University of Virginia Library

THYRSIS.

FROM THEOCRITUS: IDYLL. I.

THYRSIS.
Yon breezy pine, that shades the limpid springs,
In many a vocal whisper sweetly sings:
Sweet too the warblings of thy breathing reed:
Thine, Goatherd, next to Pan, is music's meed!
For, if the god receive a horn'd he-goat,
The female shall attend thy Dorian oat:
But if the rights of Sylvan Pan forbid,
And he the female claim, be thine a kid.

GOATHERD.
Sweeter thy music, than the streams that roll
In liquid murmur down yon rocky knoll!
If one white ewe reward the Muse's strain,
A stall-fed lamb awaits the shepherd-swain:
But if the gentler lambkin please the Nine,
Melodious Thyrsis, then the ewe be thine.

THYRSIS.
Come, where these tamarisks cool the fervid air,
Rest on this bank—the vocal reed thy care!
Come, wilt thou tune, to charm the nymphs, thy lay?
I'll feed thy goats, if thou consent to play.

GOATHERD.
We dare not, shepherd, at the hour of noon,
Our pipes to rustic melodies attune:
'Tis Pan we fear: from hunting he returns,
As all in silence hush'd, the noon-day burns;
And, tir'd, reposes 'mid the woodland scene,
Whilst on his nostrils sits a bitter spleen.
But come, (since Daphnis' woes to thee are known;
And well we deem the rural Muse thine own,)
Let us, at ease, beneath that elm recline,
Where sculptur'd Naïds o'er their fountains shine;
While gay Priapus guards the sweet retreat,
And oaks, wide-branching, shade yon pastoral seat.
And, Thyrsis, if thou sing so soft a strain
As erst contending with the Libyan Swain;
Thrice shalt thou milk that goat for such a lay;
Two kids she rears, yet fills two pails a day.
With this, I'll stake (o'erlaid with wax it stands,
And smells just recent from the graver's hands)
My large two-handled cup, rich-wrought and deep;
Around whose brim pale ivy seems to creep,
With helichryse entwin'd: small tendrils hold
Its saffron fruit in many a clasping fold.
Within, high-touch'd, a female figure shines;—
Her cawl—her vest—how soft the waving lines!
And near, two youths (bright ringlets grace their brows)
Breathe in alternate strife their amorous vows!
On each, by turns, the faithless fair-one smiles,
And views the rival pair with wanton wiles.
Brimful, thro' passion, swell their twinkling eyes;
And their full bosoms heave with fruitless sighs!
Amidst the scene, a fisher, grey with years,
On the rough summit of a rock appears;
And labouring, with one effort, as he stands,
To throw his large net, drags it with both hands!
So muscular his limbs attract the sight—
You'd swear the fisher stretch'd with all his might.
Round his hoar neck, each swelling vein displays
A vigour worthy youth's robuster days!
Next, red ripe grapes in bending clusters glow:
A boy, to watch the vineyard, sits below!
Two foxes round him skulk: this slily gapes,
To catch a luscious morsel of the grapes;
But that, in ambush, aiming at the scrip,
Thinks 'tis too sweet a moment to let slip—
And cries: “It suits my tooth—the little dunce—
“I'll send him dinnerless away, for once!”
He, idly-busy, with his rush-bound reeds
Weaves locust-traps; nor scrip nor vineyard heeds.
Flexile around its sides the acanthus twin'd,
Strikes as a miracle of art the mind.
This cup (from Calydon it cross'd the seas)
I bought for a she-goat, and new-made cheese!
As yet unsoil'd, nor touch'd by lip of mine,
My friend, this masterpiece of wood be thine,
For thy lov'd hymn so sweet, a willing meed!
Sure sweeter flows not from the pastoral reed!
And yet I envy not thy proudest boast—
Thy music cannot reach oblivion's coast.

THYRSIS.

GOATHERD.
Thyrsis! thy mouth may figs Ægilean fill;
And luscious honey on thy lips distil!
For sweeter, shepherd, is thy charming song,
Than ev'n Cicadas sing the boughs among.
Behold thy cup, so scented, that it seems
Imbued with fragrance at the fountain streams,
Where sport the Hours!—Come, Ciss! May Thyrsis' pail
Bespeak the richness of thy pasture-vale!