Poems, Dialogues in Verse and Epigrams :: :: University of Virginia Library

. . Her lips were seal'd, her head sank on his breast.
'Tis said that laughs were heard within the wood:
But who should hear them? . . and whose laughs? and why?

Savoury was the smell, and long past noon,
Thallinos! in thy house; for marjoram,
Basil and mint, and thyme and rosemary,
Were sprinkled on the kid's well roasted length,
Awaiting Rhaicos. Home he came at last,
Not hungry, but pretending hunger keen,
With head and eyes just o'er the maple plate.
“Thou seest but badly, coming from the sun,
Boy Rhaicos!” said the father. “That oak's bark
Must have been tough, with little sap between;
It ought to run; but it and I are old.”
Rhaicos, although each morsel of the bread
Increast by chewing, and the meat grew cold
And tasteless to his palate, took a draught
Of gold-bright wine, which, thirsty as he was,
He thought not of until his father fill'd
The cup, averring water was amiss,
But wine had been at all times pour'd on kid,
It was religion.

He thus fortified
Said, not quite boldly, and not quite abasht,

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“Father, that oak is Zeusis own; that oak
Year after year will bring thee wealth from wax
And honey. There is one who fears the gods
And the gods love . . that one”

(He blusht, nor said
What one)

“Hath promist this, and may do more.
We have not many moons to wait until
The bees have done their best: if then there come
Nor wax nor honey, let the trees be hewn.”

“Zeus hath bestow'd on thee a prudent mind,”
Said the glad sire: “but look thou often there,
And gather all the honey thou canst find
In every crevice, over and above
What hath been promist; would they reckon that?”

Rhaicos went daily; but the nymph as oft
Invisible. To play at love, she knew,
Stopping its breathings when it breathes most soft,
Is sweeter than to play on any pipe.
She play'd on his: she fed upon his sighs;
They pleas'd her when they gently waved her hair,
Cooling the pulses of her purple veins,
And when her absence brought them out they pleas'd.
Even among the fondest of them all,
What mortal or immortal maid is more
Content with giving happiness than pain?
One day he was returning from the wood
Despondently. She pitied him, and said
“Come back!” and twined her fingers in the hem
Above his shoulder. Then she led his steps
To a cool rill that ran o'er level sand
Through lentisk and through oleander, there
Bathed she his feet, lifting them on her lap
When bathed, and drying them in both her hands.
He dared complain; for those who most are loved
Most dare it; but not harsh was his complaint.
“O thou inconstant!” said he, “if stern law
Bind thee, or will, stronger than sternest law,
O, let me know henceforward when to hope

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The fruit of love that grows for me but here.”
He spake; and pluckt it from its pliant stem.
“Impatient Rhaicos! why thus intercept
The answer I would give? There is a bee
Whom I have fed, a bee who knows my thoughts
And executes my wishes: I will send
That messenger. If ever thou art false,
Drawn by another, own it not, but drive
My bee away: then shall I know my fate,
And, . . for thou must be wretched, . . weep at thine.
But often as my heart persuades to lay
Its cares on thine and throb itself to rest,
Expect her with thee, whether it be morn,
Or eve, at any time when woods are safe.”