University of Virginia Library

[[THE WORKS OF BION.]]

THE IDYLLIUMS OF BION.

Translated from the Greek.

IDYLLIUM I. ON THE DEATH OF ADONIS.

The Death of fair Adonis I deplore;
The lovely Youth Adonis is no more:
The cruel Fates have cut his vital Thread,
And all the Loves lament Adonis dead.
Ah Venus! never more in Purple rest,
For mournful Sable change thy flow'ry vest;
Thy beauteous Bosom beat, thy Loss deplore
Aloud with Sighs, Adonis is no more!
For the lov'd Youth these copious Tears I shed,
And all the Cupids mourn Adonis dead.
Methinks I see him on the Mountain lie,
The Boar's keen Tusk has pierc'd his tender Thigh;
Weltering he lies, expiring on the Ground,
And near him Venus all in Sorrow drown'd;
I see the crimson Flood fast trickling slow
Down his white Skin that vyes with winter Snow;
I see the Lustre of his Eyes decay,
And on his Lips the Roses fade away:
Yet who can Venus from those Lips divide,
Though their sweet Kisses with Adonis died?
To Venus sweet, ev'n now his Breath is fled,
Yet all her Kisses cannot warm the dead.
The Fate of fair Adonis I deplore;
The Loves lament, Adonis is no more!
A deep wide Wound is in his Thigh imprest,
But Venus bears a deeper in her Breast.
His Beagles round a mournful Howling keep;
And all the Dryads of the Mountains weep:
But, Venus, quite abandon'd to Despair,
Her Locks dishevell'd, and her Feet all bare,
Flies through the Thorny Brake, the Bryary Wood,
And stains the Thickets with her sacred Blood:
With piercing Cries Adonis she bewails,
Her darling Youth, along the winding Vales;
While the Blood, starting from his wounded Thigh,
Streams on his Breast, and leaves a crimson Dye.
Ah me! what Tears fair Cytherea shed,
And how the Loves deplor'd Adonis dead!
The Queen of Love, no longer now a Bride,
Has lost her Beauty since Adonis died;
Though bright the Radiance of her Charms before,
Her Lover and her Beauty are no more!
The Mountains mourn, the waving Woods bewail,
And Rivers roll lamenting through the Vale;
The silver Springs descend in Streams of Woe
Down the high Hills, and murmur as they flow:
And every Flower in drooping Grief appears
Depress'd and languishingly drown'd in Tears:
While Venus o'er the Hills and Valleys flies,
And, “Ah! Adonis is no more.” she cries.
Along the Hills, and Vales, and vocal Shore,
Echo repeats, “Adonis is no more.”
Who could unmov'd these piteous Wailings hear,
Or view the love-lorn Queen without a Tear?
Soon as she saw him wounded on the Plain,
His Thigh discolour'd with the crimson Stain,
Sighing she said, and clasp'd him as he lay,
“O stay, dear hapless Youth! for Venus stay!
“Our Breasts once more let close Embraces join,
“And let me press my glowing Lips to thine.
“Raise, lov'd Adonis, raise thy drooping Head,
“And kiss me ere thy parting Breath be fled,
“The last fond Token of Affection give,
“O! kiss thy Venus, while the Kisses live;
“Till in my Breast I draw thy lingering Breath,
“And with my Lips imbibe thy Love in Death:
“This farewell Kiss, which sorrowing thus I take,
“I'll keep for ever for Adonis' sake.
“Thee to the Shades the Fates untimely bring
“Before the drear, inexorable King;
“Yet still I live unhappy and forlorn;
“How hard my Lot to be a Goddess born!
“Take, cruel Proserpine, my lovely Boy,
“Since all that's form'd for Beauty, or for Joy,
“Descends to thee, while I indulge my Grief,
“By fruitless Tears soliciting Relief.
“Thou dy'st, Adonis, and thy Fate I weep,
“Thy Love now leaves me, like a Dream in Sleep,
“Leaves me bereav'd, no more a blooming Bride,
“With unavailing Cupids at my Side.
“With thee my Zone, which coldest Hearts could warm,
“Lost every Grace, and all its Power to charm.
“Why didst thou urge the Chace, and rashly dare
“T'encounter Beasts, thyself so wond'rous fair!”
Thus Venus mourn'd, and Tears incessant shed,
And all the Loves bewail'd Adonis dead;
Sighing they cry'd, “Ah! wretched Queen, deplore
“Thy Joys all fled, Adonis is no more.”
As many Drops of Blood, as from the Wound
Of fair Adonis trickled on the Ground,
So many Tears she shed in copious Showers:
Both Tears and Drops of Blood were turn'd to Flow'rs.
From these in crimson Beauty sprung the Rose,
Cærulean-bright Anemonies from those.
The Death of fair Adonis I deplore,
The lovely Youth Adonis is no more.
No longer in lone Woods lament the dead,
O Queen of Love! behold the stately Bed,
On which Adonis, now depriv'd of Breath,
Seems sunk in Slumbers, beauteous ev'n in Death.
Dress him, fair Goddess, in the softest Vest,
In which he oft with thee dissolv'd to Rest;
On golden Pillow be his Head reclin'd,
And let past Joys be imag'd in thy Mind.
Though Death the Beauty of his Bloom devours,
Crown him with Chaplets of the fairest Flowers;
Alas! the Flowers have lost their gaudy Pride,
With him they flourish'd, and with him they died.
With odorous Myrtle deck his drooping Head,
And o'er his Limbs the sweetest Essence shed:
Ah! rather perish every rich Perfume,
The sweet Adonis perish'd in his Bloom.
Clad in a purple Robe Adonis lies;
Surrounding Cupids heave their Breasts with Sighs,
Their Locks they shear, Excess of Grief to show,
They spurn the Quiver, and they break the Bow.
Some loose his Sandals with officious Care,
Some in capacious golden Vessels bear
The cleansing Water from the crystal Springs;
This bathes his Wound, that fans him with his Wings.
For Venus' sake the pitying Cupids shed
A Shower of Tears, and mourn Adonis dead.
Already has the Nuptial God, dismay'd,
Quench'd his bright Torch, for all his Garlands fade.
No more are joyful Hymenæals sung,
But Notes of Sorrow dwell on ev'ry Tongue;
While all around the general Grief partake
For lov'd Adonis, and for Hymen's sake.
With loud Laments the Graces all deplore,
And cry, ‘the fair Adonis is no more.’
The Muses, wailing the wild Woods among,
Strive to recall him with harmonious Song:
Alas! no Sounds of Harmony he hears,
For cruel Proserpine has clos'd his Ears.
Cease, Venus, cease, thy soft Complaints forbear,
Reserve thy Sorrows for the mournful Year.

IDYLLIUM II. CUPID AND THE FOWLER.

A youth, once fowling in a shady Grove,
On a tall Box-tree spy'd the God of Love,
Perch'd like a beauteous Bird; with sudden Joy
At Sight so noble leap'd the simple Boy.
With eager Expedition he prepares
His choicest Twigs, his Bird-lime, and his Snares,
And in a neighb'ring Covert smil'd to see
How here and there he skipt, and hopt from Tree to Tree.
When long in vain he waited to betray
The God, enrag'd he flung his Twigs away,
And to a Plough-man near, an antient Man,
Of whom he learn'd his Art, the Youngster ran,
Told the strange Story, while he held his Plough,
And show'd the Bird then perch'd upon a Bough,
The grave old Plough-man archly shook his Head,
Smil'd at the simple Boy, and thus he said:
“Cease, cease, my Son, this dangerous Sport give o'er,
“Fly far away, and chase that Bird no more:
“Blest should you fail to catch him!—Hence, away!
“That Bird, believe me, is a Bird of Prey:
“Though now he seems to shun you all he can,
“Yet, soon as Time shall lead you up to Man,
“He'll spread his flutt'ring Pinions o'er your Breast,
“Perch on your Brow, and in your Bosom nest.”

IDYLLIUM III. THE TEACHER TAUGHT.

IDYLLIUM IV. THE POWER OF LOVE.

The sacred Nine delight in cruel Love,
Tread in his Steps, and all his Ways approve:
Should some rude Swain, whom Love could ne'er refine,
Woo the fair Muses, they his Suit decline;
But if the love-sick Shepherd sweetly sing,
The tuneful Choir, attending in a Ring,
Catch the soft Sounds, and tune the vocal Shell;
This Truth by frequent Precedent I tell:
For when I praise some Hero on my Lyre,
Or, nobly daring, to a God aspire,
In Strains more languid flows the nerveless Song,
Or dies in faltering Accents on my Tongue:
But when with Love or Lycidas I glow,
Smooth are my Lays, the Numbers sweetly flow.

IDYLLIUM V. LIFE TO BE ENJOYED.

If Merit only stamps my former Lays,
And those alone shall give me deathless Praise:
But if ev'n those have lost their bright Applause,
Why should I labour thus without a Cause?
For if great Jove or Fate would stretch our Span,
And give of Life a double Share to Man,
One Part to Pleasures and to Joy ordain,
And vex the other with hard Toil and Pain;
With sweet Complacence we might then employ
Our Hours, for Labour still enhances Joy.
But since of Life we have but one small Share,
A Pittance scant which daily Toils impair,
Why should we waste it in Pursuit of Care?
Why do we labour to augment our Store,
The more we gain, still coveting the more?
Alas! alas! we quite forget that Man
Is a mere Mortal, and his Life a Span.

IDYLLIUM VI. CLEODAMUS AND MYRSON.

CLEODAMUS.
Say, in their Courses circling as they tend,
What Season is most grateful to my Friend?
Summer, whose Suns mature the teeming Ground,
Or golden Autumn, with full Harvests crown'd?
Or Winter hoar, when soft reclin'd at Ease,
The Fire fair-blazing, and sweet Leisure please?
Or genial Spring in blooming Beauty gay?
Speak, Myrson, while around the Lambkins play.

MYRSON.
It ill becomes frail Mortals to define
What's best and fittest of the Works divine;
The Works of Nature all are grateful found,
And all the Seasons in their various Round.
But since my Friend demands my private Voice,
Then learn the Season that is Myrson's Choice.
Me the hot Summer's sultry Heats displease;
Fell Autumn teems with pestilent Disease;
Tempestuous Winter's chilling Frosts I fear;
But wish for purple Spring through all the Year.
Then neither Cold nor Heat molests the Morn;
But rosy Plenty fills her copious Horn:
Then bursting Buds their odorous Blooms display,
And Spring makes equal Night, and equal Day.

IDYLLIUM VII. THE EPITHALAMIUM OF ACHILLES AND DEIDAMIA.

MYRSON and LYCIDAS.
MYRSON.
Say, wilt thou, Lycidas, sweet Shepherd-swain,
Begin some soothing, soft Sicilian Strain,
Such as the Cyclops, on a Rock reclin'd,
Sung to the Sea-nymph, to compose his Mind,
And sent it in the Whispers of the Wind?

LYCIDAS.
What can I sing that Myrson will commend?
With Pleasure I would gratify my Friend.

MYRSON.
Repeat the Song which most my Taste approves,
Achilles' stol'n Embrace, and hidden Loves;
How the bold Hero laid his Arms aside,
A Woman's Robe the manly Sex belied,
And Deidamia soon became his Bride.

LYCIDAS.
When with fair Helen Paris cross'd the Deep,
Brought her to Troy, and made Oenone weep;
The injur'd States of Greece were all alarm'd,
Spartans, Mycenians, and Laconians arm'd;
The Treachery stung their Souls, and bloody Vengeance warm'd:
In close Disguise his Life Achilles led,
Among the Daughters of King Lycomed:
Instead of Arms the Hero learn'd to cull
The snowy Fleece, and weave the twisted Wool.
Like theirs, his Cheeks a rosy Bloom display'd,
Like them he seem'd a fair and lovely Maid;
As soft his Air, as delicate his Tread,
Like them he cover'd with a Veil his Head:
But in his Veins the Tides of Courage flow'd,
And Love's soft Passion in his Bosom glow'd;
By Deidamia's Side from Morn to Night
He sat, and with ineffable Delight
Oft kiss'd her snow-white Hand, or gently press'd
The blooming Virgin to his glowing Breast.
His Soul was all enraptur'd with her Charms,
Ardent he long'd to clasp her in his Arms;
Oft in her Ear these Words enamour'd said,
“By Pairs your Sisters press the downy Bed;
“But we, two Maids of equal Age and Bloom,
“Still Sleep divided in a separate Room.
“Why should the Night, more cruel than the Day,
“Steal the sweet Virgin, whom I love away? [OMITTED]

IDYLLIUM VIII. LOVE RESISTLESS.

Sweet Venus, Daughter of the Main,
Why are you pleas'd with Mortals Pain?
What mighty Trespass have they done,
That thus you scourge them with your Son?
A guileful Boy, a cruel Foe,
Whose chief Delight is human Woe.
You gave him Wings, alas! and Darts,
To range the World, and shoot at Hearts:
For Man no Safety thus is found—
His Flight o'ertakes, his Arrows wound.

IDYLLIUM IX. FRIENDSHIP.

Thrice happy they! whose friendly Hearts can burn
With purest Flame, and meet a kind Return.
With dear Pirithoüs, as Poets tell,
Theseus was happy in the Shades of Hell:
Orestes' Soul no Fears, no Woes deprest;
'Midst Scythians he with Pylades was blest.
Blest was Achilles while his Friend surviv'd,
Blest was Patroclus every Hour he liv'd;
Blest when in Battle he resign'd his Breath,
For his unconquer'd Friend reveng'd his Death.

FRAGMENTS OF BION.

FRAGMENT I. ON HYACINTHUS.

Desponding Sorrow seized Apollo's Heart;
All Cures he try'd, and practis'd every Art;
With Nectar and Ambrosia drest the Wound:
Useless, alas! all Remedies are found,
When Fate with cruel Shears encompasses around.

FRAGMENT II.

[Thus to the Smith it is not fair]

Thus to the Smith it is not fair,
My Friend, for ever to repair,
And still another's Aid to ask:
Make your own Pipe; 'tis no such arduous Task.

FRAGMENT III.

[Invite the Muses, Love, and in your Train]

Invite the Muses, Love, and in your Train,
Ye sacred Muses, bring me Love again!
And ever grant, my Wishes to complete,
The Gift of Song—no Remedy so sweet!

FRAGMENT IV.

[Incessant Drops, as Proverbs say]

Incessant Drops, as Proverbs say,
Will wear the hardest Stones away.

FRAGMENT V.

[On a steep Cliff, beside the sandy Beach]

On a steep Cliff, beside the sandy Beach,
Sudden I stop, and, whispering soft, beseech
Relentless Galatea; even in Age
Love still shall bloom, and still my Hopes engage.

FRAGMENT. VI.

[Let me not pass without Reward!]

Let me not pass without Reward!
For Phæbus on each tuneful Bard
Some Gift bestows: The noblest Lays
Are owing to the Thirst of Praise.

FRAGMENT. VII.

[In Beauty boasts fair Woman-kind]

In Beauty boasts fair Woman-kind;
Man, in a firm, undaunted Mind.