dust level the corn, and strike up some love-ditty in the +wench’s praise. More pleasantly thus wilt thou +labour, and, indeed, of old thou wert a melodist.</p> +<p><i>Battus</i>. Ye Muses Pierian, sing ye with me the +slender maiden, for whatsoever ye do but touch, ye goddesses, ye +make wholly fair.</p> +<p><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>They +all call thee a <i>gipsy</i>, gracious Bombyca, and <i>lean</i>, +and <i>sunburnt</i>, ’tis only I that call thee +<i>honey-pale</i>.</p> +<p>Yea, and the violet is swart, and swart the lettered hyacinth, +but yet these flowers are chosen the first in garlands.</p> +<p>The goat runs after cytisus, the wolf pursues the goat, the +crane follows the plough, but I am wild for love of thee.</p> +<p>Would it were mine, all the wealth whereof once Croesus was +lord, as men tell! Then images of us twain, all in gold, +should be dedicated to Aphrodite, thou with thy flute, and a +rose, yea, or an apple, and I in fair attire, and new shoon of +Amyclae on both my feet.</p> +<p>Ah gracious Bombyca, thy feet are fashioned like carven ivory, +thy voice is drowsy sweet, and thy ways, I cannot tell of them! +<a name="citation57"></a><a href="#footnote57" +class="citation">[57]</a></p> +<p><i>Milan</i>. Verily our clown was a maker of lovely +songs, and we knew it not! How well he meted out and shaped +his harmony; woe is me for the beard that I have grown, all in +vain! Come, mark thou too these lines of godlike +Lityerses</p> +<h4><span class="smcap">The Lityerses Song</span>.</h4> +<p><i>Demeter</i>, <i>rich in fruit</i>, <i>and rich in +grain</i>, <i>may this corn be easy to win</i>, <i>and fruitful +exceedingly</i>!</p> +<p><i>Bind</i>, <i>ye bandsters</i>, <i>the sheaves</i>, <i>lest +the wayfarer </i><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +58</span><i>should cry</i>, ‘<i>Men of straw were the +workers here</i>, <i>ay</i>, <i>and their hire was +wasted</i>!’</p> +<p><i>See that the cut stubble faces the North wind</i>, <i>or +the West</i>, <i>’tis thus the grain waxes richest</i>.</p> +<p><i>They that thresh corn should shun the noon-day steep</i>; +<i>at noon the chaff parts easiest from the straw</i>.</p> +<p><i>As for the reapers</i>, <i>let them begin when the crested +lark is waking</i>, <i>and cease when he sleeps</i>, <i>but take +holiday in the heat</i>.</p> +<p><i>Lads</i>, <i>the frog has a jolly life</i>, <i>he is not +cumbered about a butler to his drink</i>, <i>for he has liquor by +him unstinted</i>!</p> +<p><i>Boil the lentils better</i>, <i>thou miserly steward</i>; +<i>take heed lest thou chop thy fingers</i>, <i>when +thou’rt splitting cumin-seed</i>.</p> +<p>’Tis thus that men should sing who labour i’ the +sun, but thy starveling love, thou clod, ’twere fit to tell +to thy mother when she stirs in bed at dawning.</p> +<h3><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span>IDYL +XI<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE CYCLOPS IN LOVE</span></h3> +<p><i>Nicias</i>, <i>the physician and poet</i>, <i>being in +love</i>, <i>Theocritus reminds him that in song lies the only +remedy</i>. <i>It was by song</i>, <i>he says</i>, <i>that +the Cyclops</i>, <i>Polyphemus</i>, <i>got him some ease</i>, +<i>when he was in love with Galatea</i>, <i>the +sea-nymph</i>.</p> +<p><i>The idyl displays</i>, <i>in the most graceful manner</i>, +<i>the Alexandrian taste for turning Greek mythology into love +stories</i>. <i>No creature could be more remote from love +than the original Polyphemus</i>, <i>the cannibal giant of the +Odyssey</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> is none other medicine, +Nicias, against Love, neither unguent, methinks, nor salve to +sprinkle,—none, save the Muses of Pieria! Now a +delicate thing is their minstrelsy in man’s life, and a +sweet, but hard to procure. Methinks thou know’st +this well, who art thyself a leech, and beyond all men art +plainly dear to the Muses nine.</p> +<p>’Twas surely thus the Cyclops fleeted his life most +easily, he that dwelt among us,—Polyphemus of old +time,—when the beard was yet young on his cheek and chin; +and he loved Galatea. He loved, not with apples, not roses, +<a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span>nor locks +of hair, but with fatal frenzy, and all things else he held but +trifles by the way. Many a time from the green pastures +would his ewes stray back, self-shepherded, to the fold. +But he was singing of Galatea, and pining in his place he sat by +the sea-weed of the beach, from the dawn of day, with the direst +hurt beneath his breast of mighty Cypris’s +sending,—the wound of her arrow in his heart!</p> +<p>Yet this remedy he found, and sitting on the crest of the tall +cliff, and looking to the deep, ’twas thus he would +sing:—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Song of the Cyclops</i>.</p> +<p>O milk-white Galatea, why cast off him that loves thee? +More white than is pressed milk to look upon, more delicate than +the lamb art thou, than the young calf wantoner, more sleek than +the unripened grape! Here dust thou resort, even so, when +sweet sleep possesses me, and home straightway dost thou depart +when sweet sleep lets me go, fleeing me like an ewe that has seen +the grey wolf.</p> +<p>I fell in love with thee, maiden, I, on the day when first +thou camest, with my mother, and didst wish to pluck the +hyacinths from the hill, and I was thy guide on the way. +But to leave loving thee, when once I had seen thee, neither +afterward, nor now at all, have I the strength, even from that +hour. But to thee all this is as nothing, by Zeus, nay, +nothing at all!</p> +<p>I know, thou gracious maiden, why it is <a +name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 61</span>that thou +dust shun me. It is all for the shaggy brow that spans all +my forehead, from this to the other ear, one long unbroken +eyebrow. And but one eye is on my forehead, and broad is +the nose that overhangs my lip. Yet I (even such as thou +seest me) feed a thousand cattle, and from these I draw and drink +the best milk in the world. And cheese I never lack, in +summer time or autumn, nay, nor in the dead of winter, but my +baskets are always overladen.</p> +<p>Also I am skilled in piping, as none other of the Cyclopes +here, and of thee, my love, my sweet-apple, and of myself too I +sing, many a time, deep in the night. And for thee I tend +eleven fawns, all crescent-browed, <a name="citation61"></a><a +href="#footnote61" class="citation">[61]</a> and four young +whelps of the bear.</p> +<p>Nay, come thou to me, and thou shalt lack nothing that now +thou hast. Leave the grey sea to roll against the land; +more sweetly, in this cavern, shalt thou fleet the night with +me! Thereby the laurels grow, and there the slender +cypresses, there is the ivy dun, and the sweet clustered grapes; +there is chill water, that for me deep-wooded Ætna sends +down from the white snow, a draught divine! Ah who, in +place of these, would choose the sea to dwell in, or the waves of +the sea?</p> +<p>But if thou dust refuse because my body seems shaggy and +rough, well, I have faggots of oakwood, and beneath the ashes is +fire unwearied, and I would endure to let thee burn <a +name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>my very soul, +and this my one eye, the dearest thing that is mine.</p> +<p>Ah me, that my mother bore me not a finny thing, so would I +have gone down to thee, and kissed thy hand, if thy lips thou +would not suffer me to kiss! And I would have brought thee +either white lilies, or the soft poppy with its scarlet +petals. Nay, these are summer’s flowers, and those +are flowers of winter, so I could not have brought thee them all +at one time.</p> +<p>Now, verily, maiden, now and here will I learn to swim, if +perchance some stranger come hither, sailing with his ship, that +I may see why it is so dear to thee, to have thy dwelling in the +deep.</p> +<p>Come forth, Galatea, and forget as thou comest, even as I that +sit here have forgotten, the homeward way! Nay, choose with +me to go shepherding, with me to milk the flocks, and to pour the +sharp rennet in, and to fix the cheeses.</p> +<p>There is none that wrongs me but that mother of mine, and her +do I blame. Never, nay, never once has she spoken a kind +word for me to thee, and that though day by day she beholds me +wasting. I will tell her that my head, and both my feet are +throbbing, that she may somewhat suffer, since I too am +suffering.</p> +<p>O Cyclops, Cyclops, whither are thy wits wandering? Ah +that thou wouldst go, and weave thy wicker-work, and gather +broken <a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>boughs to carry to thy lambs: in faith, if thou didst +this, far wiser wouldst thou be!</p> +<p>Milk the ewe that thou hast, why pursue the thing that shuns +thee? Thou wilt find, perchance, another, and a fairer +Galatea. Many be the girls that bid me play with them +through the night, and softly they all laugh, if perchance I +answer them. On land it is plain that I too seem to be +somebody!</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Lo, thus Polyphemus still shepherded his love with song, and +lived lighter than if he had given gold for ease.</p> +<h3><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 64</span>IDYL +XII<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE PASSIONATE FRIEND</span></h3> +<p><i>This is rather a lyric than an idyl</i>, <i>being an +expression of that singular passion which existed between men in +historical Greece</i>. <i>The next idyl</i>, <i>like the +Myrmidons of Aeschylus</i>, <i>attributes the same manners to +mythical and heroic Greece</i>. <i>It should be unnecessary +to say that the affection between Homeric warriors</i>, <i>like +Achilles and Patroclus</i>, <i>was only that of companions in +arms and was quite unlike the later sentiment</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Hast</span> thou come, dear youth, with +the third night and the dawning; hast thou come? but men in +longing grow old in a day! As spring than the winter is +sweeter, as the apple than the sloe, as the ewe is deeper of +fleece than the lamb she bore; as a maiden surpasses a +thrice-wedded wife, as the fawn is nimbler than the calf; nay, by +as much as sweetest of all fowls sings the clear-voiced +nightingale, so much has thy coming gladdened me! To thee +have I hastened as the traveller hastens under the burning sun to +the shadow of the ilex tree.</p> +<p><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 65</span>Ah, +would that equally the Loves may breathe upon us twain, may we +become a song in the ears of all men unborn.</p> +<p>‘Lo, a pair were these two friends among the folk of +former time,’ the one ‘the Knight’ (so the +Amyclaeans call him), the other, again, ‘the Page,’ +so styled in speech of Thessaly.</p> +<p>‘An equal yoke of friendship they bore: ah, surely then +there were golden men of old, when friends gave love for +love!’</p> +<p>And would, O father Cronides, and would, ye ageless immortals, +that this might be; and that when two hundred generations have +sped, one might bring these tidings to me by Acheron, the +irremeable stream.</p> +<p>‘The loving-kindness that was between thee and thy +gracious friend, is even now in all men’s mouths, and +chiefly on the lips of the young.’</p> +<p>Nay, verily, the gods of heaven will be masters of these +things, to rule them as they will, but when I praise thy +graciousness no blotch that punishes the perjurer shall spring +upon the tip of my nose! Nay, if ever thou hast somewhat +pained me, forthwith thou healest the hurt, giving a double +delight, and I depart with my cup full and running over!</p> +<p>Nisaean men of Megara, ye champions of the oars, happily may +ye dwell, for that ye honoured above all men the Athenian +stranger, even Diodes, the true lover. Always about his +tomb the children gather in their companies, at the coming in of +the spring, and contend for <a name="page66"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 66</span>the prize of kissing. And whoso +most sweetly touches lip to lip, laden with garlands he returneth +to his mother. Happy is he that judges those kisses of the +children; surely he prays most earnestly to bright-faced +Ganymedes, that his lips may be as the Lydian touchstone +wherewith the money-changers try gold lest perchance base metal +pass for true.</p> +<h3><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 67</span>IDYL +XIII<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">HYLAS AND HERACLES</span></h3> +<p><i>As in the eleventh Idyl</i>, <i>Nicias is again +addressed</i>, <i>by way of introduction to the story of +Hylas</i>. <i>This beautiful lad</i>, <i>a favourite +companion of Heracles</i>, <i>took part in the Quest of the +Fleece of Gold</i>. <i>As he went to draw water from a +fountain</i>, <i>the water-nymphs dragged him down to their +home</i>, <i>and Heracles</i>, <i>after a long and vain +search</i>, <i>was compelled to follow the heroes of the Quest on +foot to Phasis</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Not</span> for us only, Nicias, as we were +used to deem, was Love begotten, by whomsoever of the Gods was +the father of the child; not first to us seemed beauty beautiful, +to us that are mortal men and look not on the morrow. Nay, +but the son of Amphitryon, that heart of bronze, who abode the +wild lion’s onset, loved a lad, beautiful Hylas—Hylas +of the braided locks, and he taught him all things as a father +teaches his child, all whereby himself became a mighty man, and +renowned in minstrelsy. Never was he apart from Hylas, not +when midnoon was high in heaven, not when Dawn with her white <a +name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 68</span>horses speeds +upwards to the dwelling of Zeus, not when the twittering +nestlings look towards the perch, while their mother flaps her +wings above the smoke-browned beam; and all this that the lad +might be fashioned to his mind, and might drive a straight +furrow, and come to the true measure of man.</p> +<p>But when Iason, Aeson’s son, was sailing after the +fleece of gold (and with him followed the champions, the first +chosen out of all the cities, they that were of most avail), to +rich Iolcos too came the mighty man and adventurous, the son of +the woman of Midea, noble Alcmene. With him went down Hylas +also, to Argo of the goodly benches, the ship that grazed not on +the clashing rocks Cyanean, but through she sped and ran into +deep Phasis, as an eagle over the mighty gulf of the sea. +And the clashing rocks stand fixed, even from that hour!</p> +<p>Now at the rising of the Pleiades, when the upland fields +begin to pasture the young lambs, and when spring is already on +the wane, then the flower divine of Heroes bethought them of +sea-faring. On board the hollow Argo they sat down to the +oars, and to the Hellespont they came when the south wind had +been for three days blowing, and made their haven within +Propontis, where the oxen of the Cianes wear bright the +ploughshare, as they widen the furrows. Then they went +forth upon the shore, and each couple busily got ready supper in +the late evening, and many as they were one bed <a +name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>they strewed +lowly on the ground, for they found a meadow lying, rich in +couches of strown grass and leaves. Thence they cut them +pointed flag-leaves, and deep marsh-galingale. And Hylas of +the yellow hair, with a vessel of bronze in his hand, went to +draw water against suppertime, for Heracles himself, and the +steadfast Telamon, for these comrades twain supped ever at one +table. Soon was he ware of a spring, in a hollow land, and +the rushes grew thickly round it, and dark swallow-wort, and +green maiden-hair, and blooming parsley, and deer-grass spreading +through the marshy land. In the midst of the water the +nymphs were arraying their dances, the sleepless nymphs, dread +goddesses of the country people, Eunice, and Malis, and Nycheia, +with her April eyes. And now the boy was holding out the +wide-mouthed pitcher to the water, intent on dipping it, but the +nymphs all clung to his hand, for love of the Argive lad had +fluttered the soft hearts of all of them. Then down he sank +into the black water, headlong all, as when a star shoots flaming +from the sky, plumb in the deep it falls, and a mate shouts out +to the seamen, ‘Up with the gear, my lads, the wind is fair +for sailing.’</p> +<p>Then the nymphs held the weeping boy on their laps, and with +gentle words were striving to comfort him. But the son of +Amphitryon was troubled about the lad, and went forth, carrying +his bended bow in Scythian fashion, and the club that is ever +grasped in his right <a name="page70"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 70</span>hand. Thrice he shouted +‘Hylas!’ as loud as his deep throat could call, and +thrice again the boy heard him, and thin came his voice from the +water, and, hard by though he was, he seemed very far away. +And as when a bearded lion, a ravening lion on the hills, hears +the bleating of a fawn afar off, and rushes forth from his lair +to seize it, his readiest meal, even so the mighty Heracles, in +longing for the lad, sped through the trackless briars, and +ranged over much country.</p> +<p>Reckless are lovers: great toils did Heracles bear, in hills +and thickets wandering, and Iason’s quest was all postponed +to this. Now the ship abode with her tackling aloft, and +the company gathered there, <a name="citation70"></a><a +href="#footnote70" class="citation">[70]</a> but at midnight the +young men were lowering the sails again, awaiting Heracles. +But he wheresoever his feet might lead him went wandering in his +fury, for the cruel Goddess of love was rending his heart within +him.</p> +<p>Thus loveliest Hylas is numbered with the Blessed, but for a +runaway they girded at Heracles, the heroes, because he roamed +from Argo of the sixty oarsmen. But on foot he came to +Colchis and inhospitable Phasis.</p> +<h3><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>IDYL +XIV</h3> +<p><i>This Idyl</i>, <i>like the next</i>, <i>is dramatic in +form</i>. <i>One Aeschines tells Thyonichus the story of +his quarrel with his mistress Cynisca</i>. <i>He speaks of +taking foreign service</i>, <i>and Thyonichus recommends that of +Ptolemy</i>. <i>The idyl was probably written at +Alexandria</i>, <i>as a compliment to Ptolemy</i>, <i>and an +inducement to Greeks to join his forces</i>. <i>There is +nothing</i>, <i>however</i>, <i>to fix the date</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><i>Aeschines</i>. All hail to the stout Thyonichus!</p> +<p><i>Thyonichus</i>. As much to you, Aeschines.</p> +<p><i>Aeschines</i>. How long it is since we met!</p> +<p><i>Thyonichus</i>. Is it so long? But why, pray, +this melancholy?</p> +<p><i>Aeschines</i>. I am not in the best of luck, +Thyonichus.</p> +<p><i>Thyonichus</i>. ’Tis for that, then, you are so +lean, and hence comes this long moustache, and these love-locks +all adust. Just such a figure was a Pythagorean that came +here of late, barefoot and wan,—and said he was an +Athenian. Marry, he too was in love, methinks, with a plate +of pancakes.</p> +<p><i>Aeschines</i>. Friend, you will always have your <a +name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +72</span>jest,—but beautiful Cynisca,—she flouts +me! I shall go mad some day, when no man looks for it; I am +but a hair’s-breadth on the hither side, even now.</p> +<p><i>Thyonichus</i>. You are ever like this, dear +Aeschines, now mad, now sad, and crying for all things at your +whim. Yet, tell me, what is your new trouble?</p> +<p><i>Aeschines</i>. The Argive, and I, and the Thessalian +rough rider, Apis, and Cleunichus the free lance, were drinking +together, at my farm. I had killed two chickens, and a +sucking pig, and had opened the Bibline wine for +them,—nearly four years old,—but fragrant as when it +left the wine-press. Truffles and shellfish had been +brought out, it was a jolly drinking match. And when things +were now getting forwarder, we determined that each of us should +toast whom he pleased, in unmixed wine, only he must name his +toast. So we all drank, and called our toasts as had been +agreed. Yet She said nothing, though I was there; how think +you I liked that? ‘Won’t you call a +toast? You have seen the wolf!’ some one said in +jest, ‘as the proverb goes,’ <a +name="citation72"></a><a href="#footnote72" +class="citation">[72]</a> then she kindled; yes, you could easily +have <a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +73</span>lighted a lamp at her face. There is one Wolf, one +Wolf there is, the son of Labes our neighbour,—he is tall, +smooth-skinned, many think him handsome. His was that +illustrious love in which she was pining, yes, and a breath about +the business once came secretly to my ears, but I never looked +into it, beshrew my beard!</p> +<p>Already, mark you, we four men were deep in our cups, when the +Larissa man out of mere mischief, struck up, ‘My +Wolf,’ some Thessalian catch, from the very +beginning. Then Cynisca suddenly broke out weeping more +bitterly than a six-year-old maid, that longs for her +mother’s lap. Then I,—you know me, +Thyonichus,—struck her on the cheek with clenched +fist,—one two! She caught up her robes, and forth she +rushed, quicker than she came. ‘Ah, my undoing’ +(cried I), ‘I am not good enough for you, then—you +have a dearer playfellow? well, be off and cherish your other +lover, ’tis for him your tears run big as apples!’ <a +name="citation73"></a><a href="#footnote73" +class="citation">[73]</a></p> +<p>And as the swallow flies swiftly back to gather a morsel, +fresh food, for her young ones under the eaves, still swifter +sped she from her soft chair, straight through the vestibule and +folding-doors, wherever her feet carried her. So, sure, the +old proverb says, ‘the bull has sought the wild +wood.’</p> +<p>Since then there are twenty days, and eight <a +name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 74</span>to these, and +nine again, then ten others, to-day is the eleventh, add two +more, and it is two months since we parted, and I have not +shaved, not even in Thracian fashion. <a +name="citation74a"></a><a href="#footnote74a" +class="citation">[74a]</a></p> +<p>And now Wolf is everything with her. Wolf finds the door +open o’ nights, and I am of no account, not in the +reckoning, like the wretched men of Megara, in the place +dishonourable. <a name="citation74b"></a><a href="#footnote74b" +class="citation">[74b]</a></p> +<p>And if I could cease to love, the world would wag as well as +may be. But now,—now,—as they say, Thyonichus, +I am like the mouse that has tasted pitch. And what remedy +there may be for a bootless love, I know not; except that Simus, +he who was in love with the daughter of Epicalchus, went over +seas, and came back heart-whole,—a man of my own age. +And I too will cross the water, and prove not the first, maybe, +nor the last, perhaps, but a fair soldier as times go.</p> +<p><i>Thyonichus</i>. Would that things had gone to your +mind, Aeschines. But if, in good earnest, you are thus set +on going into exile, <span class="smcap">Ptolemy</span> is the +free man’s best paymaster!</p> +<p><i>Aeschines</i>. And in other respects, what kind of +man?</p> +<p><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +75</span><i>Thyonichus</i>. The free man’s best +paymaster! Indulgent too, the Muses’ darling, a true +lover, the top of good company, knows his friends, and still +better knows his enemies. A great giver to many, refuses +nothing that he is asked which to give may beseem a king, but, +Aeschines, we should not always be asking. Thus, if you are +minded to pin up the top corner of your cloak over the right +shoulder, and if you have the heart to stand steady on both feet, +and bide the brunt of a hardy targeteer, off instantly to +Egypt! From the temples downward we all wax grey, and on to +the chin creeps the rime of age, men must do somewhat while their +knees are yet nimble.</p> +<h3><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 76</span>IDYL +XV</h3> +<p><i>This famous idyl should rather</i>, <i>perhaps</i>, <i>be +called a mimus</i>. <i>It describes the visit paid by two +Syracusan women residing in Alexandria</i>, <i>to the festival of +the resurrection of Adonis</i>. <i>The festival is given by +Arsinoë</i>, <i>wife and sister of Ptolemy Philadelphus</i>, +<i>and the poem cannot have been written earlier than his +marriage</i>, <i>in</i> 266 <span class="GutSmall">B.C.</span> +[?] <i>Nothing can be more gay and natural than the chatter +of the women</i>, <i>which has changed no more in two thousand +years than the song of birds</i>. <i>Theocritus is believed +to have had a model for this idyl in the Isthmiazusae of +Sophron</i>, <i>an older poet</i>. <i>In the Isthmiazusae +two ladies described the spectacle of the Isthmian games</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Is Praxinoë at home?</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Dear Gorgo, how long it is since +you have been here! She <i>is</i> at home. The wonder +is that you have got here at last! Eunoë, see that she +has a chair. Throw a cushion on it too.</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. It does most charmingly as it is.</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Do sit down.</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Oh, what a thing spirit is! I have +scarcely got to you alive, Praxinoë! What a huge +crowd, what hosts of four-in-hands! Everywhere cavalry +boots, everywhere men in <a name="page77"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 77</span>uniform! And the road is +endless: yes, you really live <i>too</i> far away!</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. It is all the fault of that madman +of mine. Here he came to the ends of the earth and +took—a hole, not a house, and all that we might not be +neighbours. The jealous wretch, always the same, ever for +spite!</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Don’t talk of your husband, Dinon, +like that, my dear girl, before the little boy,—look how he +is staring at you! Never mind, Zopyrion, sweet child, she +is not speaking about papa.</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Our Lady! the child takes notice. +<a name="citation77"></a><a href="#footnote77" +class="citation">[77]</a></p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Nice papa!</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. That papa of his the other +day—we call every day ‘the other +day’—went to get soap and rouge at the shop, and back +he came to me with salt—the great big endless fellow!</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Mine has the same trick, too, a perfect +spendthrift—Diocleides! Yesterday he got what he +meant for five fleeces, and paid seven shillings a piece +for—what do you suppose?—dogskins, shreds of old +leather wallets, mere trash—trouble on trouble. But +come, take your cloak and shawl. Let us be off to the +palace of rich Ptolemy, the King, to see <a +name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>the Adonis; I +hear the Queen has provided something splendid!</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Fine folks do everything +finely.</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. What a tale you will have to tell about +the things you have seen, to any one who has not seen them! +It seems nearly time to go.</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Idlers have always holiday. +Eunoë, bring the water and put it down in the middle of the +room, lazy creature that you are. Cats like always to sleep +soft! <a name="citation78a"></a><a href="#footnote78a" +class="citation">[78a]</a> Come, bustle, bring the water; +quicker. I want water first, and how she carries it! give +it me all the same; don’t pour out so much, you extravagant +thing. Stupid girl! Why are you wetting my +dress? There, stop, I have washed my hands, as heaven would +have it. Where is the key of the big chest? Bring it +here.</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Praxinoë, that full body becomes you +wonderfully. Tell me how much did the stuff cost you just +off the loom?</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Don’t speak of it, +Gorgo! More than eight pounds in good silver +money,—and the work on it! I nearly slaved my soul +out over it!</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Well, it is <i>most</i> successful; all +you could wish. <a name="citation78b"></a><a href="#footnote78b" +class="citation">[78b]</a></p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Thanks for the pretty +speech! <a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +79</span>Bring my shawl, and set my hat on my head, the +fashionable way. No, child, I don’t mean to take +you. Boo! Bogies! There’s a horse that +bites! Cry as much as you please, but I cannot have you +lamed. Let us be moving. Phrygia take the child, and +keep him amused, call in the dog, and shut the street door.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">[<i>They go into the street</i>.</p> +<p>Ye gods, what a crowd! How on earth are we ever to get +through this coil? They are like ants that no one can +measure or number. Many a good deed have you done, Ptolemy; +since your father joined the immortals, there’s never a +malefactor to spoil the passer-by, creeping on him in Egyptian +fashion—oh! the tricks those perfect rascals used to +play. Birds of a feather, ill jesters, scoundrels +all! Dear Gorgo, what will become of us? Here come +the King’s war-horses! My dear man, don’t +trample on me. Look, the bay’s rearing, see, what +temper! Eunoë, you foolhardy girl, will you never keep +out of the way? The beast will kill the man that’s +leading him. What a good thing it is for me that my brat +stays safe at home.</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Courage, Praxinoë. We are safe +behind them, now, and they have gone to their station.</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. There! I begin to be myself +again. Ever since I was a child I have feared nothing so +much as horses and the chilly snake. Come along, the huge +mob is overflowing us.</p> +<p><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +80</span><i>Gorgo</i> (<i>to an old Woman</i>). Are you +from the Court, mother?</p> +<p><i>Old Woman</i>. I am, my child.</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Is it easy to get there?</p> +<p><i>Old Woman</i>. The Achaeans got into Troy by trying, +my prettiest of ladies. Trying will do everything in the +long run.</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. The old wife has spoken her oracles, and +off she goes.</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Women know everything, yes, and +how Zeus married Hera!</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. See Praxinoë, what a crowd there is +about the doors.</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Monstrous, Gorgo! Give me +your hand, and you, Eunoë, catch hold of Eutychis; never +lose hold of her, for fear lest you get lost. Let us all go +in together; Eunoë, clutch tight to me. Oh, how +tiresome, Gorgo, my muslin veil is torn in two already! For +heaven’s sake, sir, if you ever wish to be fortunate, take +care of my shawl!</p> +<p><i>Stranger</i>. I can hardly help myself, but for all +that I will be as careful as I can.</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. How close-packed the mob is, they +hustle like a herd of swine.</p> +<p><i>Stranger</i>. Courage, lady, all is well with us +now.</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Both this year and for ever may +all be well with you, my dear sir, for your care of us. A +good kind man! We’re letting Eunoë get +squeezed—come, wretched girl, push your way through. +That is the way. We are all on the right side of the door, +quoth <a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>the +bridegroom, when he had shut himself in with his bride.</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Do come here, Praxinoë. Look +first at these embroideries. How light and how +lovely! You will call them the garments of the gods.</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Lady Athene, what spinning women +wrought them, what painters designed these drawings, so true they +are? How naturally they stand and move, like living +creatures, not patterns woven. What a clever thing is +man! Ah, and himself—Adonis—how beautiful to +behold he lies on his silver couch, with the first down on his +cheeks, the thrice-beloved Adonis,—Adonis beloved even +among the dead.</p> +<p><i>A Stranger</i>. You weariful women, do cease your +endless cooing talk! They bore one to death with their +eternal broad vowels!</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Indeed! And where may this person +come from? What is it to you if we <i>are</i> +chatterboxes! Give orders to your own servants, sir. +Do you pretend to command ladies of Syracuse? If you must +know, we are Corinthians by descent, like Bellerophon himself, +and we speak Peloponnesian. Dorian women may lawfully speak +Doric, I presume?</p> +<p><i>Praxinoë</i>. Lady Persephone, never may we have +more than one master. I am not afraid of <i>your</i> +putting me on short commons.</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Hush, hush, Praxinoë—the Argive +woman’s daughter, the great singer, is beginning the +<i>Adonis</i>; she that won the prize last <a +name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>year for +dirge-singing. <a name="citation82"></a><a href="#footnote82" +class="citation">[82]</a> I am sure she will give us +something lovely; see, she is preluding with her airs and +graces.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Psalm of Adonis</i>.</p> +<p>O Queen that lovest Golgi, and Idalium, and the steep of Eryx, +O Aphrodite, that playest with gold, lo, from the stream eternal +of Acheron they have brought back to thee Adonis—even in +the twelfth month they have brought him, the dainty-footed +Hours. Tardiest of the Immortals are the beloved Hours, but +dear and desired they come, for always, to all mortals, they +bring some gift with them. O Cypris, daughter of +Diônê, from mortal to immortal, so men tell, thou +hast changed Berenice, dropping softly in the woman’s +breast the stuff of immortality.</p> +<p>Therefore, for thy delight, O thou of many names and many +temples, doth the daughter of Berenice, even Arsinoë, lovely +as Helen, cherish Adonis with all things beautiful.</p> +<p>Before him lie all ripe fruits that the tall trees’ +branches bear, and the delicate gardens, arrayed in baskets of +silver, and the golden vessels are full of incense of +Syria. And all the dainty cakes that women fashion in the +kneading-tray, mingling blossoms manifold with the white wheaten +flour, all that is wrought of honey sweet, and in soft olive oil, +all cakes fashioned in the semblance of things that fly, <a +name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 83</span>and of things +that creep, lo, here they are set before him.</p> +<p>Here are built for him shadowy bowers of green, all laden with +tender anise, and children flit overhead—the little +Loves—as the young nightingales perched upon the trees fly +forth and try their wings from bough to bough.</p> +<p>O the ebony, O the gold, O the twin eagles of white ivory that +carry to Zeus the son of Cronos his darling, his +cup-bearer! O the purple coverlet strewn above, more soft +than sleep! So Miletus will say, and whoso feeds sheep in +Samos.</p> +<p>Another bed is strewn for beautiful Adonis, one bed Cypris +keeps, and one the rosy-armed Adonis. A bridegroom of +eighteen or nineteen years is he, his kisses are not rough, the +golden down being yet upon his lips! And now, good-night to +Cypris, in the arms of her lover! But lo, in the morning we +will all of us gather with the dew, and carry him forth among the +waves that break upon the beach, and with locks unloosed, and +ungirt raiment falling to the ankles, and bosoms bare will we +begin our shrill sweet song.</p> +<p>Thou only, dear Adonis, so men tell, thou only of the demigods +dost visit both this world and the stream of Acheron. For +Agamemnon had no such lot, nor Aias, that mighty lord of the +terrible anger, nor Hector, the eldest born of the twenty sons of +Hecabe, nor Patroclus, nor Pyrrhus, that returned out of +Troyland, nor the heroes of yet more ancient days, the <a +name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>Lapithae and +Deucalion’s sons, nor the sons of Pelops, and the chiefs of +Pelasgian Argus. Be gracious now, dear Adonis, and +propitious even in the coming year. Dear to us has thine +advent been, Adonis, and dear shall it be when thou comest +again.</p> +<p><i>Gorgo</i>. Praxinoë, the woman is cleverer than +we fancied! Happy woman to know so much, thrice happy to +have so sweet a voice. Well, all the same, it is time to be +making for home. Diocleides has not had his dinner, and the +man is all vinegar,—don’t venture near him when he is +kept waiting for dinner. Farewell, beloved Adonis, may you +find us glad at your next coming!</p> +<h2><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>IDYL +XVI</h2> +<p><i>In</i> 265 <span class="GutSmall">B.C.</span> <i>Sicily was +devastated by the Carthaginians</i>, <i>and by the companies of +disciplined free-lances who called themselves Mamertines</i>, +<i>or Mars’s men</i>. <i>The hopes of the Greek +inhabitants of the island were centred in Hiero</i>, <i>son of +Hierocles</i>, <i>who was about to besiege Messana</i> (<i>then +held by the Carthaginians</i>) <i>and who had revived the courage +of the Syracusans</i>. <i>To him Theocritus addressed this +idyl</i>, <i>in which he complains of the sordid indifference of +the rich</i>, <i>rehearses the merits of song</i>, <i>dilates on +the true nature of wealth</i>, <i>and of the happy lift</i>, +<i>and finally expresses his hope that Hiero will rid the isle of +the foreign foe</i>, <i>and will restore peace and pastoral +joys</i>. <i>The idyl contains some allusions to +Simonides</i>, <i>the old lyric poet</i>, <i>and to his relations +with the famous Hiero tyrant of Syracuse</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Ever</span> is this the care of the +maidens of Zeus, ever the care of minstrels, to sing the +Immortals, to sing the praises of noble men. The Muses, lo, +are Goddesses, of Gods the Goddesses sing, but we on earth are +mortal men; let us mortals sing of mortals. Ah, who of all +them that dwell beneath the grey morning, will open his door and +gladly receive our Graces within his house? who is there that +will not send them back again without a gift? And <a +name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>they with +looks askance, and naked feet come homewards, and sorely they +upbraid me when they have gone on a vain journey, and listless +again in the bottom of their empty coffer, they dwell with heads +bowed over their chilly knees, where is their drear abode, when +gainless they return.</p> +<p>Where is there such an one, among men to-day? Where is +he that will befriend him that speaks his praises? I know +not, for now no longer, as of old, are men eager to win the +renown of noble deeds, nay, they are the slaves of gain! +Each man clasps his hands below the purse-fold of his gown, and +looks about to spy whence he may get him money: the very rust is +too precious to be rubbed off for a gift. Nay, each has his +ready saw; <i>the shin is further than the knee</i>; <i>first let +me get my own</i>! <i>’Tis the Gods’ affair to +honour minstrels</i>! <i>Homer is enough for every one</i>, +<i>who wants to hear any other</i>? <i>He is the best of +bards who takes nothing that is mine</i>.</p> +<p>O foolish men, in the store of gold uncounted, what gain have +ye? Not in this do the wise find the true enjoyment of +wealth, but in that they can indulge their own desires, and +something bestow on one of the minstrels, and do good deeds to +many of their kin, and to many another man; and always give +altar-rites to the Gods, nor ever play the churlish host, but +kindly entreat the guest at table, and speed him when he would be +gone. And this, above all, to honour the holy interpreters +of the <a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +87</span>Muses, that so thou mayest have a goodly fame, even when +hidden in Hades, nor ever moan without renown by the chill water +of Acheron, like one whose palms the spade has hardened, some +landless man bewailing the poverty that is all his heritage.</p> +<p>Many were the thralls that in the palace of Antiochus, and of +king Aleuas drew out their monthly dole, many the calves that +were driven to the penns of the Scopiadae, and lowed with the +horned kine: countless on the Crannonian plain did shepherds +pasture beneath the sky the choicest sheep of the hospitable +Creondae, yet from all this they had no joy, when once into the +wide raft of hateful Acheron they had breathed sweet life +away! Yea, unremembered (though they had left all that rich +store), for ages long would they have lain among the dead +forlorn, if a name among later men the skilled Ceian minstrel had +spared to bestow, singing his bright songs to a harp of many +strings. Honour too was won by the swift steeds that came +home to them crowned from the sacred contests.</p> +<p>And who would ever have known the Lycian champions of time +past, who Priam’s long-haired sons, and Cycnus, white of +skin as a maiden, if minstrels had not chanted of the war cries +of the old heroes? Nor would Odysseus have won his lasting +glory, for all his ten years wandering among all folks; and +despite the visit he paid, he a living man, to inmost Hades, and +for all his escape from the murderous <a name="page88"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 88</span>Cyclops’s cave,—unheard +too were the names of the swineherd Eumaeus, and of Philoetius, +busy with the kine of the herds; yea, and even of Laertes, high +of heart; if the songs of the Ionian man had not kept them in +renown.</p> +<p>From the Muses comes a goodly report to men, but the living +heirs devour the possessions of the dead. But, lo, it is as +light labour to count the waves upon the beach, as many as wind +and grey sea-tide roll upon the shore, or in violet-hued water to +cleanse away the stain from a potsherd, as to win favour from a +man that is smitten with the greed of gain. Good-day to +such an one, and countless be his coin, and ever may he be +possessed by a longing desire for more! But I for my part +would choose honour and the loving-kindness of men, far before +wealth in mules and horses.</p> +<p>I am seeking to what mortal I may come, a welcome guest, with +the help of the Muses, for hard indeed do minstrels find the +ways, who go uncompanioned by the daughters of deep-counselling +Zeus. Not yet is the heaven aweary of rolling the months +onwards, and the years, and many a horse shall yet whirl the +chariot wheels, and the man shall yet be found, who will take me +for his minstrel; a man of deeds like those that great Achilles +wrought, or puissant Aias, in the plain of Simois, where is the +tomb of Phrygian Ilus.</p> +<p>Even now the Phoenicians that dwell beneath the setting sun on +the spur of Libya, shudder for dread, even now the Syracusans <a +name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 89</span>poise lances +in rest, and their arms are burdened by the linden shields. +Among them Hiero, like the mighty men of old, girds himself for +fight, and the horse-hair crest is shadowing his helmet. +Ah, Zeus, our father renowned, and ah, lady Athene, and O thou +Maiden that with the Mother dost possess the great burg of the +rich Ephyreans, by the water of Lusimeleia, <a +name="citation89"></a><a href="#footnote89" +class="citation">[89]</a> would that dire necessity may drive our +foemen from the isle, along the Sardinian wave, to tell the doom +of their friends to children and to wives—messengers easy +to number out of so many warriors! But as for our cities +may they again be held by their ancient masters,—all the +cities that hostile hands have utterly spoiled. May our +people till the flowering fields, and may thousands of sheep +unnumbered fatten ’mid the herbage, and bleat along the +plain, while the kine as they come in droves to the stalls warn +the belated traveller to hasten on his way. May the fallows +be broken for the seed-time, while the cicala, watching the +shepherds as they toil in the sun, in the shade of the trees doth +sing on the topmost sprays. May spiders weave their +delicate webs over martial gear, may none any more so much as +name the cry of onset!</p> +<p>But the fame of Hiero may minstrels bear aloft, across the +Scythian sea, and where Semiramis reigned, that built the mighty +wall, <a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>and +made it fast with slime for mortar. I am but one of many +that are loved by the daughters of Zeus, and they all are fain to +sing of Sicilian Arethusa, with the people of the isle, and the +warrior Hiero. O Graces, ye Goddesses, adored of Eteocles, +ye that love Orchomenos of the Minyae, the ancient enemy of +Thebes, when no man bids me, let me abide at home, but to the +houses of such as bid me, boldly let me come with my Muses. +Nay, neither the Muses nor you Graces will I leave behind, for +without the Graces what have men that is desirable? with the +Graces of song may I dwell for ever!</p> +<h2><a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>IDYL +XVII</h2> +<p><i>The poet praises Ptolemy Philadelphus in a strain of almost +religious adoration</i>. <i>Hauler</i>, <i>in his Life of +Theocritus</i>, <i>dates the poem about</i> 259 <span +class="GutSmall">B.C.</span>, <i>but it may have been many years +earlier</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">From</span> Zeus let us begin, and with +Zeus make end, ye Muses, whensoever we chant in songs the +chiefest of immortals! But of men, again, let Ptolemy be +named, among the foremost, and last, and in the midmost place, +for of men he hath the pre-eminence. The heroes that in old +days were begotten of the demigods, wrought noble deeds, and +chanced on minstrels skilled, but I, with what skill I have in +song, would fain make my hymn of Ptolemy, and hymns are the +glorious meed, yea, of the very immortals.</p> +<p>When the feller hath come up to wooded Ida, he glances around, +so many are the trees, to see whence he should begin his +labour. Where first shall <i>I</i> begin the tale, for +there are countless things ready for the telling, wherewith the +Gods have graced the most excellent of kings?</p> +<p>Even by virtue of his sires, how mighty was he to accomplish +some great work,—Ptolemy <a name="page92"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 92</span>son of Lagus,—when he had +stored in his mind such a design, as no other man was able even +to devise! Him hath the Father stablished in the same +honour as the blessed immortals, and for him a golden mansion in +the house of Zeus is builded; beside him is throned Alexander, +that dearly loves him, Alexander, a grievous god to the +white-turbaned Persians.</p> +<p>And over against them is set the throne of Heracles, the +slayer of the Bull, wrought of stubborn adamant. There +holds he festival with the rest of the heavenly host, rejoicing +exceedingly in his far-off children’s children, for that +the son of Cronos hath taken old age clean away from their limbs, +and they are called immortals, being his offspring. For the +strong son of Heracles is ancestor of the twain, I and both are +reckoned to Heracles, on the utmost of the lineage.</p> +<p>Therefore when he hath now had his fill of fragrant nectar, +and is going from the feast to the bower of his bed-fellow dear, +to one of his children he gives his bow, and the quiver that +swings beneath his elbow, to the other his knotted mace of +iron. Then they to the ambrosial bower of white-ankled +Hera, convey the weapons and the bearded son of Zeus.</p> +<p>Again, how shone renowned Berenice among the wise of +womankind, how great a boon was she to them that begat her! +Yea, in her fragrant breast did the Lady of Cyprus, the queenly +daughter of Dione, lay her slender hands, wherefore they say that +never any <a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +93</span>woman brought man such delight as came from the love +borne to his wife by Ptolemy. And verily he was loved again +with far greater love, and in such a wedlock a man may well trust +all his house to his children, whensoever he goes to the bed of +one that loves him as he loves her. But the mind of a woman +that loves not is set ever on a stranger, and she hath children +at her desire, but they are never like the father.</p> +<p>O thou that amongst the Goddesses hast the prize of beauty, O +Lady Aphrodite, thy care was she, and by thy favour the lovely +Berenice crossed not Acheron, the river of mourning, but thou +didst catch her away, ere she came to the dark water, and to the +still-detested ferryman of souls outworn, and in thy temple didst +thou instal her, and gavest her a share of thy worship. +Kindly is she to all mortals, and she breathes into them soft +desires, and she lightens the cares of him that is in +longing.</p> +<p>O dark-browed lady of Argos, <a name="citation93"></a><a +href="#footnote93" class="citation">[93]</a> in wedlock with +Tydeus didst thou bear slaying Diomede, a hero of Calydon, and, +again, deep-bosomed Thetis to Peleus, son of Aeacus, bare the +spearman Achilles. But thee, O warrior Ptolemy, to Ptolemy +the warrior bare the glorious Berenice! And Cos did foster +thee, when thou wert still a child new-born, and received thee at +thy mother’s hand, when thou saw’st thy first +dawning. For there she called aloud on Eilithyia, loosener +of the girdle; she called, <a name="page94"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 94</span>the daughter of Antigone, when heavy +on her came the pangs of childbirth. And Eilithyia was +present to help her, and so poured over all her limbs release +from pain. Then the beloved child was born, his +father’s very counterpart. And Cos brake forth into a +cry, when she beheld it, and touching the child with kind hands, +she said:</p> +<p>‘Blessed, O child, mayst thou be, and me mayst thou +honour even as Phoebus Apollo honours Delos of the azure crown, +yea, stablish in the same renown the Triopean hill, and allot +such glory to the Dorians dwelling nigh, as that wherewithal +Prince Apollo favours Rhenaea.’</p> +<p>Lo, thus spake the Isle, but far aloft under the clouds a +great eagle screamed thrice aloud, the ominous bird of +Zeus. This sign, methinks, was of Zeus; Zeus, the son of +Cronos, in his care hath awful kings, but he is above all, whom +Zeus loved from the first, even from his birth. Great +fortune goes with him, and much land he rules, and wide sea.</p> +<p>Countless are the lands, and tribes of men innumerable win +increase of the soil that waxeth under the rain of Zeus, but no +land brings forth so much as low-lying Egypt, when Nile wells up +and breaks the sodden soil. Nor is there any land that hath +so many towns of men skilled in handiwork; therein are three +centuries of cities builded, and thousands three, and to these +three myriads, and cities twice three, and beside these, three +times nine, and over them all high-hearted Ptolemy is king.</p> +<p><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>Yea, +and he taketh him a portion of Phoenicia, and of Arabia, and of +Syria, and of Libya, and the black Aethiopians. And he is +lord of all the Pamphylians, and the Cilician warriors, and the +Lycians, and the Carians, that joy in battle, and lord of the +isles of the Cyclades,—since his are the best of ships that +sail over the deep,—yea, all the sea, and land and the +sounding rivers are ruled by Ptolemy. Many are his +horsemen, and many his targeteers that go clanging in harness of +shining bronze. And in weight of wealth he surpasses all +kings; such treasure comes day by day from every side to his rich +palace, while the people are busy about their labours in +peace. For never hath a foeman marched up the bank of +teaming Nile, and raised the cry of war in villages not his own, +nor hath any cuirassed enemy leaped ashore from his swift ship, +to harry the kine of Egypt. So mighty a hero hath his +throne established in the broad plains, even Ptolemy of the fair +hair, a spearman skilled, whose care is above all, as a good +king’s should be, to keep all the heritage of his fathers, +and yet more he himself doth win. Nay, nor useless in +<i>his</i> wealthy house, is the gold, like piled stores of the +still toilsome ants, but the glorious temples of the gods have +their rich share, for constant first-fruits he renders, with many +another due, and much is lavished on mighty kings, much on +cities, much on faithful friends. And never to the sacred +contests of Dionysus comes any man that is skilled to raise the +shrill <a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +96</span>sweet song, but Ptolemy gives him a guerdon worthy of +his art. And the interpreters of the Muses sing of Ptolemy, +in return for his favours. Nay, what fairer thing might +befall a wealthy man, than to win a goodly renown among +mortals?</p> +<p>This abides even by the sons of Atreus, but all those +countless treasures that they won, when they took the mighty +house of Priam, are hidden away in the mist, whence there is no +returning.</p> +<p>Ptolemy alone presses his own feet in the footmarks, yet +glowing in the dust, of his fathers that were before him. +To his mother dear, and his father he hath stablished fragrant +temples; therein has he set their images, splendid with gold and +ivory, to succour all earthly men. And many fat thighs of +kine doth he burn on the empurpled altars, as the months roll by, +he and his stately wife; no nobler lady did ever embrace a +bridegroom in the halls, who loves, with her whole heart, her +brother, her lord. On this wise was the holy bridal of the +Immortals, too, accomplished, even of the pair that great Rhea +bore, the rulers of Olympus; and one bed for the slumber of Zeus +and of Hera doth Iris strew, with myrrh-anointed hands, the +virgin Iris.</p> +<p>Prince Ptolemy, farewell, and of thee will I make mention, +even as of the other demigods; and a word methinks I will utter +not to be rejected of men yet unborn,—excellence, howbeit, +thou shalt gain from Zeus.</p> +<h3><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 97</span>IDYL +XVIII</h3> +<p><i>This epithalamium may have been written for the wedding of +a friend of the poet’s</i>. <i>The idea is said to +have been borrowed from an old poem by Stesichorus</i>. +<i>The epithalamium was chanted at night by a chorus of +girls</i>, <i>outside the bridal chamber</i>. <i>Compare +the conclusion of the hymn of Adonis</i>, <i>in the fifteenth +Idyl</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> Sparta, once, to the house of +fair-haired Menelaus, came maidens with the blooming hyacinth in +their hair, and before the new painted chamber arrayed their +dance,—twelve maidens, the first in the city, the glory of +Laconian girls,—what time the younger Atrides had wooed and +won Helen, and closed the door of the bridal-bower on the beloved +daughter of Tyndarus. Then sang they all in harmony, +beating time with woven paces, and the house rang round with the +bridal song.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Chorus</i>.</p> +<p>Thus early art thou sleeping, dear bridegroom, say are thy +limbs heavy with slumber, or art thou all too fond of sleep, or +hadst thou perchance drunken over well, ere thou didst <a +name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>fling thee to +thy rest? Thou shouldst have slept betimes, and alone, if +thou wert so fain of sleep; thou shouldst have left the maiden +with maidens beside her mother dear, to play till deep in the +dawn, for to-morrow, and next day, and for all the years, +Menelaus, she is thy bride.</p> +<p>O happy bridegroom, some good spirit sneezed out on thee a +blessing, as thou wert approaching Sparta whither went the other +princes, that so thou mightst win thy desire! Alone among +the demigods shalt thou have Zeus for father! Yea, and the +daughter of Zeus has come beneath one coverlet with thee, so fair +a lady, peerless among all Achaean women that walk the +earth. Surely a wondrous child would she bear thee, if she +bore one like the mother!</p> +<p>For lo, we maidens are all of like age with her, and one +course we were wont to run, anointed in manly fashion, by the +baths of Eurotas. Four times sixty girls were we, the +maiden flower of the land, <a name="citation98"></a><a +href="#footnote98" class="citation">[98]</a> but of us all not +one was faultless, when matched with Helen.</p> +<p>As the rising Dawn shows forth her fairer face than thine, O +Night, or as the bright Spring, when Winter relaxes his hold, +even so amongst us still she shone, the golden Helen. Even +as the crops spring up, the glory of the rich plough land; or, as +is the cypress in the garden; or, in a chariot, a horse of +Thessalian <a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +99</span>breed, even so is rose-red Helen the glory of +Lacedaemon. No other in her basket of wool winds forth such +goodly work, and none cuts out, from between the mighty beams, a +closer warp than that her shuttle weaves in the carven +loom. Yea, and of a truth none other smites the lyre, +hymning Artemis and broad-breasted Athene, with such skill as +Helen, within whose eyes dwell all the Loves.</p> +<p>O fair, O gracious damsel, even now art thou a wedded wife; +but we will go forth right early to the course we ran, and to the +grassy meadows, to gather sweet-breathing coronals of flowers, +thinking often upon thee, Helen, even as youngling lambs that +miss the teats of the mother-ewe. For thee first will we +twine a wreath of lotus flowers that lowly grow, and hang it on a +shadowy plane tree, for thee first will we take soft oil from the +silver phial, and drop it beneath a shadowy plane tree, and +letters will we grave on the bark, in Dorian wise, so that the +wayfarer may read:</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">WORSHIP ME, I AM THE +TREE OF HELEN.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Good night, thou bride, good night, thou groom that hast won a +mighty sire! May Leto, Leto, the nurse of noble offspring, +give you the blessing of children; and may Cypris, divine Cypris, +grant you equal love, to cherish each the other; and may Zeus, +even Zeus the son of Cronos, give you wealth imperishable, to be +handed down from generation to generation of the princes.</p> +<p><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 100</span>Sleep +ye, breathing love and desire each into the other’s breast, +but forget not to wake in the dawning, and at dawn we too will +come, when the earliest cock shrills from his perch, and raises +his feathered neck.</p> +<p><i>Hymen</i>, <i>O Hymenae</i>, <i>rejoice thou in this +bridal</i>.</p> +<h3><a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 101</span>IDYL +XIX</h3> +<p><i>This little piece is but doubtfully ascribed to +Theocritus</i>. <i>The motif is that of a well-known +Anacreontic Ode</i>. <i>The idyl has been translated by +Ronsard</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> thievish Love,—a cruel +bee once stung him, as he was rifling honey from the hives, and +pricked his finger-tips all; then he was in pain, and blew upon +his hand, and leaped, and stamped the ground. And then he +showed his hurt to Aphrodite, and made much complaint, how that +the bee is a tiny creature, and yet what wounds it deals! +And his mother laughed out, and said, ‘Art thou not even +such a creature as the bees, for tiny art thou, but what wounds +thou dealest!’</p> +<h3><a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>IDYL +XX</h3> +<p><i>A herdsman</i>, <i>who had been contemptuously rejected by +Eunica</i>, <i>a girl of the town</i>, <i>protests that he is +beautiful</i>, <i>and that Eunica is prouder than Cybele</i>, +<i>Selene</i>, <i>and Aphrodite</i>, <i>all of whom loved mortal +herdsmen</i>. <i>For grammatical and other reasons</i>, +<i>some critics consider this idyl apocryphal</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Eunica</span> laughed out at me when +sweetly I would have kissed her, and taunting me, thus she spoke: +‘Get thee gone from me! Wouldst thou kiss me, wretch; +thou—a neatherd? I never learned to kiss in country +fashion, but to press lips with city gentlefolks. Never +hope to kiss my lovely mouth, nay, not even in a dream. How +thou dost look, what chatter is thine, how countrified thy tricks +are, how delicate thy talk, how easy thy tattle! And then +thy beard—so soft! thy elegant hair! Why, thy lips +are like some sick man’s, thy hands are black, and thou art +of evil savour. Away with thee, lest thy presence soil +me!’ These taunts she mouthed, and thrice spat in the +breast of her gown, and stared at me all over from head to feet; +shooting out her lips, and glancing with half-shut eyes, writhing +her beautiful body, and so <a name="page103"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 103</span>sneered, and laughed me to +scorn. And instantly my blood boiled, and I grew red under +the sting, as a rose with dew. And she went off and left +me, but I bear angry pride deep in my heart, that I, the handsome +shepherd, should have been mocked by a wretched +light-o’-love.</p> +<p>Shepherds, tell me the very truth; am I not beautiful? +Has some God changed me suddenly to another man? Surely a +sweet grace ever blossomed round me, till this hour, like ivy +round a tree, and covered my chin, and about my temples fell my +locks, like curling parsley-leaves, and white shone my forehead +above my dark eyebrows. Mine eyes were brighter far than +the glance of the grey-eyed Athene, my mouth than even pressed +milk was sweeter, and from my lips my voice flowed sweeter than +honey from the honeycomb. Sweet too, is my music, whether I +make melody on pipe, or discourse on the flute, or reed, or +flageolet. And all the mountain-maidens call me beautiful, +and they would kiss me, all of them. But the city girl did +not kiss me, but ran past me, because I am a neatherd, and she +never heard how fair Dionysus in the dells doth drive the calves, +and knows not that Cypris was wild with love for a herdsman, and +drove afield in the mountains of Phrygia; ay, and Adonis +himself,—in the oakwood she kissed, in the oakwood she +bewailed him. And what was Endymion? was he not a neatherd? +whom nevertheless as he watched his <a name="page104"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 104</span>herds Selene saw and loved, and from +Olympus descending she came to the Latmian glade, and lay in one +couch with the boy; and thou, Rhea, dust weep for thy +herdsman.</p> +<p>And didst not thou, too, Son of Cronos, take the shape of a +wandering bird, and all for a cowherd boy?</p> +<p>But Eunica alone would not kiss the herdsman; Eunica, she that +is greater than Cybele, and Cypris, and Selene!</p> +<p>Well, Cypris, never mayst thou, in city or on hillside, kiss +thy darling, <a name="citation104"></a><a href="#footnote104" +class="citation">[104]</a> and lonely all the long night mayst +thou sleep!</p> +<h3><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 105</span>IDYL +XXI</h3> +<p><i>After some verses addressed to Diophantus</i>, <i>a friend +about whom nothing is known</i>, <i>the poet describes the +toilsome life of two old fishermen</i>. <i>One of them has +dreamed of catching a golden fish</i>, <i>and has sworn</i>, +<i>in his dream</i>, <i>never again to tempt the sea</i>. +<i>The other reminds him that his oath is as empty as his +vision</i>, <i>and that he must angle for common fish</i>, <i>if +he would not starve among his golden dreams</i>. <i>The +idyl is</i>, <i>unfortunately</i>, <i>corrupt beyond hope of +certain correction</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>’<span class="smcap">Tis</span> Poverty alone, +Diophantus, that awakens the arts; Poverty, the very teacher of +labour. Nay, not even sleep is permitted, by weary cares, +to men that live by toil, and if, for a little while, one close +his eyes <a name="citation105"></a><a href="#footnote105" +class="citation">[105]</a> in the night, cares throng about him, +and suddenly disquiet his slumber.</p> +<p>Two fishers, on a time, two old men, together lay and slept; +they had strown the dry sea-moss for a bed in their wattled +cabin, and there they lay against the leafy wall. Beside +them were strewn the instruments of their toilsome hands, the +fishing-creels, the rods of reed, the hooks, the sails bedraggled +with sea-spoil, <a name="citation106a"></a><a +href="#footnote106a" class="citation">[106a]</a> <a +name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 106</span>the lines, +the weds, the lobster pots woven of rushes, the seines, two oars, +<a name="citation106b"></a><a href="#footnote106b" +class="citation">[106b]</a> and an old coble upon props. +Beneath their heads was a scanty matting, their clothes, their +sailor’s caps. Here was all their toil, here all +their wealth. The threshold had never a door, nor a +watch-dog; <a name="citation106c"></a><a href="#footnote106c" +class="citation">[106c]</a> all things, all, to them seemed +superfluity, for Poverty was their sentinel. They had no +neighbour by them, but ever against their narrow cabin gently +floated up the sea.</p> +<p>The chariot of the moon had not yet reached the mid-point of +her course, but their familiar toil awakened the fishermen; from +their eyelids they cast out slumber, and roused their souls with +speech. <a name="citation106d"></a><a href="#footnote106d" +class="citation">[106d]</a></p> +<p><i>Asphalion</i>. They lie all, my friend, who say that +the nights wane short in summer, when Zeus brings the long +days. Already have I seen ten thousand dreams, and the dawn +is not yet. Am I wrong, what ails them, the nights are +surely long?</p> +<p><i>The Friend</i>. Asphalion, thou blamest the beautiful +summer! It is not that the season hath wilfully passed his +natural course, but care, breaking thy sleep, makes night seem +long to thee.</p> +<p><i>Asphalion</i>. Didst ever learn to interpret dreams? +for good dreams have I beheld. I <a +name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 107</span>would not +have thee to go without thy share in my vision; even as we go +shares in the fish we catch, so share all my dreams! Sure, +thou art not to be surpassed in wisdom; and he is the best +interpreter of dreams that hath wisdom for his teacher. +Moreover, we have time to idle in, for what could a man find to +do, lying on a leafy bed beside the wave and slumbering +not? Nay, the ass is among the thorns, the lantern in the +town hall, for, they say, it is always sleepless. <a +name="citation107"></a><a href="#footnote107" +class="citation">[107]</a></p> +<p><i>The Friend</i>. Tell me, then, the vision of the +night; nay, tell all to thy friend.</p> +<p><i>Asphalion</i>. As I was sleeping late, amid the +labours of the salt sea (and truly not too full-fed, for we +supped early if thou dost remember, and did not overtax our +bellies), I saw myself busy on a rock, and there I sat and +watched the fishes, and kept spinning the bait with the +rods. And one of the fish nibbled, a fat one, for in sleep +dogs dream of bread, and of fish dream I. Well, he was +tightly hooked, and the blood was running, and the rod I grasped +was bent with his struggle. So with both hands I strained, +and had a sore tussle for the monster. How was I ever to +land so big a <a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +108</span>fish with hooks all too slim? Then just to remind +him he was hooked, I gently pricked him, <a +name="citation108a"></a><a href="#footnote108a" +class="citation">[108a]</a> pricked, and slackened, and, as he +did not run, I took in line. My toil was ended with the +sight of my prize; I drew up a golden fish, lo you, a fish all +plated thick with gold! Then fear took hold of me, lest he +might be some fish beloved of Posidon, or perchance some jewel of +the sea-grey Amphitrite. Gently I unhooked him, lest ever +the hooks should retain some of the gold of his mouth. Then +I dragged him on shore with the ropes, <a +name="citation108b"></a><a href="#footnote108b" +class="citation">[108b]</a> and swore that never again would I +set foot on sea, but abide on land, and lord it over the +gold.</p> +<p>This was even what wakened me, but, for <a +name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 109</span>the rest, +set thy mind to it, my friend, for I am in dismay about the oath +I swore.</p> +<p><i>The Friend</i>. Nay, never fear, thou art no more +sworn than thou hast found the golden fish of thy vision; dreams +are but lies. But if thou wilt search these waters, wide +awake, and not asleep, there is some hope in thy slumbers; seek +the fish of flesh, lest thou die of famine with all thy dreams of +gold!</p> +<h3><a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 110</span>IDYL +XXII<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE DIOSCURI</span></h3> +<p><i>This is a hymn</i>, <i>in the Homeric manner</i>, <i>to +Castor and Polydeuces</i>. <i>Compare the life and truth of +the descriptions of nature</i>, <i>and of the boxing-match</i>, +<i>with the frigid manner of Apollonius +Rhodius</i>.—Argonautica, <span class="GutSmall">II. +I.</span> <i>seq.</i></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> hymn the children twain of Leda, +and of aegis-bearing Zeus,—Castor, and Pollux, the boxer +dread, when he hath harnessed his knuckles in thongs of +ox-hide. Twice hymn we, and thrice the stalwart sons of the +daughter of Thestias, the two brethren of Lacedaemon. +Succourers are they of men in the very thick of peril, and of +horses maddened in the bloody press of battle, and of ships that, +defying the stars that set and rise in heaven, have encountered +the perilous breath of storms. The winds raise huge billows +about their stern, yea, or from the prow, or even as each wind +wills, and cast them into the hold of the ship, and shatter both +bulwarks, while with the sail hangs all the gear confused and +broken, and the storm-rain falls from heaven as night creeps on, +<a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 111</span>and the +wide sea rings, being lashed by the gusts, and by showers of iron +hail.</p> +<p>Yet even so do ye draw forth the ships from the abyss, with +their sailors that looked immediately to die; and instantly the +winds are still, and there is an oily calm along the sea, and the +clouds flee apart, this way and that, also the <i>Bears</i> +appear, and in the midst, dimly seen, the <i>Asses’ +manger</i>, declaring that all is smooth for sailing.</p> +<p>O ye twain that aid all mortals, O beloved pair, ye knights, +ye harpers, ye wrestlers, ye minstrels, of Castor, or of +Polydeuces first shall I begin to sing? Of both of you will +I make my hymn, but first will I sing of Polydeuces.</p> +<p>Even already had Argo fled forth from the Clashing Rocks, and +the dread jaws of snowy Pontus, and was come to the land of the +Bebryces, with her crew, dear children of the gods. There +all the heroes disembarked, down one ladder, from both sides of +the ship of Iason. When they had landed on the deep +seashore and a sea-bank sheltered from the wind, they strewed +their beds, and their hands were busy with firewood. <a +name="citation111"></a><a href="#footnote111" +class="citation">[111]</a></p> +<p>Then Castor of the swift steeds, and swart Polydeuces, these +twain went wandering alone, apart from their fellows, and +marvelling at all the various wildwood on the mountain. +Beneath a smooth cliff they found an ever-flowing spring filled +with the purest water, and the <a name="page112"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 112</span>pebbles below shone like crystal or +silver from the deep. Tall fir trees grew thereby, and +white poplars, and planes, and cypresses with their lofty tufts +of leaves, and there bloomed all fragrant flowers that fill the +meadows when early summer is waning—dear work-steads of the +hairy bees. But there a monstrous man was sitting in the +sun, terrible of aspect; the bruisers’ hard fists had +crushed his ears, and his mighty breast and his broad back were +domed with iron flesh, like some huge statue of hammered +iron. The muscles on his brawny arms, close by the +shoulder, stood out like rounded rocks, that the winter torrent +has rolled, and worn smooth, in the great swirling stream, but +about his back and neck was draped a lion’s skin, hung by +the claws. Him first accosted the champion, Polydeuces.</p> +<p><i>Polydeuces</i>. Good luck to thee, stranger, +whosoe’er thou art! What men are they that possess +this land?</p> +<p><i>Amycus</i>. What sort of luck, when I see men that I +never saw before?</p> +<p><i>Polydeuces</i>. Fear not! Be sure that those +thou look’st on are neither evil, nor the children of evil +men.</p> +<p><i>Amycus</i>. No fear have I, and it is not for thee to +teach me that lesson.</p> +<p><i>Polydeuces</i>. Art thou a savage, resenting all +address, or some vainglorious man?</p> +<p><i>Amycus</i>. I am that thou see’st, and on thy +land, at least, I trespass not.</p> +<p><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +113</span><i>Polydeuces</i>. Come, and with kindly gifts +return homeward again!</p> +<p><i>Amycus</i>. Gift me no gifts, none such have I ready +for thee.</p> +<p><i>Polydeuces</i>. Nay, wilt thou not even grant us +leave to taste this spring?</p> +<p><i>Amycus</i>. That shalt thou learn when thirst has +parched thy shrivelled lips.</p> +<p><i>Polydeuces</i>. Will silver buy the boon, or with +what price, prithee, may we gain thy leave?</p> +<p><i>Amycus</i>. Put up thy hands and stand in single +combat, man to man.</p> +<p><i>Polydeuces</i>. A boxing-match, or is kicking fair, +when we meet eye to eye?</p> +<p><i>Amycus</i>. Do thy best with thy fists and spare not +thy skill!</p> +<p><i>Polydeuces</i>. And who is the man on whom I am to +lay my hands and gloves?</p> +<p><i>Amycus</i>. Thou see’st him close enough, the +boxer will not prove a maiden!</p> +<p><i>Polydeuces</i>. And is the prize ready, for which we +two must fight?</p> +<p><i>Amycus</i>. Thy man shall I be called (shouldst thou +win), or thou mine, if I be victor.</p> +<p><i>Polydeuces</i>. On such terms fight the red-crested +birds of the game.</p> +<p><i>Amycus</i>. Well, be we like birds or lions, we shall +fight for no other stake.</p> +<p>So Amycus spoke, and seized and blew his hollow shell, and +speedily the long-haired Bebryces gathered beneath the shadowy +planes, <a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +114</span>at the blowing of the shell. And in likewise did +Castor, eminent in war, go forth and summon all the heroes from +the Magnesian ship. And the champions, when they had +strengthened their fists with the stout ox-skin gloves, and bound +long leathern thongs about their arms, stepped into the ring, +breathing slaughter against each other. Then had they much +ado, in that assault,—which should have the sun’s +light at his back. But by thy skill, Polydeuces, thou didst +outwit the giant, and the sun’s rays fell full on the face +of Amycus. Then came he eagerly on in great wrath and heat, +making play with his fists, but the son of Tyndarus smote him on +the chin as he charged, maddening him even more, and the giant +confused the fighting, laying on with all his weight, and going +in with his head down. The Bebryces cheered their man, and +on the other side the heroes still encouraged stout Polydeuces, +for they feared lest the giant’s weight, a match for +Tityus, might crush their champion in the narrow lists. But +the son of Zeus stood to him, shifting his ground again and +again, and kept smiting him, right and left, and somewhat checked +the rush of the son of Posidon, for all his monstrous +strength. Then he stood reeling like a drunken man under +the blows, and spat out the red blood, while all the heroes +together raised a cheer, as they marked the woful bruises about +his mouth and jaws, and how, as his face swelled up, his eyes +were half closed. Next, the prince teased him, feinting on +every side <a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +115</span>but seeing now that the giant was all abroad, he +planted his fist just above the middle of the nose, beneath the +eyebrows, and skinned all the brow to the bone. Thus +smitten, Amycus lay stretched on his back, among the flowers and +grasses. There was fierce fighting when he arose again, and +they bruised each other well, laying on with the hard weighted +gloves; but the champion of the Bebryces was always playing on +the chest, and outside the neck, while unconquered Polydeuces +kept smashing his foeman’s face with ugly blows. The +giant’s flesh was melting away in his sweat, till from a +huge mass he soon became small enough, but the limbs of the other +waxed always stronger, and his colour better, as he warmed to his +work.</p> +<p>How then, at last, did the son of Zeus lay low the glutton? +say goddess, for thou knowest, but I, who am but the interpreter +of others, will speak all that thou wilt, and in such wise as +pleases thee.</p> +<p>Now behold the giant was keen to do some great feat, so with +his left hand he grasped the left of Polydeuces, stooping +slantwise from his onset, while with his other hand he made his +effort, and drove a huge fist up from his right haunch. Had +his blow come home, he would have harmed the King of Amyclae, but +he slipped his head out of the way, and then with his strong hand +struck Amycus on the left temple, putting his shoulder into the +blow. Quick gushed the black blood from the gaping <a +name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 116</span>temple, +while Polydeuces smote the giant’s mouth with his left, and +the close-set teeth rattled. And still he punished his face +with quick-repeated blows, till the cheeks were fairly +pounded. Then Amycus lay stretched all on the ground, +fainting, and held out both his hands, to show that he declined +the fight, for he was near to death.</p> +<p>There then, despite thy victory, didst thou work him no +insensate wrong, O boxer Polydeuces, but to thee he swore a +mighty oath, calling his sire Posidon from the deep, that +assuredly never again would he be violent to strangers.</p> +<p>Thee have I hymned, my prince; but thee now, Castor, will I +sing, O son of Tyndarus, O lord of the swift steeds, O wielder of +the spear, thou that wearest the corselet of bronze.</p> +<p>Now these twain, the sons of Zeus, had seized and were bearing +away the two daughters of Lycippus, and eagerly in sooth these +two other brethren were pursuing them, the sons of Aphareus, even +they that should soon have been the bridegrooms,—Lynceus +and mighty Idas. But when they were come to the tomb of the +dead Aphareus, then forth from their chariots they all sprang +together, and set upon each other, under the weight of their +spears and hollow shields. But Lynceus again spake, and +shouted loud from under his vizor:—</p> +<p>‘Sirs, wherefore desire ye battle, and how <a +name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 117</span>are ye thus +violent to win the brides of others with naked swords in your +hands. To us, behold, did Leucippus betroth these his +daughters long before; to us this bridal is by oath +confirmed. And ye did not well, in that to win the wives of +others ye perverted him with gifts of oxen, and mules, and other +wealth, and so won wedlock by bribes. Lo many a time, in +face of both of you, I have spoken thus, I that am not a man of +many words, saying,—“Not thus, dear friends, does it +become heroes to woo their wives, wives that already have +bridegrooms betrothed. Lo Sparta is wide, and wide is Elis, +a land of chariots and horses, and Arcadia rich in sheep, and +there are the citadels of the Achaeans, and Messenia, and Argos, +and all the sea-coast of Sisyphus. There be maidens by +their parents nurtured, maidens countless, that lack not aught in +wisdom or in comeliness. Of these ye may easily win such as +ye will, for many are willing to be the fathers-in-law of noble +youths, and ye are the very choice of heroes all, as your fathers +were, and all your father’s kin, and all your blood from of +old. But, friends, let this our bridal find its due +conclusion, and for you let all of us seek out another +marriage.”</p> +<p>‘Many such words I would speak, but the wind’s +breath bare them away to the wet wave of the sea, and no favour +followed with my words. For ye twain are hard and +ruthless,—nay, but even now do ye listen, for ye are our +cousins, and kin by the father’s side. But if <a +name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 118</span>your heart +yet lusts for war, and with blood we must break up the kindred +strife, and end the feud, <a name="citation118"></a><a +href="#footnote118" class="citation">[118]</a> then Idas and his +cousin, mighty Polydeuces, shall hold their hands and abstain +from battle, but let us twain, Castor and I, the younger born, +try the ordeal of war! Let us not leave the heaviest of +grief to our fathers! Enough is one slain man from a house, +but the others will make festival for all their friends, and will +be bridegrooms, not slain men, and will wed these maidens. +Lo, it is fitting with light loss to end a great +dispute.’</p> +<p>So he spake, and these words the gods were not to make +vain. For the elder pair laid down their harness from their +shoulders on the ground, but Lynceus stepped into the midst, +swaying his mighty spear beneath the outer rim of his shield, and +even so did Castor sway his spear-points, and the plumes were +nodding above the crests of each. With the sharp spears +long they laboured and tilted at each other, if perchance they +might anywhere spy a part of the flesh unarmed. But ere +either was wounded the spear-points were broken, fast stuck in +the linden shields. Then both drew their swords from the +sheaths, and again devised each the other’s slaying, and +there was no truce in the fight. Many a time did Castor +smite on broad shield and horse-hair crest, and many a time the +keen-sighted Lynceus smote upon his shield, and his blade just +shore the <a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +119</span>scarlet plume. Then, as he aimed the sharp sword +at the left knee, Castor drew back with his left foot, and hacked +the fingers off the hand of Lynceus. Then he being smitten +cast away his sword, and turned swiftly to flee to the tomb of +his father, where mighty Idas lay, and watched this strife of +kinsmen. But the son of Tyndarus sped after him, and drove +the broad sword through bowels and navel, and instantly the +bronze cleft all in twain, and Lynceus bowed, and on his face he +lay fallen on the ground, and forthwith heavy sleep rushed down +upon his eyelids.</p> +<p>Nay, nor that other of her children did Laocoosa see, by the +hearth of his fathers, after he had fulfilled a happy +marriage. For lo, Messenian Idas did swiftly break away the +standing stone from the tomb of his father Aphareus, and now he +would have smitten the slayer of his brother, but Zeus defended +him and drave the polished stone from the hands of Idas, and +utterly consumed him with a flaming thunderbolt.</p> +<p>Thus it is no light labour to war with the sons of Tyndarus, +for a mighty pair are they, and mighty is he that begat them.</p> +<p>Farewell, ye children of Leda, and all goodly renown send ye +ever to our singing. Dear are all minstrels to the sons of +Tyndarus, and to Helen, and to the other heroes that sacked Troy +in aid of Menelaus.</p> +<p>For you, O princes, the bard of Chios wrought renown, when he +sang the city of <a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +120</span>Priam, and the ships of the Achaeans, and the Ilian +war, and Achilles, a tower of battle. And to you, in my +turn, the charms of the clear-voiced Muses, even all that they +can give, and all that my house has in store, these do I +bring. The fairest meed of the gods is song.</p> +<h3><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>IDYL +XXIII<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE VENGEANCE OF LOVE</span></h3> +<p><i>A lover hangs himself at the gate of his obdurate darling +who</i>, <i>in turn</i>, <i>is slain by a statue of Love</i>.</p> +<p><i>This poem is not attributed with much certainty to +Theocritus</i>, <i>and is found in but a small proportion of +manuscripts</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>A <span class="smcap">love-sick</span> youth pined for an +unkind love, beautiful in form, but fair no more in mood. +The beloved hated the lover, and had for him no gentleness at +all, and knew not Love, how mighty a God is he, and what a bow +his hands do wield, and what bitter arrows he dealeth at the +young. Yea, in all things ever, in speech and in all +approaches, was the beloved unyielding. Never was there any +assuagement of Love’s fires, never was there a smile of the +lips, nor a bright glance of the eyes, never a blushing cheek, +nor a word, nor a kiss that lightens the burden of desire. +Nay, as a beast of the wild wood hath the hunters in watchful +dread, even so did the beloved in all things regard the man, with +angered lips, and eyes that had the dreadful glance of fate, and +<a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 122</span>the +whole face was answerable to this wrath, the colour fled from it, +sicklied o’er with wrathful pride. Yet even thus was +the loved one beautiful, and the lover was the more moved by this +haughtiness. At length he could no more endure so fierce a +flame of the Cytherean, but drew near and wept by the hateful +dwelling, and kissed the lintel of the door, and thus he lifted +up his voice:</p> +<p>‘O cruel child, and hateful, thou nursling of some +fierce lioness, O child all of stone unworthy of love; I have +come with these my latest gifts to thee, even this halter of +mine; for, child, I would no longer anger thee and work thee +pain. Nay, I am going where thou hast condemned me to fare, +where, as men say, is the path, and there the common remedy of +lovers, the River of Forgetfulness. Nay, but were I to take +and drain with my lips all the waters thereof, not even so shall +I quench my yearning desire. And now I bid my farewell to +these gates of thine.</p> +<p>‘Behold I know the thing that is to be.</p> +<p>‘Yea, the rose is beautiful, and Time he withers it; and +fair is the violet in spring, and swiftly it waxes old; white is +the lily, it fadeth when it falleth; and snow is white, and +melteth after it hath been frozen. And the beauty of youth +is fair, but lives only for a little season.</p> +<p>‘That time will come when thou too shalt love, when thy +heart shall burn, and thou shalt weep salt tears.</p> +<p><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +123</span>‘But, child, do me even this last favour; when +thou comest forth, and see’st me hanging in thy +gateway,—pass me not careless by, thy hapless lover, but +stand, and weep a little while; and when thou hast made this +libation of thy tears, then loose me from the rope, and cast over +me some garment from thine own limbs, and so cover me from sight; +but first kiss me for that latest time of all, and grant the dead +this grace of thy lips.</p> +<p>‘Fear me not, I cannot live again, no, not though thou +shouldst be reconciled to me, and kiss me. A tomb for me do +thou hollow, to be the hiding-place of my love, and if thou +departest, cry thrice above me,—</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><i>O friend</i>, +<i>thou liest low</i>!</p> +<p>And if thou wilt, add this also,—</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><i>Alas</i>, <i>my +true friend is dead</i>!</p> +<p>‘And this legend do thou write, that I will scratch on +thy walls,—</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>This man Love slew</i>! +<i>Wayfarer</i>, <i>pass not heedless by</i>,<br /> +<i>But stand</i>, <i>and say</i>, “<i>he had a cruel +darling</i>.”’</p> +<p>Therewith he seized a stone, and laid it against the wall, as +high as the middle of the doorposts, a dreadful stone, and from +the lintel he fastened the slender halter, and cast the noose +about his neck, and kicked away the support from under his foot, +and there was he hanged dead.</p> +<p><a name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>But +the beloved opened the door, and saw the dead man hanging there +in the court, unmoved of heart, and tearless for the strange, +woful death; but on the dead man were all the garments of youth +defiled. Then forth went the beloved to the contests of the +wrestlers, and there was heart-set on the delightful +bathing-places, and even thereby encountered the very God +dishonoured, for Love stood on a pedestal of stone above the +waters. <a name="citation124"></a><a href="#footnote124" +class="citation">[124]</a> And lo, the statue leaped, and +slew that cruel one, and the water was red with blood, but the +voice of the slain kept floating to the brim.</p> +<p><i>Rejoice</i>, <i>ye lovers</i>, <i>for he that hated is +slain</i>. <i>Love</i>, <i>all ye beloved</i>, <i>for the +God knoweth how to deal righteous judgment</i>.</p> +<h3><a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 125</span>IDYL +XXIV<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE INFANT HERACLES</span></h3> +<p><i>This poem describes the earliest feat of Heracles</i>, +<i>the slaying of the snakes sent against him by Hera</i>, <i>and +gives an account of the hero’s training</i>. <i>The +vivacity and tenderness of the pictures of domestic life</i>, +<i>and the minute knowledge of expiatory ceremonies seem to stamp +this idyl as the work of Theocritus</i>. <i>As the +following poem also deals with an adventure of Heracles</i>, +<i>it seems not impossible that Theocritus wrote</i>, <i>or +contemplated writing</i>, <i>a Heraclean epic</i>, <i>in a series +of idyls</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> Heracles was but ten months +old, the lady of Midea, even Alcmena, took him, on a time, and +Iphicles his brother, younger by one night, and gave them both +their bath, and their fill of milk, then laid them down in the +buckler of bronze, that goodly piece whereof Amphitryon had +strippen the fallen Pterelaus. And then the lady stroked +her children’s heads, and spoke, saying:—</p> +<p>‘Sleep, my little ones, a light delicious sleep; sleep, +soul of mine, two brothers, babes unharmed; blessed be your +sleep, and blessed may ye come to the dawn.’</p> +<p><a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 126</span>So +speaking she rocked the huge shield, and in a moment sleep laid +hold on them.</p> +<p>But when the <i>Bear</i> at midnight wheels westward over +against <i>Orion</i> that shows his mighty shoulder, even then +did crafty Hera send forth two monstrous things, two snakes +bristling up their coils of azure; against the broad threshold, +where are the hollow pillars of the house-door she urged them; +with intent that they should devour the young child +Heracles. Then these twain crawled forth, writhing their +ravenous bellies along the ground, and still from their eyes a +baleful fire was shining as they came, and they spat out their +deadly venom. But when with their flickering tongues they +were drawing near the children, then Alcmena’s dear babes +wakened, by the will of Zeus that knows all things, and there was +a bright light in the chamber. Then truly one child, even +Iphicles, screamed out straightway, when he beheld the hideous +monsters above the hollow shield, and saw their pitiless fangs, +and he kicked off the woollen coverlet with his feet, in his +eagerness to flee. But Heracles set his force against them, +and grasped them with his hands, binding them both in a grievous +bond, having got them by the throat, wherein lies the evil venom +of baleful snakes, the venom detested even by the gods. +Then the serpents, in their turn, wound with their coils about +the young child, the child unweaned, that wept never in his +nursling days; but again they relaxed their spines in stress, of +<a name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>pain, +and strove to find some issue from the grasp of iron.</p> +<p>Now Alcmena heard the cry, and wakened first,—</p> +<p>‘Arise, Amphitryon, for numbing fear lays hold of me: +arise, nor stay to put shoon beneath thy feet! Hearest thou +not how loud the younger child is wailing? Mark’st +thou not that though it is the depth of the night, the walls are +all plain to see as in the clear dawn? <a +name="citation127"></a><a href="#footnote127" +class="citation">[127]</a> There is some strange thing I +trow within the house, there is, my dearest lord!’</p> +<p>Thus she spake, and at his wife’s bidding he stepped +down out of his bed, and made for his richly dight sword that he +kept always hanging on its pin above his bed of cedar. +Verily he was reaching out for his new-woven belt, lifting with +the other hand the mighty sheath, a work of lotus wood, when lo, +the wide chamber was filled again with night. Then he cried +aloud on his thralls, who were drawing the deep breath of +sleep,—</p> +<p>‘Lights! Bring lights as quick as may be from the +hearth, my thralls, and thrust back the strong bolts of the +doors. Arise, ye serving-men, stout of heart, ’tis +the master calls.’</p> +<p>Then quick the serving-men came speeding with torches burning, +and the house waxed full <a name="page128"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 128</span>as each man hasted along. Then +truly when they saw the young child Heracles clutching the snakes +twain in his tender grasp, they all cried out and smote their +hands together. But he kept showing the creeping things to +his father, Amphitryon, and leaped on high in his childish glee, +and laughing, at his father’s feet he laid them down, the +dread monsters fallen on the sleep of death. Then Alcmena +in her own bosom took and laid Iphicles, dry-eyed and wan with +fear; <a name="citation128"></a><a href="#footnote128" +class="citation">[128]</a> but Amphitryon, placing the other +child beneath a lamb’s-wool coverlet, betook himself again +to his bed, and gat him to his rest.</p> +<p>The cocks were now but singing their third welcome to the +earliest dawn, when Alcmena called forth Tiresias, the seer that +cannot lie, and told him of the new portent, and bade him declare +what things should come to pass.</p> +<p>‘Nay, and even if the gods devise some mischief, conceal +it not from me in ruth and pity; and how that mortals may not +escape the doom that Fate speeds from her spindle, O soothsayer +Euerides, I am teaching thee, that thyself knowest it right +well.’</p> +<p>Thus spake the Queen, and thus he answered her:</p> +<p>‘Be of good cheer, daughter of Perseus, woman that hast +borne the noblest of children [and lay up in thy heart the better +of the things that are to be]. For by the sweet light that +long hath left mine eyes, I swear that <a +name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 129</span>many +Achaean women, as they card the soft wool about their knees, +shall sing at eventide, of Alcmena’s name, and thou shalt +be honourable among the women of Argos. Such a man, even +this thy son, shall mount to the starry firmament, the hero broad +of breast, the master of all wild beasts, and of all +mankind. Twelve labours is he fated to accomplish, and +thereafter to dwell in the house of Zeus, but all his mortal part +a Trachinian pyre shall possess.</p> +<p>‘And the son of the Immortals, by virtue of his bride, +shall he be called, even of them that urged forth these snakes +from their dens to destroy the child. Verily that day shall +come when the ravening wolf, beholding the fawn in his lair, will +not seek to work him harm.</p> +<p>‘But lady, see that thou hast fire at hand, beneath the +embers, and let make ready dry fuel of gorse, or thorn, or +bramble, or pear boughs dried with the wind’s buffeting, +and on the wild fire burn these serpents twain, at midnight, even +at the hour when they would have slain thy child. But at +dawn let one of thy maidens gather the dust of the fire, and bear +and cast it all, every grain, over the river from the brow of the +broken cliff, <a name="citation129"></a><a href="#footnote129" +class="citation">[129]</a> beyond the march of your land, and +return again without looking <a name="page130"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 130</span>behind. Then cleanse your +house with the fire of unmixed sulphur first, and then, as is +ordained, with a filleted bough sprinkle holy water over all, +mingled with salt. <a name="citation130"></a><a +href="#footnote130" class="citation">[130]</a> And to Zeus +supreme, moreover, do ye sacrifice a young boar, that ye may ever +have the mastery over all your enemies.’</p> +<p>So spake he, and thrust back his ivory chair, and departed, +even Tiresias, despite the weight of all his many years.</p> +<p>But Heracles was reared under his mother’s care, like +some young sapling in a garden close, being called the son of +Amphitryon of Argos. And the lad was taught his letters by +the ancient Linus, Apollo’s son, a tutor ever +watchful. And to draw the bow, and send the arrow to the +mark did Eurytus teach him, Eurytus rich in wide ancestral +lands. And Eumolpus, son of Philammon, made the lad a +minstrel, and formed his hands to the boxwood lyre. And all +the tricks wherewith the nimble Argive cross-buttockers give each +other the fall, and all the wiles of boxers skilled with the +gloves, and all the art that the rough and tumble fighters have +sought out to aid their science, all these did Heracles learn +from Harpalacus of Phanes, the son of Hermes. Him no man +that beheld, even from afar, would have confidently met as a +wrestler in the lists, so grim a brow overhung his dreadful +face. And to drive forth his horses ’neath the +chariot, and safely to guide them <a name="page131"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 131</span>round the goals, with the naves of +the wheels unharmed, Amphitryon taught his son in his +loving-kindness, Amphitryon himself, for many a prize had he +borne away from the fleet races in Argos, pasture-land of steeds, +and unbroken were the chariots that he mounted, till time +loosened their leathern thongs.</p> +<p>But to charge with spear in rest, against a foe, guarding, +meanwhile, his back with the shield, to bide the biting swords, +to order a company, and to measure, in his onslaught, the ambush +of foemen, and to give horsemen the word of command, he was +taught by knightly Castor. An outlaw came Castor out of +Argos, when Tydeus was holding all the land and all the wide +vineyards, having received Argos, a land of steeds, from the hand +of Adrastus. No peer in war among the demigods had Castor, +till age wore down his youth.</p> +<p>Thus did his dear mother let train Heracles, and the +child’s bed was made hard by his father’s; a +lion’s skin was the coverlet he loved; his dinner was roast +meat, and a great Dorian loaf in a basket, a meal to satisfy a +delving hind. At the close of day he would take a meagre +supper that needed no fire to the cooking, and his plain kirtle +fell no lower than the middle of his shin.</p> +<h3><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 132</span>IDYL +XXV<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">HERACLES THE LION-SLAYER</span></h3> +<p><i>This is another idyl of the epic sort</i>. <i>The +poet’s interest in the details of the rural life</i>, +<i>and in the description of the herds of King Augeas</i>, +<i>seem to mark it as the work of Theocritus</i>. <i>It +has</i>, <i>however</i>, <i>been attributed by learned conjecture +to various writers of an older age</i>. <i>The idyl</i>, +<i>or fragment</i>, <i>is incomplete</i>. <i>Heracles +visits the herds of Augeas</i> (<i>to clean their stalls was one +of his labours</i>), <i>and</i>, <i>after an encounter with a +bull</i>, <i>describes to the king’s son his battle with +the lion of Nemea</i>.</p> +<p>. . . Him answered the old man, a husbandman that had the care +of the tillage, ceasing a moment from the work that lay betwixt +his hands—‘Right readily will I tell thee, stranger, +concerning the things whereof thou inquirest, for I revere the +awful wrath of Hermes of the roadside. Yea he, they say, is +of all the heavenly Gods the most in anger, if any deny the +wayfarer that asks eagerly for the way.</p> +<p>‘The fleecy flocks of the king Augeas feed not all on +one pasture, nor in one place, but some there be that graze by +the river-banks <a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +133</span>round Elisus, and some by the sacred stream of divine +Alpheius, and some by Buprasium rich in clusters of the vine, and +some even in this place. And behold, the pens for each herd +after its kind are builded apart. Nay, but for all the +herds of Augeas, overflowing as they be, these pasture lands are +ever fresh and flowering, around the great marsh of Peneus, for +with herbage honey-sweet the dewy water-meadows are ever +blossoming abundantly, and this fodder it is that feeds the +strength of horned kine. And this their steading, on thy +right hand stands all plain to view, beyond the running river, +there, where the plane-trees grow luxuriant, and the green wild +olive, a sacred grove, O stranger, of Apollo of the pastures, a +God most gracious unto prayer. Next thereto are builded +long rows of huts for the country folk, even for us that do +zealously guard the great and marvellous wealth of the king; +casting in season the seed in fallow lands, thrice, ay, and four +times broken by the plough. As for the marches, truly, the +ditchers know them, men of many toils, who throng to the +wine-press at the coming of high summer tide. For, behold, +all this plain is held by gracious Augeas, and the wheat-bearing +plough-land, and the orchards with their trees, as far as the +upland farm of the ridge, whence the fountains spring; over all +which lands we go labouring, the whole day long, as is the wont +of thralls that live their lives among the fields.</p> +<p>‘But, prithee, tell thou me, in thy turn (and <a +name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 134</span>for thine +own gain it will be), whom comest thou hither to seek; in quest, +perchance, of Augeas, or one of his servants? Of all these +things, behold, I have knowledge, and could tell thee plainly, +for methinks that thou, for thy part, comest of no churlish +stock, nay, nor hath thy shape aught of the churl, so excellent +in might shows thy form. Lo, now, even such are the +children of the immortal Gods among mortal men.’ Then +the mighty son of Zeus answered him, saying—</p> +<p>‘Yea, old man, I fain would see Augeas, prince of the +Epeans, for truly ’twas need of him that brought me +hither. If he abides at the town with his citizens, caring +for his people, and settling the pleas, do thou, old man, bid one +of the servants to guide me on the way, a head-man of the more +honourable sort in these fields, to whom I may both tell my +desire, and learn in turn what I would, for God has made all men +dependent, each on each.’</p> +<p>Then the old man, the worthy husbandman, answered him +again—</p> +<p>‘By the guidance of some one of the immortals hast thou +come hither, stranger, for verily all that thou requirest hath +quickly been fulfilled. For hither hath come Augeas, the +dear son of Helios, with his own son, the strong and princely +Phyleus. But yesterday he came hither from the city, to be +overseeing after many days his substance, that he hath uncounted +in the fields. Thus do even kings in their inmost hearts +believe that the eye of the <a name="page135"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 135</span>master makes the house more +prosperous. Nay come, let us hasten to him, and I will lead +thee to our dwelling, where methinks we shall find the +king.’</p> +<p>So he spake, and began to lead the way, but in his mind, as he +marked the lion’s hide, and the club that filled the +stranger’s fist, the old man was deeply pondering as to +whence he came, and ever he was eager to inquire of him. +But back again he kept catching the word as it rose to his lips, +in fear lest he should speak somewhat out of season (his +companion being in haste) for hard it is to know another’s +mood.</p> +<p>Now as they began to draw nigh, the dogs from afar were +instantly aware of them, both by the scent, and by the sound of +footsteps, and, yelling furiously, they charged from all sides +against Heracles, son of Amphitryon, while with faint yelping, on +the other side, they greeted the old man, and fawned around +him. But he just lifted stones from the ground, <a +name="citation135"></a><a href="#footnote135" +class="citation">[135]</a> and scared them away, and, raising his +voice, he right roughly chid them all, and made them cease from +their yelping, being glad in his heart withal for that they +guarded his dwelling, even when he was afar. Then thus he +spake—</p> +<p>‘Lo, what a comrade for men have the Gods, the lords of +all, made in this creature, how mindful is he! If he had +but so much wit within him as to know against whom he should <a +name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 136</span>rage, and +with whom he should forbear, no beast in the world could vie with +his deserts. But now he is something over-fierce and +blindly furious.’</p> +<p>So he spake, and they hastened, and came even to that dwelling +whither they were faring.</p> +<p>Now Helios had turned his steeds to the west, bringing the +late day, and the fatted sheep came up from the pastures to the +pens and folds. Next thereafter the kine approaching, ten +thousand upon ten thousand, showed for multitude even like the +watery clouds that roll forward in heaven under the stress of the +South Wind, or the Thracian North (and countless are they, and +ceaseless in their airy passage, for the wind’s might rolls +up the rear as numerous as the van, and hosts upon hosts again +are moving in infinite array), even so many did herds upon herds +of kine move ever forwards. And, lo, the whole plain was +filled, and all the ways, as the cattle fared onwards, and the +rich fields could not contain their lowing, and the stalls were +lightly filled with kine of trailing feet, and the sheep were +being penned in the folds.</p> +<p>There no man, for lack of labour, stood idle by the cattle, +though countless men were there, but one was fastening guards of +wood, with shapely thongs, about the feet of the kine, that he +might draw near and stand by, and milk them. And another +beneath their mothers kind was placing the calves right eager to +drink of the sweet milk. Yet another held a <a +name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>milking +pail, while his fellow was fixing the rich cheese, and another +led in the bulls apart from the cows. Meanwhile Augeas was +going round all the stalls, and marking the care his herdsmen +bestowed upon all that was his. And the king’s son, +and the mighty, deep-pondering Heracles, went along with the +king, as he passed through his great possessions. Then +though he bore a stout spirit in his heart, and a mind stablished +always imperturbable, yet the son of Amphitryon still marvelled +out of measure, as he beheld these countless troops of +cattle. Yea none would have deemed or believed that the +substance of one man could be so vast, nay, nor ten men’s +wealth, were they the richest in sheep of all the kings in the +world. But Helios to his son gave this gift pre-eminent, +namely to abound in flocks far above all other men, and Helios +himself did ever and always give increase to the cattle, for upon +his herds came no disease, of them that always minish the +herdman’s toil. But always more in number waxed the +horned kine, and goodlier, year by year, for verily they all +brought forth exceeding abundantly, and never cast their young, +and chiefly bare heifers.</p> +<p>With the kine went continually three hundred bulls, +white-shanked, and curved of horn,—and two hundred others, +red cattle,—and all these already were of an age to mate +with the kine. Other twelve bulls, again, besides these, +went together in a herd, being sacred to Helios. They were +white as swans, and shone among <a name="page138"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 138</span>all the herds of trailing +gait. And these disdaining the herds grazed still on the +rich herbage in the pastures, and they were exceeding high of +heart. And whensoever the swift wild beasts came down from +the rough oakwood to the plain, to seek the wilder cattle, afield +went these bulls first to the fight, at the smell of the savour +of the beasts, bellowing fearfully, and glancing slaughter from +their brows.</p> +<p>Among these bulls was one pre-eminent for strength and might, +and for reckless pride, even the mighty Phaethon, that all the +herdsmen still likened to a star, because he always shone so +bright when he went among the other cattle, and was right easy to +be discerned. Now when this bull beheld the dried skin of +the fierce-faced lion, he rushed against the keen-eyed Heracles +himself, to dash his head and stalwart front against the sides of +the hero. Even as he charged, the prince forthwith grasped +him with strong hand by the left horn, and bowed his neck down to +the ground, puissant as he was, and, with the weight of his +shoulder, crushed him backwards, while clear stood out the +strained muscle over the sinews on the hero’s upper +arm. Then marvelled the king himself, and his son, the +warlike Phyleus, and the herdsmen that were set over the horned +kine,—when they beheld the exceeding strength of the son of +Amphitryon.</p> +<p>Now these twain, even Phyleus and mighty Heracles, left the +fat fields there, and were making for the city. But just +where they <a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +139</span>entered on the highway, after quickly speeding over the +narrow path that stretched through the vineyard from the +farmhouses, a dim path through the green wood, thereby the dear +son of Augeas bespake the child of supreme Zeus, who was behind +him, slightly turning his head over his right shoulder,</p> +<p>‘Stranger, long time ago I heard a tale, which, as of +late I guess, surely concerneth thee. For there came +hither, in his wayfaring out of Argos, a certain young Achaean, +from Helicé, by the seashore, who verily told a tale and +that among many Epeians here,—how, even in his presence, a +certain Argive slew a wild beast, a lion dread, a curse of evil +omen to the country folk. The monster had its hollow lair +by the grove of Nemean Zeus, but as for him that slew it, I know +not surely whether he was a man of sacred Argos, there, or a +dweller in Tiryns city, or in Mycenae, as he that told the tale +declared. By birth, howbeit, he said (if rightly, I recall +it) that the hero was descended from Perseus. Methinks that +none of the Aegialeis had the hardihood for this deed save +thyself; nay, the hide of the beast that covers thy sides doth +clearly proclaim the mighty deed of thy hands. But come +now, hero, tell thou me first, that truly I may know, whether my +foreboding be right or wrong,—if thou art that man of whom +the Achaean from Helicé spake in our hearing, and if I +read thee aright. Tell me how single-handed thou didst slay +this ruinous pest, and <a name="page140"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 140</span>how it came to the well-watered +ground of Nemea, for not in Apis couldst thou find,—not +though thou soughtest after it,—so great a monster. +For the country feeds no such large game, but bears, and boars, +and the pestilent race of wolves. Wherefore all were in +amaze that listened to the story, and there were some who said +that the traveller was lying, and pleasing them that stood by +with the words of an idle tongue.’</p> +<p>Thus Phyleus spake, and stepped out of the middle of the road, +that there might be space for both to walk abreast, and that so +he might hear the more easily the words of Heracles who now came +abreast with him, and spake thus,</p> +<p>‘O son of Augeas, concerning that whereof thou first +didst ask me, thyself most easily hast discerned it aright. +Nay then, about this monster I will tell thee all, even how all +was done,—since thou art eager to hear,—save, indeed, +as to whence he came, for, many as the Argives be, not one can +tell that clearly. Only we guess that some one of the +Immortals, in wrath for sacrifice unoffered, sent this bane +against the children of Phoroneus. For over all the men of +Pisa the lion swept, like a flood, and still ravaged insatiate, +and chiefly spoiled the Bembinaeans, that were his neighbours, +and endured things intolerable.</p> +<p>‘Now this labour did Eurystheus enjoin on me to fulfil +the first of all, and bade me slay the dreadful monster. So +I took my supple bow, and hollow quiver full of arrows, and set +<a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 141</span>forth; +and in my other hand I held my stout club, well balanced, and +wrought, with unstripped bark, from a shady wild olive-tree, that +I myself had found, under sacred Helicon, and dragged up the +whole tree, with the bushy roots. But when I came to the +place whereby the lion abode, even then I grasped my bow and +slipped the string up to the curved tip, and straightway laid +thereon the bitter arrow. Then I cast my eyes on every +side, spying for the baneful monster, if perchance I might see +him, or ever he saw me. It was now midday, and nowhere +might I discern the tracks of the monster, nor hear his +roaring. Nay, nor was there one man to be seen with the +cattle, and the tillage through all the furrowed lea, of whom I +might inquire, but wan fear still held them all within the +homesteads. Yet I stayed not in my going, as I quested +through the deep-wooded hill, till I beheld him, and instantly +essayed my prowess. Now early in the evening he was making +for his lair, full fed with blood and flesh, and all his +bristling mane was dashed with carnage, and his fierce face, and +his breast, and still with his tongue he kept licking his bearded +chin. Then instantly I hid me in the dark undergrowth, on +the wooded hill, awaiting his approach, and as he came nearer I +smote him on the left flank, but all in vain, for naught did the +sharp arrow pierce through his flesh, but leaped back, and fell +on the green grass. Then quickly he raised his tawny head +from the ground, in amaze, glancing all around with <a +name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 142</span>his eyes, +and with jaws distent he showed his ravenous teeth. Then I +launched against him another shaft from the string, in wrath that +the former flew vainly from my hand, and I smote him right in the +middle of the breast, where the lung is seated, yet not even so +did the cruel arrow sink into his hide, but fell before his feet, +in vain, to no avail. Then for the third time was I making +ready to draw my bow again, in great shame and wrath, but the +furious beast glanced his eyes around, and spied me. With +his long tail he lashed his flanks, and straightway bethought him +of battle. His neck was clothed with wrath, and his tawny +hair bristled round his lowering brow, and his spine was curved +like a bow, his whole force being gathered up from under towards +his flanks and loins. And as when a wainwright, one skilled +in many an art, doth bend the saplings of seasoned fig-tree, +having first tempered them in the fire, to make tires for the +axles of his chariot, and even then the fig-tree wood is like to +leap from his hands in the bending, and springs far away at a +single bound, even so the dread lion leaped on me from afar, +huddled in a heap, and keen to glut him with my flesh. Then +with one hand I thrust in front of me my arrows, and the double +folded cloak from my shoulder, and with the other raised the +seasoned club above my head, and drove at his crest, and even on +the shaggy scalp of the insatiate beast brake my grievous cudgel +of wild olive-tree. Then or ever he <a +name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 143</span>reached me, +he fell from his flight, on to the ground, and stood on trembling +feet, with wagging head, for darkness gathered about both his +eyes, his brain being shaken in his skull with the violence of +the blow. Then when I marked how he was distraught with the +grievous torment, or ever he could turn and gain breath again, I +fell on him, and seized him by the column of his stubborn +neck. To earth I cast my bow, and woven quiver, and +strangled him with all my force, gripping him with stubborn clasp +from the rear, lest he should rend my flesh with his claws, and I +sprang on him and kept firmly treading his hind feet into the +soil with my heels, while I used his sides to guard my thighs, +till I had strained his shoulders utterly, then lifted him up, +all breathless,—and Hell took his monstrous life.</p> +<p>‘And then at last I took thought how I should strip the +rough hide from the dead beast’s limbs, a right hard +labour, for it might not be cut with steel, when I tried, nor +stone, nor with aught else. <a name="citation143"></a><a +href="#footnote143" class="citation">[143]</a> Thereon one +of the Immortals put into my mind the thought to cleave the +lion’s hide with his own claws. With these I speedily +flayed it off, and cast it about my limbs, for my defence against +the brunt of wounding war.</p> +<p>‘Friend, lo even thus befel the slaying of the Nemean +Lion, that aforetime had brought many a bane on flocks and +men.’</p> +<h3><a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 144</span>IDYL +XXVI</h3> +<p><i>This idyl narrates the murder of Pentheus</i>, <i>who was +torn to pieces</i> (<i>after the Dionysiac Ritual</i>) <i>by his +mother</i>, <i>Agave</i>, <i>and other Theban women</i>, <i>for +having watched the celebration of the mysteries of +Dionysus</i>. <i>It is still dangerous for an Australian +native to approach the women of the tribe while they are +celebrating their savage rites</i>. <i>The conservatism of +Greek religion is well illustrated by Theocritus’s apology +for the truly savage revenge commemorated in the old Theban +legend</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Ino</span>, and Autonoe, and Agave of the +apple cheeks,—three bands of Maenads to the mountain-side +they led, these ladies three. They stripped the wild leaves +of a rugged oak, and fresh ivy, and asphodel of the upper earth, +and in an open meadow they built twelve altars; for Semele three, +and nine for Dionysus. The mystic cakes <a +name="citation144"></a><a href="#footnote144" +class="citation">[144]</a> from the mystic chest they had taken +in their hands, and in silence had laid them on the altars of +new-stripped boughs; so Dionysus ever taught the rite, and +herewith was he wont to be well pleased.</p> +<p>Now Pentheus from a lofty cliff was watching <a +name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 145</span>all, deep +hidden in an ancient lentisk hush, a plant of that land. +Autonoe first beheld him, and shrieked a dreadful yell, and, +rushing suddenly, with her feet dashed all confused the mystic +things of Bacchus the wild. For these are things unbeholden +of men profane. Frenzied was she, and then forthwith the +others too were frenzied. Then Pentheus fled in fear, and +they pursued after him, with raiment kirtled through the belt +above the knee.</p> +<p>This much said Pentheus, ‘Women, what would ye?’ +and thus answered Autonoe, ‘That shalt thou straightway +know, ere thou hast heard it.’</p> +<p>The mother seized her child’s head, and cried loud, as +is the cry of a lioness over her cubs, while Ino, for her part, +set her heel on the body, and brake asunder the broad shoulder, +shoulder-blade and all, and in the same strain wrought +Autonoe. The other women tore the remnants piecemeal, and +to Thebes they came, all bedabbled with blood, from the mountains +bearing not Pentheus but repentance. <a name="citation145"></a><a +href="#footnote145" class="citation">[145]</a></p> +<p>I care for none of these things, nay, nor let another take +thought to make himself the foe of Dionysus, not though one +should suffer yet greater torments than these,—being but a +child of nine years old or entering, perchance, on his tenth +year. For me, may I be pure and holy, and find favour in +the eyes of the pure!</p> +<p>From aegis-bearing Zeus hath this augury <a +name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 146</span>all honour, +‘to the children of the godly the better fortune, but evil +befall the offspring of the ungodly.’</p> +<p>‘Hail to Dionysus, whom Zeus supreme brought forth in +snowy Dracanus, when he had unburdened his mighty thigh, and hail +to beautiful Semele: and to her sisters,—Cadmeian ladies +honoured of all daughters of heroes,—who did this deed at +the behest of Dionysus, a deed not to be blamed; let no man blame +the actions of the gods.’</p> +<h3><a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>IDYL +XXVII<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE WOOING OF DAPHNIS</span></h3> +<p><i>The authenticity of this idyl has been denied</i>, +<i>partly because the Daphnis of the poem is not identical in +character with the Daphnis of the first idyl</i>. <i>But +the piece is certainly worthy of a place beside the work of +Theocritus</i>. <i>The dialogue is here arranged as in the +text of Fritzsche</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Helen the wise did Paris, another +neatherd, ravish!</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. ’Tis rather this Helen that kisses +her shepherd, even me! <a name="citation147"></a><a +href="#footnote147" class="citation">[147]</a></p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Boast not, little satyr, for kisses +they call an empty favour.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Nay, even in empty kisses there is a +sweet delight.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. I wash my lips, I blow away from me +thy kisses!</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Dost thou wash thy lips? Then give +me them again to kiss!</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. ’Tis for thee to caress thy +kine, not a maiden unwed.</p> +<p><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +148</span><i>Daphnis</i>. Boast not, for swiftly thy youth +flits by thee, like a dream.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. The grapes turn to raisins, not +wholly will the dry rose perish.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Come hither, beneath the wild olives, +that I may tell thee a tale.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. I will not come; ay, ere now with a +sweet tale didst thou beguile me.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Come hither, beneath the elms, to listen +to my pipe!</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Nay, please thyself, no woful tune +delights me.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Ah maiden, see that thou too shun the +anger of the Paphian.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Good-bye to the Paphian, let Artemis +only be friendly!</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Say not so, lest she smite thee, and +thou fall into a trap whence there is no escape.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Let her smite an she will; Artemis +again would be my defender. Lay no hand on me; nay, if thou +do more, and touch me with thy lips, I will bite thee. <a +name="citation148"></a><a href="#footnote148" +class="citation">[148]</a></p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. From Love thou dost not flee, whom never +yet maiden fled.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Escape him, by Pan, I do, but thou +dost ever bear his yoke.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. This is ever my fear lest he even give +thee to a meaner man.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Many have been my wooers, but none +has won my heart.</p> +<p><a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +149</span><i>Daphnis</i>. Yea I, out of many chosen, come +here thy wooer.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Dear love, what can I do? +Marriage has much annoy.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Nor pain nor sorrow has marriage, but +mirth and dancing.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Ay, but they say that women dread +their lords.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Nay, rather they always rule +them,—whom do women fear?</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Travail I dread, and sharp is the +shaft of Eilithyia.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. But thy queen is Artemis, that lightens +labour.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. But I fear childbirth, lest, +perchance, I lose my beauty.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Nay, if thou bearest dear children thou +wilt see the light revive in thy sons.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. And what wedding gift dost thou bring +me if I consent?</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. My whole flock, all my groves, and all +my pasture land shall be thine.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Swear that thou wilt not win me, and +then depart and leave me forlorn.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. So help me Pan I would not leave thee, +didst thou even choose to banish me!</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Dost thou build me bowers, and a +house, and folds for flocks?</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Yea, bowers I build thee, the flocks I +tend are fair.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. But to my grey old father, what tale, +ah what, shall I tell?</p> +<p><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +150</span><i>Daphnis</i>. He will approve thy wedlock when +he has heard my name.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Prithee, tell me that name of thine; +in a name there is often delight.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Daphnis am I, Lycidas is my father, and +Nomaea is my mother.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Thou comest of men well-born, but +there I am thy match.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. I know it, thou art of high degree, for +thy father is Menalcas. <a name="citation150a"></a><a +href="#footnote150a" class="citation">[150a]</a></p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Show me thy grove, wherein is thy +cattle-stall.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. See here, how they bloom, my slender +cypress-trees.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Graze on, my goats, I go to learn the +herdsman’s labours.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Feed fair, my bulls, while I show my +woodlands to my lady!</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. What dost thou, little satyr; why +dost thou touch my breast?</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. I will show thee that these earliset +apples are ripe. <a name="citation150b"></a><a +href="#footnote150b" class="citation">[150b]</a></p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. By Pan, I swoon; away, take back thy +hand.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Courage, dear girl, why fearest thou me, +thou art over fearful!</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Thou makest me lie down by the +water-course, defiling my fair raiment!</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Nay, see, ’neath thy raiment fair +I am throwing this soft fleece.</p> +<p><a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +151</span><i>The Maiden</i>. Ah, ah, thou hast snatched my +girdle too; why hast thou loosed my girdle?</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. These first-fruits I offer, a gift to +the Paphian.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Stay, wretch, hark; surely a stranger +cometh; nay, I hear a sound.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. The cypresses do but whisper to each +other of thy wedding.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Thou hast torn my mantle, and unclad +am I.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Another mantle I will give thee, and an +ampler far than thine.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Thou dost promise all things, but +soon thou wilt not give me even a grain of salt.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Ah, would that I could give thee my very +life.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. Artemis, be not wrathful, thy votary +breaks her vow.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. I will slay a calf for Love, and for +Aphrodite herself a heifer.</p> +<p><i>The Maiden</i>. A maiden I came hither, a woman shall +I go homeward.</p> +<p><i>Daphnis</i>. Nay, a wife and a mother of children +shalt thou be, no more a maiden.</p> +<p>So, each to each, in the joy of their young fresh limbs they +were murmuring: it was the hour of secret love. Then she +arose, and stole to herd her sheep; with shamefast eyes she went, +but her heart was comforted within her. And he went to his +herds of kine, rejoicing in his wedlock.</p> +<h3><a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 152</span>IDYL +XXVIII</h3> +<p><i>This little piece of Aeolic verse accompanied the present +of a distaff which Theocritus brought from Syracuse to +Theugenis</i>, <i>the wife of his friend Nicias</i>, <i>the +physician of Miletus</i>. <i>On the margin of a translation +by Longepierre</i> (<i>the famous book-collector</i>), <i>Louis +XIV wrote that this idyl is a model of honourable +gallantry</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>O <span class="smcap">distaff</span>, thou friend of them that +spin, gift of grey-eyed Athene to dames whose hearts are set on +housewifery; come, boldly come with me to the bright city of +Neleus, where the shrine of the Cyprian is green ’neath its +roof of delicate rushes. Thither I pray that we may win +fair voyage and favourable breeze from Zeus, that so I may +gladden mine eyes with the sight of Nicias my friend, and be +greeted of him in turn;—a sacred scion is he of the +sweet-voiced Graces. And thee, distaff, thou child of fair +carven ivory, I will give into the hands of the wife of Nicias: +with her shalt thou fashion many a thing, garments for men, and +much rippling raiment that women wear. For the mothers of +lambs in the meadows might twice be shorn of their wool in the +year, <a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +153</span>with her goodwill, the dainty-ankled Theugenis, so +notable is she, and cares for all things that wise matrons +love.</p> +<p>Nay, not to houses slatternly or idle would I have given thee, +distaff, seeing that thou art a countryman of mine. For +that is thy native city which Archias out of Ephyre founded, long +ago, the very marrow of the isle of the three capes, a town of +honourable men. <a name="citation153"></a><a href="#footnote153" +class="citation">[153]</a> But now shalt thou abide in the +house of a wise physician, who has learned all the spells that +ward off sore maladies from men, and thou shalt dwell in glad +Miletus with the Ionian people, to this end,—that of all +the townsfolk Theugenis may have the goodliest distaff and that +thou mayst keep her ever mindful of her friend, the lover of +song.</p> +<p>This proverb will each man utter that looks on thee, +‘Surely great grace goes with a little gift, and all the +offerings of friends are precious.’</p> +<h3><a name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 154</span>IDYL +XXIX</h3> +<p><i>This poem</i>, <i>like the preceding one</i>, <i>is written +in the Aeolic dialect</i>. <i>The first line is quoted from +Alcaeus</i>. <i>The idyl is attributed to Theocritus on the +evidence of the scholiast on the Symposium of Plato</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Wine</span> and truth,’ dear +child, says the proverb, and in wine are we, and the truth we +must tell. Yes, I will say to thee all that lies in my +soul’s inmost chamber. Thou dost not care to love me +with thy whole heart! I know, for I live half my life in +the sight of thy beauty, but all the rest is ruined. When +thou art kind, my day is like the days of the Blessed, but when +thou art unkind, ’tis deep in darkness. How can it be +right thus to torment thy friend? Nay, if thou wilt listen +at all, child, to me, that am thine elder, happier thereby wilt +thou be, and some day thou wilt thank me. Build one nest in +one tree, where no fierce snake can come; for now thou dost perch +on one branch to-day, and on another to-morrow, always seeking +what is new. And if a stranger see and praise thy pretty +face, instantly to him thou art more than a friend of three +years’ standing, while him that <a name="page155"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 155</span>loved thee first thou holdest no +higher than a friend of three days. Thou savourest, +methinks, of the love of some great one; nay, choose rather all +thy life ever to keep the love of one that is thy peer. If +this thou dost thou wilt be well spoken of by thy townsmen, and +Love will never be hard to thee, Love that lightly vanquishes the +minds of men, and has wrought to tenderness my heart that was of +steel. Nay, by thy delicate mouth I approach and beseech +thee, remember that thou wert younger yesteryear, and that we wax +grey and wrinkled, or ever we can avert it; and none may +recapture his youth again, for the shoulders of youth are winged, +and we are all too slow to catch such flying pinions.</p> +<p>Mindful of this thou shouldst be gentler, and love me without +guile as I love thee, so that, when thou hast a manly beard, we +may be such friends as were Achilles and Patroclus!</p> +<p>But, if thou dost cast all I say to the winds to waft afar, +and cry, in anger, ‘Why, why, dost thou torment me?’ +then I,—that now for thy sake would go to fetch the golden +apples, or to bring thee Cerberus, the watcher of the +dead,—would not go forth, didst thou stand at the +court-doors and call me. I should have rest from my cruel +love.</p> +<h4><a name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +156</span><span class="smcap">Fragment of the +Berenice</span>.</h4> +<p><i>Athenaeus</i> (<i>vii.</i> 284 <i>A</i>) <i>quotes this +fragment</i>, <i>which probably was part of a panegyric on +Berenice</i>, <i>the mother of Ptolemy Philadelphus</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">And</span> if any man that hath his +livelihood from the salt sea, and whose nets serve him for +ploughs, prays for wealth, and luck in fishing, let him +sacrifice, at midnight, to this goddess, the sacred fish that +they call ‘silver white,’ for that it is brightest of +sheen of all,—then let the fisher set his nets, and he +shall draw them full from the sea.</p> +<h3><a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 157</span>IDYL +XXX<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE DEAD ADONIS</span></h3> +<p><i>This idyl is usually printed with the poems of +Theocritus</i>, <i>but almost certainly is by another +hand</i>. <i>I have therefore ventured to imitate the metre +of the original</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> Cypris saw +Adonis,<br /> +In death already lying<br /> +With all his locks dishevelled,<br /> +And cheeks turned wan and ghastly,<br /> +She bade the Loves attendant<br /> +To bring the boar before her.</p> +<p class="poetry">And lo, the winged ones, fleetly<br /> +They scoured through all the wild wood;<br /> +The wretched boar they tracked him,<br /> +And bound and doubly bound him.<br /> +One fixed on him a halter,<br /> +And dragged him on, a captive,<br /> +Another drave him onward,<br /> +And smote him with his arrows.<br /> +But terror-struck the beast came,<br /> +For much he feared Cythere.<br /> +<a name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 158</span>To him +spake Aphrodite,—<br /> +‘Of wild beasts all the vilest,<br /> +This thigh, by thee was ’t wounded?<br /> +Was ’t thou that smote my lover?’<br /> +To her the beast made answer—<br /> +‘I swear to thee, Cythere,<br /> +By thee, and by thy lover,<br /> +Yea, and by these my fetters,<br /> +And them that do pursue me,—<br /> +Thy lord, thy lovely lover<br /> +I never willed to wound him;<br /> +I saw him, like a statue,<br /> +And could not bide the burning,<br /> +Nay, for his thigh was naked,<br /> +And mad was I to kiss it,<br /> +And thus my tusk it harmed him.<br /> +Take these my tusks, O Cypris,<br /> +And break them, and chastise them,<br /> +For wherefore should I wear them,<br /> +These passionate defences?<br /> +If this doth not suffice thee,<br /> +Then cut my lips out also,<br /> +Why dared they try to kiss him?’</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Cypris had compassion;<br /> +She bade the Loves attendant<br /> +To loose the bonds that bound him.<br /> +From that day her he follows,<br /> +And flees not to the wild wood<br /> +But joins the Loves, and always<br /> +He bears Love’s flame unflinching.</p> +<h3><a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +159</span>EPIGRAMS</h3> +<p><i>The Epigrams of Theocritus are</i>, <i>for the most +part</i>, <i>either inscriptions for tombs or cenotaphs</i>, +<i>or for the pedestals of statues</i>, <i>or</i> (<i>as the +third epigram</i>) <i>are short occasional pieces</i>. +<i>Several of them are but doubtfully ascribed to the poet of the +Idyls</i>. <i>The Greek has little but brevity in common +with the modern epigram</i>.</p> +<h4>I<br /> +<i>For a rustic Altar</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">These</span> dew-drenched roses and that +tufted thyme are offered to the ladies of Helicon. And the +dark-leaved laurels are thine, O Pythian Paean, since the rock of +Delphi bare this leafage to thine honour. The altar this +white-horned goat shall stain with blood, this goat that browses +on the tips of the terebinth boughs.</p> +<h4>II<br /> +<i>For a Herdsman’s Offering</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Daphnis</span>, the white-limbed Daphnis, +that pipes on his fair flute the pastoral strains offered to <a +name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 160</span>Pan these +gifts,—his pierced reed-pipes, his crook, a javelin keen, a +fawn-skin, and the scrip wherein he was wont, on a time, to carry +the apples of Love.</p> +<h4>III<br /> +<i>For a Picture</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Thou</span> sleepest on the leaf-strewn +ground, O Daphnis, resting thy weary limbs, and the stakes of thy +nets are newly fastened on the hills. But Pan is on thy +track, and Priapus, with the golden ivy wreath twined round his +winsome head,—both are leaping at one bound into thy +cavern. Nay, flee them, flee, shake off thy slumber, shake +off the heavy sleep that is falling upon thee.</p> +<h4>IV<br /> +<i>Priapus</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> thou hast turned yonder lane, +goatherd, where the oak-trees are, thou wilt find an image of +fig-tree wood, newly carven; three-legged it is, the bark still +covers it, and it is earless withal, yet meet for the arts of +Cypris. A right holy precinct runs round it, and a +ceaseless stream that falleth from the rocks on every side is +green with laurels, and myrtles, and fragrant cypress. And +all around the place that child of the grape, the vine, doth +flourish with its tendrils, and the merles in <a +name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 161</span>spring with +their sweet songs utter their wood-notes wild, and the brown +nightingales reply with their complaints, pouring from their +bills the honey-sweet song. There, prithee, sit down and +pray to gracious Priapus, that I may be delivered from my love of +Daphnis, and say that instantly thereon I will sacrifice a fair +kid. But if he refuse, ah then, should I win +Daphnis’s love, I would fain sacrifice three +victims,—and offer a calf, a shaggy he-goat, and a lamb +that I keep in the stall, and oh that graciously the god may hear +my prayer.</p> +<h4>V<br /> +<i>The rural Concert</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Ah</span>, in the Muses’ name, wilt +thou play me some sweet air on the double flute, and I will take +up the harp, and touch a note, and the neatherd Daphnis will +charm us the while, breathing music into his wax-bound +pipe. And beside this rugged oak behind the cave will we +stand, and rob the goat-foot Pan of his repose.</p> +<h4>VI<br /> +<i>The Dead are beyond hope</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Ah</span> hapless Thyrsis, where is thy +gain, shouldst thou lament till thy two eyes are consumed with +tears? She has passed away,—the kid, the youngling +beautiful,—she has <a name="page162"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 162</span>passed away to Hades. Yea, the +jaws of the fierce wolf have closed on her, and now the hounds +are baying, but what avail they when nor bone nor cinder is left +of her that is departed?</p> +<h4>VII<br /> +<i>For a statue of Asclepius</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Even</span> to Miletus he hath come, the +son of Paeon, to dwell with one that is a healer of all sickness, +with Nicias, who even approaches him day by day with sacrifices, +and hath let carve this statue out of fragrant cedar-wood; and to +Eetion he promised a high guerdon for his skill of hand: on this +work Eetion has put forth all his craft.</p> +<h4>VIII<br /> +<i>Orthon’s Grave</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Stranger</span>, the Syracusan Orthon lays +this behest on thee; go never abroad in thy cups on a night of +storm. For thus did I come by my end, and far from my rich +fatherland I lie, clothed on with alien soil.</p> +<h4>IX<br /> +<i>The Death of Cleonicus</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Man</span>, husband thy life, nor go +voyaging out of season, for brief are the days of men! +Unhappy <a name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +163</span>Cleonicus, thou wert eager to win rich Thasus, from +Coelo-Syria sailing with thy merchandise,—with thy +merchandise, O Cleonicus, at the setting of the Pleiades didst +thou cross the sea,—and didst sink with the sinking +Pleiades!</p> +<h4>X<br /> +<i>A Group of the Muses</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">For</span> your delight, all ye Goddesses +Nine, did Xenocles offer this statue of marble, Xenocles that +hath music in his soul, as none will deny. And inasmuch as +for his skill in this art he wins renown, he forgets not to give +their due to the Muses.</p> +<h4>XI<br /> +<i>The Grave of Eusthenes</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">This</span> is the memorial stone of +Eusthenes, the sage; a physiognomist was he, and skilled to read +the very spirit in the eyes. Nobly have his friends buried +him—a stranger in a strange land—and most dear was +he, yea, to the makers of song. All his dues in death has +the sage, and, though he was no great one, ’tis plain he +had friends to care for him.</p> +<h4>XII<br /> +<i>The Offering of Demoteles</i>.</h4> +<p>’<span class="smcap">Twas</span> Demoteles the choregus, +O Dionysus, who dedicated this tripod, and this statue of <a +name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 164</span>thee, the +dearest of the blessed gods. No great fame he won when he +gave a chorus of boys, but with a chorus of men he bore off the +victory, for he knew what was fair and what was seemly.</p> +<h4>XIII<br /> +<i>For a statue of Aphrodite</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">This</span> is Cypris,—not she of +the people; nay, venerate the goddess by her name—the +Heavenly Aphrodite. The statue is the offering of chaste +Chrysogone, even in the house of Amphicles, whose children and +whose life were hers! And always year by year went well +with them, who began each year with thy worship, Lady, for +mortals who care for the Immortals have themselves thereby the +better fortune.</p> +<h4>XIV<br /> +<i>The Grave of Euryrnedon</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">An</span> infant son didst thou leave +behind, and in the flower of thine own age didst die, Eurymedon, +and win this tomb. For thee a throne is set among men made +perfect, but thy son the citizens will hold in honour, +remembering the excellence of his father.</p> +<h4>XV<br /> +<i>The Grave of Eurymedon</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Wayfarer</span>, I shall know whether thou +dost reverence the good, or whether the coward is <a +name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 165</span>held by +thee in the same esteem. ‘Hail to this tomb,’ +thou wilt say, for light it lies above the holy head of +Eurymedon.</p> +<h4>XVI<br /> +<i>For a statue of Anacreon</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Mark</span> well this statue, stranger, +and say, when thou hast returned to thy home, ‘In Teos I +beheld the statue of Anacreon, who surely excelled all the +singers of times past.’ And if thou dost add that he +delighted in the young, thou wilt truly paint all the man.</p> +<h4>XVII<br /> +<i>For a statue of Epicharmus</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Dorian</span> is the strain, and Dorian +the man we sing; he that first devised Comedy, even +Epicharmus. O Bacchus, here in bronze (as the man is now no +more) they have erected his statue, the colonists <a +name="citation165"></a><a href="#footnote165" +class="citation">[165]</a> that dwell in Syracuse, to the honour +of one that was their fellow-citizen. Yea, for a gift he +gave, wherefore we should be mindful thereof and pay him what +wage we may, for many maxims he spoke that were serviceable to +the life of all men. Great thanks be his.</p> +<h4><a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +166</span>XVIII<br /> +<i>The Grave of Cleita</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> little Medeus has raised this +tomb by the wayside to the memory of his Thracian nurse, and has +added the inscription—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Here lies Cleita</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> woman will have this recompense +for all her careful nurture of the boy,—and +why?—because she was serviceable even to the end.</p> +<h4>XIX<br /> +<i>The statue of Archilochus</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Stay</span>, and behold Archilochus, him +of old time, the maker of iambics, whose myriad fame has passed +westward, alike, and towards the dawning day. Surely the +Muses loved him, yea, and the Delian Apollo, so practised and so +skilled he grew in forging song, and chanting to the lyre.</p> +<h4>XX<br /> +<i>The statue of Pisander</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">This</span> man, behold, Pisander of +Corinth, of all the ancient makers was the first who wrote of the +son of Zeus, the lion-slayer, the ready of hand, and spake of all +the adventures that with toil he achieved. Know this +therefore, that <a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +167</span>the people set him here, a statue of bronze, when many +months had gone by and many years.</p> +<h4>XXI<br /> +<i>The Grave of Hipponax</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">Here</span> lies the poet Hipponax! +If thou art a sinner draw not near this tomb, but if thou art a +true man, and the son of righteous sires, sit boldly down here, +yea, and sleep if thou wilt.</p> +<h4>XXII<br /> +<i>For the Bank of Caicus</i>.</h4> +<p><span class="smcap">To</span> citizens and strangers alike +this counter deals justice. If thou hast deposited aught, +draw out thy money when the balance-sheet is cast up. Let +others make false excuse, but Caicus tells back money lent, ay, +even if one wish it after nightfall.</p> +<h4>XXIII<br /> +<i>On his own Poems</i>. <a name="citation167"></a><a +href="#footnote167" class="citation">[167]</a></h4> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Chian is another man, but I, +Theocritus, who wrote these songs, am a Syracusan, a man of the +people, being the son of Praxagoras and renowned Philinna. +Never laid I claim to any Muse but mine own.</p> +<h2><a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +169</span>BION</h2> +<blockquote><p>Πίδακος +έξ ίερης +ολίγη +λιβας +ακρον +αωτον.—<i>Callimachus</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Bion</span> was born at Smyrna, one of the +towns which claimed the honour of being Homer’s +birthplace. On the evidence of a detached verse (94) of the +dirge by Moschus, some have thought that Theocritus survived +Bion. In that case Theocritus must have been a +preternaturally aged man. The same dirge tells us that Bion +was poisoned by certain enemies, and that while he left to others +his wealth, to Moschus he left his minstrelsy.</p> +<h3><a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 171</span>I<br +/> +<span class="GutSmall">THE LAMENT FOR ADONIS</span></h3> +<p><i>This poem was probably intended to be sung at one of the +spring celebrations of the festival of Adonis</i>, <i>like that +described by Theocritus in his fifteenth idyl</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">Woe</span>, woe for Adonis, he hath +perished, the beauteous Adonis, dead is the beauteous Adonis, the +Loves join in the lament. No more in thy purple raiment, +Cypris, do thou sleep; arise, thou wretched one, sable-stoled, +and beat thy breasts, and say to all, ‘He hath perished, +the lovely Adonis!’</p> +<p><i>Woe</i>, <i>woe for Adonis</i>, <i>the Loves join in the +lament</i>!</p> +<p>Low on the hills is lying the lovely Adonis, and his thigh +with the boar’s tusk, his white thigh with the boar’s +tusk is wounded, and sorrow on Cypris he brings, as softly he +breathes his life away.</p> +<p><a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 172</span>His +dark blood drips down his skin of snow, beneath his brows his +eyes wax heavy and dim, and the rose flees from his lip, and +thereon the very kiss is dying, the kiss that Cypris will never +forego.</p> +<p>To Cypris his kiss is dear, though he lives no longer, but +Adonis knew not that she kissed him as he died.</p> +<p><i>Woe</i>, <i>woe for Adonis</i>, <i>the Loves join in the +lament</i>!</p> +<p>A cruel, cruel wound on his thigh hath Adonis, but a deeper +wound in her heart doth Cytherea bear. About him his dear +hounds are loudly baying, and the nymphs of the wild wood wail +him; but Aphrodite with unbound locks through the glades goes +wandering,—wretched, with hair unbraided, with feet +unsandaled, and the thorns as she passes wound her and pluck the +blossom of her sacred blood. Shrill she wails as down the +long woodlands she is borne, lamenting her Assyrian lord, and +again calling him, and again. But round his navel the dark +blood leapt forth, with blood from his thighs his chest was +scarlet, and beneath Adonis’s breast, the spaces that afore +were snow-white, were purple with blood.</p> +<p><i>Woe</i>, <i>woe for Cytherea</i>, <i>the Loves join in the +lament</i>!</p> +<p>She hath lost her lovely lord, with him she hath lost her +sacred beauty. Fair was the form of Cypris, while Adonis +was living, but <a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +173</span>her beauty has died with Adonis! <i>Woe</i>, +<i>woe for Cypris</i>, the mountains all are saying, and the +oak-trees answer, <i>Woe for Adonis</i>. And the rivers +bewail the sorrows of Aphrodite, and the wells are weeping Adonis +on the mountains. The flowers flush red for anguish, and +Cytherea through all the mountain-knees, through every dell doth +shrill the piteous dirge.</p> +<p><i>Woe</i>, <i>woe for Cytherea</i>, <i>he hath perished</i>, +<i>the lovely Adonis</i>!</p> +<p>And Echo cried in answer, <i>He hath perished</i>, <i>the +lovely Adonis</i>. Nay, who but would have lamented the +grievous love of Cypris? When she saw, when she marked the +unstaunched wound of Adonis, when she saw the bright red blood +about his languid thigh, she cast her arms abroad and moaned, +‘Abide with me, Adonis, hapless Adonis abide, that this +last time of all I may possess thee, that I may cast myself about +thee, and lips with lips may mingle. Awake Adonis, for a +little while, and kiss me yet again, the latest kiss! Nay +kiss me but a moment, but the lifetime of a kiss, till from thine +inmost soul into my lips, into my heart, thy life-breath ebb, and +till I drain thy sweet love-philtre, and drink down all thy +love. This kiss will I treasure, even as thyself; Adonis, +since, ah ill-fated, thou art fleeing me, thou art fleeing far, +Adonis, and art faring to Acheron, to that hateful king and +cruel, while wretched I yet live, being a goddess, and may not +follow thee! Persephone, <a name="page174"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 174</span>take thou my lover, my lord, for thy +self art stronger than I, and all lovely things drift down to +thee. But I am all ill-fated, inconsolable is my anguish, +and I lament mine Adonis, dead to me, and I have no rest for +sorrow.</p> +<p>‘Thou diest, O thrice-desired, and my desire hath flown +away as a dream. Nay, widowed is Cytherea, and idle are the +Loves along the halls! With thee has the girdle of my +beauty perished. For why, ah overbold, didst thou follow +the chase, and being so fair, why wert thou thus overhardy to +fight with beasts?’</p> +<p>So Cypris bewailed her, the Loves join in the lament:</p> +<p><i>Woe</i>, <i>woe for Cytherea</i>, <i>he hath perished the +lovely Adonis</i>!</p> +<p>A tear the Paphian sheds for each blood-drop of Adonis, and +tears and blood on the earth are turned to flowers. The +blood brings forth the rose, the tears, the wind-flower.</p> +<p><i>Woe</i>, <i>woe for Adonis</i>, <i>he hath perished</i>; +<i>the lovely Adonis</i>!</p> +<p>No more in the oak-woods, Cypris, lament thy lord. It is +no fair couch for Adonis, the lonely bed of leaves! Thine +own bed, Cytherea, let him now possess,—the dead +Adonis. Ah, even in death he is beautiful, beautiful in +death, as one that hath fallen on sleep. Now lay him down +to sleep in his own soft coverlets, wherein with thee through the +night he shared <a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +175</span>the holy slumber in a couch all of gold, that yearns +for Adonis, though sad is he to look upon. Cast on him +garlands and blossoms: all things have perished in his death, yea +all the flowers are faded. Sprinkle him with ointments of +Syria, sprinkle him with unguents of myrrh. Nay, perish all +perfumes, for Adonis, who was thy perfume, hath perished.</p> +<p>He reclines, the delicate Adonis, in his raiment of purple, +and around him the Loves are weeping, and groaning aloud, +clipping their locks for Adonis. And one upon his shafts, +another on his bow is treading, and one hath loosed the sandal of +Adonis, and another hath broken his own feathered quiver, and one +in a golden vessel bears water, and another laves the wound, and +another from behind him with his wings is fanning Adonis.</p> +<p><i>Woe</i>, <i>woe for Cytherea</i>, <i>the Loves join in the +lament</i>!</p> +<p>Every torch on the lintels of the door has Hymenaeus quenched, +and hath torn to shreds the bridal crown, and <i>Hymen</i> no +more, <i>Hymen</i> no more is the song, but a new song is sung of +wailing.</p> +<p>‘<i>Woe</i>, <i>woe for Adonis</i>,’ rather than +the nuptial song the Graces are shrilling, lamenting the son of +Cinyras, and one to the other declaring, <i>He hath perished</i>, +<i>the lovely Adonis</i>.</p> +<p>And <i>woe</i>, <i>woe for Adonis</i>, shrilly cry the Muses, +neglecting Paeon, and they lament <a name="page176"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 176</span>Adonis aloud, and songs they chant +to him, but he does not heed them, not that he is loth to hear, +but that the Maiden of Hades doth not let him go.</p> +<p>Cease, Cytherea, from thy lamentations, to-day refrain from +thy dirges. Thou must again bewail him, again must weep for +him another year.</p> +<h3>II<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE LOVE OF ACHILLES</span></h3> +<p><i>Lycidas sings to Myrson a fragment about the loves of +Achilles and Deidamia</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><i>Myrson</i>. Wilt thou be pleased now, Lycidas, to +sing me sweetly some sweet Sicilian song, some wistful strain +delectable, some lay of love, such as the Cyclops Polyphemus sang +on the sea-banks to Galatea?</p> +<p><i>Lycidas</i>. Yes, Myrson, and I too fain would pipe, +but what shall I sing?</p> +<p><i>Myrson</i>. A song of Scyra, Lycidas, is my +desire,—a sweet love-story,—the stolen kisses of the +son of Peleus, the stolen bed of love how he, that was a boy, did +on the weeds of women, and how he belied his form, and how among +the heedless daughters of Lycomedes, Deidamia cherished Achilles +in her bower. <a name="citation176"></a><a href="#footnote176" +class="citation">[176]</a></p> +<p><a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +177</span><i>Lycidas</i>. The herdsman bore off Helen, upon +a time, and carried her to Ida, sore sorrow to Œnone. +And Lacedaemon waxed wroth, and gathered together all the Achaean +folk; there was never a Hellene, not one of the Mycenaeans, nor +any man of Elis, nor of the Laconians, that tarried in his house, +and shunned the cruel Ares.</p> +<p>But Achilles alone lay hid among the daughters of Lycomedes, +and was trained to work in wools, in place of arms, and in his +white hand held the bough of maidenhood, in semblance a +maiden. For he put on women’s ways, like them, and a +bloom like theirs blushed on his cheek of snow, and he walked +with maiden gait, and covered his locks with the snood. But +the heart of a man had he, and the love of a man. From dawn +to dark he would sit by Deidamia, and anon would kiss her hand, +and oft would lift the beautiful warp of her loom and praise the +sweet threads, having no such joy in any other girl of her +company. Yea, all things he essayed, and all for one end, +that they twain might share an undivided sleep.</p> +<p>Now he once even spake to her, saying—</p> +<p>‘With one another other sisters sleep, but I lie alone, +and alone, maiden, dost thou lie, both being girls unwedded of +like age, both fair, and single both in bed do we sleep. +The wicked Nysa, the crafty nurse it is that cruelly severs me +from thee. For not of thee have I . . . ’</p> +<h3><a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +178</span>III<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE SEASONS</span></h3> +<p><i>Cleodamus and Myrson discuss the charms of the seasons</i>, +<i>and give the palm to a southern spring</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><i>Cleodamus</i>. Which is sweetest, to thee, Myrson, +spring, or winter or the late autumn or the summer; of which dost +thou most desire the coming? Summer, when all are ended, +the toils whereat we labour, or the sweet autumn, when hunger +weighs lightest on men, or even idle winter, for even in winter +many sit warm by the fire, and are lulled in rest and +indolence. Or has beautiful spring more delight for +thee? Say, which does thy heart choose? For our +leisure lends us time to gossip.</p> +<p><i>Myrson</i>. It beseems not mortals to judge the works +of God; for sacred are all these things, and all are sweet, yet +for thy sake I will speak out, Cleodamus, and declare what is +sweeter to me than the rest. I would not have summer here, +for then the sun doth scorch me, and autumn I would not choose, +for the ripe fruits breed disease. The ruinous winter, +bearing snow and frost, I dread. But spring, the thrice +desirable, be with me the whole year through, when there is +neither frost, nor is the sun so heavy upon us. In +springtime all is fruitful, all sweet things blossom in spring, +and night and dawn are evenly meted to men.</p> +<h3><a name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +179</span>IV<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE BOY AND LOVE</span></h3> +<p>A fowler, while yet a boy, was hunting birds in a woodland +glade, and there he saw the winged Love, perched on a box-tree +bough. And when he beheld him, he rejoiced, so big the bird +seemed to him, and he put together all his rods at once, and lay +in wait for Love, that kept hopping, now here, now there. +And the boy, being angered that his toil was endless, cast down +his fowling gear, and went to the old husbandman, that had taught +him his art, and told him all, and showed him Love on his +perch. But the old man, smiling, shook his head, and +answered the lad, ‘Pursue this chase no longer, and go not +after this bird. Nay, flee far from him. ’Tis +an evil creature. Thou wilt be happy, so long as thou dost +not catch him, but if thou comest to the measure of manhood, this +bird that flees thee now, and hops away, will come uncalled, and +of a sudden, and settle on thy head.’</p> +<h3>V<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE TUTOR OF LOVE</span></h3> +<p>Great Cypris stood beside me, while still I slumbered, and +with her beautiful hand she led <a name="page180"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 180</span>the child Love, whose head was +earthward bowed. This word she spake to me, ‘Dear +herdsman, prithee, take Love, and teach him to sing.’ +So said she, and departed, and I—my store of pastoral song +I taught to Love, in my innocence, as if he had been fain to +learn. I taught him how the cross-flute was invented by +Pan, and the flute by Athene, and by Hermes the tortoise-shell +lyre, and the harp by sweet Apollo. All these things I +taught him as best I might; but he, not heeding my words, himself +would sing me ditties of love, and taught me the desires of +mortals and immortals, and all the deeds of his mother. And +I clean forgot the lore I was teaching to Love, but what Love +taught me, and his love ditties, I learned them all.</p> +<h3>VI<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">LOVE AND THE MUSES</span></h3> +<p>The Muses do not fear the wild Love, but heartily they +cherish, and fleetly follow him. Yea, and if any man sing +that hath a loveless heart, him do they flee, and do not choose +to teach him. But if the mind of any be swayed by Love, and +sweetly he sings, to him the Muses all run eagerly. A +witness hereto am I, that this saying is wholly true, for if I +sing of any other, mortal or immortal, then falters my tongue, +and sings no longer as of old, but if again to Love, and Lycidas +I sing, then gladly from my lips flows forth the voice of +song.</p> +<h3><a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +181</span>FRAGMENTS</h3> +<h4>VII</h4> +<p>I know not the way, nor is it fitting to labour at what we +have not learned.</p> +<h4>VIII</h4> +<p>If my ditties be fair, lo these alone will win me glory, these +that the Muse aforetime gave to me. And if these be not +sweet, what gain is it to me to labour longer?</p> +<h4>IX</h4> +<p>Ah, if a double term of life were given us by Zeus, the son of +Cronos, or by changeful Fate, ah, could we spend one life in joy +and merriment, and one in labour, then perchance a man might +toil, and in some later time might win his reward. But if +the gods have willed that man enters into life but once (and that +life brief, and too short to hold all we desire), then, wretched +men and weary that we are, how sorely we toil, how greatly we +cast our souls away on gain, and laborious arts, continually +coveting yet more wealth! Surely we have all forgotten that +we are men condemned to die, and how short in the hour, that to +us is allotted by Fate. <a name="citation181"></a><a +href="#footnote181" class="citation">[181]</a></p> +<h4><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +182</span>X</h4> +<p>Happy are they that love, when with equal love they are +rewarded. Happy was Theseus, when Pirithous was by his +side, yea, though he went down to the house of implacable +Hades. Happy among hard men and inhospitable was Orestes, +for that Pylades chose to share his wanderings. And +<i>he</i> was happy, Achilles Æacides, while his darling +lived,—happy was he in his death, because he avenged the +dread fate of Patroclus.</p> +<h4>XI</h4> +<p>Hesperus, golden lamp of the lovely daughter of the foam, dear +Hesperus, sacred jewel of the deep blue night, dimmer as much +than the moon, as thou art among the stars pre-eminent, hail, +friend, and as I lead the revel to the shepherd’s hut, in +place of the moonlight lend me thine, for to-day the moon began +her course, and too early she sank. I go not free-booting, +nor to lie in wait for the benighted traveller, but a lover am I, +and ’tis well to favour lovers.</p> +<h4>XII</h4> +<p>Mild goddess, in Cyprus born,—thou child, not of the +sea, but of Zeus,—why art thou thus vexed with mortals and +immortals? Nay, my <a name="page183"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 183</span>word is too weak, why wert thou thus +bitterly wroth, yea, even with thyself, as to bring forth Love, +so mighty a bane to all,—cruel and heartless Love, whose +spirit is all unlike his beauty? And wherefore didst thou +furnish him with wings, and give him skill to shoot so far, that, +child as he is, we never may escape the bitterness of Love.</p> +<h4>XIII</h4> +<p>Mute was Phoebus in this grievous anguish. All herbs he +sought, and strove to win some wise healing art, and he anointed +all the wound with nectar and ambrosia, but remedeless are all +the wounds of Fate.</p> +<h4>XIV</h4> +<p>But I will go my way to yon sloping hill; by the sand and the +sea-banks murmuring my song, and praying to the cruel +Galatea. But of my sweet hope never will I leave hold, till +I reach the uttermost limit of old age.</p> +<h4>XV</h4> +<p>It is not well, my friend, to run to the craftsman, whatever +may befall, nor in every matter to need another’s aid, nay, +fashion a pipe thyself, and to thee the task is easy.</p> +<h4><a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +184</span>XVI</h4> +<p>May Love call to him the Muses, may the Muses bring with them +Love. Ever may the Muses give song to me that yearn for +it,—sweet song,—than song there is no sweeter +charm.</p> +<h4>XVII</h4> +<p>The constant dropping of water, says the proverb, it wears a +hole in a stone.</p> +<h4>XVIII</h4> +<p>Nay, leave me not unrewarded, for even Phoebus sang for his +reward. And the meed of honour betters everything.</p> +<h4>XIX</h4> +<p>Beauty is the glory of womankind, and strength of men.</p> +<h4>XX</h4> +<p>All things, god-willing, all things may be achieved by +mortals. From the hands of the blessed come tasks most +easy, and that find their accomplishment.</p> +<h2><a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +185</span>MOSCHUS</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Our</span> only certain information about +Moschus is contained in his own Dirge for Bion. He speaks +of his verse as ‘Ausonian song,’ and of himself as +Mion’s pupil and successor. It is plain that he was +acquainted with the poems of Theocritus.</p> +<h3><a name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 187</span>IDYL +I<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">LOVE THE RUNAWAY</span></h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Cypris</span> was raising the hue and cry +for Love, her child,—‘Who, where the three ways meet, +has seen Love wandering? He is my runaway, whosoever has +aught to tell of him shall win his reward. His prize is the +kiss of Cypris, but if thou bringest him, not the bare kiss, O +stranger, but yet more shalt thou win. The child is most +notable, thou couldst tell him among twenty together, his skin is +not white, but flame coloured, his eyes are keen and burning, an +evil heart and a sweet tongue has he, for his speech and his mind +are at variance. Like honey is his voice, but his heart of +gall, all tameless is he, and deceitful, the truth is not in him, +a wily brat, and cruel in his pastime. The locks of his +hair are lovely, but his brow is impudent, and tiny are his +little hands, yet far <a name="page188"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 188</span>he shoots his arrows, shoots even to +Acheron, and to the King of Hades.</p> +<p>‘The body of Love is naked, but well is his spirit +hidden, and winged like a bird he flits and descends, now here, +now there, upon men and women, and nestles in their inmost +hearts. He hath a little bow, and an arrow always on the +string, tiny is the shaft, but it carries as high as +heaven. A golden quiver on his back he bears, and within it +his bitter arrows, wherewith full many a time he wounds even +me.</p> +<p>‘Cruel are all these instruments of his, but more cruel +by far the little torch, his very own, wherewith he lights up the +sun himself.</p> +<p>‘And if thou catch Love, bind him, and bring him, and +have no pity, and if thou see him weeping, take heed lest he give +thee the slip; and if he laugh, hale him along.</p> +<p>‘Yea, and if he wish to kiss thee, beware, for evil is +his kiss, and his lips enchanted.</p> +<p>‘And should he say, “Take these, I give thee in +free gift all my armoury,” touch not at all his treacherous +gifts, for they all are dipped in fire.’</p> +<h3><a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 189</span>IDYL +II<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">EUROPA AND THE BULL</span></h3> +<p><span class="smcap">To</span> Europa, once on a time, a sweet +dream was sent by Cypris, when the third watch of the night sets +in, and near is the dawning; when sleep more sweet than honey +rests on the eyelids, limb-loosening sleep, that binds the eyes +with his soft bond, when the flock of truthful dreams fares +wandering.</p> +<p>At that hour she was sleeping, beneath the roof-tree of her +home, Europa, the daughter of Phoenix, being still a maid +unwed. Then she beheld two Continents at strife for her +sake, Asia, and the farther shore, both in the shape of +women. Of these one had the guise of a stranger, the other +of a lady of that land, and closer still she clung about her +maiden, and kept saying how ‘she was her mother, and +herself had nursed Europa.’ But that other with +mighty hands, and forcefully, kept haling the maiden, nothing +loth; declaring that, by the will of Ægis-bearing Zeus, +Europa was destined to be her prize.</p> +<p>But Europa leaped forth from her strown <a +name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 190</span>bed in +terror, with beating heart, in such clear vision had she beheld +the dream. Then she sat upon her bed, and long was silent, +still beholding the two women, albeit with waking eyes; and at +last the maiden raised her timorous voice</p> +<p>‘Who of the gods of heaven has sent forth to me these +phantoms? What manner of dreams have scared me when right +sweetly slumbering on my strown bed, within my bower? Ah, +and who was the alien woman that I beheld in my sleep? How +strange a longing for her seized my heart, yea, and how +graciously she herself did welcome me, and regard me as it had +been her own child.</p> +<p>‘Ye blessed gods, I pray you, prosper the fulfilment of +the dream.’</p> +<p>Therewith she arose, and began to seek the dear maidens of her +company, girls of like age with herself, born in the same year, +beloved of her heart, the daughters of noble sires, with whom she +was always wont to sport, when she was arrayed for the dance, or +when she would bathe her bright body at the mouths of the rivers, +or would gather fragrant lilies on the leas.</p> +<p>And soon she found them, each bearing in her hand a basket to +fill with flowers, and to the meadows near the salt sea they set +forth, where always they were wont to gather in their company, +delighting in the roses, and the sound of the waves. But +Europa herself bore a basket of gold, a marvel well worth gazing +on, a choice work of Hephaestus. He gave it <a +name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>to Libya, +for a bridal-gift, when she approached the bed of the Shaker of +the Earth, and Libya gave it to beautiful Telephassa, who was of +her own blood; and to Europa, still an unwedded maid, her mother, +Telephassa, gave the splendid gift.</p> +<p>Many bright and cunning things were wrought in the basket: +therein was Io, daughter of Inachus, fashioned in gold; still in +the shape of a heifer she was, and had not her woman’s +shape, and wildly wandering she fared upon the salt sea-ways, +like one in act to swim; and the sea was wrought in blue +steel. And aloft upon the double brow of the shore, two men +were standing together and watching the heifer’s +sea-faring. There too was Zeus, son of Cronos, lightly +touching with his divine hand the cow of the line of Inachus, and +her, by Nile of the seven streams, he was changing again, from a +horned heifer to a woman. Silver was the stream of Nile, +and the heifer of bronze and Zeus himself was fashioned in +gold. And all about, beneath the rim of the rounded basket, +was the story of Hermes graven, and near him lay stretched out +Argus, notable for his sleepless eyes. And from the red +blood of Argus was springing a bird that rejoiced in the +flower-bright colour of his feathers, and spreading abroad his +tail, even as some swift ship on the sea doth spread all canvas, +was covering with his plumes the lips of the golden vessel. +Even thus was wrought the basket of the lovely Europa.</p> +<p><a name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 192</span>Now +the girls, so soon as they were come to the flowering meadows, +took great delight in various sorts of flowers, whereof one would +pluck sweet-breathed narcissus, another the hyacinth, another the +violet, a fourth the creeping thyme, and on the ground there fell +many petals of the meadows rich with spring. Others again +were emulously gathering the fragrant tresses of the yellow +crocus; but in the midst of them all the princess culled with her +hand the splendour of the crimson rose, and shone pre-eminent +among them all like the foam-born goddess among the Graces. +Verily she was not for long to set her heart’s delight upon +the flowers, nay, nor long to keep untouched her maiden +girdle. For of a truth, the son of Cronos, so soon as he +beheld her, was troubled, and his heart was subdued by the sudden +shafts of Cypris, who alone can conquer even Zeus. +Therefore, both to avoid the wrath of jealous Hera, and being +eager to beguile the maiden’s tender heart, he concealed +his godhead, and changed his shape, and became a bull. Not +such an one as feeds in the stall nor such as cleaves the furrow, +and drags the curved plough, nor such as grazes on the grass, nor +such a bull as is subdued beneath the yoke, and draws the +burdened wain. Nay, but while all the rest of his body was +bright chestnut, a silver circle shone between his brows, and his +eyes gleamed softly, and ever sent forth lightning of +desire. From his brow branched horns of even length, like +the crescent of the horned <a name="page193"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 193</span>moon, when her disk is cloven in +twain. He came into the meadow, and his coming terrified +not the maidens, nay, within them all wakened desire to draw nigh +the lovely bull, and to touch him, and his heavenly fragrance was +scattered afar, exceeding even the sweet perfume of the +meadows. And he stood before the feet of fair Europa, and +kept licking her neck, and cast his spell over the maiden. +And she still caressed him, and gently with her hands she wiped +away the deep foam from his lips, and kissed the bull. Then +he lowed so gently, ye would think ye heard the Mygdonian flute +uttering a dulcet sound.</p> +<p>He bowed himself before her feet, and, bending back his neck, +he gazed on Europa, and showed her his broad back. Then she +spake among her deep-tressed maidens, saying—</p> +<p>‘Come, dear playmates, maidens of like age with me, let +us mount the bull here and take our pastime, for truly, he will +bear us on his back, and carry all of us; and how mild he is, and +dear, and gentle to behold, and no whit like other bulls. A +mind as honest as a man’s possesses him, and he lacks +nothing but speech.’</p> +<p>So she spake, and smiling, she sat down on the back of the +bull, and the others were about to follow her. But the bull +leaped up immediately, now he had gotten her that he desired, and +swiftly he sped to the deep. The maiden turned, and called +again and again to her dear playmates, stretching out her hands, +<a name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 194</span>but they +could not reach her. The strand he gained, and forward he +sped like a dolphin, faring with unwetted hooves over the wide +waves. And the sea, as he came, grew smooth, and the +sea-monsters gambolled around, before the feet of Zeus, and the +dolphin rejoiced, and rising from the deeps, he tumbled on the +swell of the sea. The Nereids arose out of the salt water, +and all of them came on in orderly array, riding on the backs of +sea-beasts. And himself, the thund’rous Shaker of the +World, appeared above the sea, and made smooth the wave, and +guided his brother on the salt sea path; and round him were +gathered the Tritons, these hoarse trumpeters of the deep, +blowing from their long conches a bridal melody.</p> +<p>Meanwhile Europa, riding on the back of the divine bull, with +one hand clasped the beast’s great horn, and with the other +caught up the purple fold of her garment, lest it might trail and +be wet in the hoar sea’s infinite spray. And her deep +robe was swelled out by the winds, like the sail of a ship, and +lightly still did waft the maiden onward. But when she was +now far off from her own country, and neither sea-beat headland +nor steep hill could now be seen, but above, the air, and +beneath, the limitless deep, timidly she looked around, and +uttered her voice, saying—</p> +<p>‘Whither bearest thou me, bull-god? What art thou? +how dost thou fare on thy feet through the path of the +sea-beasts, nor fearest <a name="page195"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 195</span>the sea? The sea is a path +meet for swift ships that traverse the brine, but bulls dread the +salt sea-ways. What drink is sweet to thee, what food shalt +thou find from the deep? Nay, art thou then some god, for +godlike are these deeds of thine? Lo, neither do dolphins +of the brine fare on land, nor bulls on the deep, but dreadless +dost thou rush o’er land and sea alike, thy hooves serving +thee for oars.</p> +<p>‘Nay, perchance thou wilt rise above the grey air, and +flee on high, like the swift birds. Alas for me, and alas +again, for mine exceeding evil fortune, alas for me that have +left my father’s house, and following this bull, on a +strange sea-faring I go, and wander lonely. But I pray thee +that rulest the grey salt sea, thou Shaker of the Earth, +propitious meet me, and methinks I see thee smoothing this path +of mine before me. For surely it is not without a god to +aid, that I pass through these paths of the waters!’</p> +<p>So spake she, and the horned bull made answer to her +again—</p> +<p>‘Take courage, maiden, and dread not the swell of the +deep. Behold I am Zeus, even I, though, closely beheld, I +wear the form of a bull, for I can put on the semblance of what +thing I will. But ’tis love of thee that has +compelled me to measure out so great a space of the salt sea, in +a bull’s shape. Lo, Crete shall presently receive +thee, Crete that was mine own foster-mother, where thy bridal +chamber shall be. Yea, and from me shalt <a +name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 196</span>thou bear +glorious sons, to be sceptre-swaying kings over earthly men.</p> +<p>So spake he, and all he spake was fulfilled. And verily +Crete appeared, and Zeus took his own shape again, and he loosed +her girdle, and the Hours arrayed their bridal bed. She +that before was a maiden straightway became the bride of Zeus, +and she bare children to Zeus, yea, anon she was a mother.</p> +<h3><a name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 197</span>IDYL +III<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE LAMENT FOR BION</span></h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Wail</span>, let me hear you wail, ye +woodland glades, and thou Dorian water; and weep ye rivers, for +Bion, the well beloved! Now all ye green things mourn, and +now ye groves lament him, ye flowers now in sad clusters breathe +yourselves away. Now redden ye roses in your sorrow, and +now wax red ye wind-flowers, now thou hyacinth, whisper the +letters on thee graven, and add a deeper <i>ai ai</i> to thy +petals; he is dead, the beautiful singer.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>Ye nightingales that lament among the thick leaves of the +trees, tell ye to the Sicilian waters of Arethusa the tidings +that Bion the herdsman is dead, and that with Bion song too has +died, and perished hath the Dorian minstrelsy.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>Ye Strymonian swans, sadly wail ye by the waters, and chant +with melancholy notes the dolorous song, even such a song as in +his time <a name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +198</span>with voice like yours he was wont to sing. And +tell again to the Œagrian maidens, tell to all the Nymphs +Bistonian, how that he hath perished, the Dorian Orpheus.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>No more to his herds he sings, that beloved herdsman, no more +’neath the lonely oaks he sits and sings, nay, but by +Pluteus’s side he chants a refrain of oblivion. The +mountains too are voiceless: and the heifers that wander by the +bulls lament and refuse their pasture.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>Thy sudden doom, O Bion, Apollo himself lamented, and the +Satyrs mourned thee, and the Priapi in sable raiment, and the +Panes sorrow for thy song, and the fountain fairies in the wood +made moan, and their tears turned to rivers of waters. And +Echo in the rocks laments that thou art silent, and no more she +mimics thy voice. And in sorrow for thy fall the trees cast +down their fruit, and all the flowers have faded. From the +ewes hath flowed no fair milk, nor honey from the hives, nay, it +hath perished for mere sorrow in the wax, for now hath thy honey +perished, and no more it behoves men to gather the honey of the +bees.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>Not so much did the dolphin mourn beside the sea-banks, nor +ever sang so sweet the nightingale on the cliffs, nor so much +lamented <a name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +199</span>the swallow on the long ranges of the hills, nor +shrilled so loud the halcyon o’er his sorrows;</p> +<p>(<i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.)</p> +<p>Nor so much, by the grey sea-waves, did ever the sea-bird +sing, nor so much in the dells of dawn did the bird of Memnon +bewail the son of the Morning, fluttering around his tomb, as +they lamented for Bion dead.</p> +<p>Nightingales, and all the swallows that once he was wont to +delight, that he would teach to speak, they sat over against each +other on the boughs and kept moaning, and the birds sang in +answer, ‘Wail, ye wretched ones, even ye!’</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>Who, ah who will ever make music on thy pipe, O thrice desired +Bion, and who will put his mouth to the reeds of thine +instrument? who is so bold?</p> +<p>For still thy lips and still thy breath survive, and Echo, +among the reeds, doth still feed upon thy songs. To Pan +shall I bear the pipe? Nay, perchance even he would fear to +set his mouth to it, lest, after thee, he should win but the +second prize.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>Yea, and Galatea laments thy song, she whom once thou wouldst +delight, as with thee she sat by the sea-banks. For not +like the Cyclops didst thou sing—him fair Galatea ever +fled, but on thee she still looked more kindly <a +name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 200</span>than on the +salt water. And now hath she forgotten the wave, and sits +on the lonely sands, but still she keeps thy kine.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>All the gifts of the Muses, herdsman, have died with thee, the +delightful kisses of maidens, the lips of boys; and woful round +thy tomb the loves are weeping. But Cypris loves thee far +more than the kiss wherewith she kissed the dying Adonis.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>This, O most musical of rivers, is thy second sorrow, this, +Meles, thy new woe. Of old didst thou lose Homer, that +sweet mouth of Calliope, and men say thou didst bewail thy goodly +son with streams of many tears, and didst fill all the salt sea +with the voice of thy lamentation—now again another son +thou weepest, and in a new sorrow art thou wasting away.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>Both were beloved of the fountains, and one ever drank of the +Pegasean fount, but the other would drain a draught of +Arethusa. And the one sang the fair daughter of Tyndarus, +and the mighty son of Thetis, and Menelaus Atreus’s son, +but that other,—not of wars, not of tears, but of Pan, +would he sing, and of herdsmen would he chant, and so singing, he +tended the herds. And pipes he would fashion, and would +milk the sweet heifer, and taught lads <a +name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 201</span>how to +kiss, and Love he cherished in his bosom and woke the passion of +Aphrodite.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>Every famous city laments thee, Bion, and all the towns. +Ascra laments thee far more than her Hesiod, and Pindar is less +regretted by the forests of Boeotia. Nor so much did +pleasant Lesbos mourn for Alcaeus, nor did the Teian town so +greatly bewail her poet, while for thee more than for Archilochus +doth Paros yearn, and not for Sappho, but still for thee doth +Mytilene wail her musical lament;</p> +<p style="text-align: center">[<i>Here seven verses are +lost</i>.]</p> +<p>And in Syracuse Theocritus; but I sing thee the dirge of an +Ausonian sorrow, I that am no stranger to the pastoral song, but +heir of the Doric Muse which thou didst teach thy pupils. +This was thy gift to me; to others didst thou leave thy wealth, +to me thy minstrelsy.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>Ah me, when the mallows wither in the garden, and the green +parsley, and the curled tendrils of the anise, on a later day +they live again, and spring in another year; but we men, we, the +great and mighty, or wise, when once we have died, in hollow +earth we sleep, gone down into silence; a right long, and +endless, and unawakening sleep. And thou too, in the earth +wilt be lapped in silence, but the nymphs have thought good that +the frog should eternally <a name="page202"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 202</span>sing. Nay, him I would not +envy, for ’tis no sweet song he singeth.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>Poison came, Bion, to thy mouth, thou didst know poison. +To such lips as thine did it come, and was not sweetened? +What mortal was so cruel that could mix poison for thee, or who +could give thee the venom that heard thy voice? surely he had no +music in his soul.</p> +<p><i>Begin</i>, <i>ye Sicilian Muses</i>, <i>begin the +dirge</i>.</p> +<p>But justice hath overtaken them all. Still for this +sorrow I weep, and bewail thy ruin. But ah, if I might have +gone down like Orpheus to Tartarus, or as once Odysseus, or +Alcides of yore, I too would speedily have come to the house of +Pluteus, that thee perchance I might behold, and if thou singest +to Pluteus, that I might hear what is thy song. Nay, sing +to the Maiden some strain of Sicily, sing some sweet pastoral +lay.</p> +<p>And she too is Sicilian, and on the shores by Aetna she was +wont to play, and she knew the Dorian strain. Not +unrewarded will the singing be; and as once to Orpheus’s +sweet minstrelsy she gave Eurydice to return with him, even so +will she send thee too, Bion, to the hills. But if I, even +I, and my piping had aught availed, before Pluteus I too would +have sung.</p> +<h3><a name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 203</span>IDYL +IV</h3> +<p><i>A sad dialogue between Megara the wife and Alcmena the +mother of the wandering Heracles</i>. <i>Megara had seen +her own children slain by her lord</i>, <i>in his frenzy</i>, +<i>while Alcmena was constantly disquieted by ominous +dreams</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">My</span> mother, wherefore art thou thus +smitten in thy soul with exceeding sorrow, and the rose is no +longer firm in thy cheeks as of yore? why, tell me, art thou thus +disquieted? Is it because thy glorious son is suffering +pains unnumbered in bondage to a man of naught, as it were a lion +in bondage to a fawn? Woe is me, why, ah why have the +immortal gods thus brought on me so great dishonour, and +wherefore did my parents get me for so ill a doom? Wretched +woman that I am, who came to the bed of a man without reproach +and ever held him honourable and dear as mine own eyes,—ay +and still worship and hold him sacred in my heart—yet none +other of men living hath had more evil hap or tasted in his soul +so many griefs. In madness once, with the bow +Apollo’s self had given him—dread weapon of some Fury +or spirit of Death—he struck down <a +name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 204</span>his own +children, and took their dear life away, as his frenzy raged +through the house till it swam in blood. With mine own +eyes, I saw them smitten, woe is me, by their father’s +arrows—a thing none else hath suffered even in +dreams. Nor could I aid them as they cried ever on their +mother; the evil that was upon them was past help. As a +bird mourneth for her perishing little ones, devoured in the +thicket by some terrible serpent while as yet they are +fledglings, and the kind mother flutters round them making most +shrill lament, but cannot help her nestlings, yea, and herself +hath great fear to approach the cruel monster; so I unhappy +mother, wailing for my brood, with frenzied feet went wandering +through the house. Would that by my children’s side I +had died myself, and were lying with the envenomed arrow through +my heart. Would that this had been, O Artemis, thou that +art queen chief of power to womankind. Then would our +parents have embraced and wept for us and with ample obsequies +have laid us on one common pyre, and have gathered the bones of +all of us into one golden urn, and buried them in the place where +first we came to be. But now they dwell in Thebes, fair +nurse of youth, ploughing the deep soil of the Aonian plain, +while I in Tiryns, rocky city of Hera, am ever thus wounded at +heart with many sorrows, nor is any respite to me from +tears. My husband I behold but a little time in our house, +for he hath many labours at his hand, whereat he laboureth <a +name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 205</span>in +wanderings by land and sea, with his soul strong as rock or steel +within his breast. But thy grief is as the running waters, +as thou lamentest through the nights and all the days of +Zeus.</p> +<p>Nor is there any one of my kinsfolk nigh at hand to cheer me: +for it is not the house wall that severs them, but they all dwell +far beyond the pine-clad Isthmus, nor is there any to whom, as a +woman all hapless, I may look up and refresh my heart, save only +my sister Pyrrha; nay, but she herself grieves yet more for her +husband Iphicles thy son: for methinks ’tis thou that hast +borne the most luckless children of all, to a God, and a mortal +man. <a name="citation205"></a><a href="#footnote205" +class="citation">[205]</a></p> +<p>Thus spake she, and ever warmer the tears were pouring from +her eyes into her sweet bosom, as she bethought her of her +children and next of her own parents. And in like manner +Alcmena bedewed her pale cheeks with tears, and deeply sighing +from her very heart she thus bespoke her dear daughter with +thick-coming words:</p> +<p>‘Dear child, what is this that hath come into the +thoughts of thy heart? How art thou fain to disquiet us +both with the tale of griefs that cannot be forgotten? Not +for the first time are these woes wept for now. Are they +not enough, the woes that possess us from our birth continually +to our day of death? In love with sorrow surely would he be +that should <a name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +206</span>have the heart to count up our woes; such destiny have +we received from God. Thyself, dear child, I behold vext by +endless pains, and thy grief I can pardon, yea, for even of joy +there is satiety. And exceedingly do I mourn over and pity +thee, for that thou hast partaken of our cruel lot, the burden +whereof is hung above our heads. For so witness Persephone +and fair-robed Demeter (by whom the enemy that wilfully forswears +himself, lies to his own hurt), that I love thee no less in my +heart than if thou hadst been born of my womb, and wert the +maiden darling of my house: nay, and methinks that thou knowest +this well. Therefore say never, my flower, that I heed thee +not, not even though I wail more ceaselessly than Niobe of the +lovely locks. No shame it is for a mother to make moan for +the affliction of her son: for ten months I went heavily, even +before I saw him, while I bare him under my girdle, and he +brought me near the gates of the warden of Hell; so fierce the +pangs I endured in my sore travail of him. And now my son +is gone from me in a strange land to accomplish some new labour; +nor know I in my sorrow whether I shall again receive him +returning here or no. Moreover in sweet sleep a dreadful +dream hath fluttered me; and I exceedingly fear for the +ill-omened vision that I have seen, lest something that I would +not be coming on my children.</p> +<p>It seemed to me that my son, the might of Heracles, held in +both hands a well-wrought <a name="page207"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 207</span>spade, wherewith, as one labouring +for hire, he was digging a ditch at the edge of a fruitful field, +stripped of his cloak and belted tunic. And when he had +come to the end of all his work and his labours at the stout +defence of the vine-filled close, he was about to lean his shovel +against the upstanding mound and don the clothes he had +worn. But suddenly blazed up above the deep trench a +quenchless fire, and a marvellous great flame encompassed +him. But he kept ever giving back with hurried feet, +striving to flee the deadly bolt of Hephaestus; and ever before +his body he kept his spade as it were a shield; and this way and +that he glared around him with his eyes, lest the angry fire +should consume him. Then brave Iphicles, eager, methought, +to help him, stumbled and fell to earth ere he might reach him, +nor could he stand upright again, but lay helpless, like a weak +old man, whom joyless age constrains to fall when he would not; +so he lieth on the ground as he fell, till one passing by lift +him up by the hand, regarding the ancient reverence for his hoary +beard. Thus lay on the earth Iphicles, wielder of the +shield. But I kept wailing as I beheld my sons in their +sore plight, until deep sleep quite fled from my eyes, and +straightway came bright morn. Such dreams, beloved, flitted +through my mind all night; may they all turn against Eurystheus +nor come nigh our dwelling, and to his hurt be my soul prophetic, +nor may fate bring aught otherwise to pass.</p> +<h3><a name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 208</span>IDYL +V</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> the wind on the grey salt sea +blows softly, then my weary spirits rise, and the land no longer +pleases me, and far more doth the calm allure me. <a +name="citation208"></a><a href="#footnote208" +class="citation">[208]</a> But when the hoary deep is +roaring, and the sea is broken up in foam, and the waves rage +high, then lift I mine eyes unto the earth and trees, and fly the +sea, and the land is welcome, and the shady wood well pleasing in +my sight, where even if the wind blow high the pine-tree sings +her song. Surely an evil life lives the fisherman, whose +home is his ship, and his labours are in the sea, and fishes +thereof are his wandering spoil. Nay, sweet to me is sleep +beneath the broad-leaved plane-tree; let me love to listen to the +murmur of the brook hard by, soothing, not troubling the +husbandman with its sound.</p> +<h3>IDYL VI</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Pan</span> loved his +neighbour Echo; Echo loved<br /> +A gamesome Satyr; he, by her unmoved,<br /> +<a name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 209</span>Loved +only Lyde; thus through Echo, Pan,<br /> +Lyde, and Satyr, Love his circle ran.<br /> +Thus all, while their true lovers’ hearts they grieved,<br +/> +Were scorned in turn, and what they gave received.<br /> +O all Love’s scorners, learn this lesson true;<br /> +Be kind to Love, that he be kind to you.</p> +<h3>IDYL VII</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Alpheus</span>, when he leaves Pisa and +makes his way through beneath the deep, travels on to Arethusa +with his waters that the wild olives drank, bearing her bridal +gifts, fair leaves and flowers and sacred soil. Deep in the +waves he plunges, and runs beneath the sea, and the salt water +mingles not with the sweet. Nought knows the sea as the +river journeys through. Thus hath the knavish boy, the +maker of mischief, the teacher of strange ways—thus hath +Love by his spell taught even a river to dive.</p> +<h3>IDYL VIII</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Leaving</span> his torch +and his arrows, a wallet strung on his back,<br /> +One day came the mischievous Love-god to follow the +plough-share’s track:<br /> +And he chose him a staff for his driving, and yoked him a sturdy +steer,<br /> +<a name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 210</span>And +sowed in the furrows the grain to the Mother of Earth most +dear.<br /> +Then he said, looking up to the sky: ‘Father Zeus, to my +harvest be good,<br /> +Lest I yoke that bull to my plough that Europa once rode through +the flood!’</p> +<h3>IDYL IX</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Would</span> that my father +had taught me the craft of a keeper of sheep,<br /> +For so in the shade of the elm-tree, or under the rocks on the +steep,<br /> +Piping on reeds I had sat, and had lulled my sorrow to sleep. <a +name="citation210"></a><a href="#footnote210" +class="citation">[210]</a></p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote0a"></a><a href="#citation0a" +class="footnote">[0a]</a> This fragment is from the +collection of M. Fauriel; <i>Chants Populaires de le +Grèce</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0b"></a><a href="#citation0b" +class="footnote">[0b]</a> <i>Empedocles on Etna</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0c"></a><a href="#citation0c" +class="footnote">[0c]</a> Ballet des Arts, dansé par +sa Majesté; le 8 janvier, 1663. A Paris, par Robert +Ballard, <span class="GutSmall">MDCLXIII</span>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0d"></a><a href="#citation0d" +class="footnote">[0d]</a> These and the following ditties +are from the modern Greek ballads collected by MM. Fauriel and +Legrand.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0e"></a><a href="#citation0e" +class="footnote">[0e]</a> See Couat, <i>La Poesie +Alexandrine</i>, p. 68 <i>et seq.</i>, Paris 1882.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0f"></a><a href="#citation0f" +class="footnote">[0f]</a> See Couat, <i>op. cit.</i> p. +395.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0g"></a><a href="#citation0g" +class="footnote">[0g]</a> Couat, p. 434.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0h"></a><a href="#citation0h" +class="footnote">[0h]</a> See Helbig, <i>Campenische +Wandmalerie</i>, and Brunn, <i>Die griechischen Bukoliker und die +Bildende Kunst</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote0i"></a><a href="#citation0i" +class="footnote">[0i]</a> The <i>Hecale</i> of Callimachus, +or Theseus and the Marathonian Bull, seems to have been rather a +heroic idyl than an epic.</p> +<p><a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6" +class="footnote">[6]</a> Or reading +Αίολικόν=Aeolian, +cf. Thucyd. iii. 102.</p> +<p><a name="footnote9"></a><a href="#citation9" +class="footnote">[9]</a> These are places famous in the +oldest legends of Arcadia.</p> +<p><a name="footnote11"></a><a href="#citation11" +class="footnote">[11]</a> Reading, +καταδήσομαι. +Cf. Fritzsche’s note and Harpocration, s.v.</p> +<p><a name="footnote13"></a><a href="#citation13" +class="footnote">[13]</a> On the word +ραμβος, see Lobeck, +<i>Aglaoph.</i> p. 700; and ‘The Bull Roarer,’ in the +translator’s <i>Custom and Myth</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote19"></a><a href="#citation19" +class="footnote">[19]</a> Reading +καταδήσομαι. +Cf. line 3, and note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote21"></a><a href="#citation21" +class="footnote">[21]</a> He refers to a piece of +folk-lore.</p> +<p><a name="footnote24"></a><a href="#citation24" +class="footnote">[24]</a> The shovel was used for tossing +the sand of the lists; the sheep were food for Aegon’s +great appetite.</p> +<p><a name="footnote26"></a><a href="#citation26" +class="footnote">[26]</a> Reading +έρίσδεις.</p> +<p><a name="footnote34"></a><a href="#citation34" +class="footnote">[34]</a> Melanthius was the treacherous +goatherd put to a cruel death by Odysseus.</p> +<p><a name="footnote36"></a><a href="#citation36" +class="footnote">[36]</a> Ameis and Fritzsche take +νιν (as here) to be the dog, not Galatea. The +sex of the Cyclops’s sheep-dog makes the meaning +obscure.</p> +<p><a name="footnote40"></a><a href="#citation40" +class="footnote">[40]</a> Or, +δόμον +Ώρομέδοντος. +Hermann renders this <i>domum Oromedonteam</i> a gigantic +house.’ Oromedon or Eurymedon was the king of the +Gigantes, mentioned in Odyssey vii. 58.</p> +<p><a name="footnote41"></a><a href="#citation41" +class="footnote">[41]</a> +έσχατα. This is taken by +some to mean <i>algam infimam</i>, ‘the bottom weeds of the +deepest seas’, by others, the sea-weed highest on the +shore, at high watermark.</p> +<p><a name="footnote42"></a><a href="#citation42" +class="footnote">[42]</a> Comatas was a goatherd who +devoutly served the Muses, and sacrificed to them his masters +goats. His master therefore shut him up in a cedar chest, +opening which at the year’s end he found Comatas alive, by +miracle, the bees having fed him with honey. Thus, in a +mediaeval legend, the Blessed Virgin took the place, for a year, +of the frail nun who had devoutly served her.</p> +<p><a name="footnote43"></a><a href="#citation43" +class="footnote">[43]</a> Sneezing in Sicily, as in most +countries, was a happy omen.</p> +<p><a name="footnote50"></a><a href="#citation50" +class="footnote">[50]</a> A superfluous and apocryphal line +is here omitted.</p> +<p><a name="footnote53"></a><a href="#citation53" +class="footnote">[53]</a> An allusion to the common +superstition (cf. Idyl xii. 24) that perjurers and liars were +punished by pimples and blotches. The old Irish held that +blotches showed themselves on the faces of Brehons who gave +unjust judgments.</p> +<p><a name="footnote54"></a><a href="#citation54" +class="footnote">[54]</a> Spring in the south, like Night +in the tropics, comes ‘at one stride’; but Wordsworth +finds the rendering distasteful ‘neque sic redditum valde +placet.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote57"></a><a href="#citation57" +class="footnote">[57]</a> ‘Quant à ta +manière, je ne puis la rendre.’—<span +class="smcap">Sainte-Beuve</span>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote61"></a><a href="#citation61" +class="footnote">[61]</a> Reading +μηνοφόρως.</p> +<p><a name="footnote70"></a><a href="#citation70" +class="footnote">[70]</a> Cf. Wordsworth’s proposed +conjecture—</p> +<blockquote><p>μετάρσι’, +έτων +παρεόντων.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Meineke observes ‘tota haec carminis pars luxata et +foedissime depravata est’. There seems to be a rude +early pun in lines 73, 74.</p> +<p><a name="footnote72"></a><a href="#citation72" +class="footnote">[72]</a> The reading—</p> +<p>ού φθεγξη; +λύκον +εΐδες; +επαιξέ τις, +ως σοφός, +εΐπε,—makes good sense. +ως σοφός is put in the +mouth of the girl, and would mean ‘a good +guess’! The allusion of a guest to the superstition +that the wolf struck people dumb is taken by Cynisca for a +reference to young Wolf, her secret lover.</p> +<p><a name="footnote73"></a><a href="#citation73" +class="footnote">[73]</a> Or, as Wordsworth suggests, +reading δάκρυσι, +‘for him your cheeks are wet with tears.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote74a"></a><a href="#citation74a" +class="footnote">[74a]</a> Shaving in the bronze, and still +more, of course, in the stone age, was an uncomfortable and +difficult process. The backward and barbarous Thracians +were therefore trimmed in the roughest way, like Aeschines, with +his long gnawed moustache.</p> +<p><a name="footnote74b"></a><a href="#citation74b" +class="footnote">[74b]</a> The Megarians having inquired of +the Delphic oracle as to their rank among Greek cities, were told +that they were absolute last, and not in the reckoning at +all.</p> +<p><a name="footnote77"></a><a href="#citation77" +class="footnote">[77]</a> Our Lady, here, is +Persephone. The ejaculation served for the old as well as +for the new religion of Sicily. The dialogue is here +arranged as in Fritzsche’s text, and in line 8 his +punctuation is followed.</p> +<p><a name="footnote78a"></a><a href="#citation78a" +class="footnote">[78a]</a> If cats are meant, the proverb +is probably Alexandrian. Common as cats were in Egypt, they +were late comers in Greece.</p> +<p><a name="footnote78b"></a><a href="#citation78b" +class="footnote">[78b]</a> Most of the dialogue has been +distributed as in the text of Fritzsche.</p> +<p><a name="footnote82"></a><a href="#citation82" +class="footnote">[82]</a> Reading +πέρυσιν.</p> +<p><a name="footnote89"></a><a href="#citation89" +class="footnote">[89]</a> <i>I.e.</i> Syracuse, a colony of +the Ephyraeans or Corinthians. The Maiden is Persephone, +the Mother Demeter.</p> +<p><a name="footnote93"></a><a href="#citation93" +class="footnote">[93]</a> Deipyle, daughter of +Adrastus.</p> +<p><a name="footnote98"></a><a href="#citation98" +class="footnote">[98]</a> +Reading—πιείρα +ατε λαον +ανέδραμε +κόσμος +αρούρα. See also +Wordsworth’s note on line 26.</p> +<p><a name="footnote104"></a><a href="#citation104" +class="footnote">[104]</a> For αδέα +Wordsworth and Hermann conjecture +Ἄρεα. The sense would be that +Eunica, who thinks herself another Cypris, or Aphrodite is, in +turn, to be rejected by her Ares, her soldier-lover, as she has +rejected the herdsman.</p> +<p><a name="footnote105"></a><a href="#citation105" +class="footnote">[105]</a> Reading +επιμύσσησι.</p> +<p><a name="footnote106a"></a><a href="#citation106a" +class="footnote">[106a]</a> Reading τα +φυκιοέντα +τε λαίφη.</p> +<p><a name="footnote106b"></a><a href="#citation106b" +class="footnote">[106b]</a> κώπα.</p> +<p><a name="footnote106c"></a><a href="#citation106c" +class="footnote">[106c]</a> +ουδος δ’ +ουχι θύραν +εΐχ’, and in the next line ά +γαρ πενία +σφας +ετήρει.</p> +<p><a name="footnote106d"></a><a href="#citation106d" +class="footnote">[106d]</a> +αυδάν.</p> +<p><a name="footnote107"></a><a href="#citation107" +class="footnote">[107]</a> Reading, with +Fritzsche—</p> +<blockquote><p>αλλ’ +όνος εν +ράμνω, το τε +λύχνιον εν +πρυτανείω</p> +<p>φαντι γαρ +αγρυπνίαν +τόδ’ εχειν</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The lines seem to contain two popular saws, of which it is +difficult to guess the meaning. The first saw appears to +express helplessness; the second, to hint that such comforts as +lamps lit all night long exist in towns, but are out of the reach +of poor fishermen.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108a"></a><a href="#citation108a" +class="footnote">[108a]</a> Reading +ηρέμ’ ενυξα +και νύξας +εχάλαξα. Asphalion +first hooked his fish, which ran gamely, and nearly doubled up +the rod. Then the fish sulked, and the angler half +despaired of landing him. To stir the sullen fish, he +reminded him of his wound, probably, as we do now, by keeping a +tight line, and tapping the butt of the rod. Then he +slackened, giving the fish line in case of a sudden rush; but as +there was no such rush, he took in line, or perhaps only showed +his fish the butt (for it is not probable that Asphalion had a +reel), and so landed him. The Mediterranean fishers +generally toss the fish to land with no display of science, but +Asphalion’s imaginary capture was a monster.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108b"></a><a href="#citation108b" +class="footnote">[108b]</a> It is difficult to understand +this proceeding. Perhaps Asphalion had some small net +fastened with strings to his boat, in which he towed fish to +shore, that the contact with the water might keep them fresher +than they were likely to be in the bottom of the coble. On +the other hand, Asphalion was fishing from a rock. His +dream may have been confused.</p> +<p><a name="footnote111"></a><a href="#citation111" +class="footnote">[111]</a> +πυρεΐα appear to have been +‘fire sticks,’ by rubbing which together the heroes +struck a light.</p> +<p><a name="footnote118"></a><a href="#citation118" +class="footnote">[118]</a> Or +εγχεα +λοΰσαι, ‘wash the +spears,’ as in the Zulu idiom.</p> +<p><a name="footnote124"></a><a href="#citation124" +class="footnote">[124]</a> In line 57 for +τηλε read Wordsworth’s conjecture +τηδε = +ενταΰθα.</p> +<p><a name="footnote127"></a><a href="#citation127" +class="footnote">[127]</a> Odyssey. xix. 36 seq. +(Reading απερ not +ατερ.) ‘Father, surely a great +marvel is this that I behold with mine eyes meseems, at least, +that the walls of the hall . . . are bright as it were with +flaming fire’ . . . ‘Lo! this is the wont of the gods +that hold Olympus.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote128"></a><a href="#citation128" +class="footnote">[128]</a> ξηρον, +<i>prae timore non lacrymantem</i> (Paley).</p> +<p><a name="footnote129"></a><a href="#citation129" +class="footnote">[129]</a> Reading, after Fritzsche, +ρωγάδος +εκ πέτρας. We +should have expected the accursed ashes (like those of Wyclif) to +be thrown <i>into</i> the river; cf. Virgil, Ecl. viii. 101, +‘Fer cineres, Amarylli, foras, rivoque fluenti transque +caput lace nec respexeris.’ Virgil’s knowledge +of these observances was not inferior to that of Theocritus.</p> +<p><a name="footnote130"></a><a href="#citation130" +class="footnote">[130]</a> Reading +εστεμμένω. If +εστεμμνον is read, +the phrase will mean ‘pure brimming water.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote135"></a><a href="#citation135" +class="footnote">[135]</a> Reading +οσσον.</p> +<p><a name="footnote143"></a><a href="#citation143" +class="footnote">[143]</a> Reading +αλλη, as in Wordsworth’s +conjecture, instead of υλη.</p> +<p><a name="footnote144"></a><a href="#citation144" +class="footnote">[144]</a> Reading +ποπανεύματα.</p> +<p><a name="footnote145"></a><a href="#citation145" +class="footnote">[145]</a> +Πένθημα και +ου πενθηα, a play +on words difficult to retain in English. Compare Idyl xiii. +line 74.</p> +<p><a name="footnote147"></a><a href="#citation147" +class="footnote">[147]</a> The conjecture +εμα δ’ gives a good sense, <i>mea +vero Helena me potius ultra petit</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote148"></a><a href="#citation148" +class="footnote">[148]</a> Reading, as in +Wordsworth’s conjecture, μη +’πιβάλης +ταν χεΐρα, +και ει γ’ +ετι +χεΐλος, +αμύξω.</p> +<p><a name="footnote150a"></a><a href="#citation150a" +class="footnote">[150a]</a> Reading +οΐδ’, +ακρατιμίη +εσσι, with Fritzsche. Compare the +conjecture of Wordsworth, Ὀύδ’ +ακρα τι μη +εσσι.</p> +<p><a name="footnote150b"></a><a href="#citation150b" +class="footnote">[150b]</a> See Wordsworth’s +explanation.</p> +<p><a name="footnote153"></a><a href="#citation153" +class="footnote">[153]</a> Syracuse.</p> +<p><a name="footnote165"></a><a href="#citation165" +class="footnote">[165]</a> Reading, +πεδοικισται +(that is, the Corinthian founders of Syracuse), and following +Wordsworth’s other conjectures.</p> +<p><a name="footnote167"></a><a href="#citation167" +class="footnote">[167]</a> This epigram may have been added +by the first editor of Theocritus, Artemidorus the +Grammarian.</p> +<p><a name="footnote176"></a><a href="#citation176" +class="footnote">[176]</a> This conjecture of +Meineke’s offers, at least, a meaning.</p> +<p><a name="footnote181"></a><a href="#citation181" +class="footnote">[181]</a> <i>Les hommes sont tous +condamnés à mort</i>, <i>avec des sursis +indéfinis</i>.—<span class="smcap">Victor +Hugo</span>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote205"></a><a href="#citation205" +class="footnote">[205]</a> Alcmena bore Iphicles to +Amphictyon, Hercules to Zeus.</p> +<p><a name="footnote208"></a><a href="#citation208" +class="footnote">[208]</a> Reading, with Weise, +ποτάγει δε +πολυ πλεον +αμμε +γαλάνα.</p> +<p><a name="footnote210"></a><a href="#citation210" +class="footnote">[210]</a> For the translations into verse +I have to thank Mr. Ernest Myers.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THEOCRITUS, BION AND MOSCHUS***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 4775-h.htm or 4775-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/7/7/4775 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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 Bucolics in the Dorian dialect. +Some attribute to him the following works:- The Proetidae, The +Pleasures of Hope ([Greek]), Hymns, The Heroines, Dirges, Ditties, +Elegies, Iambics, Epigrams. But it known that there are three +Bucolic poets: this Theocritus, Moschus of Sicily, and Bion of +Smyrna, from a village called Phlossa. + + + +LIFE OF THEOCRITUS +[Greek] +(Usually prefixed to the Idyls) + + + +Theocritus the Bucolic poet was a Syracusan by extraction, and the +son of Simichidas, as he says himself, Simichidas, pray whither +through the noon dost thou dray thy feet? (Idyl VII). Some say that +this was an assumed name, for he seems to have been snub-nosed +([Greek]), 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. + + + +THEOCRITUS AND HIS AGE + + + +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 (founded 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. + +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. + +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.' + +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, volks-lieder, +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 - + + +'With his head full of wine, and his hair crown'd, +Touching his harp as the whim came on him, +And praised and spoil'd by master and by guests, +Almost as much as the new dancing girl.' + + +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 - + +'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.' + +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: {0a} + +'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.' + +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.' + +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. + +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 + + +'The track winds down to the clear stream, +To cross the sparkling shallows; there +The cattle love to gather, on their way +To the high mountain pastures and to stay, +Till the rough cow-herds drive them past, +Knee-deep in the cool ford; for 'tis the last +Of all the woody, high, well-water'd dells +On Etna, . . . +. . . glade, +And stream, and sward, and chestnut-trees, +End here; Etna beyond, in the broad glare +Of the hot noon, without a shade, +Slope behind slope, up to the peak, lies bare; +The peak, round which the white clouds play.' {0b} + + +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.' + +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 - + + +'A son labeur il passe tout d'un coup, +Et n'ira pas dormir sur la fougere, +Ny s'oublier aupres d'une Bergere, +Jusques au point d'en oublier le Loup.' {0c} + + +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 - + + +[Greek] + +'To flit towards these lips of thine, I fain would be a swallow, +To kiss thee once, to kiss thee twice, and then go flying homeward.' +{0d} + + +In his despair, when Love 'clung to him like a leech of the fen,' he +might have murmured - + + +[Greek] + +'Would that I were on the high hills, and lay where lie the stags, +and no more was troubled with the thought of thee.' + + +Here, again, is a love-complaint from modern Epirus, exactly in the +tone of Battus's song in the tenth idyl - + + +'White thou art not, thou art not golden haired, +Thou art brown, and gracious, and meet for love.' + + +Here is a longer love-ditty - + +'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.' + +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' - + +'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!' + +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. + +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 Lycidas, Thyrsis, and Adonais. + +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 [Greek], sweet. He finds +all things delectable in the rural life: + +'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.' + +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 AEschines. 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 - + + +[Greek] + +'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.' + + +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 HIM, 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. {0e} 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 [Greek], 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 + + +[Greek] + +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). + +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, Arsinoe. 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 Clitophon and Leucippe) 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. + +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 thyrsi, +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 vannus Iacchi. 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. + +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. + +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, Arsinoe, 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. + +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. {0f} 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 'Arsinoe,' the name +of Ptolemy's wife, made the words [Greek], 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 rococo. 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 Argonautica. 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 +[Greek], 'little pictures.' His fragments of epic, or imitations of +the epic hymns are not + + +[Greek] + + +- not full and sonorous as the songs of Homer and the sea. 'Ce poete +est le moins naif qui se puisse rencontrer, et il se degage de son +oeuvre un parfum de naivete rustique.' {0g} They are, what a German +critic has called them, mythologischen genre-bilder, cabinet pictures +in the manner called genre, 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 genre, 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. + +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. {0h} 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 The Palace of Art are intended to +describe picture - + + +'Or sweet Europa's mantle blew unclasp'd, + From off her shoulder backward borne: +From one hand droop'd a crocus: one hand grasp'd + The mild bull's golden horn.' + + +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 - + +'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.' + +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. + +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. +{0i} He was also to shun close imitation of what are so easily +imitated, the regular recurring formulae, 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 Europa 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 Idylls +of the King 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. + +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. + + + + +THEOCRITUS + + + + +IDYL 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. + +The scene is in Sicily. + +Thyrsis. 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. + +The Goatherd. 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. + +Thyrsis. 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? + +Goatherd. 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 +The Affliction of Daphnis, 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. + +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. + +All about the cup is spread the soft acanthus, a miracle of varied +work, {6} 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! + +The Song of Thyrsis. + +Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song! 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. + +Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song! + +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. + +Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song! + +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, - + +Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song! + +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: + +Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song! + +'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.' + +Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song! + +Yet these the herdsman answered not again, but he bare his bitter +love to the end, yea, to the fated end he bare it. + +Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song! + +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?' + +Begin ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song! + +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. + +Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song! + +'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! + +Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song! + +'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." + +Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song! + +'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. + +Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song! + +'That Daphnis am I who here do herd the kine, Daphnis who water here +the bulls and calves. + +'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. {9} + +Give o'er, ye Muses, come, give o'er the pastoral song! + +'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. + +Give o'er, ye Muses, come, give o'er the pastoral song! + +'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.' + +Give o'er, ye Muses, come, give o'er the pastoral song! + +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. + +Give o'er, ye Muses, come, give o'er the pastoral song! + +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. + +The Goatherd. 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. + + + +IDYL II + + + +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. + +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. + +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, {11} 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. + +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. + +My magic wheel, draw home to me the man I love! + +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!' + +My magic wheel, draw home to me the man I love! + +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! + +My magic wheel, draw home to me the man I love! + +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, {13} so restless, under Aphrodite's spell, may he turn and +turn about my doors. + +My magic wheel, draw home to me the man I love! + +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. + +My magic wheel, draw home to me the man I love! + +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. + +My magic wheel, draw home to me the man I love! + +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. + +My magic wheel, draw home to me the man I love! + +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. + +My magic wheel, draw home to me the man I love! + +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? + +My magic wheel, draw home to me the man I love! + +Lo, I will crush an eft, and a venomous draught to-morrow I will +bring thee! + +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.' + +My magic wheel, draw home to me the man I love! + +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. + +Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon! + +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. + +Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon! + +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! + +Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon! + +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. + +Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon! + +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. + +Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon! + +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. + +Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon! + +'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, - + +Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon! + +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. + +Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon! + +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: + +Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon! + +'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. + +Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon! + +'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. + +Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon! + +'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. + +Bethink thee of my love, and whence it came, my Lady Moon! + +'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!' + +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. + +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, {19} 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. + +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. + + + +IDYL III + + + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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! + +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! + +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. + +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. {21} + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Sweet as honey in the mouth may my death be to thee. + + + +IDYL IV + + + +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. + +The scene is in Southern Italy. + +Battus. Tell me, Corydon, whose kine are these,--the cattle of +Philondas? + +Corydon. Nay, they are Aegon's, he gave me them to pasture. + +Battus. Dost thou ever find a way to milk them all, on the sly, just +before evening? + +Corydon. No chance of that, for the old man puts the calves beneath +their dams, and keeps watch on me. + +Battus. But the neatherd himself,--to what land has he passed out of +sight? + +Corydon. Hast thou not heard? Milon went and carried him off to the +Alpheus. + +Battus. And when, pray, did HE ever set eyes on the wrestlers' oil? + +Corydon. They say he is a match for Heracles, in strength and +hardihood. + +Battus. And I, so mother says, am a better man than Polydeuces. + +Corydon. Well, off he has gone, with a shovel, and with twenty sheep +from his flock here. {24} + +Battus. Milo, thou'lt see, will soon be coaxing the wolves to rave! + +Corydon. But Aegon's heifers here are lowing pitifully, and miss +their master. + +Battus. Yes, wretched beasts that they are, how false a neatherd was +theirs! + +Corydon. Wretched enough in truth, and they have no more care to +pasture. + +Battus. Nothing is left, now, of that heifer, look you, bones, +that's all. She does not live on dewdrops, does she, like the +grasshopper? + +Corydon. 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. + +Battus. 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. + +Corydon. 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. + +Battus. 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! + +Corydon. 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 Glauce and well the strain +of Pyrrhus, and the praise of Croton I sing, and Zacynthus is a +goodly town, and Lacinium that fronts the dawn! 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. + +Battus. 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. + +Corydon. 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. + +Battus. Enough of thy comforting! Drive the calves from the lower +ground, the cursed beasts are grazing on the olive-shoots. Hie on, +white face. + +Corydon. 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. + +Battus. 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? + +Corydon. Yes, yes, and I have caught it in my nails, see, here it +is. + +Battus. How tiny is the wound, and how tall a man it masters! + +Corydon. When thou goest to the hill, go not barefoot, Battus, for +on the hillside flourish thorns and brambles plenty. + +Battus. Come, tell me, Corydon, the old man now, does he still run +after that little black-browed darling whom he used to dote on? + +Corydon. He is after her still, my lad; but yesterday I came upon +them, by the very byre, and right loving were they. + +Battus. Well done, thou ancient lover! Sure, thou art near akin to +the satyrs, or a rival of the slim-shanked Pans! {26} + + + +IDYL V + + + +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. + +Comatas. Goats of mine, keep clear of that notorious shepherd of +Sibyrtas, that Lacon; he stole my goat-skin yesterday. + +Lacon. Will ye never leave the well-head? Off, my lambs, see ye not +Comatas; him that lately stole my shepherd's pipe? + +Comatas. What manner of pipe might that be, for when gat'st THOU a +pipe, thou slave of Sibyrtas? Why does it no more suffice thee to +keep a flute of straw, and whistle with Corydon? + +Lacon. 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. + +Comatas. '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! + +Lacon. 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! + +Comatas. 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. + +Lacon. 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!' + +Comatas. The sow defied Athene! See, there is staked the kid, go +to, do thou too put a fatted lamb against him, for thy stake. + +Lacon. 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? + +Comatas. 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! + +Lacon. 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. + +Comatas. 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! + +Lacon. And what good thing have I to remember that I ever learned or +heard from thee, thou envious thing, thou mere hideous manikin! + +* * * + +But come this way, come, and thou shalt sing thy last of country +song. + +Comatas. 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. + +Lacon. 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. + +Comatas. 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. + +Lacon. 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! + +Comatas. 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. + +Lacon. Let us shout, then! + +Comatas. Call thou to him. + +Lacon. 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. + +Comatas. Yes, dear Morson, for the nymphs' sake neither lean in thy +judgment to Comatas, nor, prithee, favour HIM. 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. + +Lacon. 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! + +Comatas. Best of men, I am for speaking the whole truth, and +boasting never, but thou art too fond of cutting speeches. + +Lacon. 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! + + +THE SINGING MATCH. + + +Comatas. The Muses love me better far than the minstrel Daphnis; but +a little while ago I sacrificed two young she-goats to the Muses. + +Lacon. 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. + +Comatas. The she-goats that I milk have all borne twins save two. +The maiden saw me, and 'alas,' she cried, 'dost thou milk alone?' + +Lacon. Ah, ah, but Lacon here hath nigh twenty baskets full of +cheese, and Lacon lies with his darling in the flowers! + +Comatas. Clearista, too, pelts the goatherd with apples as he drives +past his she-goats, and a sweet word she murmurs. + +Lacon. 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. + +Comatas. 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. + +Lacon. Nay, nor wild apples to acorns, for acorns are bitter in the +oaken rind, but apples are sweet as honey. + +Comatas. 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. + +Lacon. But I will give my darling a soft fleece to make a cloak, a +free gift, when I shear the black ewe. + +Comatas. Forth from the wild olive, my bleating she-goats, feed here +where the hillside slopes, and the tamarisks grove. + +Lacon. Conarus there, and Cynaetha, will you never leave the oak? +Graze here, where Phalarus feeds, where the hillside fronts the dawn. + +Comatas. Ay, and I have a vessel of cypress wood, and a mixing bowl, +the work of Praxiteles, and I hoard them for my maiden. + +Lacon. 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. + +Comatas. Ye locusts that overleap our fence, see that ye harm not +our vines, for our vines are young. + +Lacon. Ye cicalas, see how I make the goatherd chafe: even so, +methinks, do ye vex the reapers. + +Comatas. I hate the foxes, with their bushy brushes, that ever come +at evening, and eat the grapes of Micon. + +Lacon. And I hate the lady-birds that devour the figs of Philondas, +and flit down the wind. + +Comatas. Dost thou not remember how I cudgelled thee, and thou didst +grin and nimbly writhe, and catch hold of yonder oak? + +Lacon. 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. + +Comatas. 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. + +Lacon. And I too, Morson, I make some one chafe, and thou dost +perceive it. Be off now to the Hales stream, and dig cyclamen. + +Comatas. Let Himera flow with milk instead of water, and thou, +Crathis, run red with wine, and all thy reeds bear apples. + +Lacon. 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. + +Comatas. My goats eat cytisus, and goatswort, and tread the lentisk +shoots, and lie at ease among the arbutus. + +Lacon. But my ewes have honey-wort to feed on, and luxuriant +creepers flower around, as fair as roses. + +Comatas. I love not Alcippe, for yesterday she did not kiss me, and +take my face between her hands, when I gave her the dove. + +Lacon. But deeply I love my darling, for a kind kiss once I got, in +return for the gift of a shepherd's pipe. + +Comatas. Lacon, it never was right that pyes should contend with the +nightingale, nor hoopoes with swans, but thou, unhappy swain, art +ever for contention. + +Morson's Judgement. 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. + +Comatas. 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, {34} not Comatas, if I do not cudgel thee. + + + +IDYL VI + + + +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. + +The scene is in Sicily. + +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. + +Daphnis's Song of the Cyclops. + +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, {36} 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! + +He ended and Damoetas touched a prelude to his sweet song. + +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. + +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. + + + +IDYL VII + + + +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. + +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. + +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 (Classical Review, ii. 8, 265). See +also Rayet, Memoire sur l'ile de Cos, p. 18, Paris, 1876. + +The Harvest Feast. + +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 Burine. +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:- + +'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!' + +'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!' + +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, {40} 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!' + +The Song of Lycidas. + +Fair voyaging befall Ageanax to Mytilene, both when the Kids 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. + +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, +{41} 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. + +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. + +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. {42} + +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! + +When he had chanted thus much he ceased, and I followed after him +again, with some such words as these:- + +'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.' + +The Song of Simichidas. + +For Simichidas the Loves have sneezed, for truly the wretch loves +Myrto as dearly as goats love the spring. {43} 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 AEthiopians beneath the rock of the +Blemyes, whence Nile no more is seen. + +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!' + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + + + +IDYL VIII + + + +The scene is among the high mountain pastures of Sicily:- + +'On the sword, at the cliff top +Lie strewn the white flocks,' + +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. + +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. + +'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.' + +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!' + +Menalcas. Dost thou care then, to try this and see, dost thou care +to risk a stake? + +Daphnis. I do care to try this and see, a stake I am ready to risk. + +Menalcas. But what shall we stake, what pledge shall we find equal +and sufficient? + +Daphnis. I will pledge a calf, and do thou put down a lamb, one that +has grown to his mother's height. + +Menalcas. Nay, never will I stake a lamb, for stern is my father, +and stern my mother, and they number all the sheep at evening. + +Daphnis. But what, then, wilt thou lay, and where is to be the +victor's gain? + +Menalcas. 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. + +Daphnis. 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. + +Menalcas. But who is to judge between us, who will listen to our +singing? + +Daphnis. 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. + +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: + +Menalcas. 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. + +Daphnis. 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! + +Menalcas. 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 + +Daphnis. 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! + +Menalcas. 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.' + +Daphnis. . . . + +Menalcas. 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. + +Daphnis . . . . + +Menalcas . . . . + +Daphnis. 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. + +Thus the boys sang in verses amoebaean, and thus Menalcas began the +crowning lay: + +Menalcas. 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. + +Then Daphnis followed again, and sweetly preluded to his singing: + +Daphnis. 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. + +Sweet is the voice of the heifer, sweet her breath, {50} sweet to lie +beneath the sky in summer, by running water. + +Acorns are the pride of the oak, apples of the apple tree, the calf +of the heifer, and the neatherd glories in his kine. + +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.' + +Then was the boy as glad,--and leaped high, and clapped his hands +over his victory,--as a young fawn leaps about his mother. + +But the heart of the other was wasted with grief, and desolate, even +as a maiden sorrows that is newly wed. + +From this time Daphnis became the foremost among the shepherds, and +while yet in his earliest youth, he wedded the nymph Nais. + + + +IDYL IX + + + +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. + +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. + +Daphnis. 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. + +And thus I heed no more the scorching summer, than a lover cares to +heed the words of father or of mother. + +So Daphnis sang to me, and thus, in turn, did Menalcas sing. + +Menalcas. 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. + +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. + +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. {53} + +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. {54} Whom they look on in +happy hour, Circe hath never harmed with her enchanted potion. + + + +IDYL X--THE REAPERS + + + +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 +Moliere. Milon replies with the song of Lityerses--a string, +apparently, of popular rural couplets, such as Theocritus may have +heard chanted in the fields. + +Milan. 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? + +Battus. 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? + +Milan. Never! What has a labouring man to do with hankering after +what he has not got? + +Battus. Then it never befell thee to lie awake for love? + +Milan. Forbid it; 'tis an ill thing to let the dog once taste of +pudding. + +Battus. But I, Milon, am in love for almost eleven days! + +Milan. 'Tis easily seen that thou drawest from a wine-cask, while +even vinegar is scarce with me. + +Battus. And for Love's sake, the fields before my doors are untilled +since seed-time. + +Milan. But which of the girls afflicts thee so? + +Battus. The daughter of Polybotas, she that of late was wont to pipe +to the reapers on Hippocoon's farm. + +Milan. 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! + +Battus. 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. + +Milan. 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. + +Battus. Ye Muses Pierian, sing ye with me the slender maiden, for +whatsoever ye do but touch, ye goddesses, ye make wholly fair. + +They all call thee a GIPSY, gracious Bombyca, and LEAN, and SUNBURNT, +'tis only I that call thee HONEY-PALE. + +Yea, and the violet is swart, and swart the lettered hyacinth, but +yet these flowers are chosen the first in garlands. + +The goat runs after cytisus, the wolf pursues the goat, the crane +follows the plough, but I am wild for love of thee. + +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. + +Ah gracious Bombyca, thy feet are fashioned like carven ivory, thy +voice is drowsy sweet, and thy ways, I cannot tell of them! {57} + +Milan. 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 + +THE LITYERSES SONG. + +Demeter, rich in fruit, and rich in grain, may this corn be easy to +win, and fruitful exceedingly! + +Bind, ye bandsters, the sheaves, lest the wayfarer should cry, 'Men +of straw were the workers here, ay, and their hire was wasted!' + +See that the cut stubble faces the North wind, or the West, 'tis thus +the grain waxes richest. + +They that thresh corn should shun the noon-day steep; at noon the +chaff parts easiest from the straw. + +As for the reapers, let them begin when the crested lark is waking, +and cease when he sleeps, but take holiday in the heat. + +Lads, the frog has a jolly life, he is not cumbered about a butler to +his drink, for he has liquor by him unstinted! + +Boil the lentils better, thou miserly steward; take heed lest thou +chop thy fingers, when thou'rt splitting cumin-seed. + +'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. + + + +IDYL XI--THE CYCLOPS IN LOVE + + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'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! + +Yet this remedy he found, and sitting on the crest of the tall cliff, +and looking to the deep, 'twas thus he would sing:- + +Song of the Cyclops. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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, {61} and four young whelps of the bear. + +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 +AEtna 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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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! + + +Lo, thus Polyphemus still shepherded his love with song, and lived +lighter than if he had given gold for ease. + + + +IDYL XII--THE PASSIONATE FRIEND + + + +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. + +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. + +Ah, would that equally the Loves may breathe upon us twain, may we +become a song in the ears of all men unborn. + +'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. + +'An equal yoke of friendship they bore: ah, surely then there were +golden men of old, when friends gave love for love!' + +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. + +'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.' + +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! + +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. + + + +IDYL XIII--HYLAS AND HERACLES + + + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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.' + +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. + +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, {70} 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. + +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. + + + +IDYL XIV + + + +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. + +Aeschines. All hail to the stout Thyonichus! + +Thyonichus. As much to you, Aeschines. + +Aeschines. How long it is since we met! + +Thyonichus. Is it so long? But why, pray, this melancholy? + +Aeschines. I am not in the best of luck, Thyonichus. + +Thyonichus. '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. + +Aeschines. 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. + +Thyonichus. 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? + +Aeschines. The Argive, and I, and the Thessalian rough rider, Apis, +and Cleunichus the free lance, were drinking together, at my farm. I +had killed two chickens, and a sucking pig, and had opened the +Bibline wine for them,--nearly four years old,--but fragrant as when +it left the wine-press. Truffles and shellfish had been brought out, +it was a jolly drinking match. And when things were now getting +forwarder, we determined that each of us should toast whom he +pleased, in unmixed wine, only he must name his toast. So we all +drank, and called our toasts as had been agreed. Yet She said +nothing, though I was there; how think you I liked that? 'Won't you +call a toast? You have seen the wolf!' some one said in jest, 'as +the proverb goes,' {72} 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! + +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!' {73} + +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.' + +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. {74a} + +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. {74b} + +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. + +Thyonichus. 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! + +Aeschines. And in other respects, what kind of man? + +Thyonichus. 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. + + + +IDYL XV + + + +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 Arsinoe, 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. + +Gorgo. Is Praxinoe at home? + +Praxinoe. Dear Gorgo, how long it is since you have been here! She +IS at home. The wonder is that you have got here at last! Eunoe, +see that she has a chair. Throw a cushion on it too. + +Gorgo. It does most charmingly as it is. + +Praxinoe. Do sit down. + +Gorgo. Oh, what a thing spirit is! I have scarcely got to you +alive, Praxinoe! 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 TOO far away! + +Praxinoe. 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! + +Gorgo. 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. + +Praxinoe. Our Lady! the child takes notice. {77} + +Gorgo. Nice papa! + +Praxinoe. 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! + +Gorgo. 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! + +Praxinoe. Fine folks do everything finely. + +Gorgo. 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. + +Praxinoe. Idlers have always holiday. Eunoe, bring the water and +put it down in the middle of the room, lazy creature that you are. +Cats like always to sleep soft! {78a} 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. + +Gorgo. Praxinoe, that full body becomes you wonderfully. Tell me +how much did the stuff cost you just off the loom? + +Praxinoe. 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! + +Gorgo. Well, it is MOST successful; all you could wish. {78b} + +Praxinoe. 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. + +[They go into the street. + +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! Eunoe, 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. + +Gorgo. Courage, Praxinoe. We are safe behind them, now, and they +have gone to their station. + +Praxinoe. 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. + +Gorgo (to an old Woman). Are you from the Court, mother? + +Old Woman. I am, my child. + +Praxinoe. Is it easy to get there? + +Old Woman. The Achaeans got into Troy by trying, my prettiest of +ladies. Trying will do everything in the long run. + +Gorgo. The old wife has spoken her oracles, and off she goes. + +Praxinoe. Women know everything, yes, and how Zeus married Hera! + +Gorgo. See Praxinoe, what a crowd there is about the doors. + +Praxinoe. Monstrous, Gorgo! Give me your hand, and you, Eunoe, +catch hold of Eutychis; never lose hold of her, for fear lest you get +lost. Let us all go in together; Eunoe, 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! + +Stranger. I can hardly help myself, but for all that I will be as +careful as I can. + +Praxinoe. How close-packed the mob is, they hustle like a herd of +swine. + +Stranger. Courage, lady, all is well with us now. + +Praxinoe. 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 Eunoe +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. + +Gorgo. Do come here, Praxinoe. Look first at these embroideries. +How light and how lovely! You will call them the garments of the +gods. + +Praxinoe. 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. + +A Stranger. You weariful women, do cease your endless cooing talk! +They bore one to death with their eternal broad vowels! + +Gorgo. Indeed! And where may this person come from? What is it to +you if we ARE 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? + +Praxinoe. Lady Persephone, never may we have more than one master. +I am not afraid of YOUR putting me on short commons. + +Gorgo. Hush, hush, Praxinoe--the Argive woman's daughter, the great +singer, is beginning the Adonis; she that won the prize last year for +dirge-singing. {82} I am sure she will give us something lovely; +see, she is preluding with her airs and graces. + +The Psalm of Adonis. + +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 Dione, from mortal to immortal, so men tell, thou +hast changed Berenice, dropping softly in the woman's breast the +stuff of immortality. + +Therefore, for thy delight, O thou of many names and many temples, +doth the daughter of Berenice, even Arsinoe, lovely as Helen, cherish +Adonis with all things beautiful. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Gorgo. Praxinoe, 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! + + + +IDYL XVI + + + +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. + +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. + +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; the shin is further than the knee; first let me +get my own! 'Tis the Gods' affair to honour minstrels! Homer is +enough for every one, who wants to hear any other? He is the best of +bards who takes nothing that is mine. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, {89} 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! + +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! + + + +IDYL XVII + + + +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. + +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. + +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_ begin the tale, for there are countless things ready +for the telling, wherewith the Gods have graced the most excellent of +kings? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +O dark-browed lady of Argos, {93} 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: + +'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.' + +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. + +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. + +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 +HIS 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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +IDYL XVIII + + + +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. + +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. + +The Chorus. + +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. + +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! + +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, {98} +but of us all not one was faultless, when matched with Helen. + +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. + +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: + +WORSHIP ME, I AM THE TREE OF HELEN. + +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. + +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. + +Hymen, O Hymenae, rejoice thou in this bridal. + + + +IDYL XIX + + + +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. + +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!' + + + +IDYL XX + + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And didst not thou, too, Son of Cronos, take the shape of a wandering +bird, and all for a cowherd boy? + +But Eunica alone would not kiss the herdsman; Eunica, she that is +greater than Cybele, and Cypris, and Selene! + +Well, Cypris, never mayst thou, in city or on hillside, kiss thy +darling, {104} and lonely all the long night mayst thou sleep! + + + +IDYL XXI + + + +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. + +'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 {105} in the night, cares throng about him, and +suddenly disquiet his slumber. + +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, {106a} the +lines, the weds, the lobster pots woven of rushes, the seines, two +oars, {106b} 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; {106c} 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. + +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. +{106d} + +Asphalion. 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? + +The Friend. 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. + +Asphalion. 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. {107} + +The Friend. Tell me, then, the vision of the night; nay, tell all to +thy friend. + +Asphalion. 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, {108a} 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, {108b} and +swore that never again would I set foot on sea, but abide on land, +and lord it over the gold. + +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. + +The Friend. 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! + + + +IDYL XXII--THE DIOSCURI + + + +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.-- +Argonautica, II. I. seq. + +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. + +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 Bears appear, and in the midst, +dimly seen, the Asses' manger, declaring that all is smooth for +sailing. + +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. + +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. {111} + +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. + +Polydeuces. Good luck to thee, stranger, whosoe'er thou art! What +men are they that possess this land? + +Amycus. What sort of luck, when I see men that I never saw before? + +Polydeuces. Fear not! Be sure that those thou look'st on are +neither evil, nor the children of evil men. + +Amycus. No fear have I, and it is not for thee to teach me that +lesson. + +Polydeuces. Art thou a savage, resenting all address, or some +vainglorious man? + +Amycus. I am that thou see'st, and on thy land, at least, I trespass +not. + +Polydeuces. Come, and with kindly gifts return homeward again! + +Amycus. Gift me no gifts, none such have I ready for thee. + +Polydeuces. Nay, wilt thou not even grant us leave to taste this +spring? + +Amycus. That shalt thou learn when thirst has parched thy shrivelled +lips. + +Polydeuces. Will silver buy the boon, or with what price, prithee, +may we gain thy leave? + +Amycus. Put up thy hands and stand in single combat, man to man. + +Polydeuces. A boxing-match, or is kicking fair, when we meet eye to +eye? + +Amycus. Do thy best with thy fists and spare not thy skill! + +Polydeuces. And who is the man on whom I am to lay my hands and +gloves? + +Amycus. Thou see'st him close enough, the boxer will not prove a +maiden! + +Polydeuces. And is the prize ready, for which we two must fight? + +Amycus. Thy man shall I be called (shouldst thou win), or thou mine, +if I be victor. + +Polydeuces. On such terms fight the red-crested birds of the game. + +Amycus. Well, be we like birds or lions, we shall fight for no other +stake. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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:- + +'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." + +'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, {118} 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.' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +IDYL XXIII--THE VENGEANCE OF LOVE + + + +A lover hangs himself at the gate of his obdurate darling who, in +turn, is slain by a statue of Love. + +This poem is not attributed with much certainty to Theocritus, and is +found in but a small proportion of manuscripts. + +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: + +'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. + +'Behold I know the thing that is to be. + +'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. + +'That time will come when thou too shalt love, when thy heart shall +burn, and thou shalt weep salt tears. + +'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. + +'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, - + +O friend, thou liest low! + +And if thou wilt, add this also, - + +Alas, my true friend is dead! + +'And this legend do thou write, that I will scratch on thy walls, - + +This man Love slew! Wayfarer, pass not heedless by, +But stand, and say, "he had a cruel darling."' + +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. + +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. {124} 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. + +Rejoice, ye lovers, for he that hated is slain. Love, all ye +beloved, for the God knoweth how to deal righteous judgment. + + + +IDYL XXIV--THE INFANT HERACLES + + + +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. + +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:- + +'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.' + +So speaking she rocked the huge shield, and in a moment sleep laid +hold on them. + +But when the Bear at midnight wheels westward over against Orion 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. + +Now Alcmena heard the cry, and wakened first, - + +'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? {127} There is some strange thing I trow within the house, +there is, my dearest lord!' + +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, - + +'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.' + +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; {128} but Amphitryon, placing the other child +beneath a lamb's-wool coverlet, betook himself again to his bed, and +gat him to his rest. + +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. + +'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.' + +Thus spake the Queen, and thus he answered her: + +'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. + +'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. + +'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, {129} 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. {130} And to Zeus supreme, moreover, do ye sacrifice a +young boar, that ye may ever have the mastery over all your enemies.' + +So spake he, and thrust back his ivory chair, and departed, even +Tiresias, despite the weight of all his many years. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +IDYL XXV--HERACLES THE LION-SLAVER + + + +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. + +. . . 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. + +'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. + +'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 - + +'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.' + +Then the old man, the worthy husbandman, answered him again - + +'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.' + +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. + +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, {135} 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 - + +'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.' + +So he spake, and they hastened, and came even to that dwelling +whither they were faring. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, + +'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 Helice, 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 Helice 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.' + +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, + +'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. + +'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. + +'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. {143} +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. + +'Friend, lo even thus befel the slaying of the Nemean Lion, that +aforetime had brought many a bane on flocks and men.' + + + +IDYL XXVI + + + +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. + +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 {144} 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. + +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. + +This much said Pentheus, 'Women, what would ye?' and thus answered +Autonoe, 'That shalt thou straightway know, ere thou hast heard it.' + +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. {145} + +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! + +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.' + +'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.' + + + +IDYL XXVII--THE WOOING OF DAPHNIS + + + +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. + +The Maiden. Helen the wise did Paris, another neatherd, ravish! + +Daphnis. 'Tis rather this Helen that kisses her shepherd, even me! +{147} + +The Maiden. Boast not, little satyr, for kisses they call an empty +favour. + +Daphnis. Nay, even in empty kisses there is a sweet delight. + +The Maiden. I wash my lips, I blow away from me thy kisses! + +Daphnis. Dost thou wash thy lips? Then give me them again to kiss! + +The Maiden. 'Tis for thee to caress thy kine, not a maiden unwed. + +Daphnis. Boast not, for swiftly thy youth flits by thee, like a +dream. + +The Maiden. The grapes turn to raisins, not wholly will the dry rose +perish. + +Daphnis. Come hither, beneath the wild olives, that I may tell thee +a tale. + +The Maiden. I will not come; ay, ere now with a sweet tale didst +thou beguile me. + +Daphnis. Come hither, beneath the elms, to listen to my pipe! + +The Maiden. Nay, please thyself, no woful tune delights me. + +Daphnis. Ah maiden, see that thou too shun the anger of the Paphian. + +The Maiden. Good-bye to the Paphian, let Artemis only be friendly! + +Daphnis. Say not so, lest she smite thee, and thou fall into a trap +whence there is no escape. + +The Maiden. 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. {148} + +Daphnis. From Love thou dost not flee, whom never yet maiden fled. + +The Maiden. Escape him, by Pan, I do, but thou dost ever bear his +yoke. + +Daphnis. This is ever my fear lest he even give thee to a meaner +man. + +The Maiden. Many have been my wooers, but none has won my heart. + +Daphnis. Yea I, out of many chosen, come here thy wooer. + +The Maiden. Dear love, what can I do? Marriage has much annoy. + +Daphnis. Nor pain nor sorrow has marriage, but mirth and dancing. + +The Maiden. Ay, but they say that women dread their lords. + +Daphnis. Nay, rather they always rule them,--whom do women fear? + +The Maiden. Travail I dread, and sharp is the shaft of Eilithyia. + +Daphnis. But thy queen is Artemis, that lightens labour. + +The Maiden. But I fear childbirth, lest, perchance, I lose my +beauty. + +Daphnis. Nay, if thou bearest dear children thou wilt see the light +revive in thy sons. + +The Maiden. And what wedding gift dost thou bring me if I consent? + +Daphnis. My whole flock, all my groves, and all my pasture land +shall be thine. + +The Maiden. Swear that thou wilt not win me, and then depart and +leave me forlorn. + +Daphnis. So help me Pan I would not leave thee, didst thou even +choose to banish me! + +The Maiden. Dost thou build me bowers, and a house, and folds for +flocks? + +Daphnis. Yea, bowers I build thee, the flocks I tend are fair. + +The Maiden. But to my grey old father, what tale, ah what, shall I +tell? + +Daphnis. He will approve thy wedlock when he has heard my name. + +The Maiden. Prithee, tell me that name of thine; in a name there is +often delight. + +Daphnis. Daphnis am I, Lycidas is my father, and Nomaea is my +mother. + +The Maiden. Thou comest of men well-born, but there I am thy match. + +Daphnis. I know it, thou art of high degree, for thy father is +Menalcas. {150a} + +The Maiden. Show me thy grove, wherein is thy cattle-stall. + +Daphnis. See here, how they bloom, my slender cypress-trees. + +The Maiden. Graze on, my goats, I go to learn the herdsman's +labours. + +Daphnis. Feed fair, my bulls, while I show my woodlands to my lady! + +The Maiden. What dost thou, little satyr; why dost thou touch my +breast? + +Daphnis. I will show thee that these earliset apples are ripe. +{150b} + +The Maiden. By Pan, I swoon; away, take back thy hand. + +Daphnis. Courage, dear girl, why fearest thou me, thou art over +fearful! + +The Maiden. Thou makest me lie down by the water-course, defiling my +fair raiment! + +Daphnis. Nay, see, 'neath thy raiment fair I am throwing this soft +fleece. + +The Maiden. Ah, ah, thou hast snatched my girdle too; why hast thou +loosed my girdle? + +Daphnis. These first-fruits I offer, a gift to the Paphian. + +The Maiden. Stay, wretch, hark; surely a stranger cometh; nay, I +hear a sound. + +Daphnis. The cypresses do but whisper to each other of thy wedding. + +The Maiden. Thou hast torn my mantle, and unclad am I. + +Daphnis. Another mantle I will give thee, and an ampler far than +thine. + +The Maiden. Thou dost promise all things, but soon thou wilt not +give me even a grain of salt. + +Daphnis. Ah, would that I could give thee my very life. + +The Maiden. Artemis, be not wrathful, thy votary breaks her vow. + +Daphnis. I will slay a calf for Love, and for Aphrodite herself a +heifer. + +The Maiden. A maiden I came hither, a woman shall I go homeward. + +Daphnis. Nay, a wife and a mother of children shalt thou be, no more +a maiden. + +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. + + + +IDYL XXVIII + + + +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. + +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. + +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. +{153} 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. + +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.' + + + +IDYL XXIX + + + +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. + +'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. + +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! + +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. + + + +FRAGMENT OF THE BERENICE. + + + +Athenaeus (vii. 284 A) quotes this fragment, which probably was part +of a panegyric on Berenice, the mother of Ptolemy Philadelphus. + +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. + + + +IDYL XXX--THE DEAD ADONIS + + + +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. + +When Cypris saw Adonis, +In death already lying +With all his locks dishevelled, +And cheeks turned wan and ghastly, +She bade the Loves attendant +To bring the boar before her. + +And lo, the winged ones, fleetly +They scoured through all the wild wood; +The wretched boar they tracked him, +And bound and doubly bound him. +One fixed on him a halter, +And dragged him on, a captive, +Another drave him onward, +And smote him with his arrows. +But terror-struck the beast came, +For much he feared Cythere. +To him spake Aphrodite, - +'Of wild beasts all the vilest, +This thigh, by thee was 't wounded? +Was 't thou that smote my lover?' +To her the beast made answer - +'I swear to thee, Cythere, +By thee, and by thy lover, +Yea, and by these my fetters, +And them that do pursue me, - +Thy lord, thy lovely lover +I never willed to wound him; +I saw him, like a statue, +And could not bide the burning, +Nay, for his thigh was naked, +And mad was I to kiss it, +And thus my tusk it harmed him. +Take these my tusks, O Cypris, +And break them, and chastise them, +For wherefore should I wear them, +These passionate defences? +If this doth not suffice thee, +Then cut my lips out also, +Why dared they try to kiss him?' + +Then Cypris had compassion; +She bade the Loves attendant +To loose the bonds that bound him. +From that day her he follows, +And flees not to the wild wood +But joins the Loves, and always +He bears Love's flame unflinching. + + + +EPIGRAMS + + + +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. + +I--For a rustic Altar. + +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. + +II--For a Herdsman's Offering. + +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. + +III--For a Picture. + +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. + +IV--Priapus. + +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. + +V--The rural Concert. + +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. + +VI--The Dead are beyond hope. + +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? + +VII--For a statue of Asclepius. + +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. + +VIII--Orthon's Grave. + +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. + +IX--The Death of Cleonicus. + +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! + +X--A Group of the Muses. + +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. + +XI--The Grave of Eusthenes. + +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. + +XII--The Offering of Demoteles. + +'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. + +XIII--For a statue of Aphrodite. + +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. + +XIV--The Grave of Euryrnedon. + +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. + +XV--The Grave of Eurymedon. + +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. + +XVI--For a statue of Anacreon. + +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. + +XVII--For a statue of Epicharmus. + +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 {165} +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. + +XVIII--The Grave of Cleita. + +The little Medeus has raised this tomb by the wayside to the memory +of his Thracian nurse, and has added the inscription - + +HERE LIES CLEITA. + +The woman will have this recompense for all her careful nurture of +the boy,--and why?--because she was serviceable even to the end. + +XIX--The statue of Archilochus. + +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. + +XX--The statue of Pisander. + +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. + +XXI--The Grave of Hipponax. + +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. + +XXII--For the Bank of Caicus. + +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. + +XXIII--On his own Poems. {167} + +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. + + + + +BION + + + + +[Greek].--Callimachus. + +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. + + + +I--THE LAMENT FOR ADONIS + +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. + +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!' + +Woe, woe for Adonis, the Loves join in the lament! + +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. + +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. + +To Cypris his kiss is dear, though he lives no longer, but Adonis +knew not that she kissed him as he died. + +Woe, woe for Adonis, the Loves join in the lament! + +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. + +Woe, woe for Cytherea, the Loves join in the lament! + +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! Woe, woe for Cypris, the mountains +all are saying, and the oak-trees answer, Woe for Adonis. 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. + +Woe, woe for Cytherea, he hath perished, the lovely Adonis! + +And Echo cried in answer, He hath perished, the lovely Adonis. 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. + +'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?' + +So Cypris bewailed her, the Loves join in the lament: + +Woe, woe for Cytherea, he hath perished the lovely Adonis! + +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. + +Woe, woe for Adonis, he hath perished; the lovely Adonis! + +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. + +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. + +Woe, woe for Cytherea, the Loves join in the lament! + +Every torch on the lintels of the door has Hymenaeus quenched, and +hath torn to shreds the bridal crown, and Hymen no more, Hymen no +more is the song, but a new song is sung of wailing. + +'Woe, woe for Adonis,' rather than the nuptial song the Graces are +shrilling, lamenting the son of Cinyras, and one to the other +declaring, He hath perished, the lovely Adonis. + +And woe, woe for Adonis, 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. + +Cease, Cytherea, from thy lamentations, to-day refrain from thy +dirges. Thou must again bewail him, again must weep for him another +year. + + + +II--THE LOVE OF ACHILLES + + + +Lycidas sings to Myrson a fragment about the loves of Achilles and +Deidamia. + +Myrson. 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? + +Lycidas. Yes, Myrson, and I too fain would pipe, but what shall I +sing? + +Myrson. 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. {176} + +Lycidas. 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. + +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. + +Now he once even spake to her, saying - + +'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 . . . ' + + + +III--THE SEASONS + + + +Cleodamus and Myrson discuss the charms of the seasons, and give the +palm to a southern spring. + +Cleodamus. 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. + +Myrson. 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. + + + +IV--THE BOY AND LOVE + + + +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.' + + + +V--THE TUTOR OF LOVE + + + +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. + + + +VI--LOVE AND THE MUSES + + + +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. + + + +FRAGMENTS +VII + + + +I know not the way, nor is it fitting to labour at what we have not +learned. + + + +VIII + + + +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? + + + +IX + + + +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. {181} + + + +X + + + +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 HE was happy, Achilles AEacides, while his darling +lived,--happy was he in his death, because he avenged the dread fate +of Patroclus. + + + +XI + + + +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. + + + +XII + + + +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. + +XIII + +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. + +XIV + +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. + +XV + +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. + +XVI + +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. + +XVII + +The constant dropping of water, says the proverb, it wears a hole in +a stone. + +XVIII + +Nay, leave me not unrewarded, for even Phoebus sang for his reward. +And the meed of honour betters everything. + +XIX + +Beauty is the glory of womankind, and strength of men. + +XX + +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. + + + + +MOSCHUS + + + + +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. + + + +IDYL I--LOVE THE RUNAWAY + + + +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. + +'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. + +'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. + +'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. + +'Yea, and if he wish to kiss thee, beware, for evil is his kiss, and +his lips enchanted. + +'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.' + + + +IDYL II--EUROPA AND THE BULL + + + +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. + +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 AEgis-bearing Zeus, Europa was destined to be her prize. + +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 + +'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. + +'Ye blessed gods, I pray you, prosper the fulfilment of the dream.' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 - + +'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.' + +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. + +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 - + +'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. + +'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!' + +So spake she, and the horned bull made answer to her again - + +'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. + +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. + + + +IDYL III--THE LAMENT FOR BION + + + +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 ai ai to thy petals; he +is dead, the beautiful singer. + +Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge. + +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. + +Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge. + +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 +OEagrian maidens, tell to all the Nymphs Bistonian, how that he hath +perished, the Dorian Orpheus. + +Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge. + +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. + +Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge. + +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. + +Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge. + +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; + +(Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge.) + +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. + +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!' + +Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge. + +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? + +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. + +Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge. + +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. + +Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge. + +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. + +Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge. + +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. + +Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge. + +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. + +Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge. + +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; + +[Here seven verses are lost.] + +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. + +Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge. + +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. + +Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge. + +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. + +Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the dirge. + +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. + +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. + + + +IDYL IV + + + +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. + +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. + +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. {205} + +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: + +'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. + +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. + + + +IDYL V + + + +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. {208} 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. + + + +IDYL VI + + + +Pan loved his neighbour Echo; Echo loved +A gamesome Satyr; he, by her unmoved, +Loved only Lyde; thus through Echo, Pan, +Lyde, and Satyr, Love his circle ran. +Thus all, while their true lovers' hearts they grieved, +Were scorned in turn, and what they gave received. +O all Love's scorners, learn this lesson true; +Be kind to Love, that he be kind to you. + + + +IDYL VII + + + +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. + + + +IDYL VIII + + + +Leaving his torch and his arrows, a wallet strung on his back, +One day came the mischievous Love-god to follow the plough-share's +track: +And he chose him a staff for his driving, and yoked him a sturdy +steer, +And sowed in the furrows the grain to the Mother of Earth most dear. +Then he said, looking up to the sky: 'Father Zeus, to my harvest be +good, +Lest I yoke that bull to my plough that Europa once rode through the +flood!' + + + +IDYL IX + + + +Would that my father had taught me the craft of a keeper of sheep, +For so in the shade of the elm-tree, or under the rocks on the steep, +Piping on reeds I had sat, and had lulled my sorrow to sleep. {210} + + + +Footnotes + +{0a} This fragment is from the collection of M. Fauriel; Chants +Populaires de le Grece. + +{0b} Empedocles on Etna. + +{0c} Ballet des Arts, danse par sa Majeste; le 8 janvier, 1663. A +Paris, par Robert Ballard, MDCLXIII. + +{0d} These and the following ditties are from the modern Greek +ballads collected by MM. Fauriel and Legrand. + +{0e} See Couat, La Poesie Alexandrine, p. 68 et seq., Paris 1882. + +{0f} See Couat, op. cit. p. 395. + +{0g} Couat, p. 434. + +{0h} See Helbig, Campenische Wandmalerie, and Brunn, Die +griechischen Bukoliker und die Bildende Kunst. + +{0i} The Hecale of Callimachus, or Theseus and the Marathonian Bull, +seems to have been rather a heroic idyl than an epic. + +{6} Or reading [Greek]=Aeolian, cf. Thucyd. iii. 102. + +{9} These are places famous in the oldest legends of Arcadia. + +{11} Reading, [Greek]. Cf. Fritzsche's note and Harpocration, s.v. + +{13} On the word [Greek], see Lobeck, Aglaoph. p. 700; and 'The Bull +Roarer,' in the translator's Custom and Myth. + +{19} Reading [Greek]. Cf. line 3, and note. + +{21} He refers to a piece of folk-lore. + +{24} The shovel was used for tossing the sand of the lists; the +sheep were food for Aegon's great appetite. + +{26} Reading [Greek]. + +{34} Melanthius was the treacherous goatherd put to a cruel death by +Odysseus. + +{36} Ameis and Fritzsche take [Greek] (as here) to be the dog, not +Galatea. The sex of the Cyclops's sheep-dog makes the meaning +obscure. + +{40} Or, [Greek]. Hermann renders this domum Oromedonteam a +gigantic house.' Oromedon or Eurymedon was the king of the Gigantes, +mentioned in Odyssey vii. 58. + +{41} [Greek]. This is taken by some to mean algam infimam, 'the +bottom weeds of the deepest seas', by others, the sea-weed highest on +the shore, at high watermark. + +{42} 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. + +{43} Sneezing in Sicily, as in most countries, was a happy omen. + +{50} A superfluous and apocryphal line is here omitted. + +{53} 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. + +{54} Spring in the south, like Night in the tropics, comes 'at one +stride'; but Wordsworth finds the rendering distasteful 'neque sic +redditum valde placet.' + +{57} 'Quant a ta maniere, je ne puis la rendre.'--SAINTE-BEUVE. + +{61} Reading [Greek]. + +{70} Cf. Wordsworth's proposed conjecture - + +[Greek]. + +Meineke observes 'tota haec carminis pars luxata et foedissime +depravata est'. There seems to be a rude early pun in lines 73, 74. + +{72} The reading - + +[Greek],--makes good sense. [Greek] is put in the mouth of the girl, +and would mean 'a good guess'! The allusion of a guest to the +superstition that the wolf struck people dumb is taken by Cynisca for +a reference to young Wolf, her secret lover. + +{73} Or, as Wordsworth suggests, reading [Greek], 'for him your +cheeks are wet with tears.' + +{74a} 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. + +{74b} 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. + +{77} 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. + +{78a} If cats are meant, the proverb is probably Alexandrian. +Common as cats were in Egypt, they were late comers in Greece. + +{78b} Most of the dialogue has been distributed as in the text of +Fritzsche. + +{82} Reading [Greek]. + +{89} I.e. Syracuse, a colony of the Ephyraeans or Corinthians. The +Maiden is Persephone, the Mother Demeter. + +{93} Deipyle, daughter of Adrastus. + +{98} Reading--[Greek]. See also Wordsworth's note on line 26. + +{104} For [Greek] Wordsworth and Hermann conjecture [Greek]. 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. + +{105} Reading [Greek]. + +{106a} Reading [Greek]. + +{106b} [Greek]. + +{106c} [Greek], and in the next line [Greek]. + +{106d} [Greek]. + +{107} Reading, with Fritzsche - + +[Greek] + +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. + +{108a} Reading [Greek]. 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. + +{108b} 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. + +{111} [Greek] appear to have been 'fire sticks,' by rubbing which +together the heroes struck a light. + +{118} Or [Greek], 'wash the spears,' as in the Zulu idiom. + +{124} In line 57 for [Greek] read Wordsworth's conjecture [Greek] = +[Greek]. + +{127} Odyssey. xix. 36 seq. (Reading [Greek] not [Greek].) +'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.' + +{128} [Greek], prae timore non lacrymantem (Paley). + +{129} Reading, after Fritzsche, [Greek]. We should have expected +the accursed ashes (like those of Wyclif) to be thrown into 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. + +{130} Reading [Greek]. If [Greek] is read, the phrase will mean +'pure brimming water.' + +{135} Reading [Greek]. + +{143} Reading [Greek], as in Wordsworth's conjecture, instead of +[Greek]. + +{144} Reading [Greek]. + +{145} [Greek], a play on words difficult to retain in English. +Compare Idyl xiii. line 74. + +{147} The conjecture [Greek] gives a good sense, mea vero Helena me +potius ultra petit. + +{148} Reading, as in Wordsworth's conjecture, [Greek]. + +{150a} Reading [Greek], with Fritzsche. Compare the conjecture of +Wordsworth, [Greek]. + +{150b} See Wordsworth's explanation. + +{153} Syracuse. + +{165} Reading, [Greek] (that is, the Corinthian founders of +Syracuse), and following Wordsworth's other conjectures. + +{167} This epigram may have been added by the first editor of +Theocritus, Artemidorus the Grammarian. + +{176} This conjecture of Meineke's offers, at least, a meaning. + +{181} Les hommes sont tous condamnes a mort, avec des sursis +indefinis.--VICTOR HUGO. + +{205} Alcmena bore Iphicles to Amphictyon, Hercules to Zeus. + +{208} Reading, with Weise, [Greek]. + +{210} For the translations into verse I have to thank Mr. Ernest +Myers. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THEOCRITUS, BION AND MOSCHUS *** + +This file should be named thbm10.txt or thbm10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, thbm11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, thbm10a.txt + +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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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* + diff --git a/old/thbm10.zip b/old/thbm10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0692ee7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/thbm10.zip 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. 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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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