Theocritus, translated into English Verse

BATTUS.

Who owns these cattle, Corydon? Philondas? Prythee say.

CORYDON.

No, Ægon: and he gave them me to tend while he's away.

BATTUS.

Dost milk them in the gloaming, when none is nigh to see?

CORYDON.

The old man brings the calves to suck, and keeps an eye on me.

BATTUS.

And to what region then hath flown the cattle's rightful lord?

CORYDON.

Hast thou not heard? With Milo he vanished Elis-ward.

BATTUS.

How! was the wrestler's oil e'er yet so much as seen by him?

CORYDON.

Men say he rivals Heracles in lustiness of limb.

BATTUS.

I'm Polydeuces' match (or so my mother says) and more.

CORYDON.

—So off he started; with a spade, and of these ewes a score.

BATTUS.

This Milo will be teaching wolves how they should raven next.

CORYDON.

—And by these bellowings his kine proclaim how sore they're vexed.

BATTUS.

Poor kine! they've found their master a sorry knave indeed.

CORYDON.

They're poor enough, I grant you: they have not heart to feed.

BATTUS.

Look at that heifer! sure there's naught, save bare bones, left of her.

Pray, does she browse on dewdrops, as doth the grasshopper?

CORYDON.

Not she, by heaven! She pastures now by Æsarus' glades,

And handfuls fair I pluck her there of young and green grass-blades;

Now bounds about Latymnus, that gathering-place of shades.

BATTUS.

That bull again, the red one, my word but he is lean!

I wish the Sybarite burghers aye may offer to the queen

Of heaven as pitiful a beast: those burghers are so mean!

CORYDON.

Yet to the Salt Lake's edges I drive him, I can swear;

Up Physcus, up Neæthus' side—he lacks not victual there,

With dittany and endive and foxglove for his fare.

BATTUS.

Well, well! I pity Ægon. His cattle, go they must

To rack and ruin, all because vain-glory was his lust.

The pipe that erst he fashioned is doubtless scored with rust?

CORYDON.

Nay, by the Nymphs! That pipe he left to me, the self-same day

He made for Pisa: I am too a minstrel in my way:

Well the flute-part in 'Pyrrhus' and in 'Glauca' can I play.

I sing too 'Here's to Croton' and 'Zacynthus O 'tis fair,'

And 'Eastward to Lacinium:'—the bruiser Milo there

His single self ate eighty loaves; there also did he pull

Down from its mountain-dwelling, by one hoof grasped, a bull,

And gave it Amaryllis: the maidens screamed with fright;

As for the owner of the bull he only laughed outright.

BATTUS.

Sweet Amaryllis! thou alone, though dead, art unforgot.

Dearer than thou, whose light is quenched, my very goats are not.

Oh for the all-unkindly fate that's fallen to my lot!

CORYDON.

Cheer up, brave lad! tomorrow may ease thee of thy pain:

Aye for the living are there hopes, past' hoping are the slain:

And now Zeus sends us sunshine, and now he sends us rain.

BATTUS.

I'm better. Beat those young ones off! E'en now their teeth attack

That olive's shoots, the graceless brutes! Back, with your white face, back!

CORYDON.

Back to thy hill, Cymætha! Great Pan, how deaf thou art!

I shall be with thee presently, and in the end thou'lt smart.

I warn thee, keep thy distance. Look, up she creeps again!

Oh were my hare-crook in nay hand, I'd give it to her then!

BATTUS.

For heaven's sake, Corydon, look here! Just now a bramble-spike

Ran, there, into my instep—and oh how deep they strike,

Those lancewood-shafts! A murrain light on that calf, I say!

I got it gaping after her. Canst thou discern it, pray?

CORYDON.

Ay, ay; and here I have it, safe in my finger-nails.

BATTUS.

Eh! at how slight a matter how tall a warrior quails!

CORYDON.

Ne'er range the hill-crest, Battus, all sandal-less and bare:

Because the thistle and the thorn lift aye their plumed heads there.

BATTUS.

—Say, Corydon, does that old man we wot of (tell me please!)

Still haunt the dark-browed little girl whom once he used to tease?

CORYDON.

Ay my poor boy, that doth he: I saw them yesterday

Down by the byre; and, trust me, loving enough were they.

BATTUS.

Well done, my veteran light-o'-love! In deeming thee mere man,

I wronged thy sire: some Satyr he, or an uncouth-limbed Pan.

COMETAS.

Goats, from a shepherd who stands here, from Lacon, keep away:

Sibyrtas owns him; and he stole my goatskin yesterday.

LACON.

Hi! lambs! avoid yon fountain. Have ye not eyes to see

Cometas, him who filched a pipe but two days back from me?

COMETAS.

Sibyrtas' bondsman own a pipe? whence gotst thou that, and how?

Tootling through straws with Corydon mayhap's beneath thee now?

LACON.

'Twas Lycon's gift, your highness. But pray, Cometas, say,

What is that skin wherewith thou saidst that Lacon walked away?

Why, thy lord's self had ne'er a skin whereon his limbs to lay.

COMETAS.

The skin that Crocylus gave me, a dark one streaked with white,

The day he slew his she-goat. Why, thou wert ill with spite,

Then, my false friend; and thou would'st end by beggaring me quite.

LACON.

Did Lacon, did Calæthis' son purloin a goatskin? No,

By Pan that haunts the sea-beach! Lad, if I served thee so,

Crazed may I drop from yon hill-top to Crathis' stream below!

COMETAS.

Nor pipe of thine, good fellow—the Ladies of the Lake

So be still kind and good to me—did e'er Cometas take.

LACON.

Be Daphnis' woes my portion, should that my credence win!

Still, if thou list to stake a kid—that surely were no sin—

Come on, I'll sing it out with thee—until thou givest in.

COMETAS.

'The hog he braved Athene.' As for the kid, 'tis there:

You stake a lamb against him—that fat one—if you dare.

LACON.

Fox! were that fair for either? At shearing who'd prefer

Horsehair to wool? or when the goat stood handy, suffer her

To nurse her firstling, and himself go milk a blatant cur?

COMETAS.

The same who deemed his hornet's-buzz the true cicala's note,

And braved—like you—his better. And so forsooth you vote

My kid a trifle? Then come on, fellow! I stake the goat.

LACON.

Why be so hot? Art thou on fire? First prythee take thy seat

'Neath this wild woodland olive: thy tones will sound more sweet.

Here falls a cold rill drop by drop, and green grass-blades uprear

Their heads, and fallen leaves are thick, and locusts prattle here.

COMETAS.

Hot I am not; but hurt I am, and sorely, when I think

That thou canst look me in the face and never bleach nor blink—

Me, thine own boyhood's tutor! Go, train the she-wolf's brood:

Train dogs—that they may rend thee! This, this is gratitude!

LACON.

When learned I from thy practice or thy preaching aught that's right,

Thou puppet, thou misshapen lump of ugliness and spite?

COMETAS.

When? When I beat thee, wailing sore: yon goats looked on with glee,

And bleated; and were dealt with e'en as I had dealt with thee.

LACON.

Well, hunchback, shallow be thy grave as was thy judgment then!

But hither, hither! Thou'lt not dip in herdsman's lore again.

COMETAS.

Nay, here are oaks and galingale: the hum of housing bees

Makes the place pleasant, and the birds are piping in the trees.

And here are two cold streamlets; here deeper shadows fall

Than yon place owns, and look what cones drop from the pinetree tall.

LACON.

Come hither, and tread on lambswool that is soft as any dream:

Still more unsavoury than thyself to me thy goatskins seem.

Here will I plant a bowl of milk, our ladies' grace to win;

And one, as huge, beside it, sweet olive-oil therein.

COMETAS.

Come hither, and trample dainty fern and poppy-blossom: sleep

On goatskins that are softer than thy fleeces piled three deep.

Here will I plant eight milkpails, great Pan's regard to gain,

Bound them eight cups: full honeycombs shall every cup contain.

LACON.

Well! there essay thy woodcraft: thence fight me, never budge

From thine own oak; e'en have thy way. But who shall be our judge?

Oh, if Lycopas with his kine should chance this way to trudge!

COMETAS.

Nay, I want no Lycopas. But hail yon woodsman, do:

'Tis Morson—see! his arms are full of bracken—there, by you.

LACON.

We'll hail him.

COMETAS.

Ay, you hail him.

LACON.

Friend, 'twill not take thee long:

We're striving which is master, we twain, in woodland song:

And thou, my good friend Morson, ne'er look with favouring eyes

On me; nor yet to yonder lad be fain to judge the prize.

COMETAS.

Nay, by the Nymphs, sweet Morson, ne'er for Cometas' sake

Stretch thou a point; nor e'er let him undue advantage take.

Sibyrtas owns yon wethers; a Thurian is he:

And here, my friend, Eumares' goats, of Sybaris, you may see.

LACON.

And who asked thee, thou naughty knave, to whom belonged these flocks,

Sibyrtas, or (it might be) me? Eh, thou'rt a chatter-box!

COMETAS.

The simple truth, most worshipful, is all that I allege:

I'm not for boasting. But thy wit hath all too keen an edge.

LACON.

Come sing, if singing's in thee—and may our friend get back

To town alive! Heaven help us, lad, how thy tongue doth clack!

COMETAS. [Sings]

Daphnis the mighty minstrel was less precious to the Nine

Than I. I offered yesterday two kids upon their shrine.

LACON. [Sings]

Ay, but Apollo fancies me hugely: for him I rear

A lordly ram: and, look you, the Carnival is near.

COMETAS.

Twin kids hath every goat I milk, save two. My maid, my own,

Eyes me and asks 'At milking time, rogue, art thou all alone?'

LACON.

Go to! nigh twenty baskets doth Lacon fill with cheese:

Hath time to woo a sweetheart too upon the blossomed leas.

COMETAS.

Clarissa pelts her goatherd with apples, should he stray

By with his goats; and pouts her lip in a quaint charming way.

LACON.

Me too a darling smooth of face notes as I tend my flocks:

How maddeningly o'er that fair neck ripple those shining locks!

COMETAS.

Tho' dogrose and anemone are fair in their degree,

The rose that blooms by garden-walls still is the rose for me.

LACON.

Tho' acorns' cups are fair, their taste is bitterness, and still

I'll choose, for honeysweet are they, the apples of the hill.

COMETAS.

A cushat I will presently procure and give to her

Who loves me: I know where it sits; up in the juniper.

LACON.

Pooh! a soft fleece, to make a coat, I'll give the day I shear

My brindled ewe—(no hand but mine shall touch it)—to my dear.

COMETAS.

Back, lambs, from that wild-olive: and be content to browse

Here on the shoulder of the hill, beneath the myrtle boughs.

LACON.

Run, (will ye?) Ball and Dogstar, down from that oak tree, run:

And feed where Spot is feeding, and catch the morning sun.

COMETAS.

I have a bowl of cypress-wood: I have besides a cup:

Praxiteles designed them: for her they're treasured up.

LACON.

I have a dog who throttles wolves: he loves the sheep, and they

Love him: I'll give him to my dear, to keep wild beasts at bay.

COMETAS.

Ye locusts that o'erleap my fence, oh let my vines escape

Your clutches, I beseech you: the bloom is on the grape.

LACON.

Ye crickets, mark how nettled our friend the goatherd is!

I ween, ye cost the reapers pangs as acute as his.

COMETAS.

Those foxes with their bushy tails, I hate to see them crawl

Round Micon's homestead and purloin his grapes at evenfall.

LACON.

I hate to see the beetles that come warping on the wind.

And climb Philondas' trees, and leave never a fig behind.

COMETAS.

Have you forgot that cudgelling I gave you? At each stroke

You grinned and twisted with a grace, and clung to yonder oak.

LACON.

That I've forgot—but I have not, how once Eumares tied

You to that selfsame oak-trunk, and tanned your unclean hide.

COMETAS.

There's some one ill—of heartburn. You note it, I presume,

Morson? Go quick, and fetch a squill from some old beldam's tomb.

LACON.

I think I'm stinging somebody, as Morson too perceives—

Go to the river and dig up a clump of sowbread-leaves.

COMETAS.

May Himera flow, not water, but milk: and may'st thou blush,

Crathis, with wine; and fruitage grow upon every rush.

LACON.

For me may Sybaris' fountain flow, pure honey: so that you,

My fair, may dip your pitcher each morn in honey-dew.

COMETAS.

My goats are fed on clover and goat's-delight: they tread

On lentisk leaves; or lie them down, ripe strawberries o'er their head.

LACON.

My sheep crop honeysuckle bloom, while all around them blows

In clusters rich the jasmine, as brave as any rose.

COMETAS.

I scorn my maid; for when she took my cushat, she did not

Draw with both hands my face to hers and kiss me on the spot.

LACON.

I love my love, and hugely: for, when I gave my flute,

I was rewarded with a kiss, a loving one to boot.

COMETAS.

Lacon, the nightingale should scarce be challenged by the jay,

Nor swan by hoopoe: but, poor boy, thou aye wert for a fray.

MORSON.

I bid the shepherd hold his peace. Cometas, unto you

I, Morson, do adjudge the lamb. You'll first make offering due

Unto the nymphs: then savoury meat you'll send to Morson too.

COMETAS.

By Pan I will! Snort, all my herd of he-goats: I shall now

O'er Lacon, shepherd as he is, crow ye shall soon see how.

I've won, and I could leap sky-high! Ye also dance and skip,

My hornèd ewes: in Sybaris' fount to-morrow all shall dip.

Ho! you, sir, with the glossy coat and dangerous crest; you dare

Look at a ewe, till I have slain my lamb, and ill you'll fare.

What! is he at his tricks again? He is, and he will get

(Or my name's not Cometas) a proper pounding yet.

Daphnis the herdsman and Damoetas once

Had driven, Aratus, to the selfsame glen.

One chin was yellowing, one shewed half a beard.

And by a brookside on a summer noon

The pair sat down and sang; but Daphnis led

The song, for Daphnis was the challenger.

DAPHNIS.

"See! Galatea pelts thy flock with fruit,

And calls their master 'Lack-love,' Polypheme.

Thou mark'st her not, blind, blind, but pipest aye

Thy wood-notes. See again, she smites thy dog:

Sea-ward the fleeced flocks' sentinel peers and barks,

And, through the clear wave visible to her still,

Careers along the gently babbling beach.

Look that he leap not on the maid new-risen

From her sea-bath and rend her dainty limbs.

She fools thee, near or far, like thistle-waifs

In hot sweet summer: flies from thee when wooed,

Unwooed pursues thee: risks all moves to win;

For, Polypheme, things foul seem fair to Love."

And then, due prelude made, Damoetas sang.

DAMOETAS.

"I marked her pelt my dog, I was not blind,

By Pan, by this my one my precious eye

That bounds my vision now and evermore!

But Telemus the Seer, be his the woe,

His and his children's, that he promised me!

Yet do I too tease her; I pass her by,

Pretend to woo another:—and she hears

(Heaven help me!) and is faint with jealousy;

And hurrying from the sea-wave as if stung,

Scans with keen glance my grotto and my flock.

'Twas I hissed on the dog to bark at her;

For, when I loved her, he would whine and lay

His muzzle in her lap. These things she'll note

Mayhap, and message send on message soon:

But I will bar my door until she swear

To make me on this isle fair bridal-bed.

And I am less unlovely than men say.

I looked into the mere (the mere was calm),

And goodly seemed my beard, and goodly seemed

My solitary eye, and, half-revealed,

My teeth gleamed whiter than the Parian marl.

Thrice for good luck I spat upon my robe:

That learned I of the hag Cottytaris—her

Who fluted lately with Hippocoön's mowers."

Damoetas then kissed Daphnis lovingly:

One gave a pipe and one a goodly flute.

Straight to the shepherd's flute and herdsman's pipe

The younglings bounded in the soft green grass:

And neither was o'ermatched, but matchless both.

Once on a time did Eucritus and I

(With us Amyntas) to the riverside

Steal from the city. For Lycopeus' sons

Were that day busy with the harvest-home,

Antigenes and Phrasidemus, sprung

(If aught thou holdest by the good old names)

By Clytia from great Chalcon—him who erst

Planted one stalwart knee against the rock,

And lo, beneath his foot Burinè's rill

Brake forth, and at its side poplar and elm

Shewed aisles of pleasant shadow, greenly roofed

By tufted leaves. Scarce midway were we now,

Nor yet descried the tomb of Brasilas:

When, thanks be to the Muses, there drew near

A wayfarer from Crete, young Lycidas.

The horned herd was his care: a glance might tell

So much: for every inch a herdsman he.

Slung o'er his shoulder was a ruddy hide

Torn from a he-goat, shaggy, tangle-haired,

That reeked of rennet yet: a broad belt clasped

A patched cloak round his breast, and for a staff

A gnarled wild-olive bough his right hand bore.

Soon with a quiet smile he spoke—his eye

Twinkled, and laughter sat upon his lip:

"And whither ploddest thou thy weary way

Beneath the noontide sun, Simichidas?

For now the lizard sleeps upon the wall,

The crested lark folds now his wandering wing.

Dost speed, a bidden guest, to some reveller's board?

Or townward to the treading of the grape?

For lo! recoiling from thy hurrying feet

The pavement-stones ring out right merrily."

Then I: "Friend Lycid, all men say that none

Of haymakers or herdsmen is thy match

At piping: and my soul is glad thereat.

Yet, to speak sooth, I think to rival thee.

Now look, this road holds holiday to-day:

For banded brethren solemnise a feast

To richly-dight Demeter, thanking her

For her good gifts: since with no grudging hand

Hath the boon goddess filled the wheaten floors.

So come: the way, the day, is thine as mine:

Try we our woodcraft—each may learn from each.

I am, as thou, a clarion-voice of song;

All hail me chief of minstrels. But I am not,

Heaven knows, o'ercredulous: no, I scarce can yet

(I think) outvie Philetas, nor the bard

Of Samos, champion of Sicilian song.

They are as cicadas challenged by a frog."

I spake to gain mine ends; and laughing light

He said: "Accept this club, as thou'rt indeed

A born truth-teller, shaped by heaven's own hand!

I hate your builders who would rear a house

High as Oromedon's mountain-pinnacle:

I hate your song-birds too, whose cuckoo-cry

Struggles (in vain) to match the Chian bard.

But come, we'll sing forthwith, Simichidas,

Our woodland music: and for my part I—

List, comrade, if you like the simple air

I forged among the uplands yesterday.

[Sings] Safe be my true-love convoyed o'er the main

To Mitylenè—though the southern blast

Chase the lithe waves, while westward slant the Kids,

Or low above the verge Orion stand—

If from Love's furnace she will rescue me,

For Lycidas is parched with hot desire.

Let halcyons lay the sea-waves and the winds,

Northwind and Westwind, that in shores far-off

Flutters the seaweed—halcyons, of all birds

Whose prey is on the waters, held most dear

By the green Nereids: yea let all things smile

On her to Mitylenè voyaging,

And in fair harbour may she ride at last.

I on that day, a chaplet woven of dill

Or rose or simple violet on my brow,

Will draw the wine of Pteleas from the cask

Stretched by the ingle. They shall roast me beans,

And elbow-deep in thyme and asphodel

And quaintly-curling parsley shall be piled

My bed of rushes, where in royal ease

I sit and, thinking of my darling, drain

With stedfast lip the liquor to the dregs.

I'll have a pair of pipers, shepherds both,

This from Acharnæ, from Lycopè that;

And Tityrus shall be near me and shall sing

How the swain Daphnis loved the stranger-maid;

And how he ranged the fells, and how the oaks

(Such oaks as Himera's banks are green withal)

Sang dirges o'er him waning fast away

Like snow on Athos, or on Hæmus high,

Or Rhodopè, or utmost Caucasus.

And he shall sing me how the big chest held

(All through the maniac malice of his lord)

A living goatherd: how the round-faced bees,

Lured from their meadow by the cedar-smell,

Fed him with daintiest flowers, because the Muse

Had made his throat a well-spring of sweet song.

Happy Cometas, this sweet lot was thine!

Thee the chest prisoned, for thee the honey-bees

Toiled, as thou slavedst out the mellowing year:

And oh hadst thou been numbered with the quick

In my day! I had led thy pretty goats

About the hill-side, listening to thy voice:

While thou hadst lain thee down 'neath oak or pine,

Divine Cometas, warbling pleasantly."

He spake and paused; and thereupon spake I.

"I too, friend Lycid, as I ranged the fells,

Have learned much lore and pleasant from the Nymphs,

Whose fame mayhap hath reached the throne of Zeus.

But this wherewith I'll grace thee ranks the first:

Thou listen, since the Muses like thee well.

[Sings] On me the young Loves sneezed: for hapless I

Am fain of Myrto as the goats of Spring.

But my best friend Aratus inly pines

For one who loves him not. Aristis saw—

(A wondrous seer is he, whose lute and lay

Shrinèd Apollo's self would scarce disdain)—

How love had scorched Aratus to the bone.

O Pan, who hauntest Homolè's fair champaign,

Bring the soft charmer, whosoe'er it be,

Unbid to his sweet arms—so, gracious Pan,

May ne'er thy ribs and shoulderblades be lashed

With squills by young Arcadians, whensoe'er

They are scant of supper! But should this my prayer

Mislike thee, then on nettles mayest thou sleep,

Dinted and sore all over from their claws!

Then mayest thou lodge amid Edonian hills

By Hebrus, in midwinter; there subsist,

The Bear thy neighbour: and, in summer, range

With the far Æthiops 'neath the Blemmyan rocks

Where Nile is no more seen! But O ye Loves,

Whose cheeks are like pink apples, quit your homes

By Hyetis, or Byblis' pleasant rill,

Or fair Dionè's rocky pedestal,

And strike that fair one with your arrows, strike

The ill-starred damsel who disdains my friend.

And lo, what is she but an o'er-ripe pear?

The girls all cry 'Her bloom is on the wane.'

We'll watch, Aratus, at that porch no more,

Nor waste shoe-leather: let the morning cock

Crow to wake others up to numb despair!

Let Molon, and none else, that ordeal brave:

While we make ease our study, and secure

Some witch, to charm all evil from our door."

I ceased. He smiling sweetly as before,

Gave me the staff, 'the Muses' parting gift,'

And leftward sloped toward Pyxa. We the while,

Bent us to Phrasydeme's, Eucritus and I,

And baby-faced Amyntas: there we lay

Half-buried in a couch of fragrant reed

And fresh-cut vineleaves, who so glad as we?

A wealth of elm and poplar shook o'erhead;

Hard by, a sacred spring flowed gurgling on

From the Nymphs' grot, and in the sombre boughs

The sweet cicada chirped laboriously.

Hid in the thick thorn-bushes far away

The treefrog's note was heard; the crested lark

Sang with the goldfinch; turtles made their moan,

And o'er the fountain hung the gilded bee.

All of rich summer smacked, of autumn all:

Pears at our feet, and apples at our side

Rolled in luxuriance; branches on the ground

Sprawled, overweighed with damsons; while we brushed

From the cask's head the crust of four long years.

Say, ye who dwell upon Parnassian peaks,

Nymphs of Castalia, did old Chiron e'er

Set before Heracles a cup so brave

In Pholus' cavern—did as nectarous draughts

Cause that Anapian shepherd, in whose hand

Rocks were as pebbles, Polypheme the strong,

Featly to foot it o'er the cottage lawns:—

As, ladies, ye bid flow that day for us

All by Demeter's shrine at harvest-home?

Beside whose cornstacks may I oft again

Plant my broad fan: while she stands by and smiles,

Poppies and cornsheaves on each laden arm.

Daphnis, the gentle herdsman, met once, as legend tells,

Menalcas making with his flock the circle of the fells.

Both chins were gilt with coming beards: both lads could sing and play:

Menalcas glanced at Daphnis, and thus was heard to say:—

"Art thou for singing, Daphnis, lord of the lowing kine?

I say my songs are better, by what thou wilt, than thine."

Then in his turn spake Daphnis, and thus he made reply:

"O shepherd of the fleecy flock, thou pipest clear and high;

But come what will, Menalcas, thou ne'er wilt sing as I."

MENALCAS.

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

DAPHNIS.

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

MENALCAS.

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

DAPHNIS.

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

MENALCAS.

A lamb I'll venture never: for aye at close of day

Father and mother count the flock, and passing strict are they.

DAPHNIS.

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

MENALCAS.

A pipe discoursing through nine mouths I made, full fair to view;

The wax is white thereon, the line of this and that edge true.

I'll risk it: risk my father's own is more than I dare do.

DAPHNIS.

A pipe discoursing through nine mouths, and fair, hath Daphnis too:

The wax is white thereon, the line of this and that edge true.

But yesterday I made it: this finger feels the pain

Still, where indeed the rifted reed hath cut it clean in twain.

But who shall be our umpire? who listen to our strain?

MENALCAS.

Suppose we hail yon goatherd; him at whose horned herd now

The dog is barking—yonder dog with white upon his brow.

Then out they called: the goatherd marked them, and up came he;

Then out they sang; the goatherd their umpire fain would be.

To shrill Menalcas' lot it fell to start the woodland lay:

Then Daphnis took it up. And thus Menalcas led the way.

MENALCAS.

"Rivers and vales, a glorious birth! Oh if Menalcas e'er

Piped aught of pleasant music in your ears:

Then pasture, nothing loth, his lambs; and let young Daphnis fare

No worse, should he stray hither with his steers."

DAPHNIS.

"Pastures and rills, a bounteous race! If Daphnis sang you e'er

Such songs as ne'er from nightingale have flowed;

Then to his herd your fatness lend; and let Menalcas share

Like boon, should e'er he wend along this road."

MENALCAS.

"'Tis spring, 'tis greenness everywhere; with milk the udders teem,

And all things that are young have life anew,

Where my sweet maiden wanders: but parched and withered seem,

When she departeth, lawn and shepherd too."

DAPHNIS.

"Fat are the sheep, the goats bear twins, the hives are thronged with

bees,

Rises the oak beyond his natural growth,

Where falls my darling's footstep: but hungriness shall seize,

When she departeth, herd and herdsman both."

MENALCAS.

"Come, ram, with thy blunt-muzzled kids and sleek wives at thy side,

Where winds the brook by woodlands myriad-deep:

There is her haunt. Go, Stump-horn, tell her how Proteus plied

(A god) the shepherd's trade, with seals for sheep."

DAPHNIS.

"I ask not gold, I ask not the broad lands of a king;

I ask not to be fleeter than the breeze;

But 'neath this steep to watch my sheep, feeding as one, and fling

(Still clasping her) my carol o'er the seas."

MENALCAS.

"Storms are the fruit-tree's bane; the brook's, a summer hot and dry;

The stag's a woven net, a gin the dove's;

Mankind's, a soft sweet maiden. Others have pined ere I:

Zeus! Father! hadst not thou thy lady-loves?"

Thus far, in alternating strains, the lads their woes rehearst:

Then each one gave a closing stave. Thus sang Menalcas first:—

MENALCAS.

"O spare, good wolf, my weanlings! their milky mothers spare!

Harm not the little lad that hath so many in his care!

What, Firefly, is thy sleep so deep? It ill befits a hound,

Tending a boyish master's flock, to slumber over-sound.

And, wethers, of this tender grass take, nothing coy, your fill:

So, when it comes, the after-math shall find you feeding still.

So! so! graze on, that ye be full, that not an udder fail:

Part of the milk shall rear the lambs, and part shall fill my pail."

Then Daphnis flung a carol out, as of a nightingale:—

DAPHNIS.

"Me from her grot but yesterday a girl of haughty brow

Spied as I passed her with my kine, and said, "How fair art thou!"

I vow that not one bitter word in answer did I say,

But, looking ever on the ground, went silently my way.

The heifer's voice, the heifer's breath, are passing sweet to me;

And sweet is sleep by summer-brooks upon the breezy lea:

As acorns are the green oak's pride, apples the apple-bough's;

So the cow glorieth in her calf, the cowherd in his cows."

Thus the two lads; then spoke the third, sitting his goats among:

GOATHERD.

"O Daphnis, lovely is thy voice, thy music sweetly sung;

Such song is pleasanter to me than honey on my tongue.

Accept this pipe, for thou hast won. And should there be some notes

That thou couldst teach me, as I plod alongside with my goats,

I'll give thee for thy schooling this ewe, that horns hath none:

Day after day she'll fill the can, until the milk o'errun."

Then how the one lad laughed and leaped and clapped his hands for

glee!

A kid that bounds to meet its dam might dance as merrily.

And how the other inly burned, struck down by his disgrace!

A maid first parting from her home might wear as sad a face.

Thenceforth was Daphnis champion of all the country side:

And won, while yet in topmost youth, a Naiad for his bride.

SHEPHERD.

A song from Daphnis! Open he the lay,

He open: and Menalcas follow next:

While the calves suck, and with the barren kine

The young bulls graze, or roam knee-deep in leaves,

And ne'er play truant. But a song from thee,

Daphnis—anon Menalcas will reply.

DAPHNIS.

Sweet is the chorus of the calves and kine,

And sweet the herdsman's pipe. But none may vie

With Daphnis; and a rush-strown bed is mine

Near a cool rill, where carpeted I lie

On fair white goatskins. From a hill-top high

The westwind swept me down the herd entire,

Cropping the strawberries: whence it comes that I

No more heed summer, with his breath of fire,

Than lovers heed the words of mother and of sire.

Thus Daphnis: and Menalcas answered thus:—

MENALCAS.

O Ætna, mother mine! A grotto fair,

Scooped in the rocks, have I: and there I keep

All that in dreams men picture! Treasured there

Are multitudes of she-goats and of sheep,

Swathed in whose wool from top to toe I sleep.

The fire that boils my pot, with oak or beech

Is piled—dry beech-logs when the snow lies deep;

And storm and sunshine, I disdain them each

As toothless sires a nut, when broth is in their reach.

I clapped applause, and straight produced my gifts:

A staff for Daphnis—'twas the handiwork

Of nature, in my father's acres grown:

Yet might a turner find no fault therewith.

I gave his mate a goodly spiral-shell:

We stalked its inmate on the Icarian rocks

And ate him, parted fivefold among five.

He blew forthwith the trumpet on his shell.

Tell, woodland Muse—and then farewell—what song

I, the chance-comer, sang before those twain.

SHEPHERD.

Ne'er let a falsehood scarify my tongue!

Crickets with crickets, ants with ants agree,

And hawks with hawks: and music sweetly sung,

Beyond all else, is grateful unto me.

Filled aye with music may my dwelling be!

Not slumber, not the bursting forth of Spring

So charms me, nor the flowers that tempt the bee,

As those sweet Sisters. He, on whom they fling

One gracious glance, is proof to Circè's blandishing.