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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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IDYLLIUM the NINTH. The SHEPHERD.
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85

IDYLLIUM the NINTH. The SHEPHERD.

DAPHNIS and MENALCAS.
Daphnis, begin—begin thy rustic Note!
And next, Menalcas, breathe thy Dorian Oat!
Tho' first ye bid, beneath these leafy Boughs,
The Heifers join their Bulls—the Calves, their Cows!
While, 'midst the Herd, along the Copse they stray,
Daphnis, begin the blythe bucolic Lay;
And, rival Shepherd! in responsive Strains,
Awake the sleeping Echoes of the Plains!
DAPHNIS.
‘Sweet lows the Steer! and sweet the Heifer lows!
‘Sweet is the Reed! and sweet the Herdsman blows
‘His vocal Pipe! and sweet I sing! My Bed
‘Beside the cooling Waters have I spread!
‘And the smooth Skins of milk-white Heifers form
‘Its soft Repose! Alas—the Southern Storm

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‘Down yonder shrubby Steep those Heifers flung—
‘Yon' Mount where, cropping Arbutus, they hung!
‘There sultry Summer I regard no more,
‘Than dreaming Lovers heed their Father's Lore.’
Thus Daphnis sings: Menalcas thus replies:

MENALCAS.
Ætna's my Mother; and my Dwelling lies
‘A fair-scoop'd Grotto, 'midst her living Rocks;
‘While in the Mountain-Shadow browse my Flocks—
‘Full many a bleating Sheep, and many a Goat—
‘Not Scenes so rich in airy Slumbers float!
‘To them I owe the Softness of my Bed!
‘Skins at my Feet, and Fleeces at my Head.
‘For freezing Winter I have Stores of Wood—
‘Dry Beech and Oak that blaze to dress my Food!
‘Thus I regard, as toothless Fellows hold
‘Hard Nuts when Pulse is near, the wintry Cold.’
I gave them both Applause—and both, their Due:
To Daphnis a strong shapely Club, that grew
Amid my Father's Woods, a single Plant—
So fair—ev'n Artists might its Beauty grant.

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The Shepherd-Swain a fine-wreath'd Conch I gave,
Brought from the Murmur of the Icarian Wave—
Whose Flesh (I found it on the Rocks alive)
Luxurious Dainty! was a Feast for five.
O'erjoy'd he struck the Shell:

MENALCAS.
‘Ye Powers of Song!
‘Inspire (nor do I fear a blister'd Tongue)
‘Inspire me, rural Muses, with the Strains
‘I deftly carol'd to the wondering Swains.
“Hawks mix with Hawks, and Ants with Ants agree;
“Cicadas with their own—the Muse with me.
“O that she fill'd my soft melodious Hours!
“For neither to the Honey-Bee the Flowers
“So sweet—or easy Sleep, and early Spring,
“That Balms so soothing to the Laborer bring—
“Charm like the Muse! And they, on whom she smiles,
“May brave ev'n Circe's Cup—ev'n Circe's Wiles.”