The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus with the Elegies of Tyrtaeus, Translated from the Greek into English Verse. To which are Added, Dissertations and Notes. By the Rev. Richard Polwhele |
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| VII. | IDYLLIUM the SEVENTH. The HARVEST-FEAST, |
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 | The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus |  |
67
IDYLLIUM the SEVENTH. The HARVEST-FEAST,
OR The VERNAL VOYAGE.
'Twas at the Time, when reigns the rural Joke,
That Eucritus and I, from City-Smoke,
(Join'd by our Friend Amyntas) pac'd our Way
To the fresh Fields that green round Halys lay.
There Lycops' Sons their Harvest-Offerings paid,
And the rich Honors of the Feast display'd—
Great Lycops' generous Sons—if any Good
Flow down, transmitted with illustrious Blood!
From Clytia's and from Chalcon's Line they came,
Ev'n Chalcon shining in the Rolls of Fame;
From whose strong Knee imprest upon the Rock,
In sudden Springs the Burine Fountain broke!
Elms, rising round, in various Verdure glow'd!
And the dim Poplar's quivering Foliage flow'd!
That Eucritus and I, from City-Smoke,
(Join'd by our Friend Amyntas) pac'd our Way
To the fresh Fields that green round Halys lay.
There Lycops' Sons their Harvest-Offerings paid,
And the rich Honors of the Feast display'd—
Great Lycops' generous Sons—if any Good
Flow down, transmitted with illustrious Blood!
From Clytia's and from Chalcon's Line they came,
Ev'n Chalcon shining in the Rolls of Fame;
From whose strong Knee imprest upon the Rock,
In sudden Springs the Burine Fountain broke!
Elms, rising round, in various Verdure glow'd!
And the dim Poplar's quivering Foliage flow'd!
68
Scarce half the Journey measur'd (ere our Eyes
Could see the Tomb of Brasilas arise,)
Glad we o'ertook young Lycidas of Crete,
Whose Muse could warble many a Ditty sweet!
His rustic Trade might easily be seen,
For all could read the Goatherd in his Mien.
A Goat's white Skin that smelt as newly-flay'd,
His Shoulders loosely with its Shag array'd:
His wide-wove Girdle brac'd, around his Breast,
A Cloak, whose tatter'd Shreds its Age confest!
His right-Hand held a rough wild Olive-Crook,
And as we join'd, he cast a leering Look
From his arch hazel-Eye—while Laughter hung
Upon his Lips, and Pleasure mov'd his Tongue:
‘Where—where my Friend Simichidas so fast—
‘Ere now the Heats of sultry Noon are past?
‘While sleeping in each Hedge the Lizard lies;
‘And not a crested Lark swims o'er the Skies?
‘Hah! thou art trudging for some dainty Bit!
‘Or tread'st, besure, the Wine-Press for a Cit!
‘Struck by thy hurrying Clogs, the Pebbles leap!
‘And, I'll be sworn, they ring at ev'ry Step!’
Could see the Tomb of Brasilas arise,)
Glad we o'ertook young Lycidas of Crete,
Whose Muse could warble many a Ditty sweet!
His rustic Trade might easily be seen,
For all could read the Goatherd in his Mien.
A Goat's white Skin that smelt as newly-flay'd,
His Shoulders loosely with its Shag array'd:
His wide-wove Girdle brac'd, around his Breast,
A Cloak, whose tatter'd Shreds its Age confest!
His right-Hand held a rough wild Olive-Crook,
And as we join'd, he cast a leering Look
From his arch hazel-Eye—while Laughter hung
Upon his Lips, and Pleasure mov'd his Tongue:
‘Where—where my Friend Simichidas so fast—
‘Ere now the Heats of sultry Noon are past?
‘While sleeping in each Hedge the Lizard lies;
‘And not a crested Lark swims o'er the Skies?
‘Hah! thou art trudging for some dainty Bit!
‘Or tread'st, besure, the Wine-Press for a Cit!
69
‘And, I'll be sworn, they ring at ev'ry Step!’
‘Well met, dear Lycidas (I strait replied)
‘No Shepherd-Swain, or Reaper, e'er outvi'd
‘The Music of thy Pipe, as Stories tell;—
‘I'm glad on't—Yet, I hope, I pipe as well!
‘Invited by our liberal Friends, we go,
‘Where rich the First-Fruits of the Harvest flow;
‘To bless the fair-veil'd Goddess, who with Stores
‘Of ripen'd Corn, high-heap'd their groaning Floors.
‘But let us carol the bucolic Lay,
‘Since ours one common Sun, one common Way:
‘Alternate Transport may our Songs infuse—
‘The “honey'd Mouth”—all name me—of the Muse!
‘All praise, in Rapture, my poetic Worth!
‘But I'm incredulous, I swear by Earth!
‘I rival (conscious of my humbler Strain)
‘Philetas or Sicelidas, in vain!
‘And tho' my Melodies may soothe a Friend,
‘A croaking Frog with Locusts, I contend!’
‘No Shepherd-Swain, or Reaper, e'er outvi'd
‘The Music of thy Pipe, as Stories tell;—
‘I'm glad on't—Yet, I hope, I pipe as well!
‘Invited by our liberal Friends, we go,
‘Where rich the First-Fruits of the Harvest flow;
‘To bless the fair-veil'd Goddess, who with Stores
‘Of ripen'd Corn, high-heap'd their groaning Floors.
‘But let us carol the bucolic Lay,
‘Since ours one common Sun, one common Way:
‘Alternate Transport may our Songs infuse—
‘The “honey'd Mouth”—all name me—of the Muse!
‘All praise, in Rapture, my poetic Worth!
‘But I'm incredulous, I swear by Earth!
‘I rival (conscious of my humbler Strain)
‘Philetas or Sicelidas, in vain!
‘And tho' my Melodies may soothe a Friend,
‘A croaking Frog with Locusts, I contend!’
70
Thus I with Art—but smiling arch, the Youth
Exclaim'd: ‘Thou art a Sprig of Jove, in Truth!
‘And need'st not, sure, from just Appplauses shrink—
‘This Crook be thine, to witness what I think.
‘I scorn the Builder, as of mean Account,
‘Whose lofty Fabric would o'ertop the Mount
‘Of proud Oromedon! Thus idly vie
‘The Muse-Cocks, who the Chian Bird defy.
‘But let's begin, since Time is on the Wing;
‘And each, in Turn, some sweet Bucolic Sing!
‘I'll chaunt (your Ear with Pleasure may they fill)
‘The Strains I lately labor'd, on the Hill.
Exclaim'd: ‘Thou art a Sprig of Jove, in Truth!
‘And need'st not, sure, from just Appplauses shrink—
‘This Crook be thine, to witness what I think.
‘I scorn the Builder, as of mean Account,
‘Whose lofty Fabric would o'ertop the Mount
‘Of proud Oromedon! Thus idly vie
‘The Muse-Cocks, who the Chian Bird defy.
‘But let's begin, since Time is on the Wing;
‘And each, in Turn, some sweet Bucolic Sing!
‘I'll chaunt (your Ear with Pleasure may they fill)
‘The Strains I lately labor'd, on the Hill.
“O may the Ship that wafts my Daphne, glide
“To Mitylene, o'er a favoring Tide!
“Tho' Southern Winds their watery Pinions spread,
“And stern Orion broods o'er Ocean's Bed.
“So may her Smile a lenient Med'cine prove,
“To cool the Fever of consuming Love!
“And may the bleak South-East no longer rave,
“But gentle Halcyons smooth the ripling Wave!
“Sweet Halcyons, lov'd by all the Nereid Train,
“Above each Bird, that skims, for Food, the Main.
“O may my Fair-one reach the quiet Bay;
“And every Blessing speed her destin'd Way!
“Then with white Vi'lets shall my Brows be crown'd—
“With Anise-Wreaths, or rosy Garlands bound!
“Then, at my Hearth, the Ptelean Bowl be quaff'd—
“And the parch'd Bean add Flavor to the Draught!
“Then, as my Elbows high, my Couch shall swell,
“Of Parsley form'd, and golden Asphodel!
“Then to my Daphne's Health I'll drink, at Ease,
“The sparkling Juice, and drain it to the Lees!
“Whilst with their Pipes two Swains delight my Ear;
“And Tityrus sweetly sings, reclining near—
“How Herdsman Daphnis lov'd the frowning Maid;
“And, with vain Sighs, o'er many a Mountain stray'd:
“How the rough Oaks, where Himera's Waters flow,
“Told to the passing Stream, his Tale of Woe.
“For as on Caucasus or Atho's Brow,
“Or Rhodope's, he breath'd the fruitless Vow—
“Or Hæmus' Hill; he sunk, thro' Love, away,
“Like Snows dissolving in the Solar Ray.
“Next shall he sing—how Tyranny opprest
“The Goatherd, prison'd in his ample Chest!
“And how the Bees from flowery Meadows bore
“Their Balms, and fed him with the luscious Store!
“For on his Lips the Favor of the Muse
“Distill'd the Nectar of her sweetest Dews!
“To thee, Comates, tho' confin'd so fast,
“Sure, with quick Pace, the vernal Season past!
“Happy, amid thy Prison, all Day long,
“While Honey dropp'd delicious on thy Tongue!
“O hadst thou liv'd with us, a Brother Swain,
“How oft my charmed Ears had caught thy Strain!
“Thy Goats upon the Mountains had I fed,
“Or o'er the tufted Vales, with Pleasure, led!
“Then had thy Voice its sweetest Powers display'd,
“Beneath the embowering Oak, or Pine-tree Shade.”
“To Mitylene, o'er a favoring Tide!
“Tho' Southern Winds their watery Pinions spread,
“And stern Orion broods o'er Ocean's Bed.
“So may her Smile a lenient Med'cine prove,
“To cool the Fever of consuming Love!
“And may the bleak South-East no longer rave,
“But gentle Halcyons smooth the ripling Wave!
71
“Above each Bird, that skims, for Food, the Main.
“O may my Fair-one reach the quiet Bay;
“And every Blessing speed her destin'd Way!
“Then with white Vi'lets shall my Brows be crown'd—
“With Anise-Wreaths, or rosy Garlands bound!
“Then, at my Hearth, the Ptelean Bowl be quaff'd—
“And the parch'd Bean add Flavor to the Draught!
“Then, as my Elbows high, my Couch shall swell,
“Of Parsley form'd, and golden Asphodel!
“Then to my Daphne's Health I'll drink, at Ease,
“The sparkling Juice, and drain it to the Lees!
“Whilst with their Pipes two Swains delight my Ear;
“And Tityrus sweetly sings, reclining near—
“How Herdsman Daphnis lov'd the frowning Maid;
“And, with vain Sighs, o'er many a Mountain stray'd:
“How the rough Oaks, where Himera's Waters flow,
“Told to the passing Stream, his Tale of Woe.
“For as on Caucasus or Atho's Brow,
“Or Rhodope's, he breath'd the fruitless Vow—
72
“Like Snows dissolving in the Solar Ray.
“Next shall he sing—how Tyranny opprest
“The Goatherd, prison'd in his ample Chest!
“And how the Bees from flowery Meadows bore
“Their Balms, and fed him with the luscious Store!
“For on his Lips the Favor of the Muse
“Distill'd the Nectar of her sweetest Dews!
“To thee, Comates, tho' confin'd so fast,
“Sure, with quick Pace, the vernal Season past!
“Happy, amid thy Prison, all Day long,
“While Honey dropp'd delicious on thy Tongue!
“O hadst thou liv'd with us, a Brother Swain,
“How oft my charmed Ears had caught thy Strain!
“Thy Goats upon the Mountains had I fed,
“Or o'er the tufted Vales, with Pleasure, led!
“Then had thy Voice its sweetest Powers display'd,
“Beneath the embowering Oak, or Pine-tree Shade.”
He ceas'd—and thus alternate I replied:
‘Sweet Lycidas, of Goatherd-Youths the Pride!
‘What Time I drove my Herds, the Hills along,
‘The charming Wood-Nymphs taught me many a Song!
‘Then hear, (since thou hast gain'd the Muse's Love)
‘Strains, whose high Fame hath reach'd the Throne of Jove!
‘Then hear the choicest of the Lays I know!—
‘In Honor of thy Name, the Numbers flow!
‘Sweet Lycidas, of Goatherd-Youths the Pride!
73
‘The charming Wood-Nymphs taught me many a Song!
‘Then hear, (since thou hast gain'd the Muse's Love)
‘Strains, whose high Fame hath reach'd the Throne of Jove!
‘Then hear the choicest of the Lays I know!—
‘In Honor of thy Name, the Numbers flow!
“On me the Cupids sneez'd, who Myrta love,
“As Kids the Verdure of the vernal Grove!
“With the same Fires my dear Aratus glows!
“And this, full well, the soft Aristis knows!
“Aristis, who can Phœbus' Self inspire—
“In sweet Accordance ev'n with Phœbus' Lyre!
“O Pan, for whom fair Omole displays
“Its green Abodes, attend Aratus' Lays!
“O bid her fly uncall'd into his Arms,
“Whether dear Myrta, or Philina charms!
“So may, no more, Arcadian Youths deface
“With scaly Squills, thy Form, tho' vain the Chace!
“But if thou smile not on the Lover's Cause,
“Be stung by Nettles—torn by Harpy-Claws;
“Freeze, in mid Winter, near the torpid Pole,
“On Edon, where the Streams of Hebrus roll;
“And, as an Æthiop, burn, while Summer glows,
“Where the hot Blemyan Rocks o'er Nilus close.
“Ye Loves, whose Cheeks the Apple's Bloom outvie—
“Come—from your Byblis' favorite Murmurs fly!
“Leave—leave the Waves of Hyetis; and bless
“The yellow-hair'd Dione's sweet Recess!
“Shoot, with unerring Aim, the tinctur'd Dart;
“And pierce Philina's yet unwounded Heart!
“But—‘as the melting Pear’—(the rival Maids
“Exclaim)—‘Philina's mellow Beauty fades!’
“Then, dear Aratus! let us watch no more;
“Nor wear, with nightly Toil, the bolted Door!
“Some other, as the Morn begins to peep,
“May the Cock's Clarion give to broken Sleep!
“His Limbs in listless Languor may he stretch,
“And so we rest, a Halter end the Wretch!
“Ours be Repose—and some Enchantress wait,
“To ward, far off, each Evil from our Gate.”
“As Kids the Verdure of the vernal Grove!
“With the same Fires my dear Aratus glows!
“And this, full well, the soft Aristis knows!
“Aristis, who can Phœbus' Self inspire—
“In sweet Accordance ev'n with Phœbus' Lyre!
“O Pan, for whom fair Omole displays
“Its green Abodes, attend Aratus' Lays!
“O bid her fly uncall'd into his Arms,
“Whether dear Myrta, or Philina charms!
“So may, no more, Arcadian Youths deface
“With scaly Squills, thy Form, tho' vain the Chace!
“But if thou smile not on the Lover's Cause,
“Be stung by Nettles—torn by Harpy-Claws;
74
“On Edon, where the Streams of Hebrus roll;
“And, as an Æthiop, burn, while Summer glows,
“Where the hot Blemyan Rocks o'er Nilus close.
“Ye Loves, whose Cheeks the Apple's Bloom outvie—
“Come—from your Byblis' favorite Murmurs fly!
“Leave—leave the Waves of Hyetis; and bless
“The yellow-hair'd Dione's sweet Recess!
“Shoot, with unerring Aim, the tinctur'd Dart;
“And pierce Philina's yet unwounded Heart!
“But—‘as the melting Pear’—(the rival Maids
“Exclaim)—‘Philina's mellow Beauty fades!’
“Then, dear Aratus! let us watch no more;
“Nor wear, with nightly Toil, the bolted Door!
“Some other, as the Morn begins to peep,
“May the Cock's Clarion give to broken Sleep!
“His Limbs in listless Languor may he stretch,
“And so we rest, a Halter end the Wretch!
“Ours be Repose—and some Enchantress wait,
“To ward, far off, each Evil from our Gate.”
75
I sung, and (as, presenting me his Crook,
He smil'd)—the hospitable Token took!
Then, parting, to the Left, for Pyxa's Towers
He turn'd, while we to Phrasidamus' Bowers
Slop'd o'er the right-hand Path, our speedy Way—
And hail'd the Pleasures of the festal Day!
There, in kind Courtesy, our Host had spread
Of Vine and Lentisk, the refreshing Bed!
Their breezy Coolness Elms and Poplars gave,
And Rills their Murmur, from the Naids Cave!
Cicadas now retiring from the Sun,
Amid the shady Shrubs, their Song begun.
From the thick Copse we heard, far off, and lone,
The mellow'd Shrillness of the Woodlark's Tone!
Warbled the Linnet and the Finch more near,
And the soft-sighing Turtle sooth'd the Ear!
The yellow Bees humm'd sweetly in the Shade,
And round the Fountain's flowery Margin play'd.
All Summer's Redolence effus'd Delight!
All Autumn, in luxuriant Fruitage bright—
The Pear's—the thick-strown Apple's vermeil Glow,
And bending Plums, that kiss'd the Turf below!
Our Wines four Years had mellow'd in the Cask—
And could Alcides boast so rich a Flask,
(Say Nymphs of Castaly) when Chiron gave
The generous Juice, in Pholus' stony Cave?
Or did such Nectar, at Anapus' Stream,
Rouse to the Dance, the Cyclops Polypheme
(Who hurls the Mountain-Rocks across the Brine)
As, Nymphs, ye mix'd, at Ceres' glowing Shrine?
Oh! may I fix the Purging-Fan, again,
(Delightful Task!) amid her Heaps of Grain;
And, in each Hand, the laughing Goddess hold
The Poppy's vivid Red—the Ears of Gold!
He smil'd)—the hospitable Token took!
Then, parting, to the Left, for Pyxa's Towers
He turn'd, while we to Phrasidamus' Bowers
Slop'd o'er the right-hand Path, our speedy Way—
And hail'd the Pleasures of the festal Day!
There, in kind Courtesy, our Host had spread
Of Vine and Lentisk, the refreshing Bed!
Their breezy Coolness Elms and Poplars gave,
And Rills their Murmur, from the Naids Cave!
Cicadas now retiring from the Sun,
Amid the shady Shrubs, their Song begun.
From the thick Copse we heard, far off, and lone,
The mellow'd Shrillness of the Woodlark's Tone!
Warbled the Linnet and the Finch more near,
And the soft-sighing Turtle sooth'd the Ear!
The yellow Bees humm'd sweetly in the Shade,
And round the Fountain's flowery Margin play'd.
All Summer's Redolence effus'd Delight!
All Autumn, in luxuriant Fruitage bright—
76
And bending Plums, that kiss'd the Turf below!
Our Wines four Years had mellow'd in the Cask—
And could Alcides boast so rich a Flask,
(Say Nymphs of Castaly) when Chiron gave
The generous Juice, in Pholus' stony Cave?
Or did such Nectar, at Anapus' Stream,
Rouse to the Dance, the Cyclops Polypheme
(Who hurls the Mountain-Rocks across the Brine)
As, Nymphs, ye mix'd, at Ceres' glowing Shrine?
Oh! may I fix the Purging-Fan, again,
(Delightful Task!) amid her Heaps of Grain;
And, in each Hand, the laughing Goddess hold
The Poppy's vivid Red—the Ears of Gold!
| The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus | |