The Idylliums of Theocritus :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Idylliums of Theocritus

Translated from the Greek. With notes critical and explanatory. By Francis Fawkes

Fawkes, Francis (1720-1777)

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THE IDYLLIUMS OF THEOCRITUS, TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK.

THE EPIGRAMS OF THEOCRITUS.

THE COMBAT BETWEEN POLLUX AND AMYCUS. FROM APOLLONIUS, BOOK II.

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Τοις Βουκολικοις, πλην ολιγων των εξωθεν, ο Θεοκριτος επιτυχεστατος. Longinus.

THE IDYLLIUMS OF THEOCRITUS, TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK.

ARGUMENT.

This Idyllium contains a dialogue between the Shepherd Thyrsis and a Goatherd. Thyrsis, at the request of his friend, sings the fate of Daphnis who died for Love; for which he is rewarded with a milch Goat, and a noble Pastoral Cup of most excellent sculpture. This piece is with great propriety prefixed to all the other Idylliums, and may be considered as the pattern and standard of the old bucolic poems. The scene changes from a rising ground to a lower situation near a fountain, where there is a Shepherd's Bower facing the statues of Priapus and the Nymphs, and not far distant a Grove of Oaks.

IDYLLIUM I. Thyrsis, or the Himeræan Ode.

THYRSIS.
Sweet are the whispers of yon vocal pine,
Whose boughs, projecting o'er the springs, recline;

Sweet is thy warbled reed's melodious lay;
Thou, next to Pan, shalt bear the prize away:
If to the God a horn'd he-goat belong,
The gentler female shall reward thy song;
If he the female claim, a kid's thy share,
And, till you milk them, kids are dainty fare.

GOATHERD.
Sweeter thy song, O shepherd, than the rill
That rolls its music down the rocky hill:
If one white ewe content the tuneful Nine,
A stall-fed lamb, meet recompence, is thine;

And if the Muses claim the lamb their due,
My gentle Thyrsis shall obtain the ewe.

THYRSIS.
Wilt thou on this declivity repose,
Where the rough tamarisk luxuriant grows,
And gratify the Nymphs with sprightly strain?
I'll feed thy goats, and tend the browsing train.

GOATHERD.
I dare not, dare not, shepherd, grant your boon,
Pan's rage I fear, who always rests at noon,
When tir'd with hunting, stretch'd in sleep along,
His bitter rage will burst upon my song:

But well you know Love's pains, which Daphnis rues,
You the great Master of the rural muse;
Let us beneath yon shady elm retreat,
Where Nature forms a lovely pastoral seat,
Where sculptur'd Naiads and Priapus stand,
And groves of oaks extending o'er the land;
There if you sing as sweetly as of yore,
When you the prize from Lybian Chromis bore,
This goat with twins I'll give, that never fails
Two kids to suckle, and to fill two pails:
To these I'll add, with scented wax o'er-laid,
Of curious workmanship, and newly made,

A deep two-handled Cup, whose brim is crown'd
With ivy join'd with helichryse around;
Small tendrils with close-clasping arms uphold
The fruit rich speckled with the seeds of gold.

Within, a woman's well-wrought image shines,
A vest her limbs, her locks a caul confines;
And near, two neat-curl'd youths in amorous strains
With fruitless strife communicate their pains:
Smiling, by turns, she views the rival pair;
Grief swells their eyes, their heavy hearts despair.
Hard by, a fisherman advanc'd in years,
On the rough margin of a rock appears;
Intent he stands t'enclose the fish below,
Lifts a large net, and labours at the throw:
Such strong expression rises on the sight,
You'd swear the man exerted all his might;
For his round neck with turgid veins appears—
‘In years he seems, yet not impair'd by years.’

A vineyard next, with intersected lines,
And red ripe clusters load the bending vines:
To guard the fruit a boy sits idly by,
In ambush near, two sculking foxes lie;
This plots the branches of ripe grapes to strip,
But that, more daring, meditates the scrip;
Resolv'd ere long to seize the savoury prey,
And send the youngster dinnerless away:
Meanwhile on rushes all his art he plies,
In framing traps for grasshoppers and flies;
And earnest only on his own designs,
Forgets his satchel, and neglects his vines:
All round the soft acanthus spreads its train—
This Cup, admir'd by each Æolian swain,

From far a Calydonian sailor brought,
For a she-goat and new-made cheese I bought;
No lip has touch'd it, still unus'd it stood;
To you I give this masterpiece of wood,
If you those Himeræan strains rehearse
Of Daphnis' woes—I envy not your verse—
Dread Fate, alas! may soon demand your breath,
And close your music in oblivious death.

THYRSIS.

Begin, ye Nine, that sweetly wont to play,
Begin, ye Muses, the bucolic lay.

“Thyrsis my name, to Ætna I belong,
“Sicilian Swain, and this is Thyrsis' song:”

Where were ye, Nymphs, in what sequester'd grove?
Where were ye, Nymphs, when Daphnis pin'd with love?
Did ye on Pindus' steepy top reside?
Or where through Tempe Peneus rolls his tide?

For where the waters of Anapus flow,
Fam'd streams! ye play'd not, nor on Ætna's brow;
Nor where chaste Acis laves Sicilian plains—

Begin, ye Muses, sweet bucolic strains.
Him savage panthers in wild woods bemoan'd,
For him fierce wolves in hideous howlings groan'd;
His fate fell lions mourn'd the live-long day—

Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic lay.
Meek heifers, patient cows, and gentle steers,
Moan'd at his feet, and melted into tears;
Ev'n bulls loud bellowing wail'd the shepherd swain—

Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic strain.
First from the mountain winged Hermes came;
“Ah! whence, he cried, proceeds this fatal flame?
“What nymph, O Daphnis, steals thine heart away?”

Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic lay.
Goatherds and hinds approach'd; the youth they hail'd,
And shepherds kindly ask'd him what he ail'd.

Priapus came, soft pity in his eye,
‘And why this grief, he said, ah! Daphnis, why?’
Meanwhile the nymph disconsolately roves,
With naked feet thro' fountains, woods, and groves,
And thus of faithless Daphnis she complains;

(Begin, ye Muses, sweet bucolic strains)
‘Ah youth! defective both in head and heart,
‘A cowherd stil'd, a goatherd sure thou art,
‘Who when askance with leering eye he notes
‘The amorous gambols of his frisking goats,
‘He longs to emulate their wanton play:

Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic lay.

‘So when you see the virgin train advance
‘With nimble feet, light-bounding in the dance;
‘Or when they softly speak, or sweetly smile,
‘You pine with grief, and envy all the while.’
Unmov'd he sat, and no reply return'd,
But still with unavailing passion burn'd;
To death he nourish'd Love's consuming pain—

Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic strain.
Venus insulting came, the youth addrest,
Forc'd a faint smile, with torture at her breast;
“Daphnis, you boasted you could Love subdue,
“But tell me, has not Love defeated you?
“Alas! you sink beneath his mighty sway.”

Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic lay.
‘Ah, cruel Venus! Daphnis thus began,
‘Abhorr'd and curs'd by all the race of man,
‘My day's decline, my setting sun I know,
‘I pass a victim to the shades below,
‘Where riots Love with insolent disdain—

Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic strain.

‘To Ida, Venus, fly, expose your charms,
‘Rush to Anchises’, your old cowherd's arms;
‘There bowering oaks will compass you around,
‘Here low cyperus scarcely shades the ground,
‘Here bees with hollow hums disturb the day.

Begin ye Nine, the sweet bucolic lay.
‘Adonis feeds his flocks, tho' passing fair,
‘With his keen darts he wounds the flying hare,
‘And hunts the beasts of prey along the plain.

Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic strain.
‘Say, if again arm'd Diomed you see,
“I conquer'd Daphnis, and will challenge thee;
“Dar'st thou, bold chief, with me renew the fray?”

Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic lay.
‘Farewell, ye wolves, and bears and lynxes dire;
‘My steps no more the tedious chace shall tire:
‘The herdsman, Daphnis, now no longer roves,
‘Thro' flowery shrubs, thick woods, or shady groves.

‘Fair Arethusa, and ye streams that swell
‘In gentle tides near Thymbrian towers, farewell,
‘Your cooling waves slow-winding o'er the plains.

Begin, ye Muses, sweet bucolic strains.
‘I Daphnis here my lowing oxen fed,
‘And here my heifers to their watering led,
‘With bulls and steers no longer now I stray,’

Begin, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic lay.
‘Pan, whether now on Mænalus you rove,
‘Or loiter careless in Lycæus' grove,
‘Leave yon aerial promontory's height
‘Of Helicè, projecting to the sight,
‘Where fam'd Lycaon's stately tomb is rear'd,
‘Lost in the skies, and by the Gods rever'd;
‘Haste, and revisit fair Sicilia's plains.

Cease, Muses, cease the sweet bucolic strains.
‘Pan, take this pipe, to me for ever mute,
‘Sweet-ton'd, and bent your rosy lip to suit,

‘Compacted close with wax, and join'd with art,
‘For Love, alas! commands me to depart;
‘Dread Love and Death have summon'd me away—

Cease, Muses, cease the sweet bucolic lay.
‘Let violets deck the bramble-bush and thorn,
‘And fair narcissus junipers adorn.
‘Let all things Nature's contradiction wear,
‘And lofty pines produce the luscious pear;
‘Since Daphnis dies, let all things change around,
‘Let timorous deer pursue the flying hound;
‘Let screech-owls soft as nightingales complain’—

Cease, cease, ye Nine, the sweet bucolic strain.
He died—and Venus strove to raise his head,
But Fate had cut the last remaining thread—

The Lake he past, the whelming wave he prov'd,
Friend to the Muses, by the Nymphs belov'd.

Cease, sacred Nine, that sweetly wont to play,

Cease, cease, ye Muses, the bucolic lay.
Now, friend, the Cup and Goat are fairly mine,
Her milk's a sweet libation to the Nine:
Ye Muses, hail! all praise to you belongs,
And future days shall furnish better songs.

GOATHERD.

O, be thy mouth with figs Ægilean fill'd,
And drops of honey on thy lips distill'd!
Thine is the Cup (for sweeter far thy voice
Than when in spring the grashoppers rejoice)
Sweet is the smell, and scented as the bowers
Wash'd by the fountains of the blissful HOURS.

Come, Ciss! let Thyrsis milk thee—Kids, forbear
Your gambols, lo! the wanton goat is near.

IDYLLIUM II. Pharmaceutria.

ARGUMENT.

Simæthea is here introduced complaining of Delphis, who had debauched and forsaken her; she makes use of several incantations in order to regain his affection; and discovers all the variety of passions that are incident to a neglected Lover.

Where are my laurels? and my philtres where?
Quick bring them, Thestylis—the charm prepare:
This purple fillet round the cauldron strain,
That I with spells may prove my perjur'd swain:

For since he rapt my door twelve days are fled,
Nor knows he whether I'm alive or dead:
Perhaps to some new face his heart's inclin'd,
For Love has wings, and he a changeful mind.
To the Palæstra with the morn I'll go,
And see and ask him, why he shuns me so?
Meanwhile my charms shall work: O Queen of Night:
Pale Moon, assist me with refulgent light;
My imprecations I address to thee,
Great Goddess, and infernal Hecatè
Stain'd with black gore, whom ev'n gaunt mastiffs dread,
Whene'er she haunts the mansions of the dead;
Hail, horrid Hecatè, and aid me still
With Circe's power, or Perimeda's skill,
Or mad Medea's art—Restore, my charms,
My lingering Delphis to my longing Arms.

The cake's consum'd—burn, Thestylis, the rest
In flames; what frenzy has your mind possest?
Am I your scorn, that thus you disobey,
Base maid, my strict commands?—Strew salt, and say,
“Thus Delphis' bones I strew”—Restore, my charms,
The perjur'd Delphis to my longing arms.

Delphis inflames my bosom with desire;
For him I burn this laurel in the fire:
And as it fumes and crackles in the blaze,
And without ashes instantly decays,
So may the flesh of Delphis burn—My charms,
Restore the perjur'd Delphis to my arms.

As melts this waxen form, by fire defac'd,
So in Love's flames may Myndian Delphis waste:

And as this brazen wheel, though quick roll'd round,
Returns, and in its orbit still is found,
So may his love return—Restore, my charms,
The lingering Delphis to my longing arms.

I'll strew the bran: Diana's power can bow
Rough Rhadamanth, and all that's stern below.
Hark! hark! the village-dogs! the Goddess soon
Will come—the dogs terrific bay the moon—

Strike, strike the sounding brass—Restore, my charms,
Restore false Delphis to my longing arms.

Calm is the ocean, silent is the wind,
But grief's black tempest rages in my mind.
I burn for him whose perfidy betray'd
My innocence; and me, ah, thoughtless maid!
Robb'd of my richest gem—Restore, my charms,
False Delphis to my long-deluded arms.

I pour libations thrice, and thrice I pray;
O, shine, great Goddess, with auspicious ray!
Whoe'er she be, blest nymph! that now detains
My fugitive in Love's delightful chains;
Be she for ever in oblivion lost,
Like Ariadne, 'lorn on Dia's coast,
Abandon'd by false Theseus—O, my charms,
Restore the lovely Delphis to my arms.

Hippomanes, a plant Arcadia bears,
Makes the colts mad, and stimulates the mares,
O'er hills, thro' streams they rage: O, could I see
Young Delphis thus run madding after me,
And quit the fam'd Palæstra!—O, my charms!
Restore false Delphis to my longing arms.

This garment's fringe, which Delphis wont to wear,
To burn in flames I into tatters tear.
Ah, cruel Love! that my best life-blood drains
From my pale limbs, and empties all my veins,
As leeches suck young steeds—Restore, my charms,
My lingering Delphis to my longing arms.

A lizard bruis'd shall make a potent bowl,
And charm, to-morrow, his obdurate soul;

Meanwhile this potion on his threshold spill,
Where, though despis'd, my soul inhabits still;
No kindness he nor pity will repay;
Spit on the threshold, Thestylis, and say,
“Thus Delphis' bones I strew”—Restore, my charms,
The dear, deluding Delphis to my arms.

She's gone, and now, alas! I'm left alone!
But how shall I my sorrow's cause bemoan?
My ill-requited passion, how bewail?
And where begin the melancholy tale?

When fair Anaxa at Diana's fane
Her offering paid, and left the Virgin train,
Me warmly she requested, breathing love,
At Dian's feast to meet her in the grove:
Where savage beasts, in howling deserts bred,
(And with them a gaunt lioness) were led
To grace the solemn honours of the day—

Whence rose my passion, sacred Phœbe, say—
Theucarila's kind nurse, who lately died,
Begg'd I would go, and she would be my guide;
Alas! their importunity prevail'd,
And my kind stars, and better genius fail'd;

I went adorn'd in Clearista's cloaths—

Say, sacred Phœbe, whence my flame arose—
Soon as where Lyco's mansion stands I came,
Delphis the lovely author of my flame
I saw with Eudamippus, from the crowd
Distinguish'd, for like helichrysus glow'd
The gold down on their chins, their bosoms far
Outshone the moon, and every splendid star;
For lately had they left the field of fame—

Say, sacred Phœbe, whence arose my flame—
O, how I gaz'd! what extasies begun
To fire my soul? I sigh'd, and was undone:
The pompous show no longer could surprize,
No longer beauty sparkled in my eyes:
Home I return'd, but knew not how I came;
My head disorder'd, and my heart on flame:
Ten tedious days and nights sore sick I lay—

Whence rose my passion, sacred Phœbe, say—

Soon from my cheeks the crimson colour fled,
And my fair tresses perish'd on my head:
Forlorn I liv'd, of body quite bereft,
For bones and skin were all that I had left:
All charms I tried, to each enchantress round
I sought; alas! no remedy I found:
Time wing'd his way, but not to sooth my woes—

Say, sacred Phœbe, whence my flame arose—
Till to my maid, opprest with fear and shame,
I told the secret of my growing flame;
‘Dear Thestylis, thy healing aid impart—
‘The love of Delphis has engross'd my heart.
‘He in the school of exercise delights,
‘Athletic labours, and heroic fights;
‘And oft he enters on the lists of fame—

Say, sacred Phœbe, whence arose my flame—
‘Haste thither, and the hint in private give,
‘Say that I sent you—tell him where I live.’

She heard, she flew, she found the youth I sought,
And all in secret to my arms she brought.
Soon at my gate his nimble foot I heard,
Soon to my eyes his lovely form appear'd;
Ye Gods! how blest my Delphis to survey!

Whence rose my passion, sacred Phœbe, say—
Cold as the snow my freezing limbs were chill'd,
Like southern vapours from my brow distill'd
The dewy damps; faint tremors seiz'd my tongue,
And on my lips the faultering accents hung;
As when from babes imperfect accents fall,
When murmuring in their dreams they on their mothers call.
Senseless I stood, nor could my mind disclose—

Say, sacred Phœbe, whence my flame arose—
My strange surprize he saw, then prest the bed,
Fix'd on the ground his eyes, and thus he said;
‘Me, dear Simætha, you have much surpast,
‘As when I ran with young Philinus last
‘I far out-stript him, though he bravely strove;
‘But you have all prevented me with love;
‘Wellcome as day your kind appointment came—

Say, sacred Phœbe, whence arose my flame—

‘Yes, I had come, by all the Powers above,
‘Or, rather let me swear by mighty Love,
‘Unsent for I had come, to Venus true,
‘This night attended by a chosen few,
‘With apples to present you, and my brows
‘Adorn'd like Hercules, with poplar boughs,
‘Wove in a wreathe with purple ribands gay—

Whence rose my passion, sacred Phœbe, say—
‘Had you receiv'd me, all had then been well,
‘For I in swiftness and in form excell;
‘And should have deem'd it no ignoble bliss
‘The roses of your balmy lips to kiss:
‘Had you refus'd me, and your doors been barr'd,
‘With axe and torch I should have come prepar'd,

‘Resolv'd with force resistance to oppose—

Say, sacred Phœbe, whence my flame arose—
‘And first to Beauty's Queen my thanks are due,
‘Next, dear Simætha, I'm in debt to you,
‘Who by your maid, Love's gentle herald, prove
‘My fair deliverer from the fires of Love:
‘More raging fires than Ætna's waste my frame—

Say, sacred Phœbe, when arose my flame—
‘Love from their beds enraptur'd virgins charms,
‘And wives new-married from their husbands' arms.’
He said, (alas, what frenzy seiz'd my mind!)
Soft prest my hand, and on the couch reclin'd:
Love kindled warmth as close embrac'd we lay,
And sweetly whisper'd precious hours away.
At length, O Moon, with mutual raptures fir'd,
We both accomplish'd—what we both desir'd.
E'er since no pause of love or bliss we knew,
But wing'd with joy the feather'd minutes flew;
Till yester morning, as the radiant Sun
His steeds had harness'd, and his course begun,

Restoring fair Aurora from the main,
I heard, alas! the cause of all my pain;
Philista's mother told me, ‘she knew well
‘That Delphis lov'd, but whom she could not tell:
‘The marks are plain, he drinks his favourite toast,
‘Then hies him to the maid he values most:
‘Besides with garlands gay his house is crown'd:’
All this she told me, which too true I found.
He oft would see me twice or thrice a day,
Then left some token that he would not stay
Long from my arms; and now twelve days are past
Since my fond eyes beheld the wanderer last—
It must be so—'tis my unhappy lot
Thus to be scorn'd, neglected and forgot.
He wooes, no doubt, he wooes some happier maid—
Meanwhile I'll call Enchantment to my aid:
And should he scorn me still, a charm I know
Shall soon dispatch him to the shades below;

So strong the bowl, so deadly is the draught;
To me the secret an Assyrian taught.
Now, Cynthia, drive your coursers to the main;
Those ills I can't redress I must sustain.
Farewell, dread Moon, for I have ceas'd my spell,
And all ye Stars, that rule by night, Farewell.

IDYLLIUM III. Amaryllis.

ARGUMENT.

A Goatherd declares his passion for his mistress Amaryllis, laments her cruelty, commends her charms, solicits her favours, and distracted at the thoughts of not obtaining them, threatens to drown himself, tries experiments to know if she loves him, sings love-songs, and seems resolved to die, and be devoured by wolves.

To Amaryllis, lovely nymph, I speed,
Meanwhile my goats along the mountain feed:
O Tityrus, tend them with assiduous care,
In freshest pasture, and in purest air;

At evening see them to the watering led,
And ware the Libyan ram with butting head.

Sweet Amaryllis!—once how blest my lot
When here you met me in the conscious grot?
I, whom you call'd your Dear, your Love so late,
Say, am I now the object of your hate?
Does my flat nose or beard your eyes offend?—
This love will surely bring me to my end—
Lo! ten fair apples, tempting to the view,
Pluck'd from your favourite tree, where late they grew;
Accept this boon, 'tis all my present store—
To-morrow shall produce as many more;
Meanwhile these heart-consuming pains remove,
And give me gentle pity for my love—

Oh! were I made, by some transforming Power,
A bee to buzz in your sequester'd bower!
To pierce your ivy shade with murmuring sound,
And the fern leaves which compass you around—
I know thee, Love, and to my sorrow find
A God thou art, but of the savage kind;
A lioness sure suckled the fell child,
Fed with her whelps, and nurs'd him in the wild:
On me his scorching flames incessant prey,
Glow in my veins, and melt my soul away—
Sweet black-ey'd maid! what charms those eyes impart!
Soft are your looks, but flinty is your heart;

With kisses kind this rage of love appease,
For me the joys of empty kisses please.
Your scorn distracts me, and will make me tear
The flowery crown I wove for you to wear,
Where rose-buds mingled with the ivy-wreath,
And fragrant parsley sweetest odours breathe—
Ah me! what pangs I feel? and yet the fair
Nor sees my sorrows, nor will hear my prayer—
I'll doff my goat-skin, since I needs must die,
And thence, where Olpis views the scaly fry
Inquisitive, a dire impending steep,
Headlong I'll plunge into the foamy deep;
And though perchance I buoyant rise again,
You'll laugh to see me flouncing in the main—
By one prophetic orpine-leaf I found
Your chang'd affection, for it gave no sound,

Though on my hand struck hollow as it lay,
But quickly wither'd, like your love, away—
An old witch brought sad tidings to my ears,
She who tells fortunes with the sieve and sheers;
For, leasing barley in my fields of late,
She told me, ‘I should love, and you should hate’—
For you my care a milk-white goat supplied,
Two wanton kids skip gamesome at her side,
Which Mermnon's girl, Erithacis the brown,
Has oft petition'd me to call her own;
And since you thus my ardent passion slight,
Hers they shall be before to-morrow night—
My right eye itches; may it lucky prove!
Perchance I soon shall see the nymph I love;
Beneath yon pine I'll sing distinct and clear—
Perchance the fair my tender notes may hear;

Perchance may pity my melodious moan—
She is not metamorphos'd into stone—
Hippomanes, provok'd by noble strife,
To win a mistress, or to lose his life,
Threw golden fruit in Atalanta's way,
The bright temptation caus'd the maid to stay;
She look'd, she languish'd, all her soul took fire,
She plung'd into the gulf of deep desire.
From Othrys' top the bard Melampus came,
He drove the herd to Pyle, and won the dame:
Alphesibœa's mother, fam'd for charms
Of beauty, blest heroic Bias' arms,
Adonis fed his flocks upon the plain,
Yet heavenly Venus lov'd the shepherd-swain;

She mourn'd him wounded in the fatal chace,
Nor dead dismiss'd him from her warm embrace.
Though young Endymion was by Cynthia blest,
I envy nothing but his lasting rest.
Iäsion too was happy to obtain
The pleasures too divine for ears profane.

My head grows giddy—love affects me sore;
Yet you regard not, so I'll sing no more—
Stretch'd near your grotto, when I've breath'd my last,
My flesh will give the wolves a rich repast,
This will be sweet as honey to your taste.

IDYLLIUM IV. The Shepherds.

ARGUMENT.

We have here a dialogue between Battus a shepherd, and Corydon a neatherd. The beauty of this Idyllium consists in that natural representation of sorrow which the poet makes the herds affected with in the absence of their master: Battus laments the death of Amaryllis. The latter part of this piece is very natural, but too much inclining to rusticity.

BATTUS.
Are these Philonda's cows that graze the mead?

CORYDON.
No; Ægon's—Ægon gave them me to feed.

BATTUS.
Don't you play false, and milk them by the by?

CORYDON.
My shrewd old master keeps too strict an eye;

The calves he suckles, and prevents the fraud.

BATTUS.
But where is Ægon? is he gone abroad?

CORYDON.
What, han't you heard it from the mouth of Fame?
Milo entic'd him to th'Olympic Game.

BATTUS.
Will he engage in that athletic toil,
Who never yet beheld Olympic oil?

CORYDON.
Fame says, his strength with Hercules may vie;

BATTUS.
And that stout Pollux is worse man than I.

CORYDON.
He with his spade is gone, at Honour's call,
And twenty sheep to keep himself withal.

BATTUS.
To Milo surely high regard is had;
The wolves at his persuasion will run mad.

CORYDON.
These heifers want him, moaning o'er the mead.

BATTUS.
Alas! they've got a wretched groom indeed.

CORYDON.
Poor beasts, I pity them! they even refrain
To pick the scanty herbage of the plain.

BATTUS.
Yon heifer's bones are all that strike the view:
Say, does she live, like grashoppers, on dew?

CORYDON.
No, troth! by Æsar's banks she loves to stray,
And there I bring her many a lock of hay;
And oft she wantons in Latymnus' shades,
And crops fresh pasture in the opening glades.

BATTUS.
That red bull's quite reduc'd to skin and bone,
May the Lampriadæ, when they atone
The wrath of Juno, sacrifice his mate!
A wretched offering suits a wretched state.

CORYDON.
And yet on Physcus, or the marsh he feeds,
Or where Neæthus laves the verdant meads;
Where bright-ey'd flowers diffuse their odours round,
Buckwheat and fleabane bloom, and honey-bells abound.

BATTUS.
Alas! these herds will perish on the plain,
While Ægon courts fair Victory in vain;
His pipe, which sweetest music could produce,
His pipe too will be spoil'd for want of use.

CORYDON.
No fear of that, for when he went away,
He left it me, and I can sing and play:
I warble Pyrrhus' songs, and Glauca's lays,
Zacynthus fair, and healthful Croton praise;
And proud Lacinium, rising to the east,
Where Ægon swallow'd fourscore cakes at least:
There too a bull he boldly dar'd pursue,
Seiz'd by the hoof, and down the mountain drew;
Then gave it Amaryllis; with glad shout
The maids approv'd the deed, loud laugh'd the lubber lout.

BATTUS.
Sweet Amaryllis! though entomb'd you lie,
With me your memory shall never die:
I lov'd you dearer than my flocks of late,
And now, alas! I mourn your cruel fate.

CORYDON.
Yet courage, friend; to-morrow Fortune's ray
May shine with comfort, though it lours to-day:
Hopes to the living, not the dead, remain;
And the soft season brightens after rain.

BATTUS.
Firm is my trust—but see! these hungry cows
(White-face, away!) my tender olives browze!

CORYDON.
Away, Cymætha, to the bank! by Jove,
If I come near you, faith! I'll make you move—
See! she returns—Oh that I had my pike!
I'd give the beast a blow she would not like.

BATTUS.
Pray, Corydon, see here! thy aid I beg;
A long sharp-pointed prick has pierc'd my leg:
How high these thorns, and spindling brambles grow!
Do'st see't?—'twas long of her; plague take the cow!

CORYDON.
Here comes the thorn! your throbbing pain I've found.

BATTUS.
How great the anguish! yet how small the wound!

CORYDON.
These thorny, furzy hills should ne'er be trod
With legs unguarded, and by feet unshod.

BATTUS.
Does your old master still persist to prize
His quondam mistress with the jet-black eyes?

CORYDON.
The same, for lately in the wattled ground
In the soft scene of love the carle I found.

BATTUS.
O, nobly done! lascivious old man!
Meet match for Satyrs, or salacious Pan.

IDYLLIUM V. The Travellers.

ARGUMENT.

This Idyllium is of the dramatic kind: Comates a goatherd, and Lacon a shepherd, after exchanging some very coarse railleries, a true image of vulgar freedom, contend in singing. The beauty of this piece consists in that air of simplicity in which the shepherds are painted; full of themselves, boastful of favours received, and making sudden transitions agreeable to the desultory genius of uncivilized nature.

COMATES.
My goats, of Lacon, Sybarite base, take heed;
He stole my goatskin—at a distance feed.

LACON.
Fly, fly, my lambs, these springs—nor longer stay,
Comates comes who stole my flute away.

COMATES.
What flute, thou servile, Sybaritic brute!
Pray when wast thou e'er master of a flute?
'Twas all thy pride, with Corydon, to draw
The rustic rout with scrannel pipes of straw.

LACON.
The flute which Lycon gave me frank and free:
But pray, what goatskin did I steal from thee?
What goatskin e'er hadst thou, thou lubber lout?
It is well known thy master sleeps without.

COMATES.
What Crocylus bestow'd, of special note,
When to the nymphs he sacrific'd a goat;
Thou envied'st me the present, and by theft
Hast basely of the speckled pelt bereft.

LACON.
I stole it not, I swear by mighty Pan;
Comates, thou'rt mistaken in thy man;
Or may I, seiz'd with instant frenzy, leap
Headlong from this high rock into the deep.

COMATES.
Thy flute I stole not; by the nymphs I swear,
The fountain-nymphs, to me for ever dear.

LACON.
If I believe thee, goatherd, may I prove
The desperate pains of Daphnis, pin'd with love:
Nought now is sacred—yet a kid stake down,
Thou'lt find my skill superior to thy own.

COMATES.
A sow Minerva brav'd: for singing's sake,
I'll lay a kid, if thou a lamb wilt stake.

LACON.
Ah sly old fox! but how can this be fair?
For good sheep's wool who ever sheer'd goat's hair?
What booby, blown to folly's utmost pitch,
E'er left an udder'd goat to milk a bitch?

COMATES.
He that's as sure, as thou art to excell,
Though wasps may sing with grashoppers as well:
But lest thou turn thy challenge to a flam,
I'll stake this full-grown goat against thy lamb.

LACON.
Soft, hasty goatherd! let us hence remove
To yon wild olive-shade beside the grove;
There sing thy best, while in pure streams below,
Grateful to swains, the cooling fountains flow;
There spring sweet herbs, soft couches wait thy choice,
And there the sprightly grashoppers rejoice.

COMATES.
Hasty I'm not, but greatly vex'd at heart
That thou dar'st brave thy teacher at his art;
Requital base!—Breed hounds, or wolf-whelps breed,
Ungrateful, they'll devour you for the deed.

LACON.
Ye goatherds love beyond the truth to stretch;
When learnt I ought of thee, invidious wretch?
But, come, vain boaster, to the grove along,
No more thou'lt challenge shepherds at the song.

COMATES.
Here rest we; lo! cyperus decks the ground,
Oaks lend their shade, and sweet bees murmur round
Their honied hives; here two cool fountains spring;
Here merrily the birds on branches sing;
Here pines in clusters more umbrageous grow,
Wave high their heads, and scatter cones below.

LACON.
With me retreat, where skins of lambs I keep,
Whose wool's a pillow softer far than sleep:
Thy goat-skins ill with cleanliness agree,
So rank they smell, nay rather worse than thee.
There to the nymphs I'll crown, delightful toil!
One bowl of milk, and one of sweetest oil.

COMATES.
Retire with me to more sequester'd bowers,
There thou shalt rest on fern, and fragrant flowers;
O'er these the skins of tender kids I'll spread,
A softer far than thine and sweeter bed:
Eight bowls of milk to Pan, great god, shall foam,
And eight of honey, and the honey-comb.

LACON.
Agreed: the contest lest thou shouldst evade,
I'll wait thy summons at thy oaken shade.

Who shall decide the honours of the day?
Perhaps Lycopas is not far away.

COMATES.
No need of him for judge; for here's as good,
Morson the keeper of thy master's wood;
He's cleaving faggots.

LACON.
Call the woodman near.

COMATES.
Call him thyself, for thou canst make him hear.

LACON.
Friend, hither haste while we in song contest,
And judge impartial who performs the best.

COMATES.
Let merit only thy just judgment guide,
Lean not to mine, or favour Lacon's side.
Thurius commits to Lacon's care his sheep;
Eumara's goats of Sybaris I keep.

LACON.
Who ask'd thee, goatherd, of thy tongue too free,
Whether the flock belong'd to him or me?

COMATES.
By Jove, I vow the simple truth I've told;
But thou grow'st vain, and scurrilously bold.

LACON.
Sing on, proud swain, nor thus consume thy breath;
But not, like Sirens, sing thy judge to death.

COMATES.
Me more than Daphnis the chaste Muses love;
Two kids I offer'd in their laurel grove.

LACON.
Me Phœbus loves, for him a ram I feed,
Which at the next Carnean feast shall bleed.

COMATES.
Twin-bearing goats I milk; “Ah, hapless swain,
“Alcippe cries, do'st thou their udders drain?”

LACON.
Full twenty presses I with cheese can fill,
And have a love-intrigue whene'er I will.

COMATES.
Gay Clearista, when perchance we meet,
Pelts me with apples, and says something sweet.

LACON.
Young Cratidas inspires my heart to glow,
For down his comely neck the lovely tresses flow.

COMATES.
Can dog-briar, or anemonies that bloom
In hedges, match with roses in perfume?

LACON.
Can acorns crude, whose coat is rough and dry,
With the soft fruitage of the chesnut vye?

COMATES.
In yonder juniper there broods a dove,
The young, when fledg'd, I'll carry to my love.

LACON.
Soft wool to weave a garment, if I live
To sheer my sheep, to Cratidas I'll give.

COMATES.
Leave those wild olives, kids, and feed below,
Where the rough tamarisks luxuriant grow.

LACON.
Conarus, Cymy, leave those oak-crown'd meads,
And pasture eastward, where the white ram feeds.

COMATES.
A cypress pail is mine, and sculptur'd bowl,
I'll keep them for the charmer of my soul.

LACON.
This wolf-dog, to his flock and master true,
I'll give my boy, the wild beasts to pursue.

COMATES.
Ye prowling locusts, that devour my fruits,
Touch not my vines, for tender are the shoots.

LACON.
Ye grashoppers, how I this goatherd vex!
Thus you the reapers of the field perplex.

COMATES.
I hate the brush-tail foxes, that by night
Steal Myco's grapes, and then escape by flight.

LACON.
I hate dull beetles, that devour for prey
Philonda's figs, then buzzing wheel away.

COMATES.
Have you forgot, when once beneath my stroke,
You writh'd with pain, and ran to yonder oak?

LACON.
Yes, faith! but when Eumara lash'd thee well,
And bound with thongs, I readily can tell.

COMATES.
Morson, who's angry now?—Go, frantic swain,
Go, gather squills to calm your ruffled brain.

LACON.
Morson, I've nettled somebody full sore—
Go, gather sowbread, and be mad no more.

COMATES.
May Himera with milk, and Crathis flow
With wine, and fruit on plants aquatic grow.

LACON.
May Sybaris with honey-streams distill,
And maids each morn their urns with honey fill.

COMATES.
My goats on cytisus and wild oats browse,
And rest on arbutus and lentisck boughs.

LACON.
With fragrant balm my sheep are daily fed,
And ivy mixt with roses is their bed.

COMATES.
Alcippe charms not, though I sent a dove,
She neither prest my ears, nor kiss'd me for my love.

LACON.
I love with warmest ardor young Eumede,
Who gave me kisses for a pastoral reed.

COMATES.
Can pies contend with nightingales? the owl
With swans? but you love discord at your soul.

MORSON.
Cease, Lacon, cease thy song; for I decree
The lamb, Comates, as thy due, to thee:
Go, to the nymphs the welcome offering make,
And let thy Morson of the feast partake.

COMATES.
By mighty Pan, thou shalt, auspicious boy;
See how my goats leap wantonly for joy!
I too will leap, victorious as I am,
And laugh at Lacon, since I've gain'd the lamb.
Rejoice, my kids, for in the cooling wave
Of Sybaris to-morrow ye shall lave.

Yon butting, wanton goat I must forbid,
Till I have sacrific'd, to touch a kid—
What ruttish still!—your courage I'll abate,
Or may I suffer poor Melanthius' fate.

IDYLLIUM VI. The Herdsmen.

ARGUMENT.

Damœtas and Daphnis drive their herds together into one place, and sing alternately the passion of Polyphemus for Galatea. Daphnis begins first, and addresses himself to Damœtas, as to the Cyclops; Damœtas answers him, as in the person of Polyphemus. Galatea's love is described from her wanton actions, and Polyphemus's obduracy from his neglect of the Sea-Nymph. This Idyllium is inscribed to Aratus, who was the friend of Theocritus, and supposed to be the author of an astronomical poem, called Arati Phœnomena.

Damœtus and young Daphnis, tuneful swains,
Late fed their herds, Aratus, on the plains;
The first was ruddy with a golden beard;
On Daphnis' cheek scarce doubtful down appear'd.
Fast by the margin of a murmuring spring,
'Midst noon-tide heat, they thus essay'd to sing.
And, while their cattle sought the cooling wave,
First Daphnis sung, for he the challenge gave.

DAPHNIS.

O Polyphemus, while your flocks you keep,
With apples Galatea pelts your sheep,
And calls you goatherd, and ungrateful swain;
Meanwhile you pipe in sweetly warbled strain,
Nor see the wild nymph, senseless as a log;
And lo! again she pelts your faithful dog:
List! list! he barks, and in a strange amaze
His dancing shadow in the sea surveys:
Ah! call him back, lest on the maid he leap,
And tear her limbs emerging from the deep.
Lo! where she wantons, frolic, light and fair,
As down of bearsfoot in soft summer air;
And, still impell'd by strange, capricious Fate,
Flies those that love, and follows those that hate.
In vain the blandishments of love she plies,
For faults are beauties in a lover's eyes.
Thus Daphnis sung, Damœtas thus reply'd:

DAMOETAS.

By mighty Pan, the wily nymph I spy'd
Pelting my flock, I saw with this one eye—
May heaven preserve its lustre till I die:

Though Telemus presages ills to come;
Let him reserve them for his sons at home.
To teaze, I seem regardless of her game,
And drop some items of another flame:
Soon to her ears the spreading rumour flies,
For envy then and jealousy she dies;
And furious, rising from her azure waves,
She searches all my folds, and all my caves:
And then my dog, obedient to command,
Barks as she walks, and bays her off the strand:
For when I lov'd, he wagg'd his tail with glee,
Fawn'd, whin'd, and loll'd his head upon her knee.
This practice shortly will successful prove,
She'll surely send me tidings of her love.

But I'll exclude this sea-jilt, till she swears
To press with me the bed herself prepares.
Nor am I so deform'd, for late I stood,
And view'd my face in ocean's tranquil flood;
My beard seem'd fair, and comely to the sight;
My eye, though single, sparkling, full and bright:
My teeth array'd in beauteous order shone,
Well-match'd, and whiter than the Parian stone.
And lest inchantment should my limbs infest,
I three times dropt my spittle on my breast;
This charm I learnt from an old sorceress' tongue,
Who harvest-home at Hipocoön's sung.

Damœtas ended, and with eager joy
Daphnis embrac'd, and kiss'd the blooming boy;
Then gave, as best his sprightly taste might suit,
A pipe melodious, and receiv'd a flute.
Damœtas deftly on the flute could play,
And Daphnis sweetly pip'd, and caroll'd to his lay:
Their heifers gambol'd on the grass-green fields;
In singing neither conquers, neither yields.

IDYLLIUM VII. Thalysia, or, The Vernal Voyage.

ARGUMENT.

This is a narration of a journey which Theocritus, along with two friends, took to Alexandria; as they are travelling, they happen to meet with the Goatherd Lycidas, with whom they join company, and entertain each other with singing. Our poet had contracted a friendship, in the isle of Cos, with Prasidamus and Antigenes, who invited him into the country to celebrate the feast of Ceres. The Thalysia was a sacrifice offered by husbandmen, after harvest, in gratitude to the gods, by whose blessing they enjoyed the fruits of the earth.

When Eucritus and I, with one consent,
Join'd by Amyntas, from the city went,
And in our progress, meditating slow,
March'd where the waters of Halenta flow:

Antigenes and Phrasidamus, names
Renown'd afar, for each bright honour claims,
The sons of Lycopéus, at the shrine
Of fruitful Ceres offer'd rites divine:
In their rich veins the blood divinely roll'd
Of Clytia virtuous, and of Chalcon bold;
Chalcon, supreme of Cos, at whose command
The Burine fountain flow'd, and fertiliz'd the land;
Near it tall elms their amorous arms inwove
With poplars pale, and form'd a shady grove.
Scarce had we measur'd half our destin'd way,
Nor could the tomb of Brasilas survey;

When, travelling on the road, we chanc'd to meet
The tuneful goatherd, Lycidas, of Crete;
His very looks confest his trade; you'd swear
The man a goatherd by his gait and air:
His shoulders broad a goatskin white array'd,
Shaggy and rough, which smelt as newly flay'd;
A thread-bare mantle wrapt his breast around,
Which with a wide-wove surcingle he bound:
In his right hand, of rough wild-olive made,
A rustic crook his steps securely stay'd;
A smile serenely cheer'd his gentle look,
And thus, with pleasure in his eye, he spoke:

‘Whither, Simichidas, so fast away,
‘Now when meridian beams inflame the day?
‘Now when green lizards in the hedges lie,
‘And crested larks forsake the fervid sky.

‘Say, does the proffer'd feast your haste excite,
‘Or to the wine-press some old friend invite?
‘For such your speed, the pebbles on the ground,
‘Dash'd by your clogs, at every step resound!”

Then I; “Dear Lycidas, so sweet your strains,
“You shame the reapers and the shepherd-swains;
“Your pipe's fam'd numbers, tho' they please me well,
“Hope spurs me on to rival, or excell:
“We go great Ceres' festival to share;
“Our honour'd friends the sacred rites prepare:
“To her they bring the first fruit of their store,
“For with abundance she has blest their floor.
“But since, my friend, we steer one common way,
“And share the common blessings of the day,
“Let us, as thus we gently pace along,
“Divert the journey with bucolic song.

“Me the fond swains have honour'd from my youth,
“And call the Muses' most melodious mouth;
“They strive my ears incredulous to catch
“With praise, in vain; for I, who ne'er can match
“Sicelidas, or sweet Philetas' song,
“Croak like a frog the grashoppers among.”

Thus with alluring words I sooth'd the man,
And thus the goatherd, with a smile, began:

‘Accept this crook, small token of my love,
‘For sure you draw your origin from Jove!

‘I scorn the builder, who, to show his skill,
‘Rears walls to match Oromedon's proud hill;
‘Nor do those poets merit more regard
‘Who dare to emulate the Chian bard.
‘Since songs are grateful to the shepherd swain,
‘Let each rehearse some sweet bucolic strain;
‘I'll sing those lays (and may the numbers please)
‘Which late last spring I labour'd at my ease.’

“Oh may Ageanax, with prosperous gale,
To Mitylene, the pride of Lesbos, sail!

Though now the south winds the vext ocean sweep,
And stern Orion walks upon the deep;
So will he soothe those love-consuming pains
That burn my breast and glow within my veins.
May Halcyons smooth the waves, and calm the seas,
And the rough south-east sink into a breeze;
Halcyons, of all the birds that haunt the main,
Most lov'd and honour'd by the Nereid train.
May all things smile propitious while he sails!
To the wish'd port convey him safe, ye gales!

Then shall my brows with violets be crown'd,
Or dill sweet-smelling, or with roses bound:
Before the hearth I'll quaff the Ptelean bowl;
Parch'd beans shall stimulate my thirsty soul:
High as my arms the flowery couch shall swell
Of flea-bane, parsley, and sweet asphodell.
Mindful of dear Ageanax, I'll drink,
Till to the lees the rosy bowl I sink.
Two shepherds sweetly on the pipe shall play,
And Tityrus exalt the vocal lay;

Shall sing how Daphnis the coy damsel lov'd,
And, her pursuing, o'er the mountains rov'd;
How the rough oaks bewail'd his fate, that grow
Where Himera's meandring waters flow;
While he still urg'd o'er Rhodope his flight,
O'er Hæmus, Caucasus, or Atho's height,
And, like the snow that on their tops appears,
Dissolv'd in love, as that dissolves in tears.
Next he shall sing the much-enduring hind
By his harsh lord in cedar chest confin'd;
And how the honey bees, from roseat bowers,
Sustain'd him with the quintessence of flowers;
For on his lips the Muse her balm distill'd,
And his sweet mouth with sweetest nectar fill'd.
O blest Comatas! nobly hast thou sped,
Confin'd all spring, to be with honey fed!

O had'st thou liv'd in these auspicious days!
I'd drive thy goats on breezy hills to graze,
While thou should'st under oaken shades recline,
Or sweetly chant beneath the verdant pine.”

He sung—and thus I answer'd: ‘Friendly swain,
‘Far other numbers me the wood-nymph train
‘Taught, when my herds along the hills I drove,
‘Whose fame, perchance, has reach'd the throne of Jove.
‘Yet, for thy sake, the choicest will I chuse;
‘Then lend an ear, thou darling of the Muse!’

“On me bland Cupids sneez'd, who Myrto love
Dearly, as kids the spring-embellish'd grove:
Aratus too, whose friendship is my joy,
Aratus fondly loves the beauteous boy:
And well Aristis, to the Muses dear,
Whose lyre Apollo would vouchsafe to hear,

And well Aristis knows, renown'd for truth,
How fond Aratus loves the blooming youth.
O Pan! whom Omole's fair mountain charms,
Place him, uncall'd, in dear Aratus' arms!
Whether Philinus, or some softer name:
Then may Arcadian youths no longer maim,
With scaly squills, thy shoulders or thy side,
When in the chace no venison is supply'd.
But may'st thou, if thou dar'st my boon deny,
Torn by fell claws, on beds of nettles lie,

All the cold winter freeze beneath the pole
Where Hebrus' waves down Edon's mountains roll;
In summer, glow in Æthiopia's fires,
Where under Blemyan rocks scorch'd Nile retires.
Leave, O ye Loves, whose cheeks out-blush the rose!
The meads where Hyetis and Byblis flows,
To fair Dione's sacred hill remove,
And bid the coy Philinus glow with love.
Though as a pear he's ripe, the women say,
Thy bloom, alas! Philinus, fades away!
No more, Aratus, let us watch so late,
Nor nightly serenade before his gate:

But in this school let some unmeaning sot
Toil when the first cock crows, and hanging be his lot.
Rest be our portion! and, with potent charm,
May some enchantress keep us free from harm!”

I sung: he view'd me with a smiling look;
And for my song presented me his crook:
Then to the left he turn'd, through flowery meads,
The winding path-way that to Pyxa leads;
While with my friends I took the right-hand road
Where Phrasidamus makes his sweet abode;
Who courteous bad us on soft beds recline
Of lentisk, and young branches of the vine;
Poplars and elms above, their foliage spread,
Lent a cool shade, and wav'd the breezy head;
Below, a stream, from the Nymphs' sacred cave,
In free meanders led its murmuring wave:
In the warm sun-beams, verdant shrubs among,
Shrill grashoppers renew'd their plaintive song:

At distance far, conceal'd in shades, alone,
Sweet Philomela pour'd her tuneful moan:
The lark, the goldfinch warbled lays of love,
And sweetly pensive coo'd the turtle dove:
While honey-bees, for ever on the wing,
Humm'd round the flowers, or sipt the silver spring.
The rich, ripe season gratified the sense
With summer's sweets, and autumn's redolence.
Apples and pears lay strew'd in heaps around,
And the plum's loaded branches kiss'd the ground.
Wine flow'd abundant from capacious tuns,
Matur'd divinely by four summers suns,
Say, nymphs of Castaly! for ye can tell,
Who on the summit of Parnassus dwell,
Did Chiron e'er to Hercules produce
In Pholus' cave such bowls of generous juice?

Did Polypheme, who from the mountain's steep
Hurl'd rocks at vessels sailing on the deep,
E'er drain the goblet with such nectar crown'd,
Nectar that nimbly made the Cyclops bound,
As then, ye Nymphs! at Ceres' holy shrine
Ye mix'd the milk, the honey, and the wine.
O may I prove once more that happy man
In her large heaps to fix the purging fan!
And may the goddess smile serene and bland,
While ears of corn, and poppies grace her hand.

IDYLLIUM VIII. The Bucolic Singers.

ARGUMENT.

A contest in singing, between the shepherd Menalcas and the neatherd Daphnis, is related; a goatherd is chosen judge; they stake down their pastoral pipes as the reward of victory; the prize is decreed to Daphnis. In this Idyllium, as in the fifth, the second speaker seems to follow the turn of thought used by the first. Dr. Spence observes, there are persons in Italy, and particularly in Tuscany, named Improvisatori, who are like the shepherds in Theocritus, surprisingly ready at their answers, respondere parati, and go on speech for speech alternately, alternis dicetis, amant alterna camenæ. This Idyllium is addressed to his friend Diophantus.

Daphnis, Menalcas, Goatherd,

Dear Diophantus, some few days ago,
Menalcas, on the mountain's breezy brow,

By chance met Daphnis bonny, blithe, and fair;
This fed his herds, and that his fleecy care.
Both grac'd with golden tresses, both were young,
Both sweetly pip'd, and both melodious sung:
Then first Menalcas, with complacent look,
Survey'd the master of the herd, and spoke:

MENALCAS.
Daphnis, thou keeper of the bellowing kine!
Wilt thou to me the palm of song resign?
Or try thy skill, and then thy master own?
Thus Daphnis answer'd:

DAPHNIS.
Thou sheep-tending clown,
Poor-piping shepherd! sing'st thou e'er so well,
Thou can'st not Daphnis at the song excell.

MENALCAS.
Stake then some wager; let us trial make:

DAPHNIS.
I'll make the trial, and the wager stake.

MENALCAS.
What shall we lay, to equal our renown?

DAPHNIS.
I'll lay a calf, and thou a lamb full-grown.

MENALCAS.
A lamb I dare not; for my parents keep
Strict watch, and every evening count my sheep.

DAPHNIS.
What wilt thou stake? and what the victor's gains?

MENALCAS.
A pipe I form'd, of nine unequal strains,

Sweet-ton'd, with whitest wax compacted tight;
This, this I'll stake—but not my parent's right.

DAPHNIS.
And I have one of nine unequal strains,
Sweet-ton'd, and wax'd throughout with nicest pains,
Which late I made; ev'n now my finger bleeds,
Sore wounded by a splinter of the reeds.
Who shall decide the honours of the day?

MENALCAS.
Yon goatherd, let him judge the vocal lay;
Our dog barks at him—call—the man is near:
The shepherds call'd, the goatherd came to hear:
The last decided, while the former sung.
Menalcas first essay'd his tuneful tongue:
Thus in alternate strains the contest ran,
Daphnis reply'd—Menalcas first began;

MENALCAS.
Ye vales, ye streams, from source celestial sprung,
If e'er Menalcas sweetly pip'd or sung,
Feed well my lambs, and if my Daphnis need
Your flowery herbage, let his heifers feed.

DAPHNIS.
Fountains and herbs, rich pasturage, if e'er
Sung Daphnis meet for nightingales to hear,
Fatten my herds; if to these meadows fair
Menalcas drives, O feed his fleecy care.

MENALCAS.
When here my fair one comes, Spring smiles around,
Meads flourish, and the teats with milk abound,
My lambs grow fat; if she no longer stay,
Parch'd are the meads, the shepherd pines away.

DAPHNIS.
Where Milo walks, the flower-enamour'd bees
Work food nectareous, taller are the trees,

The goats bear twins; if he no longer stay,
The herdsman withers, and the herds decay.

MENALCAS.
O goat, the husband of the white-hair'd flock!
Drink at the shady fount by yonder rock,
'Tis there he lives; and let young Milo know,
Proteus fed sea-calves in the deep below.

DAPHNIS.
Not Pelops' lands, not Crœsus' wealth excite
My wish, nor speed to match the winds in flight;
But in yon cave to caroll with my friend,
And view the ocean while our flocks we tend.

MENALCAS.

To teats the drought, to birds the snare, the wind
To trees, and toils are fatal to the hind;
To man the virgin's scorn. O, father Jove!
Thou too hast languish'd with the pains of love.

Thus in alternate strains the contest ran,
And thus Menalcas his last lay began:
“Wolf, spare my kids, my young and tender sheep;
Though low my lot, a numerous flock I keep.
Rouse, Lightfoot, rouse from indolence profound;
Ill fits a shepherd's dog to sleep so sound.
Fear not, my sheep, to crop the verdant plain;
The pastur'd herbage soon will grow again:
Feed well, and fill your udders in the vale,
And when my lambs have suckled, fill the pail.”

“He sung, and Daphnis sweetly thus reply'd:
Me, from her grot, a lovely nymph espy'd,
As late I drove my cattle cross the plain;
A long, long look she cast, and call'd me handsome swain.
I answer'd not, but, as in thought profound,
Pursued my road, with eyes upon the ground.
The heifer sweetly breathes, and sweetly lows,
Sweet is the bullock's voice, and sweet the cow's:
'Tis passing sweet to lie by murmuring streams,
And waste long summer-days in gentle dreams.
On oaks smooth acorns ornamental grow,
And golden apples on the pippen glow;
Calves grace the cows, light-skipping on the plain,
And lusty cows commend the careful swain.”
They sung; the goatherd thus:

GOATHERD.

Thy verse appears
So sweet, O Daphnis! to my ravish'd ears,

More pleasing far thy charming voice to me
Than to my taste the nectar of the bee.
Receive these pipes, the victor's rightful meed:
And would'st thou teach me, while my kids I feed,
This goat rewards thy pains, that never fails
Each morn to fill the largest of my pails.
As skips the fawn her mother doe around,
So Daphnis leap'd for joy, and dancing beat the ground:
As grieve new-married maids their sires to leave,
So, deeply sighing, did Menalcas grieve.

Since that time, Daphnis, chief of shepherd-swains,
Daphnis supreme without a rival reigns:
And, to complete his happiness, he led
The blooming Naïs to his nuptial bed.

IDYLLIUM IX. Daphnis and Menalcas.

ARGUMENT.

The herdsman Daphnis, and the shepherd Menalcas are urged by a neighbouring shepherd to contend in singing; the song is in alternate strains, and each receives a prize; Daphnis a finely-finished club, and Menalcas a conch. The beauty of this Idyllium consists in the true character of low life, full of self-commendation, and boastful of its own fortune.

Daphnis, begin! for merrily you play,
Daphnis, begin the sweet bucolic lay;
Menalcas next shall sing; while pasturing near
Calves mix with cows, the heifer with the steer;
The bulls together with the herd may browze,
Rove round the copse, and crop the tender boughs;
Daphnis, begin the sweet bucolic strain;
Menalcas next shall charm the shepherd-swain.

DAPHNIS.

Sweet low the herds along the pastur'd ground,
Sweet is the vocal reed's melodious sound;
Sweet pipes the jocund herdsman, sweet I sing,
And lodge securely by yon cooling spring,
Where the soft skins of milk-white heifers, spread
In order fair, compose my decent bed:
Ah luckless! browsing on the mountain's side
The south-wind dash'd them headlong, and they died.
There I regard no more bright summer's fires
Than youthful lovers their upbraiding sires.

Thus Daphnis chanted his bucolic strain;
And thus Menalcas charm'd the shepherd-swain.

MENALCAS.

Ætna's my parent; there I love to dwell,
Where the rock-mountains form an ample cell:
And there, with affluence blest, as great I live,
As swains can wish, or golden slumbers give;
By me large flocks of goats and sheep are fed,
Their wool my pillow, and their skins my bed:

In caldrons boil'd their flesh sustains me well;
Dry beechen faggots wintry frosts expell.
Thus I regard no more the cold severe
Than toothless men hard nuts when pulse is near.

Here ceas'd the youths; I prais'd their pastoral strains,
And gave to each a present for his pains:
A well-form'd club became young Daphnis' due,
Which in my own paternal woodlands grew,
So exquisitely shap'd from end to end,
An artist might admire, but could not mend.
A pearly conch, wreath'd beautifully round,
Late on th'Icarian rocky beach I found,
The shell I gave Menalcas for his share;
Large was the conch, its flesh was rich and rare,
(This in five equal portions I divide)
And to five friends a plenteous meal supply'd.

Pleas'd he receiv'd, and lik'd his present well,
And thus he sweetly blew the shining shell:

Hail, rural Muses! teach your bard those strains
Which once I sung, and charm'd the listening swains:
Then would my tongue repeat the pleasing lore,
And painful blisters never gall it more.
To grashoppers the grashoppers are friends,
And ant on ant for mutual aid depends;
The ravenous kite protects his brother kite;
But me the Muse and gentle song delight.

O, may my cave with frequent song be blest!
For neither roseat spring, nor downy rest
So sweet the labourer soothe; nor to the bee
Are flowers so grateful, as the Muse to me:
For Circe's strongest magic ne'er can harm
Those whom the Muses with soft rapture charm.

IDYLLIUM X. The Reapers.

ARGUMENT.

Milo and Battus, two reapers, have a conference as they are at work; Battus not reaping so fast as usual, Milo asks him the reason of it; he frankly confesses it was owing to love; and, at the request of Milo, sings a song in praise of his mistress: Milo afterwards repeats the poetical maxims of Lytierses.

Milo and Battus.
MILO.
Battus, some evil sure afflicts you sore;
You cannot reap as you have reap'd before;
No longer you your sheaves with vigour bind,
But, like a wounded sheep, lag heavily behind.

If thus you fail with early morning's light,
How can you work till noon or slow-pac'd night?

BATTUS.
Milo, thou moiling drudge, as hard as stone,
An absent mistress did'st thou n'er bemoan?

MILO.
Not I—I never learnt fair maids to woo;
Pray what with love have labouring men to do?

BATTUS.
Did love then never interrupt thy sleep?

MILO.
No, Battus: dogs should never run at sheep.

BATTUS.
But I have lov'd these ten long days and more.

MILO.
Yes, you're a wealthy man, and I a poor.

BATTUS.
Hence all things round me in confusion lie.

MILO.
But tell me who's this charmer of your eye?

BATTUS.
Old Polybuta's niece, the gay, the young,
Who harvest-home at Hypocöon's sung.

MILO.
Then for your sins you will be finely sped;
Each night a grizzle grashopper in bed.

BATTUS.
Yet spare your insults, cruel and unkind!
Plutus, you know, as well as Love, is blind.

MILO.
No harm I mean—but, Battus, as you play
On the sweet pipe, and sing an amorous lay,
With music's charms our pleasing toils prolong;
Your mistress be the subject of your song.

BATTUS.
Ye Muses, sweetly let the numbers flow!
For you new beauty on all themes bestow.
Charming Bombyce, though some call you thin,
And blame the tawny colour of your skin;
Yet I the lustre of your beauty own,
And deem you like Hyblæan honey brown.

The letter'd hyacinth's of darksome hue,
And the sweet violet a sable blue;
Yet these in crowns ambrosial odours shed,
And grace fair garlands that adorn the head.
Kids flowery thyme, gaunt wolves the kid pursue,
The crane the plough-share, and I follow you.
Were I as rich as Crœsus was of old,
Our statues soon should rise of purest gold,
In Cytherea's sacred shrine to stand,
You with an apple, rose, and lute in hand;
I like a dancer would attract the sight,
In gaudy sandals gay, and habit light.

Charming Bombyce, you my numbers greet;
How lovely, fair, and beautiful your feet!
Soft is your voice—but I no words can find
To represent the moral of your mind.

MILO.

How sweetly, swain, your carrols you rehearse?
How aptly scan the measure of your verse?
A wit so barren with a beard so long!—
Attend to tuneful Lytierses' song.

O fruitful Ceres, bless with corn the field;
May the full ears a plenteous harvest yield!

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Bind, reapers, bind your sheaves, lest strangers say,
“Ah, lazy drones! their hire is thrown away.”

To the fresh north-wind, or the zephyrs rear
Your shocks; those breezes fill the swelling ear.

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Ye threshers, never sleep at noon of day;
For then the light chaff quickly blows away.

Reapers should rise with larks, to earn their hire,
Rest in the heat, and when they roost, retire.

How happy is the fortune of a frog!
He wants no moisture in his watery bog.

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Steward, boil all the pulse; such pinching's mean;
You'll wound your hand by splitting of a bean.

These songs the reapers of the field improve;
But your sad lay, your starveling tale of love,
Which soon will bring you to a crust of bread,
Keep for your mother, as she yawns in bed.

103

IDYLLIUM XI. Cyclops.

ARGUMENT.

This is the last of those Idylliums that are generally allowed to be true pastorals, and is very beautiful. The poet addresses himself to Nicias, a physician of Miletus, and observes, there is no cure for Love but the Muses: he then gives an account of Polyphemus's passion for Galatea, a sea-nymph, the daughter of Nereus and Doris: he describes him sitting upon a rock that overlooked the ocean, and soothing his passion with the charms of poetry.

No remedy the power of Love subdues;
No medicine, dearest Nicias, but the Muse:
This plain prescription gratifies the mind
With sweet complacence—but how hard to find!

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This well you know, who first in physic shine,
And are the lov'd familiar of the Nine.

Thus the fam'd Cyclops, Polypheme, when young,
Calm'd his fond passion with the power of song;
When blooming years imbib'd the soft desire,
And Galatea kindled amorous fire;
He gave no wreaths of roses to the fair,
Nor apples, nor sweet parsley for her hair:
Love did the tenour of his mind controul,
And took the whole possession of his soul.
His flocks untended oft refus'd to feed,
And, for the fold, forsook the grassy mead;
While on the sedgy shore he lay reclin'd,
And sooth'd with song the anguish of his mind.
From morn to night he pin'd,; for Love's keen dart
Had pierc'd the deep recesses of his heart:

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Yet, yet a cure he found—for on a steep,
Rough-pointed rock, that overlook'd the deep,
And with brown horror high-impending hung,
The giant monster sat, and thus he sung:

“Fair nymph, why will you thus my passion slight!
Softer than lambs you seem, than curds more white,
Wanton as calves before the udder'd kine,
Harsh as the unripe fruitage of the vine.
You come when pleasing sleep has clos'd mine eye,
And, like a vision, with my slumbers fly,

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Swift as before the wolf the lambkin bounds,
Panting and trembling, o'er the furrow'd grounds.
Then first I lov'd, and thence I date my flame,
When here to gather hyacinths you came:
My mother brought you—'twas a fatal day;
And I, alas! unwary led the way:
E'er since my tortur'd mind has known no rest;
Peace is become a stranger to my breast:
Yet you nor pity, nor relieve my pain—
Yes, yes I know the cause of your disdain;
For, stretcht from ear to ear with shagged grace,
My single brow adds horror to my face;

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My single eye enormous lids enclose,
And o'er my blubber'd lips projects my nose.
Yet, homely as I am, large flocks I keep,
And drain the udders of a thousand sheep;
My pails with milk, my shelves with cheese they fill,
In summer scorching, and in winter chill.
The vocal pipe I tune with pleasing glee,
No other Cyclops can compare with me:
Your charms I sing, sweet apple of delight!
Myself and you I sing the live-long night.
For you ten fawns, with collars deck'd, I feed,
And four young bears for your diversion breed:

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Come, live with me; all these you may command,
And change your azure ocean for the land:
More pleasing slumbers will my cave bestow,
There spiry Cypress and green laurels grow;
There round my trees the sable ivy twines,
And grapes, as sweet as honey, load my vines:
From grove-crown'd Ætna, rob'd in purest snow,
Cool springs roll nectar to the swains below.

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Say, who would quit such peaceful scenes as these
For blustering billows, and tempestuous seas?
Though my rough form's no object of desire,
My oaks supply me with abundant fire;
My hearth unceasing blazes—though I swear
By this one eye, to me for ever dear,
Well might that fire to warm my breast suffice,
That kindled at the lightning of your eyes.
Had I, like fish, with fins and gills been made,
Then might I in your element have play'd,
With ease have div'd beneath your azure tide,
And kiss'd your hand, though you your lips deny'd?
Brought lilies fair, or poppies red that grow
In summer's solstice, or in winter's snow;
These flowers I could not both together bear
That bloom in different seasons of the year.
Well, I'm resolv'd, fair nymph, I'll learn to dive,
If e'er a sailor at this port arrive,
Then shall I surely by experience know
What pleasures charm you in the deeps below.
Emerge, O Galatea! from the sea,
And here forget your native home like me.

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O would you feed my flock, and milk my ewes,
And ere you press my cheese the runnet sharp infuse!
My mother is my only foe I fear;
She never whispers soft things in your ear,
Although she knows my grief, and every day
Sees how I languish, pine and waste away.
I, to alarm her, will aloud complain,
And more disorders than I suffer feign,
Say my head akes, sharp pains my limbs oppress,
That she may feel, and pity my distress.
Ah, Cyclops, Cyclops, where's your reason fled!—
If with the leafy spray your lambs you fed,
Or, ev'n wove baskets, you would seem more wise;
Milk the first cow, pursue not her that flies:

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You'll soon, since Galatea proves unkind,
A sweeter, fairer Galatea find.
Me gamesome girls to sport and toy invite,
And meet my kind compliance with delight:
Sure I may draw this fair conclusion hence,
Here I'm a man of no small consequence.”

Thus Cyclops learn'd Love's torments to endure,
And calm'd that passion which he could not cure.
More sweetly far with song he sooth'd his heart,
Than if his gold had brib'd the doctor's art.

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IDYLLIUM XII. Aites.

ARGUMENT.

This piece is in the Ionic dialect, and supposed not to have been written by Theocritus. The word Aites is variously interpreted, being taken for a person beloved, a companion, a man of probity, a cohabitant, and fellow-citizen: see the argument. The amoroso addresses his friend, and wishes an union of their souls, a perpetual friendship, and that, after death, posterity may celebrate the affection and harmony that subsisted between them. He then praises the Megarensians for the divine honours they paid to Diocles, who lost his life in the defence of his friend.

Say, are you come? but first three days are told;
Dear friend, true lovers in one day grow old.
As vernal gales exceed the wintry blast,
As plums by sweeter apples are surpast.

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As in the woolly fleece the tender lambs
Produce not half the tribute of their dams;
As blooming maidens raise more pleasing flames
Than dull, indifferent, thrice-married dames;
As fawns outleap young calves; as philomel
Does all her rivals in the grove excel;
So me your presence cheers; eager I run,
As swains seek umbrage from the burning sun.
O may we still to nobler love aspire,
And every day improve the concord higher!
So shall we reap renown from loving well,
And future poets thus our story tell:
‘Two youths late liv'd in friendship's chain combin'd,
‘One was benevolent, the other kind;

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‘Such as once flourish'd in the days of old,
‘Saturnian days, and stampt the age with gold.’
O grant this privilege, almighty Jove!
That we, exempt from age and woe, may rove
In the blest regions of eternal day;
And when six thousand years have roll'd away,
Some welcome shade may this glad message bear,
Ev'n in Elysium would such tidings cheer,
‘Your friendship and your love by every tongue
‘Are prais'd and honour'd—chiefly by the young!’
But this I leave to Jove's all-ruling care;
If right he'll grant, if wrong reject my prayer.
Mean-time my song shall celebrate your praise,
Nor shall the honest truth a blister raise:
And though keen sarcasms your sharp words impart,
I find them not the language of your heart;

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You give me pleasure double to my pain,
And thus my loss is recompenc'd with gain.

Ye Megarensians, fam'd for well-tim'd oars,
May bliss attend you still on Attic shores!
To strangers kind, your deeds themselves commend,
To Diocles the lover and the friend:
For at his tomb each spring the boys contest
In amorous battles who succeeds the best;
And he who master of the field is found,
Returns with honorary garlands crown'd.
Blest who decides the merits of the day!
Blest, next to him, who bears the prize away!
Sure he must make to Ganymede his vow,
That he sweet lips of magic would bestow,
With such resistless charms and virtues fraught,
As that fam'd stone from Lydia's confines brought,
By whose bare touch an artist can explore
The baser metal from the purer ore.

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IDYLLIUM XIII. Hylas.

ARGUMENT.

If the severity of critics will not allow this piece the title of a pastoral, yet as the actions of gods and heroes used to be sung by the antient herdsmen, we may venture to affirm that our author intended it as such. It contains a relation of the rape of Hylas by the Nymphs, when he went to fetch water for Hercules, and the wandering of that hero, and his extreme grief for the loss of him.

Love, gentle Nicias, of celestial kind,
For us alone sure never was design'd;
Nor do the charms of beauty only sway
Our mortal breasts, the beings of a day:

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Amphitryon's son was taught his power to feel,
Though arm'd with iron breast, and heart of steel,
Who slew the lion fell, lov'd Hylas fair,
Young Hylas graceful with his curling hair.
And, as a son by some wise parent taught,
The love of virtue in his breast he wrought,
By precept and example was his guide,
A faithful friend, for ever at his side;
Whether the morn return'd from Jove's high hall
On snow-white steeds, or noontide mark'd the wall,

118

Or night the plaintive chickens warn'd to rest,
When careful mothers brood, and flutter o'er the nest:
That, fully form'd and finish'd to his plan,
Time soon might lead him to a perfect man.
But when bold Jason, with the sons of Greece,
Sail'd the salt seas to gain the golden fleece,
The valiant chiefs from every city came,
Renown'd for virtue, or heroic fame,
With these assembled, for the host's relief,
Alcmena's son, the toil-enduring chief.
Firm Argo bore him cross the yielding tide
With his lov'd friend, young Hylas, at his side;
Between Cyane's rocky isles she past,
Now safely fix'd on firm foundations fast,

119

Thence as an eagle swift, with prosperous gales
She flew, and in deep Phasis furl'd her sails.

When first the pleasing Pleiades appear,
And grass-green meads pronounc'd the summer near,
Of chiefs a valiant band, the flower of Greece,
Had plann'd the emprise of the golden fleece,
In Argo lodg'd they spread their swelling sails,
And soon past Hellespont with southern gales,
And smooth Propontis, where the land appears
Turn'd in straight furrows by Cyanean steers.
With eve they land; some on the greensward spread
Their hasty meal; some raise the spacious bed
With plants and shrubs that in the meadows grow,
Sweet flowering rushes, and cyperus low.

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In brazen vase fair Hylas went to bring
Fresh fountain-water from the crystal spring
For Hercules, and Telamon his guest;
One board they spread, associates at the feast:
Fast by, in lowly dale, a well he found
Beset with plants, and various herbage round,
Cerulean celandine, bright maiden-hair,
And parsley green, and bindweed flourish'd there.
Deep in the flood the dance fair Naids led,
And kept strict vigils, to the rustic's dread,
Eunica, Malis form'd the festive ring,
And fair Nychéa, blooming as the spring:
When to the stream the hapless youth apply'd
His vase capacious to receive the tide,
The Naids seiz'd his hand with frantic joy,
All were enamour'd of the Grecian boy;

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He fell, he sunk; as from th'etherial plain
A flaming star falls headlong on the main;
The boatswain cries aloud, ‘Unfurl your sails,
And spread the canvass to the rising gales.’
In vain the Naids sooth'd the weeping boy,
And strove to lull him in their laps to joy.
But care and grief had mark'd Alcides' brow,
Fierce, as a Scythian chief, he grasp'd his bow,

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And his rough club, which well he could command,
The pride and terror of his red right hand:
On Hylas thrice he call'd with voice profound,
Thrice Hylas heard the unavailing sound;
From the deep well soft murmurs touch'd his ear,
The sound seem'd distant, though the voice was near.
As when the hungry lion hears a fawn
Distressful bleat on some far-distant lawn,
Fierce from his covert bolts the savage beast,
And speeds to riot on the ready feast.
Thus, anxious for the boy, Alcides takes
His weary way through woods and pathless brakes;

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Ah wretched they that pine away for love!
O'er hills he rang'd and many a devious grove.
The bold adventurers blam'd the hero's stay,
While long equipt the ready vessel lay;
With anxious hearts they spread their sails by night,
And wish'd his presence with the morning light:
But he with frantic speed regardless stray'd,
Love pierc'd his heart, and all the hero sway'd.
Thus Hylas, honour'd with Alcides' love,
Is number'd with the deities above,
While to Amphitryon's son the heroes give
This shameful term, ‘The Argo's fugitive:’
But soon on foot the chief to Colchos came,
With deeds heroic to redeem his fame.

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IDYLLIUM XIV. Cynisca's Love.

ARGUMENT.

Æschines being in love with Cynisca is despised by her, she having placed her affections on Lycus. Æschines accidentally meets with his friend Thyonichus, whom he had not seen of a long time, and tells him his lamentable tale, and that he is determined to turn soldier. Thyonichus advises him to enter into the service of Ptolemy Philadelphus, on whom he bestows a short but very noble encomium.

Æschines and Thyonichus
ÆSCHINES.
All health to good Thyonichus, my friend.

THYONICHUS.
May the same blessing Æschines attend.

ÆSCHINES.
I see you seldom.—

Thy.
Well, what ails you now?

ÆSCHINES.
All is not well with me.—

Thy.

You therefore grow

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So much a sloven, so exceeding thin,
Your hair untrimm'd, your beard deforms your chin.
A poor Pythag'rist late I chanc'd to meet,
Pale-fac'd, like you, and naked were his feet;
He came from learned Athens, as he said,
And was in love too—with a loaf of bread.

ÆSCHINES.
You jest; but proud Cynisca makes me sad;
Nay, I'm within a hair-breadth raving mad.

THYONICHUS.
Such is your temper, so perverse you grow,
You hope all smooth: but what affects you now?

ÆSCHINES.
I and Cleunicus and the Greek agreed,
With Apis, skill'd Thessalian colts to breed,
In my green court, with wine to chear our souls:
A sucking pig I dress'd, and brace of fowls:

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And fragrant wine produc'd, four summers old,
Phœnicia's generous wine that makes us bold:
Onions and shell-fish last the table crown'd,
And gayly went the cheering cup around;
Then healths were drank, and each oblig'd to name
The lovely mistress that inspir'd his flame.
Cynisca (she was by) then charm'd my soul,
And to her health I drain'd the foaming bowl:
She pledg'd me not, nor deign'd a kind reply:
Think how my rage, inflam'd with wine, ran high.
‘What are you mute?’ I said—a waggish guest,
“Perhaps she's seen a Wolf,” rejoin'd in jest:
At this her cheeks to scarlet turn'd apace;
Sure you might light a candle at her face.

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Now Wolf is Laba's son, whom most men call
A comely spark, is handsome, young and tall.
For him she sigh'd; and this by chance I heard;
Yet took no note, and vainly nurst my beard.
We four, now warm, and mellow with the wine,
Arch Apis, with a mischievous design,
Nam'd Wolf, and sung encomiums of the boy,
Which made Cynisca fairly weep for joy,
Like a fond girl, whom love maternal warms,
That longs to wanton in her mother's arms.
I swell'd with rage, and, in revengeful pique,
My hand discharg'd my passion on her cheek:
“Since thee, I cry'd, my love no more endears,
“Go court some other with those tender tears.”
She rose, and, gathering in a knot her vest,
Flew swiftly; as the swallow from her nest,
Beneath the tiling skims in quest of food,
To still the clamours of her craving brood.

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Thus from her downy couch in eager hast,
Through the first door, and through the gate she past,
Where-e'er her feet, where-e'er her fancy led;
The proverb says, ‘The bull to wood is fled.’
Now twenty days are past, ten, nine, and eight,
Two and eleven add—two months compleat,
Since last we met, and like the boors of Thrace,
In all that time I never trimm'd my face.
Wolf now enjoys her, is her sole delight;
She, when he calls, unbars the door at night:

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While I, alas! on no occasion priz'd,
Like the forlorn Megareans am despis'd.
Oh could I from these wild desires refrain,
And love her less, all would be well again!
Now like a mouse insnar'd on pitch I move;
Nor know I any remedy for Love.
Yet in Love's flames our neighbour Simus burn'd,
Sought ease by travel, and when cur'd return'd;
I'll sail, turn soldier, and though not the first
In fighting fields, I would not prove the worst.

THYONICHUS.
May all that's good, whate'er you wish, attend
On Æschines, my favourite and friend.
If you're resolved, and sailing is your plan,
Serve Ptolemy, he loves a worthy man.

ÆSCHINES.
What is his character?

Thy.

a royal spirit,
To point out genius, and encourage merit:

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The poet's friend, humane, and good, and kind;
Of manners gentle, and of generous mind.
He marks his friend, but more he marks his foe;
His hand is ever ready to bestow:
Request with reason, and he'll grant the thing,
And what he gives, he gives it like a king.
Go then, and buckle to your manly breast
The brazen corslet, and the warrior vest;
Go brave and bold, to friendly Ægypt go,
Meet in the tented field the rushing foe.

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Age soon will come, with envious hand to shed
The snow of winter on the hoary head,
Will sap the man, and all his vigor drain—
'Tis ours to act while youth and strength remain.

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IDYLLIUM XV. The Syracusian Gossips.

ARGUMENT.

Two Syracusian women, who had travelled to Alexandria, go to see the solemnity of Adonis's festival, which had been prepared by Arsinoe, the queen of Ptolemy Philadelphus: the humours of these gossips are naturally described. Theocritus, to gratify the queen, introduces a Grecian singing-girl, who rehearses the magnificence of the pomp which Arsinoe had provided.

Gorgo, Eunoe, Praxinoe, Old-woman, and Stranger.
GORGO.
Pray, is Praxinoe at home?

EUNOE.
Dear Gorgo, yes—how late you come!

PRAXINOE.

Well! is it you? Maid, bring a chair
And cushion.

Gor.
Thank you.

Prax.
Pray sit there.

GORGO.

Lord bless me! what a bustling throng!
I scarce could get alive along:

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In chariots such a heap of folks!
And men in arms, and men in cloaks—
Besides I live so distant hence
The journey really is immense.

PRAXINOE.

My husband, heav'n his senses mend!
Here will inhabit the world's end,
This horrid house, or rather den;
More fit for savages than men.
This scheme with envious aim he labours,
Only to separate good neighbours—
My plague eternal!

GORGO.

Softly, pray,
The child attends to all you say;
Name not your husband when he's by—
Observe how earnest is his eye!—

PRAXINOE.
Sweet Zopy! there's a bonny lad,
Cheer up! I did not mean your dad.

GORGO.
'Tis a good dad.—I'll take an oath,
The urchin understands us both.

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PRAXINOE.
(Let's talk as if some time ago,
And then we shall be safe, you know)
This person happen'd once to stop
To purchase nitre at a shop,
And what d' ye think? the silly creature
Bought salt, and took it for salt-petre.

GORGO.
My husband's such another honey,
And thus, as idly, spends his money;
Five fleeces for seven drachms he bought,
Coarse as dog's hair, not worth a groat.
But take your cloak, and garment grac'd
With clasps, that lightly binds your waste;
Adonis' festival invites,
And Ptolemy's gay court delights:
Besides our matchless queen, they say,
Exhibits some grand sight to-day.

PRAXINOE.
No wonder—every body knows
Great folks can always make fine shows:

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But tell me what you went to see,
And what you heard—'tis new to me.

GORGO.
The feast now calls us hence away,
And we shall oft keep holiday.

PRAXINOE.
Maid! water quickly—set it down—
Lord! how indelicate you're grown!
Disperse these cats that love their ease—
But first the water, if you please—
Quick! how she creeps; pour, hussey, pour;
You've spoil'd my gown—so, so—no more.
Well, now I'm wash'd—ye Gods be blest!—
Here—bring the key of my large chest.

GORGO.
This robe becomes you mighty well;
What might it cost you? can you tell?

PRAXINOE.
Three pounds, or more; I'd not have done it,
But that I'd set my heart upon it.

GORGO.
'Tis wonderous cheap.

Prax.

You think so?—maid,
Fetch my umbrella, and my shade;
So, put it on—fye, Zopy, fye!
Stay within doors, and don't you cry:

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The horse will kick you in the dirt—
Roar as you please, you shan't get hurt.
Pray, maid, divert him—come, 'tis late:
Call in the dog, and shut the gate.

Lord! here's a bustle and a throng—
How shall we ever get along!
Such numbers cover all the way,
Like emmets on a summer's day.

O Ptolemy, thy fame exceeds
Thy godlike sire's in noble deeds!
No robber now with Pharian wiles
The stranger of his purse beguiles;
No ruffians now infest the street,
And stab the passengers they meet.

What shall we do? lo here advance
The king's war-horses—how they prance!
Don't tread upon me, honest friend—
Lord, how that mad horse rears an end!
He'll throw his rider down, I fear—
I'm glad I left the child, my dear.

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GORGO.
Don't be afraid; the danger's o'er;
The horses, see! are gone before.

PRAXINOE.
I'm better now, but always quake
Whene'er I see a horse or snake;
They rear, and look so fierce and wild—
I own, I've loath'd them from a child.
Walk quicker—what a crowd is this!

GORGO.
Pray, come you from the palace?

Old-woman.
Yes.

GORGO.
Can we get in, d'ye think?

Old-wo.
Make trial—
The steady never take denial;
The steady Greeks old Ilium won:
By trial, all things may be done.

GORGO.
Gone, like a riddle, in the dark;
These crones, if we their tales remark,
Know better far than I or you know
How Jupiter was join'd to Juno.

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Lo! at the gate, what crowds are there!

PRAXINOE.
Immense, indeed! Your hand, my dear:
And let the maids join hands, and close us,
Lest in the bustle they should lose us.
Let's crowd together through the door—
Heav'ns bless me! how my gown is tore!
By Jove, but this is past a joke—
Pray, good sir, don't you rend my cloak.

MAN.
I can't avoid it; I'm so prest.

PRAXINOE.
Like pigs they justle, I protest.

MAN.
Cheer up, for now we're safe and sound.

PRAXINOE.
May you in happiness abound;
For you have serv'd us all you can—
Gorgo!—a mighty civil man—
See how the folks poor Eunoe justle!
Push through the crowd, girl!—bustle, bustle—
Now we're all in; as Dromo said,
When he had got his bride in bed.

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GORGO.
Lo! what rich hangings grace the rooms—
Sure they were wove in heavenly looms.

PRAXINOE.
Gracious! how delicately fine
The work! how noble the design!
How true, how happy is the draught!
The figures seem inform'd with thought—
No artists sure the story wove;
They're real men—they live, they move.
From these amazing works we find,
How great, how wise the human mind.
Lo! stretch'd upon a silver bed,
(Scarce has the down his cheeks o'erspread)

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Adonis lies; O, charming show!
Lov'd by the sable Pow'rs below.

STRANGER.
Hist! your Sicilian prate forbear;
Your mouths extend from ear to ear,
Like turtles that for ever moan;
You stun us with your rustick tone.

GORGO.
Sure! we may speak! what fellow's this?
And do you take it, sir, amiss?
Go, keep Ægyptian slaves in awe:
Think not to give Sicilians law:
Besides, we're of Corinthian mould,
As was Bellerophon of old:
Our language is entirely Greek—
The Dorians may the Doric speak.

PRAXINOE.
O sweet Proserpina, sure none
Presumes to give us law but one!
To us there is no fear you shou'd
Do harm, who cannot do us good.

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GORGO.
Hark! the Greek girl's about to raise
Her voice in fair Adonis' praise;
She's a sweet pipe for funeral airs:
She's just beginning, she prepares:
She'll Sperchis, and the world excell,
That by her prelude you may tell.

The Greek Girl sings.

“O chief of Golgos, and the Idalian grove,
And breezy Eryx, beauteous queen of Love!
Once more the soft-foot hours approaching slow,
Restore Adonis from the realms below;
Welcome to man they come with silent pace,
Diffusing benisons to human race.
O Venus, daughter of Dione fair,
You gave to Berenice's lot to share
Immortal joys in heavenly regions blest,
And with divine Ambrosia fill'd her breast.

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And now in due return, O heavenly born!
Whose honour'd name a thousand fanes adorn,
Arsinoe pays the pompous rites divine,
Rival of Helen, at Adonis' shrine;
All fruits she offers that ripe autumn yields,
The produce of the gardens, and the fields;
All herbs and plants which silver baskets hold;
And Syrian unguents flow from shells of gold.
With finest meal sweet paste the women make,
Oil, flowers and honey mingling in the cake:
Earth and the air afford a large supply
Of animals that creep, and birds that fly.

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Green bow'rs are built with dill sweet-smelling crown'd,
And little Cupids hover all around;
And, as young nightingales their wings essay,
Skip here and there, and hop from spray to spray.
What heaps of golden vessels glittering bright!
What stores of ebon black, and ivory white!

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In ivory carv'd large eagles seem to move,
And through the clouds bear Ganymede to Jove.
Lo! purple tapestry arrang'd on high
Charms the spectators with the Tyrian dye,

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The Samian and Milesian swains, who keep
Large flocks, acknowledge 'tis more soft than sleep:
Of this Adonis claims a downy bed,
And lo! another for fair Venus spread!
Her bridegroom scarce attains to nineteen years,
Rosy his lips, and no rough beard appears.
Let raptur'd Venus now enjoy her mate,
While we, descending to the city gate,
Array'd in decent robes that sweep the ground,
With naked bosoms, and with hair unbound,
Bring forth Adonis, slain in youthful years,
Ere Phœbus drinks the morning's early tears.
And while to yonder flood we march along,
With tuneful voices raise the funeral song.

Adonis, you alone of demigods,
Now visit earth, and now hell's dire abodes:
Not fam'd Atrides could this favour boast,
Nor furious Ajax, though himself an host;
Nor Hector, long his mother's grace and joy
Of twenty sons, not Pyrrhus safe from Troy,
Not brave Patroclus of immortal fame,
Nor the fierce Lapithæ, a deathless name;

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Nor sons of Pelops, nor Deucalion's race,
Nor stout Pelasgians, Argos' honour'd grace.

As now, divine Adonis, you appear
Kind to our prayers, O bless the future year!
As now propitious to our vows you prove,
Return with meek benevolence and love.

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GORGO.
O, fam'd for knowledge in mysterious things!
How sweet, Praxinoë, the damsel sings!
Time calls me home to keep my husband kind,
He's prone to anger if he has not din'd.
Farewell, Adonis, lov'd and honour'd boy;
O come, propitious, and augment our joy.

148

IDYLLIUM XVI. The Graces, or Hiero.

ARGUMENT.

This Idyllium is addressed to Hiero, the last tyrant of Sicily. Theocritus having before celebrated this prince, without being recompensed for his trouble, composed this poem, in which he complains of the ingratitude of princes to poets, who can alone render their actions immortal. He observes, that not only the Lycian and Trojan heroes, but even Ulysses himself, would have been buried in oblivion, if their fame had not been celebrated by Homer.

It fits the Muse's tongue, the poet's pen,
To praise th'immortal gods, and famous men:

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The Nine are deities and gods resound,
But bards are men, and sing of men renown'd.
Yet who that lives beneath heaven's cope regards
The incense, or the sacrifice of bards?
Who opens now the hospitable door,
And makes the Muses richer than before?
Barefoot, unpaid, indignant they return,
Reproach my zeal, and unavailing mourn:

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To the dark chest their labours they consign,
And on cold knees the languid head recline;
For none, alas! the race of men among,
Receives the bard, or hears his lofty song;
Men thirst not now for glory, as of old,
But all their passions are confin'd to gold;
To their mean breasts their thrifty hands they join,
And scarce will give the canker of their coin.
Hint at a recompence, they thus begin;
‘Close is my shirt, but closer is my skin:
‘My own I'll keep; and may the gods reward,
‘And crown with honours every living bard.
‘Homer's the prince of poets—sure 'tis sense,
‘To read the noblest works, at no expence.’

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What profit, wretched churls, can gold afford,
Which thus in coffers ye abundant hoard?
The wise a different use for riches know,
And love on men of genius to bestow;
Part on themselves, to others part they spare,
And some their friends, and some their kinsmen share:
To every man their bounty shines display'd,
And yet the offerings of the gods are paid.
With prudent hospitality they spend,
And kindly greeting speed the parting friend.

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But most the Muses' sons these honours claim,
Whose deathless lays immortalize their fame;
Then will they never rove, inglorious shades,
(Like those who living labour'd with their spades)
Along cold Acheron's infernal river,
And mourn hereditary want for ever.
Aleua and Antiochus, we're told,
Reign'd rich, and mighty potentates of old,
And to a thousand slaves, their menial train,
In lots distributed the monthly grain:
In Scopas' fields unnumber'd heifers fed,
And bulls that proudly toss'd the rough-horn'd head:
For good Creondas' use the shepherd-swains
Fed flocks in myriads on Cranonian plains:

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These after death their sweet enjoyments lost,
When in hell's spacious barge their ghosts had crost
Th'infernal river, and unhonour'd all,
To other heirs their vast possessions fall;
And these among the miserable train
Had long in darkness and oblivion lain,
Had not the Céan muse extoll'd their name,
Awak'd his sounding lyre, and giv'n them deathless fame.
Verse crowns the race-horse with fair honour's meed,
That in the field has signaliz'd his speed.
Who had the Lycian chiefs, and Trojan known,
Or Cycnus, delicate with milk white crown,

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Had not the bard delighted to rehearse
Their bold achievements in heroic verse?
Ulysses ne'er had endless glory gain'd,
Though for ten tedious summers he sustain'd
Unnumber'd toils, while he observant stray'd
From clime to clime, and men and states survey'd;
Ev'n though he scap'd the Cyclops' gloomy cell,
And quick descended to the realms of hell:
Philœtius and Eumæus with the dead
Had lain as nameless as the beasts they fed;
And brave Laertes with his parting breath
Had dy'd, but Homer snatch'd their names from death.

All human fame is by the Muses spread,
And heirs consume the riches of the dead.

155

Yet 'tis an easier task, when tempests roar,
To count the waves that ceaseless lash the shore,
'Tis easier far to bleach the Ethiop foul,
Than turn the tenor of the miser's soul.
Curse on the wretch, that thus augments his store!
And much possessing, may he wish for more!
I still prefer fair fame, with better sense,
And, more than riches, men's benevolence.
And yet, alas! what guardian shall I chuse,
What princely chief to patronize my muse?
In perilous paths the race of poets rove,
Dubious their fate, without the aid of Jove.
But still the sun rolls glorious in the skies;
And future victors in the race will rise:
The chief will rise, who shall my numbers claim
Equal to great Æacides in fame,

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Equal to Ajax on the Phrygian plains,
Where Ilus' tomb near Simois' streams remains.
The bold Phœnicians, sons of Libya far,
Shrink at the rumour of approaching war:
For lo! their spears the Syracusians wield,
And bend the pliant sallow to a shield:
These Hiero leads, superior to the rest,
And on his helmet nods the horse-hair crest.

157

O Jupiter, and thou Minerva chaste,
And Proserpine, to our protection haste,
With Ceres thou delightest to partake
Those fair built walls by Lysimelia's lake;
Oh, may the fates, in pity to our woes,
On the Sardonian main disperse our foes!
And let the few that reach their country tell
Their wives and children how their fathers fell!
And let the natives dwell in peace and rest
In all the cities which the foes possest!

161

IDYLLIUM XVII. Ptolemy.

ARGUMENT.

Theocritus rises above his pastoral stile when he celebrates the praises of Ptolemy Philadelphus, the son of Ptolemy Lagus and Berenice: he derives his race from Hercules; enumerates his many cities; describes his immense treasures, and though he extols him for his military preparations, he commends his love of peace: but above all he commemorates his royal munificence to the sons of the Muses.

With Jove begin, ye nine, and end with Jove,
Whene'er ye praise the greatest God above:

162

But if of noblest men the song ye cast,
Let Ptolemy be first, and midst, and last.
Heroes of old, from demigods that sprung,
Chose lofty poets who their actions sung:
Well skill'd, I tune to Ptolemy my reed;
Hymns are of gods above the honour'd meed.
To Ida, when the woodman winds his way,
Where verdant pines their towering tops display,
Doubtful he stands, with undetermin'd look,
Where first to deal the meditated stroke:
And where shall I commence? new themes arise,
Deeds that exalt his glory to the skies.
If from his fathers we commence the plan,
Lagus, how great, how excellent a man!

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Who to no earthly potentate would yield
For wisdom at the board, or valour in the field:
Him with the gods Jove equals, and has given
A golden palace in the realms of heaven:
Near him sits Alexander, wise and great,
The fell destroyer of the Persian state.
Against them, thron'd in adamant, in view
Alcides, who the Cretan monster slew,
Reclines, and, as with Gods the feast he shares,
Glories to meet his own descendant heirs,
From age and pain's impediments repriev'd,
And in the rank of deities receiv'd.

164

For in his line are both these heroes class'd,
And both deriv'd from Hercules the last.
Thence, when the nectar'd bowl his love inspires,
And to the blooming Hebe he retires,
To this his bow and quiver he allots,
To that his iron club, distinct with knots;
Thus Jove's great son is by his offspring led
To silver-footed Hebe's rosy bed.

How Berenice shone! her parents pride;
Virtue her aim, and wisdom was her guide:
Sure Venus with light touch her bosom prest,
Infusing in her soft ambrosial breast
Pure, constant love: hence faithful records tell,
No monarch ever lov'd his queen so well;
No queen with such undying passion burn'd,
For more than equal fondness she return'd.
Whene'er to love the chief his mind unbends,
To his son's care the kingdom he commends.
Unfaithful wives, dissatisfied at home,
Let their wild thoughts on joys forbidden roam:

165

Their births are known, yet, of a numerous race,
None shows the features of the father's face.
Venus, than all the goddesses more fair,
The lovely Berenice was thy care;
To thee 'twas owing, gentle, kind and good,
She past not Acheron's woe-working flood.
Thou caught'st her e'er she went where spectres dwell,
Or Charon, the grim ferryman of hell;
And in thy temple plac'd the royal fair,
Thine own high honour's priviledge to share.
Thence gentle love in mortals she inspires,
And soft solicitudes, and sweet desires.
The fair Deïpyle to Tydeus bare
Stern Diomed, the thunderbolt of war:
And Thetis, goddess of the azure wave,
To Peleus brought Achilles, bold and brave:

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But Berenice nobler praise hath won,
Who bore great Ptolemy as great a son:
And sea-girt Cos receiv'd thee soon as born,
When first thine eyes beheld the radiant morn.
For there thy mother to Lucina pray'd,
Who sends, to those that suffer child-bed, aid.
She came, and friendly to the genial bed,
A placid, sweet tranquillity she shed
O'er all her limbs; and thus serene and mild,
Like his lov'd sire, was born the lovely child.
Cos saw, and fondling in her arms the boy,
Thus spoke, transported, with the voice of joy;
“Quick rise to light, auspicious babe be born!
“And me with equal dignity adorn

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“As Phœbus Delos:—on fam'd Triops' brow,
“And on the neighbouring Dorian race bestow
“Just honours, and as favourably smile,
“As the god views with joy Rhenæa's fertile isle.”
The island spoke; and thrice the bird of Jove
His pinions clang'd, resounding from above;
Jove's omen thunder'd from his eagle's wings;
Jove loves and honours venerable kings.
But whom in infancy his care befriends,
Him power, and wealth, and happiness attends:
He rules belov'd unbounded tracts of land,
And various oceans roll at his command.

168

Unnumber'd nations view their happy plains,
Fresh fertiliz'd by Jove's prolific rains:
But none, like Egypt, can such plenty boast,
When genial Nile o'erflows the humid coast:

169

No realm for numerous cities thus renown'd,
Where arts and fam'd artificers abound:
Three times ten thousand towery towns obey
Illustrious Ptolemy's pacific sway.
He o'er Phœnicia, Syria, Libya reigns,
Arabian deserts, Ethiopian plains,
Pamphylians, and Cilicians bold in war,
And Carians brave, and Lycians fam'd afar;
The distant Cyclades confess his reign,
Whose fleets assert the empire of the main;

170

So far his ships their conquering flags display,
Him seas, and lands, and sounding floods obey.
Horsemen and spearmen guard the monarch round,
Their arms resplendent send a brazen sound;
Such tributes daily aggrandize his store,
No king e'er own'd such boundless wealth before.
His peaceful subjects ply at ease their toil,
No foes invade the fertile banks of Nile,

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Nor pitch their camps along the peaceful plains
With war to terrify the village swains:
No pirates haunt the shore in quest of prey,
Nor bear by stealth the lowing herds away;
For graceful Ptolemy renown'd in arms,
Guards his extended plains from hostile harms.
Like a wise king, the conquests of his sire
He knows to keep, and new ones to acquire.
And yet he hoards not up his useless store,
Like ants still labouring, still amassing more;
The holy shrines and temples are his care,
For they the first-fruits of his favour share:

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To mighty kings his bounties he extends,
To states confederate, and illustrious friends.
No bard at Bacchus' festival appears,
Whose lyre has power to charm the ravish'd ears,
But he bright honours and rewards imparts,
Due to his merits, equal to his arts:
And poets hence, for deathless song renown'd,
The generous fame of Ptolemy resound.
At what more glorious can the wealthy aim,
Than thus to purchase fair and lasting fame?
The great Atridæ this alone enjoy,
While all the wealth and spoil of plunder'd Troy,
That scap'd the raging flame, or whelming wave,
Lies buried in oblivion's greedy grave.
Close trode great Ptolemy, at virtue's call,
His father's footsteps, but surpast them all.

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He rear'd the fragrant temple, and the shrine,
And to his parents offer'd rites divine;
Whose forms in gold and ivory are design'd,
And worship'd as the guardians of mankind.
There oft as circling moons divide the year,
On the red altar bleeds the fatten'd steer;
His hands the thighs for holy flames divide,
Fair blooms the lov'd Arsinoë at his side;
Than whom no nobler queen of mortal race,
A greater prince detains in fond embrace;
And, as kind nature the soft tye approves,
Dearly the brother and the husband loves.
Such are the nuptials in the blest abodes,
And such the union of immortal gods:
Iris, who still retains her virgin bloom,
Whose radiant fingers breathe divine perfume,
For Jove prepares the bed, where at his side
Fair Juno sleeps, his sister and his bride.

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Hail, noble Ptolemy! illustrious king!
Thee peer to mighty demigods I'll sing;
And future ages shall the verse approve:
Hail! and fair virtue only ask of Jove.

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IDYLLIUM XVIII. The Epithalamium of Helen.

ARGUMENT.

Twelve Spartan virgins of the first rank are here introduced singing this song at the nuptials of Helen, before the bride-chamber: first they are jocular; then they congratulate Menelaus on his being preferred to so many rival princes, and made the son-in-law of Jupiter: they celebrate the beauty of Helen, and conclude with wishing the married couple prosperity.

When Sparta's monarch, Menelaus, led
The beauteous Helen to his bridal bed,
Twelve noble virgins, blooming, young and fair,
With hyacinthine wreaths adorn'd their hair,

176

And, pleas'd the vocal benison to shower,
To the soft cithern danc'd before the bower;
As bounding light in circling steps they move,
Their feet beat time, and every heart beat love:
This was the nuptial song—‘Why, happy groom,
Steal you thus early to the genial room?
Has sleep or wine your manly limbs opprest,
That thus, thus soon you seek the bed of rest?
If drowzy slumbers lull you to a drone,
Go take refreshing sleep, but sleep alone;
Leave Helen with her maiden mates, to play
At harmless pastimes till the dawn of day:
This night, we claim, then yield her yours for life,
From morn to night, from year to year, your wife.
Hail happy prince! whom Venus wafted o'er,
With prosperous omens, to the Spartan shore;
To bless her bed, from all the princely crowd,
Fair Helen chose you—Cupid sneez'd aloud.

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Of all our demigods 'tis you aspire,
Alone, to call Saturnian Jove your fire:
Jove's daughter now your warm embraces meets,
The pride of Greece, between two lily sheets.
Sure will the offspring, from that soft caress,
The mother's charms in miniature express.
Thrice eighty virgins of the Spartan race,
Her equals we in years, but not in face,
Our limbs diffusing with ambrosial oil,
Were wont on smooth Eurota's banks to toil
In manly sports; and though each nymph was fair,
None could with her in beauty's charms compare:
When Winter thus in night no longer lours,
And Spring is usher'd by the blooming Hours,

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The rising morning, with her radiant eyes,
Salutes the world, and brightens all the skies.
So shines fair Helen, by the Graces drest,
In face, shape, size superior to the rest:
As corn the fields, as pines the garden grace,
As steeds of Thessaly the chariot-race;
So Helen's beauties bright encomiums claim,
And beam forth honour on the Spartan name.
What nymph can rival Helen at the loom,
And make fair art, like living nature bloom?
The blended tints, in sweet proportion join'd,
Express the soft ideas of her mind.
What nymph, like her, of all the tuneful quire,
Can raise the voice, or animate the lyre?
Whether of Pallas, great in arms, she sings,
Or Dian bathing in the silver springs.

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A thousand little Loves in ambush lie,
And shoot their arrows from her beaming eye.
O lovely Helen, whom all hearts adore,
A matron now you rise, a maid no more!
Yet ere another sun shall gild the morn,
We'll gather flowers, your temples to adorn,
Ambrosial flowers, as o'er the meads we stray,
And frequent sigh that Helen is away;
Mindful of Helen still, as unwean'd lambs
Rove round the pastures, bleating for their dams;
Fair flowers of lote we'll cull, that sweetly breathe,
And on yon spreading plane suspend the wreath.

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But first from silver shells shall unguents flow,
Bedew the spreading plane, and all the flowers below:
And on the rind we'll write, that all may see,
“Here pay your honours, I am Helen's tree.”
Joy to the bride, and to the bridegroom joy,
And may Latona bless you with a boy!
May Venus furnish both with equal love!
And lasting riches be the gift of Jove!
May these descend, and by possession grow,
From sire to son, augmenting as they flow!

Now sweetly slumber, mutual love inspire,
And gratify the fulness of desire:

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Rise with the blushing morning, nor forget
The due of Venus, and discharge the debt:
And, ere the day's loud herald has begun
To speak his early prologue to the sun,
Again we'll greet your joys with cheerful voice,
O Hymen, Hymen, at this match rejoice!

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IDYLLIUM XIX. The Honey-stealer.

ARGUMENT.

As Cupid is stealing honey from a bee-hive, he is stung by a bee; on which he runs and complains to his mother, that so small an animal should inflict so great a wound; she immediately answers, that he himself is but little like a bee, yet the wounds he gives are grievous.

As Cupid, the slyest young wanton alive,
Of its hoard of sweet honey was robbing a hive,

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The sentinel bee buzz'd with anger and grief,
And darted his sting in the hand of the thief.
He sobb'd, blew his fingers, stamp'd hard on the ground,
And leaping in anguish show'd Venus the wound;
Then began in a sorrowful tone to complain,
That an insect so little should cause so great pain.
Venus smiling, her son in such taking to see,
Said, “Cupid, you put me in mind of a bee;
“You're just such a busy, diminutive thing,
“Yet you make woeful wounds with a desperate sting.”

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IDYLLIUM XXI. The Fishermen.

ARGUMENT.

This piece is a dialogue between two fishermen, which for its singular simplicity of sentiment, as well as character, is peculiarly beautiful and regular: one of them relates his dream, which was, that he had caught a large fish of solid gold, on which he resolves to follow his laborious occupation no longer, but live luxuriously: in the morning his fish and his hopes vanish, and necessity compels him to return to his accustomed labours. This Idyllium admonishes every one to rest content with his lot; and under the shadow of a golden dream, beautifully displays the vanity of all human hopes and desires.

Need, Diophantus, ready with imparts,
Is Labour's mistress, and the nurse of Arts:

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Corroding cares the toiling wretch infest,
And spoil the peaceful tenor of his breast;
And if soft slumbers on his eye-lids creep,
Some cursed care steals in, and murders sleep.

Two antient fishers in a straw-thatcht shed,
Leaves were their walls, and sea-weed was their bed,
Reclin'd their weary limbs: hard by were laid
Baskets, and all their implements of trade,
Rods, hooks, and lines compos'd of stout horse-hairs,
And nets of various sorts, and various snares,
The seine, the cast-net, and the wicker maze,
To waste the watery tribes a thousand ways:

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A crazy boat was drawn upon a plank;
Matts were their pillow, wove of osiers dank,
Skins, caps and rugged coats a covering made:
This was their wealth, their labour, and their trade.
No pot to boil, no watch-dog to defend;
Yet blest they liv'd, with Penury their friend.
None visited their shed, save, every tide,
The wanton waves that wash'd its tottering side.
When half her course the Moon's bright car had sped,
Joint labour rouz'd the tenants of the shed.
The dews of slumber from their eyes they clear'd,
And thus their minds with pleasing parley cheer'd:

ASPHALION.
I hold, my friend, that trite opinion wrong,
That summer-nights are short, when days are long.
Yes—I have seen a thousand dreams to-night,
And yet no morn appears nor morning-light:
Sure on my mind some strange illusions play,
And make short nights wear heavily away.

FRIEND.
Fair summer-seasons you unjustly blame,
Their bounds are equal, and their pace the same;

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But cares, Asphalion, in a busy throng,
Break on your rest, and make the night seem long.

ASPHALION.
Say, hast thou genius to interpret right
My dream? I've had a jolly one to-night.
Thou shalt go halves, and more thou canst not wish,
We'll share the vision, as we share our fish.
I know thee shrewd, expert of dreams to spell;
He's the best judge, who can conjecture well.
We've leisure time, which can't be better spent
By wretched carles in wave-wash'd cabin pent,
And lodg'd on leaves; yet why should we repine,
While living lights in Prytaneum shine?

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FRIEND.
To thy fast friendeach circumstance recite,
And let me hear this vision of the night.

ASPHALION.
Last evening, weary with the toils of day,
Lull'd in the lap of rest secure I lay;
Full late we sup'd, and sparingly we eat;
No danger of a surfeit from our meat.
Methought I sat upon a shelfy steep,
And watch'd the fish that gambol'd in the deep:
Suspended by my rod, I gently shook
That bait fallacious, which a huge one took;

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(Sleeping we image what awake we wish;
Dogs dream of bones, and fishermen of fish)
Bent was my rod, and from his gills the blood,
With crimson stream, distain'd the silver flood.
I stretcht my arm out, lest the line should break;
The fish so vigorous, and my hook so weak!
Anxious I gaz'd, he struggled to be gone;
‘You're wounded—I'll be with you, friend, anon’—
‘Still do you teize me?’ for he plagu'd me sore;
At last, quite spent, I drew him safe on shore,
Then graspt him with my hand, for surer hold,
A noble prize, a fish of solid gold!
But fears suspicious in my bosom throng'd,
Lest to the god of ocean he belong'd;
Or, haply wandering in the azure main,
Some favourite fish of Amphitrite's train.
My prize I loos'd, and strictest caution took,
For fear some gold might stick about the hook;
Then safe secur'd him, and devoutly swore,
Never to venture on the ocean more;

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But live on land as happy as a king:
At this I wak'd: what think you of the thing?
Speak free, for know, I am extremely loth,
And greatly fear, to violate my oath.

FRIEND.
Fear not, old friend; you took no oath, for why?
You took no fish—your vision's all a lye.
Go search the shoals, not sleeping, but awake,
Hunger will soon discover your mistake;
Catch real fish; you need not, sure, be told,
Those fools must starve who only dream of gold.

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IDYLLIUM XXII. Castor and Pollux.

ARGUMENT.

This is a hymn, after the manner of the ancient Arcadians, in praise of Castor and Pollux. The first part describes the combat between Pollux and Amycus, the son of Neptune and king of the Bebrycians, who, valuing himself on his superiority in strength and the art of boxing, used to compel every stranger, that touched upon his coast, to take up the cæstus, and make trial of his skill in the management of that rude instrument of death; for so it proved to many, till Pollux, who arrived there with the Argonauts, encountered him and conquered: Apollonius says, he slew him, but this is denied by other authors.

The sons of Leda, and of Jove I sing,
Immortal Jove, the ægis-bearing king,

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Castor and Pollux, with the cæstus grac'd,
Which round his wrist thick thongs of bull-hide brac'd:

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In strains repeated shall my muse resound
The Spartan Twins, with manly virtues crown'd:
Safeguards of men distrest, and generous steeds,
When in the fields of death the battle bleeds;
Safeguards of sailors, who the Twins implore,
When on the deep the thundering tempests roar.
These in the hollow vessel from the side,
Or head or helm, pour the high-swelling tide;
Burst are the planks, the tackling torn, the mast
Snapt, the sails rent before the furious blast:
Suspended showers obscure the cheerful light,
Fades the pale day before approaching night,
Rise the rough winds, resounding storms prevail,
And the vext ocean roars beneath the scourging hail.
Still you the wreck can save, the storm dispel,
And snatch the sailors from the jaws of hell.

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The winds disperse, the roaring waves subside,
And smooth'd to stillness sleeps the lenient tide.
When shine the Bears, and 'twixt the Asses seen,
Though faint, their manger, ocean proves serene.
O, friends of human kind in utmost need,
Fam'd for the song, the lyre, the gauntlet, and the steed!
Whose praises first shall my rapt muse rehearse?
Both claim my praise, but Pollux first my verse.

When Argo reach'd (Cyane's islands past)
Cold Pontus harrass'd by the northern blast,
Soon to Bebrycia, with the sons of fame,
A freight of chiefs and demigods, she came.
Forth from her sides, the country to explore,
The crew descended to the breezy shore:
On the dry beach they raised the leafy bed,
The fires they kindled, and the tables spread.

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Meanwhile the royal Brothers devious stray'd
Far from the shore, and sought the cooling shade.
Hard by, a hill with waving forests crown'd
Their eyes attracted; in the dale they found
A spring perennial in a rocky cave,
Full to the margin flow'd the lucid wave:
Below small fountains gush'd, and, murmuring near,
Sparkled like silver, and as crystal clear:
Above tall pines and poplars quivering play'd,
And planes and cypress in dark green array'd:
Around balm-breathing flowers of every hue,
The bee's ambrosia, in the meadows grew.
There sat a chief, tremendous to the eye,
His couch the rock, his canopy the sky;
The gauntlet's strokes, his cheeks and ears around,
Had mark'd his face with many a desperate wound.
Round as a globe and prominent his chest,
Broad was his back, but broader was his breast:

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Firm was his flesh, with iron sinews fraught,
Like some Colossus on an anvil wrought.
As rocks, that in the rapid streams abound,
Are wash'd by rolling torrents smooth and round,
The ridges rise, in crystal streams beheld:
So on his brawny arms the rising muscles swell'd.
A lion's spoils around his loins he draws,
Beneath his chin suspended by the paws:
Victorious Pollux, with attentive look,
View'd, and complacent, thus the chief bespoke:

POLLUX.
Peace, gentle friend! to wandering strangers tell
What tribes, what nations in these regions dwell?

AMYCUS.
What peace to me, while on my native shore,
I see strange guests I never saw before?

POLLUX.
Fear not; no foes, nor mean of birth are here.

AMYCUS.
Thou hast no cause to bid me not to fear.

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POLLUX.
Rude are your words, and wrongfully apply'd,
Your manners fierce, your bosom swoln with pride.

AMYCUS.
Thou see'st me as I am: these lands are mine;
I never yet have troubled thee on thine.

POLLUX.
Whene'er you come, you will a welcome find,
And presents, as befits a liberal mind.

AMYCUS.
Nor I thy welcome, nor thy gifts partake;
I give no welcome, and no presents make.

POLLUX.
May I not taste the stream that murmurs by?

AMYCUS.
I'll solve that question when thy throat is dry.

POLLUX.
Will gold, or other bribe the purchase gain?

AMYCUS.
Nought but to prove thy prowess on the plain;
Stand forth; let man oppos'd to man provoke,
With gaunlet-guarded arm, th'impending stroke;
Eye meeting eye, exert thy utmost might,
By feint or force to triumph in the fight.

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POLLUX.
Whom must I fight? mine adversary who?

AMYCUS.
Thou see'st thy match, no despicable foe.

POLLUX.
But what reward shall the stout victor have?

AMYCUS.
The conquer'd man shall be the conqueror's slave.

POLLUX.
This is cock's play, and such the terms severe
In fight of scarlet-crested chanticleer.

AMYCUS.

Or be it cock's, or be it lion's play,
These are the fix'd conditions of the fray.

This said, his hollow conch he instant blew,
Quick through the coast the sounds alarming flew;
The signal rouz'd the stout Bebrycian train,
Who join'd their chief beneath the shady plane.

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Illustrious Castor from the neighbouring strand,
Call'd to the conflict Argo's chosen band.
Meanwhile the combatants, of mind elate,
Drew on their hands the dreadful gloves of fate;
The leathern thongs, that brac'd their shoulders round,
Firm to their arms the ponderous gauntlets bound.
Amid the circle now the champions stood,
Breathing revenge, and vehement for blood.
Studious each strove the piercing light to shun,
And on his shoulders catch the gleaming sun:
You call'd, O Pollux, Prudence to your aid;
In Amycus his eyes the solar splendors play'd.
This did th'enormous chieftain's rage provoke
To strike at once some death-denouncing stroke;
But watchful Pollux dealt a weighty blow
Full on the cheek of his advancing foe:

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Incens'd more ardent to the fight he came,
And forward bent to take the surer aim.
Through the Bebrycian band loud clamours run;
Nor less the Greeks encourag'd Leda's son.
Yet rising fears their generous breasts appal,
Lest on their friend the bulk of Amycus should fall:
Vain fears! for with both hands brave Pollux ply'd
His furious blows, and storm'd on every side;
The quick repeated strokes his rival stun,
And curb the force of Neptune's lawless son.
Giddy with blows the tottering hero stood,
And from his mouth discharg'd the purple blood.
Loud shouted the Greek warriors when they saw
Bebrycia's champion's batter'd cheeks and jaw.
His eyes, within their sockets deep impell'd,
Seem'd lessen'd, and his bruised visage swell'd.
Still the prince ply'd his mighty rival hard,
And feintful soon surpriz'd him off his guard;

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And as he stagger'd, full upon his brow
With all his force he drove the furious blow,
And mash'd his front; the giant with the wound
Fell flat, and stretch'd his bulk unweildy on the ground.
But soon his vigour and his strength return'd,
He rose, and then again the battle burn'd:
With iron hands their hollow sides they pound,
And deal vindictive many a desperate wound.
Fierce on his foe Bebrycia's monarch prest,
And made rude onsets on his neck and breast;
But Jove's unconquer'd son far better sped,
Who aim'd his thunder at his rival's head.
Fast down their limbs the sweat began to flow,
And quickly lay the lofty champion low;
Yet Pollux firmer stood, with nobler grace,
And fresher was the colour of his face.

How Amycus, before Jove's offspring fell,
Sing heaven-descended muse; for you can tell:

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Your mandates I implicitly obey,
And gladly follow where you lead the way.

Resolv'd by one bold stroke to win renown,
He seiz'd on Pollux' left hand with his own;
Then bent oblique to guard against a blow,
And sped his right with vengeance on the foe;
In hopes to strike his royal rival dead,
Who scap'd the blow, declining back his head;
Then Pollux aim'd his weighty stroke so well,
Full on the crest of Amycus it fell,
And gor'd his temples with an iron wound;
The black blood issuing flow'd and trickled to the ground.
Still with his left he maul'd his faltering foe,
Whose mash'd teeth crackled with each boisterous blow;
With strokes redoubled he deform'd his face;
Bruis'd cheeks and jaws proclaim'd his foul disgrace.

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All on the ground he measur'd out his length,
Stunn'd with hard thwacks, and destitute of strength,
And, hands uprais'd, with death presaging mind,
At once the fight and victory declin'd.
Brave son of Jove, though you the conquest gain'd,
With no base deed the glorious day you stain'd:
The vanquish'd by his father Neptune swore,
That he would never, never injure strangers more.

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IDYLLIUM XXII.

[Castor and Pollux. PART THE SECOND.]

ARGUMENT.

Castor and Pollux had carried off Phœbe and Talaira, the daughters of Leucippus, brother of deceased Aphareus, who were betrothed to Lynceus and Idas, the sons of Aphareus; the husbands pursued the ravishers, and claimed their wives, on this a battle ensued, in which Castor kills Lynceus, and Idas is slain by lightening. Ovid relates the event of this combat very differently; see the note.

Pollux, thy name has dignify'd my song:
To Castor now the lofty lays belong;
Fam'd for bright armour on th'embattled plain,
And forming steeds obedient to the rein.

The bold twin-sons of Jove by stealth had led
Leucippus' daughters to their lawless bed.

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Lynceus and Idas, much for strength renown'd,
Long since by promise to the damsels bound,
Aphareus' sons, the foul dishonour view'd,
And fir'd with wrath the ravishers pursued.
But when they reach'd deceas'd Aphareus' tomb,
Encompass'd round with venerable gloom,
Each heroe leap'd impetuous from his car,
All arm'd, and well appointed for the war.
Lynceus aloud beneath his helmet spoke:

‘Why will ye frantic thus the fight provoke?
‘Of others wives why make unjust demands?
‘Why gleam the naked falchions in your hands?

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‘To us Leucippus has betroth'd them both
‘Long since, and seal'd the contract with an oath:
‘'Tis base to make of others wives your prey,
‘And bear their riches, mules and lowing herds away,
‘To threat the sire with force, or bribe with wealth,
‘And seize on others properties by stealth.
‘Oft, though ungrac'd with eloquence and art,
‘Thus have I spoke the language of my heart:’
“Princes, my friends, should not on any score
“Solicit maids that are espous'd before:
“Sparta for virgins, Elis for swift steeds
“Are fam'd, large flocks and herds Arcadia breeds;
“Messene, Argos numerous natives boast,
“And fair looks Corinth on the sea-beat coast:
“There nymphs unnumber'd bloom, a lovely race,
“Acknowledg'd beauties both of mind and face:
“There ye may gain the dames your fancies chuse;
“No parents will the rich and brave refuse.
“For you the love of noble deeds inspires;
“Ye are the sons of honourable sires.
“Let us our nuptials undisturb'd pursue,
“And we'll unite to find fit brides for you.”

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‘My words ne'er mov'd your unrelenting minds,
‘The waves receiv'd them from the driving winds.
‘Yet now, ev'n now your deeds let justice guide;
‘We both are cousins by the father's side.
‘But if mad rage impels you not to yield,
‘And arms must fix the fortune of the field;
‘Let Idas and brave Pollux both refrain
‘From the fell combat on the listed plain:
‘And only I and Castor prove our might,
‘By birth the youngest, in decisive fight.
‘Why should we give our parents cause to grieve,
‘And their fond arms of all their sons bereave?
‘Let some survive our drooping friends to cheer,
‘And mate the virgins whom they hold so dear.
‘The wise with prudence their dissentions state,
‘And lesser ills conclude the great debate.’

Thus he, nor thus in vain; for on the ground
Pollux and Idas plac'd their arms around.

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Lynceus first march'd undaunted to the field,
And shook his spear beneath his ample shield.
Castor to war his brandish'd lance addrest;
And on each helmet wav'd the nodding crest.
First with their spears began the dreadful strife,
Each chief explor'd the avenues of life.
But thus unhurt the battle they maintain'd,
Broke in their shields the spears sharp points remain'd:
Then from their sheaths their shining swords they drew,
And fierce to fight the raging heroes flew:
On Lynceus' buckler Castor boldly prest,
And his bright helmet with the treple crest;
Lynceus, sharp-sighted, kept his foe at bay,
And struck his helmet's purple plume away;

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Who quick retreating all his art display'd,
And lopt the hand that held the glittering blade:
Down dropt the sword; to his sire's tomb he flew,
Where Idas sat the fatal fight to view;
Close follow'd Castor, all his force apply'd,
And furious drove the falchion in his side,
Out gush'd his bowels through the gaping wound,
And vanquish'd Lynceus prest the gory ground;
In dim, dark mists the shades of death arise,
And in eternal slumber seal his eyes.
Nor was brave Idas by his mother led,
Laocöossa, to the nuptial bed:

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For he, vindictive of fall'n Lynceus' doom,
Tore up a column from Aphareus' tomb,
Aiming at Castor, dreadfully he stood,
The bold avenger of his brother's blood;
Jove interpos'd, and with the forked brand
Quick struck the polish'd marble from his hand;
He wreath'd convulsive, scorch'd on every side,
And in a peal of rattling thunder dy'd.

Thus shall the Brothers be with conquest crown'd,
Brave of themselves, and sprung from chiefs renown'd.
Hail, Leda's valiant sons! my muse inspire,
And still preserve the honour of my lyre.
Ye, and fair Helen, to all bards are dear,
With joy the names of those bold chiefs they hear,
Who in the cause of Menelaus drew
Their conquering swords, proud Ilium to subdue.
Your praise, O kings, the Chian muse recites,
Troy's famous city, and the Phrygian fights,

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He sings the Grecian fleet renown'd afar,
And great Achilles, bulwark of the war.
I bring the tribute of a feebler lyre,
Sweet warbling what the rapturous Nine inspire,
The best I may; verse to the gods belongs;
The gods delight in honorary songs.

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IDYLLIUM XXIII. The Despairing Lover.

ARGUMENT.

An unhappy lover, despairing to gain the affections of his mistress, by whom he is despised, makes away with himself: the cruel fair is soon after killed by the image of Cupid that fell upon her as she was bathing.

An amorous shepherd lov'd a cruel fair;
The haughty beauty plung'd him in despair:
She loath'd the swain, nor aught her breast could move,
She scorn'd the lover, and the god of love;
Nor knew the puissance of his bow and darts,
To tame the stubborness of human hearts.

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With cold disdain she griev'd the shepherd sore,
The more he sigh'd, she scorn'd him still the more.
No solace she afforded, no soft look,
Nor e'er the words of sweet compassion spoke:
Her eye, her cheek ne'er glow'd, her flame to prove,
No kiss she gave, the lenient balm of love:
But as a lion, on the desert plain,
With savage pleasure views the hunter train;
Thus in her scorn severe delight she took;
Her words, her eyes were fierce, and death was in her look.
She look'd her soul; her face was pal'd with ire;
Yet she was fair; her frowns but rais'd desire.
At length, he could no more, but sought relief
From tears, the dumb petitioners of grief;
Before her gate he wept, with haggard look,
And, kissing the bare threshold, thus he spoke:

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‘Ah, savage fair, whom no entreaties move!
‘Hard heart of stone, unworthy of my love!
‘Accept this cord, 'tis now in vain to live,
‘This friendly gift, the last that I shall give;
‘I go where doom'd; my love, my life are o'er,
‘No more I grieve, and you are teaz'd no more;
‘I go the last kind remedy to prove,
‘And drink below oblivion to my love.
‘But, ah! what draughts my fierce desires can tame,
‘Or quench the raging fury of my flame?
‘Adieu, ye doors! eternally adieu!
‘I see the future, and I know it true.
‘Fragrant the rose, but soon it fades away;
‘The violet sweet, but quickly will decay;
‘The lily fair a transient beauty wears;
‘And the white snow soon weeps away in tears:
‘Such is the bloom of beauty, cropt by time,
‘Full soon it fades, and withers in its prime.

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‘The days will come when your hard heart shall burn
‘In scorching flames, yet meet no kind return.
‘Yet grant this boon, the last that I implore:
‘When you shall see, suspended at your door,
‘This wretched corse, pass not unheeding by,
‘But let the tear of sorrow dim your eye:
‘Then loose the fatal cord, and from your breast,
‘Lend the light robe, and skreen me with your vest:
‘Imprint one kiss when my sad soul is fled;
‘Ah, grudge not thus to gratify the dead!
‘Fear not—your kisses cannot life restore:
‘Though you relent, yet I shall wake no more.
‘And last, a decent monument prepare,
‘And bury with my love my body there;
‘And thrice repeat, “Here rests my friend his head;”
‘Or rather add, “My dearest lover's dead.”
‘With this inscription be the stone supplied;
“By Cupid's dart this hapless shepherd dy'd:
“Ah! passenger, a little moment spare
“To stop, and say, He lov'd a cruel fair.”

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This said, he tries against the wall to shove
A mighty stone, and to a beam above
Suspends the cord, impatient of delay,
Fits the dire noose, and spurns the stone away;
Quivering in air he hung, till welcome death
Securely clos'd the avenues of breath.
The fair one, when the pendent swain she saw,
Nor pity felt, nor reverential awe;
But as she pass'd, for not a tear she shed,
Her garments were polluted by the dead.
Then to the circus, where the wrestlers fought,
Or the more pleasing bath of love she sought:
High on a marble pedestal above,
Frown'd the dread image of the god of love,
Aiming in wrath the meditated blow,
Then fell revengeful on the nymph below;
With the pure fountain mix'd her purple blood—
These words were heard emerging from the flood:

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“Lovers, farewell, nor your admirers slight;
“Resign'd I die, for Heav'n pronounces right.”

224

IDYLLIUM XXIV. The Young Hercules.

ARGUMENT.

This Idyllium is entirely narrative: it first of all gives an account how Hercules, when only ten months old, slew two monstrous serpents which Juno had sent to devour him; then it relates the prophecy of Tiresias, and afterwards describes the education of Hercules, and enumerates his several preceptors. The conclusion of this poem is lost.

Wash'd with pure water, and with milk well fed,
To pleasing rest her sons Alcmena led,
Alcides, ten months old, yet arm'd with might,
And twin Iphiclus, younger by a night:
On a broad shield of fine brass metal made,
The careful queen her royal offspring laid;
(The shield from Pterilus Amphitryon won
In fight, a noble cradle for his son!)

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Fondly the babes she view'd, and on each head
She plac'd her tender hands, and thus she said:
“Sleep, gentle babes, and sweetly take your rest,
“Sleep, dearest twins, with softest slumbers blest;
“Securely pass the tedious night away,
“And rise refresh'd with the fair-rising day.”

She spoke, and gently rock'd the mighty shield;
Obsequious slumbers soon their eye-lids seal'd.
But when at midnight sunk the bright-ey'd Bear,
And broad Orion's shoulder 'gan appear;
Stern Juno, urg'd by unrelenting hate,
Sent two fell serpents to Amphitryon's gate,

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Charg'd with severe commission to destroy
The young Alcides, Jove-begotten boy:
Horrid and huge, with many an azure fold,
Fierce through the portal's opening valves they roll'd;
Then on their bellies prone, high swoln with gore,
They glided smooth along the marble floor:
Their fiery eye-balls darted sanguine flame,
And from their jaws destructive poison came.
Alcmena's sons, when near the serpents prest
Darting their forked tongues, awoke from rest;
All o'er the chamber shone a sudden light,
For all is clear to Jove's discerning sight.
When on the shield his foes Iphiclus saw,
And their dire fangs that arm'd each horrid jaw,

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Aghast he rais'd his voice with bitter cry,
Threw off the covering, and prepar'd to fly:
But Hercules stretch'd out his arms to clasp
The scaly monsters in his iron grasp;
Fast in each hand the venom'd jaws he prest
Of the curst serpents, which ev'n gods detest.
Their circling spires, in many a dreadful fold,
Around the slow-begotten babe they roll'd,
The babe unwean'd, yet ignorant of fear,
Who never utter'd cry, nor shed a tear.
At length their curls they loos'd, for rack'd with pain
They strove to 'scape the deathful gripe in vain.
Alcmena first o'er-heard the mournful cries,
And to her husband thus: “Amphitryon, rise;
“Distressful fears my boding soul dismay;
“This instant rise, nor for thy sandals stay:
“Hark, how for help the young Iphiclus calls!
“A sudden splendor, lo! illumes the walls!
“Though yet the shades of night obscure the skies;
“Some dire disaster threats; Amphitryon, rise.”

She spoke; the prince obedient to her word,
Rose from the bed, and seiz'd his rich-wrought sword,

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Which, on a glittering nail above his head,
Hung by the baldrick to the cedar bed.
Then from the radiant sheath of lotos made,
With ready hand he drew the shining blade;
Instant the light withdrew, and sudden gloom
Involv'd again the wide-extended room:
Amphitryon call'd his train that slumbering lay,
And slept secure the careless hours away.
“Rise, rise, my servants, from your couches strait,
“Bring lights this instant, and unbar the gate.”
He spoke; the train obedient to command,
Appear'd with each a flambeau in his hand;
Rapt with amaze, young Hercules they saw
Grasp two fell serpents close beneath the jaw:
The mighty infant show'd them to his sire,
And smil'd to see the wreathing snakes expire;
He leap'd for joy that thus his foes he slew,
And at his father's feet the scaly monsters threw.
With tender care Alcmena fondly prest,
Half-dead with fear, Iphiclus to her breast,
While o'er his mighty son Amphitryon spread
The lamb's soft fleece, and sought again his bed.

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When thrice the cock pronounc'd the morning near,
Alcmena call'd the truth-proclaiming seer,
Divine Tiresias; and to him she told
This strange event, and urg'd him to unfold
Whate'er the adverse deities ordain;
‘Fear not, she cried, but Fate's whole will explain;
‘For well thou know'st, O! venerable seer,
‘Those ills which Fate determines, man must bear.’
She spoke; the holy augur thus reply'd;
“Hail, mighty queen, to Perseus near ally'd;
“Parent of godlike chiefs: by these dear eyes,
“Which never more shall view the morning rise,
“Full many Grecian maids, for charms renown'd,
“While merrily they twirl the spindle round,
“Till day's decline thy praises shall proclaim,
“And Grecian matrons celebrate thy fame.
“So great, so noble will thy offspring prove,
“The most gigantic of the gods above,

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“Whose arm, endow'd with more than mortal sway,
“Shall many men, and many monsters slay:
“Twelve labours past, he shall to heav'n aspire,
“His mortal part first purified by fire,
“And son-in-law be nam'd of that dread Power
“Who sent these deadly serpents to devour
“The slumbering child: then wolves shall rove the lawns,
“And strike no terror in the pasturing fawns.

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“But, O great queen! be this thy instant care,
“On the broad hearth dry fagots to prepare,
“Aspalathus, or prickly brambles bind,
“Or the tall thorn that trembles in the wind,
“And at dark midnight burn (what time they came
“To slay thy son) the serpents in the flame.
“Next morn, collected by thy faithful maid,
“Be all the ashes to the flood convey'd,

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“And blown on rough rocks by the favouring wind,
“Thence let her fly, but cast no look behind.
“Next with pure sulphur purge the house, and bring
“The purest water from the freshest spring,
“This, mix'd with salt, and with green olive crown'd,
“Will cleanse the late contaminated ground.
“Last let a boar on Jove's high altar bleed,
“That ye in all achievements may succeed.”

Thus spoke Tiresias, bending low with age,
And to his ivory carr retir'd the reverend sage.
Alcides grew beneath his mother's care,
Like some young plant, luxuriant, fresh and fair,
That screen'd from storms defies the baleful blast,
And for Amphitryon's valiant son he past.
Linus, who claim'd Apollo for his sire,
With love of letters did his youth inspire,
And strove his great ideas to enlarge,
A friendly tutor, faithful to his charge.
From Eurytus his skill in shooting came,
To send the shaft unerring of its aim.
Eumolpus tun'd his manly voice to sing,
And call sweet music from the speaking string.
In listed fields to wrestle with his foe,
With iron arm to deal the deathful blow,

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And each achievement where fair fame is sought,
Harpalycus, the son of Hermes, taught,
Whose look so grim and terrible in fight,
No man could bear the formidable sight.
But fond Amphitryon, with a father's care,
To drive the chariot taught his godlike heir,
At the sharp turn with rapid wheels to roll,
Nor break the grazing axle on the goal;
On Argive plains, for generous steeds renown'd,
Oft was the chief with race-won honours crown'd;
And still unbroke his antient chariot lay,
Though cankering time had eat the reins away.
To lanch the spear, to rush upon the foe,
Beneath the shield to shun the falchion's blow,
To marshal hosts, opposing force to force,
To lay close ambush, and lead on the horse,
These Castor taught him, of equestrian fame,
What time to Argos exil'd Tydeus came,

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Where from Adrastus he high favour gain'd,
And o'er a kingdom, rich in vineyards, reign'd.
No chief like Castor, till consuming time
Unnerv'd his youth, and crop'd the golden prime.

Thus Hercules, his mother's joy and pride,
Was train'd up like a warrior: by the side

235

Of his great father's his rough couch was spread,
A lion's spoils compos'd his grateful bed.
Roast-meat he lov'd at supper to partake,
The bread he fancied was the Doric cake,
Enough to satisfy the labouring hind;
But still at noon full sparingly he din'd.
His dress, contriv'd for use, was neat and plain,
His skirts were scanty, for he wore no train.

The Conclusion of this Idyllium is wanting in the original.

236

IDYLLIUM XXV. Hercules the Lion-slayer.

ARGUMENT.

Hercules, having occasion to wait upon Augéas king of Elis, meets with an old herdsman, by whom he is introduced to the king, who, with his son Phyleus, had come into the country to take a view of his numerous herds: afterwards Hercules and Phyleus walk together to the city; in the way the prince admiring the monstrous lion's skin which Hercules wore, takes occasion to enquire where he had it; this introduces an account how Hercules slew the Nemean lion.

[_]

The Beginning is wanting.

The good old herdsman laid his work aside,
And thus complacent to the chief reply'd:

237

‘Whate'er you ask, O stranger, I'll impart,
‘Whate'er you wish, and with a cheerful heart;
‘For much I venerate the son of May,
‘Who stands rever'd in every publick way:
‘Those most he hates, of all the gods on high,
‘Who the lone traveller's request deny.

‘The numerous flocks your eyes behold around,
‘With which the vales are stor'd, the hills are crown'd,
‘Augéas owns; o'er various walks they spread,
‘In different meads, in different pastures fed;
‘Some on the banks of Elisuntus stray,
‘Some where divine Alphëus winds his way,

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‘Some in Buprasium, where rich wines abound,
‘And some in this well-cultivated ground.
‘And though exceeding many flocks are told,
‘Each separate flock enjoys a separate fold.
‘Here, though of oxen numerous herds are seen,
‘Yet springs the herbage ever fresh and green
‘In the moist marsh of Menius: every mead,
‘And vale irriguous, where the cattle feed,
‘Produce sweet herbs, embalm'd in dewy tears,
‘Whose fragrant virtue fattens well the steers.
‘Behold that stall beyond the winding flood,
‘Which to the right appears by yonder wood

239

‘Where the wild olive, and perennial plane
‘Grow, spread, and flourish, great Apollo's fane,
‘To which the hinds, to which the shepherds bow,
‘And deem him greatest deity below!
‘Next are the stalls of swains, whose labours bring.
‘Abundant riches to the wealthy king;
‘Four times each year the fertile soil they plow,
‘And gather thrice the harvests which they sow;
‘The lab'ring hinds, whose hands the vineyards dress,
‘Whose feet the grapes in purple autumn press,
‘Know well the vast domain Augéas owns,
‘Rich fields whose lap the golden ear imbrowns,
‘Or shaded gardens, far as yonder hills,
‘Whose brows are water'd by resplendent rills;
‘This spacious tract we tend with daily care,
‘As fits those swains who rural labours share.

‘But say, (and all my service you shall claim)
‘Say for what cause you here a stranger came:
‘Would you the king or his attendants see?
‘I can conduct you; only trust to me.
‘For such your form, and such your manly grace,
‘You seem deriv'd from no ignoble race:

240

‘Sure thus the gods, that boast celestial birth,
‘Appear majestic to the sons of earth.’

He spoke, and thus Jove's valiant son reply'd;
“My wandering steps let some kind shepherd guide
“To king Augéas, whom these realms obey;
“To see Augéas am I come this way.
“But if fair justice the good monarch draws
“To Elis, to administer the laws;
“Conduct me to some honourable swain,
“Who here presides among his rural train,
“That I to him my purpose may disclose,
“And follow what his prudence shall propose:
“For heaven's eternal wisdom has decreed,
“That man of man should ever stand in need.”

Thus he; the good old herdsman thus reply'd:
‘Sure some immortal being is your guide:
‘For lo! your business is already done;
‘Last night the king, descendant of the sun,
‘With royal Phyleus, from the town withdrew,
‘His flocks unnumber'd, and his herds to view.
‘Thus when great kings their own concerns explore,
‘By wise attention they augment their store.

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‘But let me quick, for time is on the wing,
‘In yonder tent conduct you to the king.’

This said, he walk'd before his royal guest,
Much wondering, much revolving in his breast,
When at his back the lion's spoils he saw,
And in his hand the club infusing awe.
He wish'd to ask the hero, whence he sprung?
The rising query dy'd upon his tongue:
He fear'd the freedom might be deem'd a fault:
'Tis difficult to know another's thought.

The watchful dogs, as near the stalls they went,
Perceiv'd their coming by their tread and scent,
With open mouths from every part they run,
And bay'd incessant great Amphitryon's son;
But round the swain they wagg'd their tales and play'd,
And gently whining secret joy betray'd.
Loose on the ground the stones that ready lay
Eager he snatch'd, and drove the dogs away;

242

With his rough voice he terrified them all,
Though pleas'd to find them guardians of his stall.
‘Ye gods! (the good old herdsman thus began)
‘What useful animals are dogs to man?
‘Had heav'n but sent intelligence to know
‘On whom to rage, the friendly or the foe,
‘No creature then could challenge honour more,
‘But now too furious, and too fierce they roar.’

He spoke; the growling mastives ceas'd to bay,
And stole obsequious to their stalls away.
The sun now westward drove his radiant steeds,
And evening mild the noontide heat succeeds;
His orb declining from the pastures calls
Sheep to their folds, and oxen to their stalls.
Herd following herd, it joy'd the chief to see
Unnumber'd cattle winding o'er the lea.
Like watery clouds arising thick in heaven,
By the rough South, or Thracian Boreas driven;

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So fast the shadowy vapours mount on high,
They cover all the region of the sky;
Still more and more the gathering tempest brings,
And weightier burdens on its weary wings.
Thus thickening march the cattle o'er the plain,
More than the roads or meadows can contain,
The lusty herds incessant bellowing keep,
The stalls are fill'd with steers, the folds with sheep.
Though numerous slaves stand round of every kind,
All have their several offices assign'd.
Some tie the cow's hind legs, to make her stand
Still, and obedient to the milker's hand:
Some give to tender calves the swelling teat,
Their sides distend with milky beverage sweet.
Some form fat cheeses with the housewife's art,
Some drive the heifers from the bulls apart.
Augéas visited the stalls around,
To see what stores in herds and flocks abound;
With curious eye he mov'd majestic on,
Join'd by Alcides and his royal son.

244

Here Hercules, of great and steady soul,
Whom mean amazement never could controll,
Admir'd such droves in myriads to behold,
Such spreading flocks, that never could be told,
Not one king's wealth he thought them, nor of ten,
Though greatest of the rulers over men:
The Sun his sire this privilege assign'd,
To be in flocks and herds more rich than all mankind:
These still increas'd; no plague e'er render'd vain
The gainful labour of the shepherd-swain;
Year following year his industry was blest,
More calves were rear'd, and still the last were best.
No cows e'er cast their young, or e'er declin'd,
The calves were chiefly of the female kind.
With these three hundred bulls, a comely sight,
Whose horns were crooked, and whose legs were white;
And twice an hundred of bright glossy red,
By whom the business of increase was sped:
But twelve, the flower of all, exulting run
In the green pastures, sacred to the sun;

245

The stately swan was not so silver white,
And in the meads they took ineffable delight:
These, when gaunt lions from the mountain's brow
Descend terrific on the herds below,
Rush to the war, the savage foe they gore,
Their eyes look death, and horribly they roar.
But most majestic these bold bulls among
Stalk'd Phaëton, the sturdy and the strong;
So radiant, so refulgent from afar,
The shepherd-swains compar'd him to a star.
When round the shoulders of the chief he spy'd,
Alarming sight! the lion's tawny hide,
Full at his flank he aim'd his iron head,
And proudly doom'd the matchless hero dead:
But watchful Hercules, devoid of fear,
Seiz'd his left horn, and stopp'd his mad career;
Prone to the earth his stubborn neck he prest,
Then writh'd him round, and bruis'd his ample chest,
At one bold push exerted all his strength,
And high in air upheld him at arm's length.
Through all the wondering train amazement ran,
Silent they gaz'd, and thought him more than man.

246

Phyleus and Hercules (the day far spent)
Left the rich pastures, and to Elis went;
The footpath first, which tow'rd the city lay,
Led from the stalls, but narrow was the way;
Through vineyards next it past, and gloomy glades,
Hard to distinguish in the greenwood shades.
The devious way as noble Phyleus led,
To his right shoulder he inclined his head,
And slowly marching through the verdant grove,
Thus mild bespoke the progeny of Jove:

‘By your last bold achievement it appears,
‘Great chief, your fame long since has reach'd my ears.
‘For here arriv'd a youthful Argive swain,
‘From Helicé that borders on the main,
‘Who for a truth among th'Epëans told,
‘That late he saw a Grecian, brave and bold,
‘Slay a fell lion, fell to husbandmen,
‘That in the Nemean forest made his den:
‘Whether the chief from sacred Argos came,
‘Or proud Mycené, or Tirynthé claim

247

‘His birth, I heard not; yet he trac'd his line,
‘If true my tale, from Perseus the divine.
‘No Greek but you could such a toil sustain;
‘I reason from that mighty monster slain,
‘A perilous encounter! whose rough hide
‘Protects your shoulders, and adorns your side.
‘Say then, if you are he, the Grecian bold,
‘Of whom the Argive's wonderous tale was told:
‘Say, what dread weapon drank the monster's blood,
‘And how he wander'd to the Nemean wood.
‘For not in Greece such savages are found,
‘No beasts thus huge infest Achaian ground;
‘She breeds the ravenous wolf, the bear, the boar,
‘Pernicious monsters! but she breeds no more.
‘Some wonder'd at accounts so strange and new,
‘Thought the Greek boastful, and his tale untrue.’
Thus Phyleus spoke, and as the path grew wide,
He walk'd attentive by the hero's side,
To hear distinct the toil-sustaining man,
Who thus, obsequious to the prince, began:

248

“Son of Augéas, what of me you heard
“Is strictly true, nor has the stranger err'd.
“But since you wish to know, my tongue shall tell,
“From whence the monster came, and how he fell:
“Though many Greeks have mention'd this affair,
“None can the truth with certainty declare.
“'Tis thought some god, by vengeful anger sway'd,
“Sent this sore plague for sacrifice unpaid,
“To punish the Phoroneans; like a flood
“He delug'd the Pisæan fields with blood:
“The Bembinæans, miserable men,
“Felt his chief rage, the neighbours to his den.
“The hardy task, this hideous beast to kill,
“Eurystheus first enjoin'd me to fulfill,

249

“But hop'd me slain: on the bold conflict bent,
“Arm'd to the field with bow and darts I went:
“A solid club, of rude wild olive made,
“Rough in its rugged rind my right hand sway'd:
“On Helicon's fair hill the tree I found,
“And with the roots I wrench'd it from the ground.
“When the close covert I approach'd, where lay
“The lordly lion lurking for his prey,
“I bent my bow, firm fix'd the string, and strait
“Notch'd on the nerve the messenger of fate:
“Then circumspect I pry'd with curious eye,
“First, unobserv'd, the ravenous beast to spy.
“Now mid-day reign'd; I neither could explore
“His paw's broad print, nor hear his hideous roar;
“Nor labouring rustic find, nor shepherd-swain,
“Nor cowherd tending cattle on the plain,
“To point the lion's lair: fear chill'd them all,
“And kept the herds and herdsmen in the stall.
“I search'd the groves and saw my foe at length;
“Then was the moment to exert my strength.

250

“Long ere dim evening clos'd, he sought his den,
“Gorg'd with the flesh of cattle and of men:
“With slaughter stain'd his squalid mane appear'd,
“Stern was his face, his chest with blood besmear'd,
“And with his pliant tongue he lick'd his gory beard.
“Mid shady shrubs I hid myself with care,
“Expecting he might issue from his lair.
“Full at his flank I sent a shaft, in vain,
“The harmless shaft rebounded on the plain.
“Stunn'd at the shock, from earth the savage rais'd
“His tawny head, and all around him gaz'd;
“Wondering from whence the feather'd vengeance flew,
“He gnash'd his horrid teeth, tremendous to the view.
“Vex'd that the first had unavailing fled,
“A second arrow from the nerve I sped:
“In his broad chest, the mansion of his heart,
“I lanch'd the shaft with ineffectual art;
“His hair, his hide the feather'd death repell;
“Before his feet it innocently fell.
“Enrag'd, once more, I try'd my bow to draw,
“Then first his foe the furious monster saw:
“He lash'd his sturdy sides with stern delight,
“And rising in his rage prepar'd for fight.

251

“With instant ire his mane erected grew,
“His hair look'd horrid, of a brindled hue;
“Circling his back, he seem'd in act to bound,
“And like a bow he bent his body round:
“As when the fig-tree skilful wheelers take,
“For rolling chariots rapid wheels to make;
“The fellies first, in fires that gently glow,
“Gradual they heat, and like a circle bow;
“Awhile in curves the pliant timber stands,
“Then springs at once elastic from their hands.
“On me thus from afar, his foe to wound,
“Sprung the fell lion with impetuous bound.
“My left hand held my darts direct before,
“Around my breast a thick strong garb I wore;

252

“My right, club-guarded, dealt a deadly blow
“Full on the temples of the rushing foe:
“So hard his skull, that with the sturdy stroke,
“My knotted club of rough wild-olive broke:
“Yet ere I clos'd, his savage fury fled,
“With trembling legs he stood, and nodding head;
“The forceful onset had contus'd his brain,
“Dim mists obscur'd his eyes, and agonizing pain.
“This I perceiv'd; and now, an easy prey,
“I threw my arrows and my bow away,
“And ere the beast recover'd of his wound,
“Seiz'd his thick neck, and pinn'd him to the ground;
“With all my might on his broad back I prest,
“Lest his fell claws should tear my adverse breast;
“Then mounting, close my legs in his I twin'd,
“And with my feet secur'd his paws behind;
“My thighs I guarded, and with all my strength
“Heav'd him from earth, and held him at arm's length,
“And strangled thus the fellest of the fell;
“His mighty soul descending sunk to hell.

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“The conquest gain'd, fresh doubts my mind divide,
“How shall I strip the monster's shaggy hide?
“Hard task! for the tough skin repell'd the dint
“Of pointed wood, keen steel, or sharpest flint:
“Some god inspir'd me, standing still in pause,
“To flay the lion with the lion's claws.
“This I accomplish'd, and the spoil now yields
“A firm security in fighting fields:
“Thus, Phyleus, was the Nemean monster slain,
“The terror of the forest and the plain,
“That flocks and herds devour'd, and many a village swain.”

254

IDYLLIUM XXVI. Bacchæ.

ARGUMENT.

This Idyllium contains a short account of the death of Pentheus, king of Thebes; who refusing to own the divinity of Bacchus, and endeavouring to prohibit his orgies, is torn in pieces by his own mother Agavé, and by his aunts Ino and Autonoë.

Autonoe, and Agavé, whose rough cheeks
Resembled the ripe apple's ruddy streaks,
With frantic Ino had resolv'd to keep
Three holy revels on the mountain's steep:
Green ivy, and sweet asphodel they took,
And leafy branches from the shagged oak,

255

With these the madding Bacchanalians made
Twelve verdant altars in an opening glade;
Three to fair Semele they rais'd, and nine
To youthful Bacchus, jolly god of wine.
From chests they take, and joyful shouting, lay
Their offerings on the fresh erected spray;
Such rites they practis'd, and such offerings brought,
As pleas'd the god, and what himself had taught.
Lodg'd in a lentisk-tree, conceal'd from sight,
Astonish'd Pentheus saw the mystic rite;

256

Autonoë first the latent monarch spy'd,
With horrid yellings down the hill she hy'd,
The orgies of the frantic god o'erthrew,
Which no profane, unhallow'd eye must view.
Maddening she rag'd, the rest all rag'd; and dread
Supplied with pinions Pentheus as he fled;
He hop'd by flight their fury to elude;
With robes tuck'd up they eagerly pursued:
Then Pentheus thus; “What means this rage? forbear;
Autonoë thus; ‘You'l feel before you hear.’

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His mother roar'd, and snatch'd his head away,
Loud as the female lion o'er her prey:
Ino, her foot upon his breast display'd,
Wrench'd off his shoulder, and the shoulder-blade;
Autonoë steep'd her hands in royal gore;
And all the monarch limb from limb they tore:
Thus drench'd in blood the Theban towers they sought,
And grief, not Pentheus, from the mountain brought.

Be warn'd; let none the jolly god offend,
Lest sorer penalties the wretch attend;
Let none behold his rites with eyes impure;
Age is not safe, nor blooming youth secure.
For me, the works of righteousness I love,
And may I grateful to the righteous prove!
For this is pleasing to almighty Jove.
The Pious blessings on their sons derive;
But can the children of the impious thrive?
Hail Bacchus, whom the ruler of the sky,
Great Jove, inclos'd, and foster'd in his thigh!

258

Hail, with thy sisters, Semele renown'd!
Offsprings of Cadmus, with bright praises crown'd,
In hymns of heroines: let none defame
This act; from Bacchus the incentive came:
'Tis not for man the deeds of Deities to blame.

259

IDYLLIUM XXVII

[_]

Is by the commentators generally attributed to Moschus, and therefore I may well be excused from translating it as the work of Theocritus. Were that not the case, it is of such a nature that it cannot be admitted into this volume: Scaliger, Casaubon, and Dan. Heinsius, have left more notes upon it in proportion, than upon any of the other Idylliums. Creech has done it into English, but the spirit is evaporated, and nothing remains but a caput mortuum. Dryden generally improves and expatiates upon any subject that is ludicrous, and therefore the tenor of his translation will be found very different. The last five lines in Greek, he has expanded into fourteen.

260

IDYLLIUM XXVIII. The Distaff.

ARGUMENT.

Theocritus going to visit his friend Nicias, the Milesian physician, to whom he has addressed the 11th and 13th Idylliums, carries an ivory distaff as a present for Theugenis, his friend's wife, and accompanies it with these verses, in which he modestly commends the matron's industry and virtue.

O distaff, friend to warp and woof,
Minerva's gift in man's behoof,
Whom careful housewives still retain,
And gather to their households gain;
With me repair, no vulgar prize,
Where the fam'd towers of Nileus rise,
Where Cytherea's swayful power
Is worship'd in the reedy bower.

261

Thither, would Jove kind breezes send,
I steer my course to meet my friend,
Nicias, the Graces honour'd child,
Adorn'd with sweet persuasion mild;
That I his kindness may requite,
May be delighted, and delight.
Thee, ivory distaff, I provide,
A present for his blooming bride.
With her thou wilt sweet toil partake,
And aid her various vests to make.
For Theugenis, the shepherds shear
The sheep's soft fleeces twice a year.
So dearly industry she loves,
And all that wisdom points approves.
I ne'er design'd to bear thee hence
To the dull house of Indolence:
For in that city thou wert fram'd
Which Archias built, Corinthian fam'd,
Fair Syracuse, Sicilia's pride,
Where troops of famous men abide.

262

Dwell thou with him whose art can cure
Each dire disease that men endure;
Thee to Miletus now I give,
Where pleasure-crown'd Ionians live,
That Theugenis by thee may gain
Fair honour with the female train;
And thou renew within her breast
Remembrance of her muse-charm'd guest.
Admiring thee each maid will call
The favour great, the present small;
For love the smallest gift commends,
All things are valued by our friends.

263

IDYLLIUM XXIX. The Mistress.

ARGUMENT.

This is an expostulation with his mistress for her inconstancy in love. In the original it is called Παιδικα: I have taken the liberty to make a change in the application of it, which renders it far more obvious and natural.

Wine, lovely maid, and truth agree;
I'm mellow—learn this truth from me;
And hear my secret thoughts; “I find,
“You love me not with all your mind.”
Your beauty life and vigour gives,
In you my half-existence lives;
The other half has sadly sped,
The other half, alas! is dead.
Whene'er you smile auspicious love,
I'm happy as the gods above;

264

Whene'er your frowns displeasure show,
I'm wretched as the fiends below.
Sure 'tis unmeet with cold disdain
To torture thus a love-sick swain:
But could my words your thoughts engage,
Experience is the boast of age,
Take counsel, and when crown'd with store
Of blessings, then you'll praise me more.
“Build in one tree a single nest,
“Which no curs'd reptile can infest.”
Fond and unfix'd you wander now
From tree to tree, from bough to bough.
If any youth your charms commends
You rank him with your faithful friends,
Your first true lovers set aside;
This looks like vanity and pride.
Would you live long and happy too,
Love some kind equal that loves you.
This will esteem and favour gain,
Such love will never give you pain;
This wins all hearts, and will controul
The stubborn temper of my soul.
If with my counsel you agree,
Give me sweet kisses for my fee.

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IDYLLIUM XXX. The Death of Adonis.

ARGUMENT.

Venus orders the Cupids to bring the boar that had slain Adonis before her: she severely upbraids him with his crime, but being satisfied that it was accidentally done, she orders him to be released. The measure of the verse is Anacreontic.

When Venus saw Adonis dead,
And from his cheeks the roses fled,
His lovely locks distain'd with gore:
She bad her Cupids bring the boar,
The boar that had her lover slain,
The cause of all her grief and pain.
Swift as the pinion'd birds they rove
Through every wood, through every grove;
And when the guilty boar they found,
With cords they bound him, doubly bound;

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One with a chain, secure and strong,
Haul'd him unwillingly along;
One pinch'd his tail to make him go,
Another beat him with his bow:
The more they urg'd, the more they dragg'd,
The more reluctantly he lagg'd.
Guilt in his conscious looks appear'd;
He much the angry goddess fear'd.
To Venus soon the boar they led—
“O cruel, cruel beast! she said,
“Durst thou that thigh with blood distain?
“Hast thou my dearest lover slain?”
Submissive he replies; ‘I swear
‘By thee, fair queen; by all that's dear;
‘By thy fond lover; by this chain;
‘And by this numerous hunter-train;
‘I ne'er design'd, with impious tooth,
‘To wound so beautiful a youth:

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‘No; but with love and frenzy warm,
‘(So far has beauty power to charm!)
‘I long'd, this crime I'll not deny,
‘To kiss that fair, that naked thigh.
‘These tusks then punish, if you please,
‘These are offenders, draw out these.
‘Of no more use they now can prove
‘To me, the votaries of love!
‘My guilty lips, if not content,
‘My lips shall share the punishment.’
These words, so movingly exprest,
Infus'd soft pity in her breast;
The queen relented at his plea,
And bad her Cupids set him free:
But from that day he join'd her train,
Nor to the woods return'd again;
And all those teeth he burnt with fire,
Which glow'd before with keen desire.

The End of the Idylliums.

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THE EPIGRAMS OF THEOCRITUS.

I. Offerings to the Muses and Apollo.

This wild thyme, and these roses, moist with dews,
Are sacred to the Heliconian Muse;
The bay, Apollo, with dark leaves is thine;
Thus art thou honour'd at the Delphic shrine;
And there to thee this shagg'd he-goat I vow,
That loves to crop the pine-tree's pendent bough.

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II. An offering to Pan.

Daphnis the fair, who with bucolic song,
And pastoral pipe could charm the listening throng,
To Pan presents these emblems of his art,
A fawn's soft skin, a crook, and pointed dart,
Three rural pipes, adapted to his lip,
And for his homely food a leathern scrip.

III. To Daphnis sleeping.

On earth's soft lap, with leafy honours spread,
You, Daphnis, lull to rest your weary head:
While on the hill your snares for birds are laid,
Pan hunts your footsteps in the secret shade,
And rude Priapus, on whose temples wave
Gold ivy's leaves, resolv'd to find your cave:

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Ah! fly these revellers, at distance keep,
And instant burst the silken bands of sleep.

IV. A vow to Priapus.

If by those oaks with roving step you wind,
An image fresh of fig-tree form'd you'll find;
Though cloath'd with bark, three-legg'd and void of ears,
Prompt for the pranks of pleasure he appears.
Springs gush perennial from the rocky hill,
And round the grotto roll their sparkling rill:
Green myrtles, bays, and cypress sweet abound,
And vines diffuse their circling arms around.
The vernal ousels their shrill notes prolong,
And modulate the loudly-varied song;
Sweet nightingales in soft-opponent strain,
Perch'd on the spray melodiously complain.
Repose you there, and to Priapus pray,
That Daphne may no more my bosom sway:

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Grant this, a goat shall at his altar bleed;
But if I gain the maid, three victims are decreed;
A stall-fed lamb, a goat, and heifer fair:
Thus may the god propitious hear my prayer.

V. The Concert.

Say wilt thou warble to thy double flute,
And make its melody thy music suit?
Then, by the Nymphs I swear, I'll snatch the quill,
And on the rural lyre essay my skill:
The herdsman, Daphnis, on his reed shall play,
Whose sprightly numbers make the shepherds gay:
Fast by yon rugged oak our stand we'll keep,
And rob th'Arcadian deity of sleep.

VI. Thyrsis has lost his Kid.

What profit gain you, wretched Thyrsis, say,
Thus, thus to weep and languish life away?
Lost is your favourite kid; the wolf has tore
His tender limbs, and feasted on his gore:
Your very dogs exclaim, and cry, “What gain,
“When neither bones, nor ashes now remain?”

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VII. On the Statue of Æsculapius.

At fam'd Miletus, Pæon's son the wise
Arriv'd, with learned Nicias to advise,
Who to his shrine with daily offerings came,
And rais'd this cedar statue to his fame;
The cedar statue by Eëtion wrought,
Illustrious artist! for large sums he bought;
The work is finish'd to the owner's will,
For here the sculptor lavish'd all his skill.

VIII. Orthon's Epitaph.

To every toping traveller that lives,
Orthon of Syracuse this warning gives;
With wine o'erheated, and depriv'd of light,
Forbear to travel on a winter's night;
This was my fate; and for my native land
I now lie buried on a foreign strand.

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IX. On the fate of Cleonicus.

O stranger! spare thy life so short and frail,
Nor, but when times are seasonable, sail.
Poor Cleonícus, innocent of guile,
From Syria hasten'd to rich Thasos' isle;
The Pleiads sunk as he approach'd the shore;
With them he sunk, to rise, alas! no more.

X. On a Monument erected to the Muses.

Here Xenocles hath rais'd this marble shrine,
Skill'd in sweet music, to the tuneful Nine:
He from his art acquires immortal fame,
And grateful owns the fountain whence it came.

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XI. Epitaph on Eusthenes the Physiognomist.

To Eusthenes, the first in wisdom's list,
Philosopher and Physiognomist,
This tomb is rais'd: he from the eye could scan
The cover'd thought, and read the very man.
By strangers was his decent bier adorn'd,
By strangers honour'd, and by poets mourn'd:
Whate'er the Sophist merited he gain'd,
And dead, a grave in foreign realms obtain'd.

XII. On a Tripod dedicated to Bacchus by Demoteles.

Demoteles, who near this sacred shrine
This tripod plac'd, with thee, O god of wine!
Whom blithest of the deities we call,
In all things prov'd, was temperate in all:
In manly dance the victory he gain'd,
And fair the tenor of his life maintain'd.

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XIII. On the image of the heavenly Venus.

Here Venus, not the vulgar, you survey;
Stile her celestial, and your offering pay:
This in the house of Amphicles was plac'd,
Fair present of Chrysogona the chaste:
With him a sweet and social life she led,
And many children bore, and many bred.
Favour'd by thee, O venerable fair,
Each year improv'd upon the happy pair;
For long as men the deities adore,
With large abundance heav'n augments their store.

XIV. Epitaph on Eurymedon.

Dead in thy prime, this tomb contains,
Eurymedon, thy dear remains;
Thou, now with pious men inshrin'd,
Hast left an infant heir behind;
The state due care of him will take,
And love him for his father's sake.

XV. On the same.

[O traveller, I wish to know]

O traveller, I wish to know
If you an equal praise bestow

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On men of honourable fame,
Or to poltroons you give the same:
Then “Fair befal this tomb,” you'll cry,
As oft you pass attentive by,
“Eurymedon, alas! is dead;
“Light lie the stone upon his dead.”

XVI. On Anacreon's statue.

With curious eye, O traveller, survey
This statue's form, and home-returning say,
“At Teos late with infinite regard,
“I saw the image of the sweetest bard,
“Anacreon; who, if antient poets claim
“The meed of praise, deserves immortal fame;”
Add this; “He lov'd (for this with truth you can)
“The fair, the gay, the young,” you'll paint the very man.

XVII. On Epicharmus.

The stile is Doric; Epicharmus he,
The poet who invented Comedy:

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This statue, Bacchus, sacred stands to you;
Accept a brazen image for the true.
The finish'd form at Syracuse is plac'd,
And, as is meet, with lasting honours grac'd.
Far-fam'd for wisdom, the preceptive bard
Taught those who gave the merited reward:
Much praise he gains who form'd ingenuous youth,
And show'd the paths to virtue, and to truth.

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XVIII. Epitaph on Clita, the Nurse of Medeus.

Medéus rais'd, inspir'd by grateful pride,
This tomb to Clita by the high-way side:
We still commend her for her fostering care;
And praise the matron when we praise the heir.

XIX. On Archilochus.

Archilochus, that antient bard, behold!
Arm'd with his own iambicks keen and bold;
Whose living fame with rapid course has run
Forth from the rising to the setting sun.
The Muses much their darling son approv'd,
The Muses much, and much Apollo lov'd;
So terse his stile, so regular his fire,
Composing verse to suit his sounding lyre.

XX. On the Statue of Pisander, who wrote a poem stiled, The LABOURS of HERCULES.

This statue fam'd Pisander's worth rewards,
Born at Camirus, first of famous bards

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Who sung of Hercules, the son of Jove,
How with the lion he victorious strove,
And all the labours of this hero bold
The faithful bard in lofty numbers told.
The state regardful of the poet's name,
Hath rais'd this brazen statue to his fame.

XXI. Epitaph on the Poet Hipponax.

Old Hipponax the satirist lies here;
If thou'rt a worthless wretch, approach not near:
But if well bred, and from all evil pure,
Repose with confidence, and sleep secure.

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XXII. Theocritus on his own works.

A Syracusian born, no right I claim
To Chios, and Theocritus my name:
Praxagoras' and fam'd Philina's son;
All praise I scorn'd but what my numbers won.

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THE COMBAT BETWEEN POLLUX AND AMYCUS. FROM APOLLONIUS, BOOK II.

Fast by the beach oxstalls and tents were spread
By bold Bebrycians, Amycus their head,
Whom, on the precincts of the winding shore,
A fair Bithynian Hamadryad bore
To genial Neptune, in base commerce join'd,
Proud Amycus, most barbarous of mankind.
Who made this stern, unequitable law,
That from his realm no stranger should withdraw,
Till first with him compell'd in fight to wield
The dreadful gauntlet in the listed field:
Unnumber'd guests his matchless prowess slew:
Stern he accosts swift Argo's valiant crew,

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Curious the reason of their course to scan,
Who, whence they were: and scornful thus began:
‘Learn what 'tis meet ye knew, ye vagrant host,
‘None that e'er touches on Bebrycia's coast,
‘Is hence by law permitted to depart,
‘Till match'd with me he prove the boxer's art.
‘Chuse then a chief that can the gauntlet wield,
‘And let him try the fortune of the field:
‘If thus my edicts ye despise and me,
‘Yield to the last immutable decree.’
Thus spoke the chief with insolent disdain,
And rous'd resentment in the martial train:
But most his words did Pollux' rage provoke,
Who thus, a champion for his fellows, spoke:
“Threat not, whoe'er thou art, the bloody fray;
“Lo, we obsequious thy decrees obey!
“Unforc'd this instant to the lists I go,
“Thy rival I, thy voluntary foe.”
Stung to the quick with this severe reply,
On him he turn'd his fury-flaming eye:
As the grim lion pierc'd by some keen wound,
Whom hunters on the mountain-top surround;

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Though close hemm'd in, his glaring eye-balls glance
On him alone who threw the pointed lance.
Then Pollux doff'd his mantle richly wrought,
Late from the Lemnian territory brought,
Which some fair nymph who had her flame avow'd,
The pledge of hospitable love bestow'd:
His double cloak, with clasps of sable hue,
Bebrycia's ruler on the greensword threw,
And his rough sheep-hook of wild-olive made,
Which lately flourish'd in the woodland shade.
Then sought the heroes for a place at hand
Commodious for the fight, and on the strand
They plac'd their friends, who saw, with wondering eyes,
The chiefs how different, both in make and size,
For Amycus like fell Typhœus stood
Enormous, or that miscreated brood
Of mighty monsters, which the heaving earth,
Incens'd at Jove, brought forth, a formidable birth.
But Pollux shone like that mild star on high
Whose rising ray illumes the evening sky.
Down spread his cheek, ripe manhood's early sign,
And in his eye fair beam'd the glance divine:
Such seem'd Jove's valiant son, supremely bright,
And equal to the lion in his might.
His arms he poiz'd, advancing in the ring,
To try if still they kept their pristine spring;
If pliant still and vigorous as before,
Accustom'd to hard toil, the labour of the oar.

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But Amycus aloof and silent stood,
Glar'd on his foe, and seem'd athirst for blood:
With that his squire Lycóreus in full view
Two pair of gauntlets in the circle threw,
Of barbarous fashion, harden'd, rough and dried;
Then thus the chief, with insolence and pride:
‘Lo, two stout pair, the choice I give to thee;
‘Accuse not fate, the rest belong to me.
‘Securely bind them, and hereafter tell
‘Thy friends how much thy prowess I excell:
‘Whether to make the cestus firm and good,
‘Or stain the cheeks of enemies with blood.’
Thus spoke he boastful; Pollux nought reply'd,
But smiling chose the pair which lay beside.
Castor his brother both by blood and fame,
And Talaüs the son of Bias came;
Firm round his arms the gloves of death they bind,
And animate the vigour of his mind.
To Amycus Aratus, and his friend
Bold Ornytus, their kind assistance lend:
Alas! they little knew, this conflict o'er,
Those gauntlets never should be buckled more.
Accoutred thus each ardent hero stands,
And raises high in air his iron hands;
With clashing gauntlets fiercely now they close,
And mutual meditate death-dealing blows.
First Amycus a furious onset gave,
Like the rude shock of an impetuous wave,

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That, heap'd on high by driving wind and tide,
Bursts thundering on some gallant vessel's side;
The wary pilot by superior skill
Foresees the storm, and shuns the menac'd ill.
Thus threatening Amycus on Pollux prest,
Nor suffer'd his antagonist to rest:
But Jove's brave son observes each coming blow,
Quick leaps aside, and disappoints the foe;
And where a weak unguarded part he spies,
There all the thunder of his arms he plies.
As busy shipwrights stoutly labouring strive
Through sturdy planks the piercing spikes to drive,
From head to stern repeated blows go round,
And ceaseless hammers send a various sound.
Thus from their batter'd cheeks loud ecchoes sprung,
Their dash'd teeth crackled, and their jawbones rung:
Nor ceas'd they from the strokes that threaten'd death,
Till faint with toil they fairly gasp'd for breath:
Then first awhile remit the bloody fray,
And panting wipe the copious sweat away.
But adverse soon they meet, with rage they glow,
Fierce as two bulls fight for some favourite cow.
Then Amycus, collecting all his might,
Rose to the stroke, resolv'd his foe to smite,

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And by one blow the dubious war conclude;
His wary foe, the ruin to elude,
Bent back his head; defeated of its aim
The blow impetuous on his shoulder came.
Then Pollux with firm step approaching near,
Vindictive struck his adversary's ear;
Th'interior bones his ponderous gauntlet broke;
Flat fell the chief beneath his dreadful stroke;
The Grecians shouted, with wild rapture fir'd,
And, deeply groaning, Amycus expir'd.

FINIS.