The Idylliums of Theocritus Translated from the Greek. With notes critical and explanatory. By Francis Fawkes |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. | IDYLLIUM III. Amaryllis.
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| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
 | The Idylliums of Theocritus |  |
33
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.
Meanwhile my goats along the mountain feed:
O Tityrus, tend them with assiduous care,
In freshest pasture, and in purest air;
34
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.
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—
35
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;
36
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,
37
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;
38
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;
39
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.
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.
| The Idylliums of Theocritus | |