The Idylliums of Theocritus Translated from the Greek. With notes critical and explanatory. By Francis Fawkes |
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| VI. |
| VII. | IDYLLIUM VII. Thalysia, or, The Vernal Voyage.
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| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
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| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
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| XXI. |
| XXII. |
 | The Idylliums of Theocritus |  |
65
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:
Join'd by Amyntas, from the city went,
And in our progress, meditating slow,
March'd where the waters of Halenta flow:
66
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;
67
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!”
‘Now when meridian beams inflame the day?
‘Now when green lizards in the hedges lie,
‘And crested larks forsake the fervid sky.
68
‘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.”
“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.
69
“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:
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.’
‘For sure you draw your origin from Jove!
70
‘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.”
To Mitylene, the pride of Lesbos, sail!
71
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!
72
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;
73
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!
74
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!’
‘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!”
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,
75
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,
76
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:
77
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.
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:
78
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?
79
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.
| The Idylliums of Theocritus | |