The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus ::

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

Polwhele, Richard (1760-1838)

[dedication]

THE IDYLLIA and EPIGRAMS OF THEOCRITUS.

[subsection]

IDYLLIUM the FIRST. THYRSIS,

II.

IDYLLIUM the SECOND. PHARMACEUTRIA.

III.

IDYLLIUM the THIRD. AMARYLLIS.

IV.

IDYLLIUM the FOURTH. The SWAINS.

IDYLLIUM the FIFTH. The TRAVELLERS.

VI.

IDYLLIUM the SIXTH. The HERDSMEN.

VII.

IDYLLIUM the SEVENTH. The HARVEST-FEAST,

VIII.

IDYLLIUM the EIGHTH. The BUCOLIC SINGERS.

IX.

IDYLLIUM the NINTH. The SHEPHERD.

IDYLLIUM the TENTH. The REAPERS.

XI.

IDYLLIUM the ELEVENTH. The CYCLOPS.

XII.

IDYLLIUM the TWELFTH. To a FRIEND.

XIII.

IDYLLIUM the THIRTEENTH. HYLAS.

XIV.

IDYLLIUM the FOURTEENTH. CYNISCA's LOVE.

XVI.

IDYLLIUM the SIXTEENTH. The GRACES,

XVII.

IDYLLIUM the SEVENTEENTH. PTOLEMY.

XVIII.

IDYLLIUM the EIGHTEENTH. The EPITHALAMIUM of HELEN.

XIX.

IDYLLIUM the NINETEENTH. The HONEY-STEALER.

XX.

IDYLLIUM the TWENTIETH. EUNICA,

XXI.

IDYLLIUM the TWENTY-FIRST. The FISHERMEN.

XXII.

IDYLLIUM the TWENTY-SECOND. CASTOR and POLLUX.

XXIII.

IDYLLIUM the TWENTY-THIRD. The DESPAIRING LOVER.

XXIV.

IDYLLIUM the TWENTY-FOURTH. The YOUNG HERCULES.

XXV.

IDYLLIUM the TWENTY-FIFTH. HERCULES the LION-SLAYER.

XXVI.

IDYLLIUM the TWENTY-SIXTH. BACCHÆ.

XXIX.

IDYLLIUM the TWENTY-NINTH. The CAPRICIOUS FRIEND.

XXX.

IDYLLIUM the THIRTIETH. The DEATH of ADONIS.

EPIGRAMS.

I. OFFERINGS to the MUSES and APOLLO.

II.

II. An OFFERING to PAN.

III.

III. To DAPHNIS sleeping.

IV.

IV. A VOW to PRIAPUS.

V. The CONCERT.

VI.

VI. THYRSIS hath lost his Kid.

VII.

VII. On the STATUE of ÆSCULAPIUS.

VIII.

VIII. EPITAPH on ORTHON, who died drunk.

IX.

IX. On the FATE of CLEONICUS.

X. On a MONUMENT erected to the MUSES.

XI.

XI. EPITAPH on EUSTHENES the PHYSIOGNOMIST.

XII.

XII. On a TRIPOD dedicated to BACCHUS by DEMOTELES.

XIII.

XIII. On the IMAGE of the Heavenly VENUS.

XIV.

XIV. EPITAPH on EURYMEDON.

XV.

XV. On the Same.

XVI.

XVI. On ANACREON's STATUE.

XVII.

XVII. On EPICHARMUS.

XVIII.

XVIII. EPITAPH on CLITA,

XIX.

XIX. On ARCHILOCHUS.

XX.

XX. On the STATUE of PISANDER,

XXI.

XXI. EPITAPH on the Poet HIPPONAX.

XXII.

XXII. THEOCRITUS on his own WORKS.

THE IDYLLIA and FRAGMENTS OF BION.

THE IDYLLIA OF MOSCHUS.

IDYLLIUM the FIRST. The STRAY CUPID.

II.

IDYLLIUM the SECOND. EUROPA.

IV.

IDYLLIUM the FOURTH. MEGARA, the Wife of HERCULES, and ALCMENA his Mother.

IDYLLIUM the FIFTH. The CHOICE.

VIII.

IDYLLIUM the EIGHTH. ALPHEUS.

EPIGRAM.

THE ELEGIES OF TYRTÆUS.

II.

ELEGY the SECOND.

Collapse All | Expand All expand section

IDYLLIUM the FIRST. THYRSIS,

or The ODE.

THYRSIS and GOATHERD.
THYRSIS.
Yon' breezy Pine, whose Foliage shades the Springs,
In many a vocal Whisper, sweetly sings!
Sweet too the Murmurs 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!
Full udder'd, ere we stroke its flowing Teat,
We hold the tender Kid, delicious Meat.

GOATHERD.
Sweeter thy Warblings, than the Streams that glide
Down the smooth Rock, so musical a Tide!
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,
Then, tuneful Thyrsis, shall the Ewe be thine.

THYRSIS.
Say, wilt thou rest thee, on this shelving Bed,
By the cool Tamarisk's shady Bower o'erspread?
Come, wilt thou charm the Wood-Nymphs with thy Lay?
I'll feed thy Goats, if thou consent to play.

GOATHERD.
I dare not, Shepherd, at the Hour of Noon,
My Pipe to rustic Melodies attune:
'Tis Pan we fear: From Hunting he returns,
As all in Silence hush'd the Noonday burns;

And, tir'd, reposes 'mid the Woodland Scene,
Whilst on his Nostrils fits 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 Naids o'er their Fountains shine;
While gay Priapus guards the sweet Retreat,
And Oaks, wide-branching, shade yon' past'ral 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 laboring, 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 Vigor 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 slyly 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 Song will never reach Oblivion's Coast.

THYRSIS.
Begin, dear Muse, the Strain of pastoral Woe,
Lo, Ætna's Swain! 'tis Thyrsis' Notes that flow!
Where stray'd ye, Nymphs, when Daphnis pin'd with Love?
Thro' Peneus' Vale, or Pindus' steepy Grove?

For not Anapus' Flood your Steps delay'd—
Or Acis' sacred Wave, or Ætna's Shade!

Begin, dear Muse, the Strain of pastoral Woe,
In melting Cadence may the Numbers flow.
Gaunt Wolves and Pards deplor'd his parting Breath;
And ev'n the Forest-Lion mourn'd his Death.

Begin, dear Muse, the Strain of pastoral Woe,
In melting Cadence may the Numbers flow.
Bulls, Cows, and Steers stood drooping at his Side,
And wail'd, in Sorrow, as the Shepherd died.

Begin, dear Muse, the Strain of pastoral Woe,
In melting Cadence may the Numbers flow.
First, winged Hermes from the Mountain came:
‘Whence, Daphnis, whence he cried, this fatal Flame?’

Begin, dear Muse, the Strain of pastoral Woe,
In melting Cadence may the Numbers flow.
The Goatherds, Hinds, and Shepherds all enquir'd—
‘What ail'd the Herdsman? and what Fever fir'd?’

Priapus came—and cried—‘Ah, Daphnis, say,
‘Does Love, poor Daphnis, steal thy Soul away?
‘She with bare Feet, thro' Woods and Fountains roves—
‘Exclaiming: “Hah, too thoughtless in thy Loves!
“Hah! what tho' Herdsman be thy purer Name,
“Sure, all the Goatherd marks thy lawless Flame.
“He views with leering Eyes his Goats askance,
“Notes their keen Sport, and pines in every Glance!
“Thus, while the Virgin-Train, fleet bounding by,
“Weave the gay Dance, and titter at thy Sigh;
“Perfidious Man! each Laugh lights up Desire,
“That wastes thy gloting Eyes with wanton Fire!”
Silent he sat—still burning every Vein
Throbb'd thro' dire Love, 'till Death extinguish'd Pain.

Begin, dear Muse, the Strain of pastoral Woe,
In melting Cadence may the Numbers flow.
Next Venus' self the hapless Youth addrest,
(With faint-forc'd Smiles, yet Anger at her Breast)
‘Well, Daphnis, art thou still a Match for Love?
‘Say, does not Cupid now the Victor prove?’

Begin, dear Muse, the Strain of pastoral Woe,
In melting Cadence may the Numbers flow.
But he: ‘Too true thou say'st, that Love hath won!
‘Too sure thy Triumphs mark my setting Sun!

Begin, dear Muse, the Strain of pastoral Woe,
In melting Cadence may the Numbers flow.
‘Fly, where Anchises—to his Arms away—
‘And screen your Pleasures from the garish Day,
‘On Ida's Hill: There spread o'er-arching Groves;
‘There many an Oak will hide your covert Loves;
‘There the broad Rush, in matted Verdure, thrives;
‘There Bees, in busy Swarms, hum round their Hives.

Begin, dear Muse, the Strain of pastoral Woe,
In melting Cadence may the Numbers flow.
‘Adonis too—tho' delicately-fair—
‘He feeds his Flocks, and hunts the flying Hare!

Begin, dear Muse, the Strain of pastoral Woe,
In melting Cadence may the Numbers flow.

‘Say,—if arm'd Diomed should meet thy Sight—
‘I've conquer'd Daphnis—come renew the Fight!

Begin, dear Muse, the Strain of pastoral Woe,
In melting Cadence may the Numbers flow.
‘Ye Wolves and Bears and Panthers of the Woods;
‘Ye Glens and Copses and ye foaming Floods;
‘Ye Waters, who your Waves of Silver roll
‘Near Thymbris' Towers, that once cou'd soothe my Soul—
‘And thou, dear—dear auspicious Arethuse!
‘O once the sweet Inspirer of my Muse,
‘Farewell!—no more alas! shall Daphnis rove
‘Amidst your Haunts; for Daphnis dies of Love!

Begin, dear Muse, the Strain of pastoral Woe,
In melting Cadence may the Numbers flow.
‘I—I am he, who lowing Oxen fed;
‘Who to their well-known Brook my Heifers led.

Begin, dear Muse, the Strain of pastoral Woe,
In melting Cadence may the Numbers flow.

‘Pan—Pan—of all our Woodlands the Delight,
‘Whether thou rovest on Lycæum's Height,
‘Or o'er the mighty Mænalus, O deign
‘To visit sweet Sicilia's pastoral Plain.
‘Leave Lycaonian Helicas' high Tomb,
‘Tho' Gods revere the monumental Gloom!

Close, heavenly Muse, the Tale of pastoral Woe!
Ah! let the melting Cadence cease to flow!
‘O Pan, my Reeds so close-compacted take,
‘And call forth all their Tones for Daphnis' Sake!
‘Bent for thy Lip this Pipe be thine to play!
‘To the drear Grave Love hurries me away!

Close, heavenly Muse, the Tale of pastoral Woe!
Ah! let the melting Cadence cease to flow!
‘Ye Thorns and Brambles the pale Vi'let bear—
‘Ye Junipers, produce Narcissus fair!
‘Ye Pines, with Fruitage from the Pear-Tree crown'd,
‘Mark Daphnis' Death—while all Things change around—

‘Let Stags pursue the Beagles o'er the Plain,
‘And Screech-Owls rival Philomela's Strain!’

Close, heavenly Muse, the Tale of pastoral Woe!
Ah! let the melting Cadence cease to flow!
He ceas'd—and Venus would have rais'd his Head—
But Fate had spun his last remaining Thread!
And Daphnis past the Lake! The o'erwhelming Tide
Buried the Nymph's Delight—the Muse's Pride!

Close, heavenly Muse, the Tale of pastoral Woe!
Ah! let the melting Cadence cease to flow!
Now, fairly, Friend, I claim the Cup and Goat—
Her Milk, a sweet Libation, I devote
To you, ye Nine, Inspirers of my Lay!
Be mine a loftier Song, some future Day.

GOATHERD.
Thyrsis! thy Mouth may Figs Ægilean fill!
And luscious Honey on thy Lips distill!

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!

University of Virginia Library

IDYLLIUM the FIRST. THYRSIS,

or The ODE.