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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Bucolics and Eclogues, by Virgil
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Bucolics and Eclogues
+
+Author: Virgil
+
+Release Date: March 10, 2008 [EBook #230]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BUCOLICS AND ECLOGUES ***
+
+
+
+
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+
+
+37 BC
+
+THE ECLOGUES
+
+by Virgil
+
+
+ECLOGUE I
+
+MELIBOEUS TITYRUS
+
+
+MELIBOEUS
+You, Tityrus, 'neath a broad beech-canopy
+Reclining, on the slender oat rehearse
+Your silvan ditties: I from my sweet fields,
+And home's familiar bounds, even now depart.
+Exiled from home am I; while, Tityrus, you
+Sit careless in the shade, and, at your call,
+"Fair Amaryllis" bid the woods resound.
+
+TITYRUS
+O Meliboeus, 'twas a god vouchsafed
+This ease to us, for him a god will I
+Deem ever, and from my folds a tender lamb
+Oft with its life-blood shall his altar stain.
+His gift it is that, as your eyes may see,
+My kine may roam at large, and I myself
+Play on my shepherd's pipe what songs I will.
+
+MELIBOEUS
+I grudge you not the boon, but marvel more,
+Such wide confusion fills the country-side.
+See, sick at heart I drive my she-goats on,
+And this one, O my Tityrus, scarce can lead:
+For 'mid the hazel-thicket here but now
+She dropped her new-yeaned twins on the bare flint,
+Hope of the flock- an ill, I mind me well,
+Which many a time, but for my blinded sense,
+The thunder-stricken oak foretold, oft too
+From hollow trunk the raven's ominous cry.
+But who this god of yours? Come, Tityrus, tell.
+
+TITYRUS
+The city, Meliboeus, they call Rome,
+I, simpleton, deemed like this town of ours,
+Whereto we shepherds oft are wont to drive
+The younglings of the flock: so too I knew
+Whelps to resemble dogs, and kids their dams,
+Comparing small with great; but this as far
+Above all other cities rears her head
+As cypress above pliant osier towers.
+
+MELIBOEUS
+And what so potent cause took you to Rome?
+
+TITYRUS
+Freedom, which, though belated, cast at length
+Her eyes upon the sluggard, when my beard
+'Gan whiter fall beneath the barber's blade-
+Cast eyes, I say, and, though long tarrying, came,
+Now when, from Galatea's yoke released,
+I serve but Amaryllis: for I will own,
+While Galatea reigned over me, I had
+No hope of freedom, and no thought to save.
+Though many a victim from my folds went forth,
+Or rich cheese pressed for the unthankful town,
+Never with laden hands returned I home.
+
+MELIBOEUS
+I used to wonder, Amaryllis, why
+You cried to heaven so sadly, and for whom
+You left the apples hanging on the trees;
+'Twas Tityrus was away. Why, Tityrus,
+The very pines, the very water-springs,
+The very vineyards, cried aloud for you.
+
+TITYRUS
+What could I do? how else from bonds be freed,
+Or otherwhere find gods so nigh to aid?
+There, Meliboeus, I saw that youth to whom
+Yearly for twice six days my altars smoke.
+There instant answer gave he to my suit,
+"Feed, as before, your kine, boys, rear your bulls."
+
+MELIBOEUS
+So in old age, you happy man, your fields
+Will still be yours, and ample for your need!
+Though, with bare stones o'erspread, the pastures all
+Be choked with rushy mire, your ewes with young
+By no strange fodder will be tried, nor hurt
+Through taint contagious of a neighbouring flock.
+Happy old man, who 'mid familiar streams
+And hallowed springs, will court the cooling shade!
+Here, as of old, your neighbour's bordering hedge,
+That feasts with willow-flower the Hybla bees,
+Shall oft with gentle murmur lull to sleep,
+While the leaf-dresser beneath some tall rock
+Uplifts his song, nor cease their cooings hoarse
+The wood-pigeons that are your heart's delight,
+Nor doves their moaning in the elm-tree top.
+
+TITYRUS
+Sooner shall light stags, therefore, feed in air,
+The seas their fish leave naked on the strand,
+Germans and Parthians shift their natural bounds,
+And these the Arar, those the Tigris drink,
+Than from my heart his face and memory fade.
+
+MELIBOEUS
+But we far hence, to burning Libya some,
+Some to the Scythian steppes, or thy swift flood,
+Cretan Oaxes, now must wend our way,
+Or Britain, from the whole world sundered far.
+Ah! shall I ever in aftertime behold
+My native bounds- see many a harvest hence
+With ravished eyes the lowly turf-roofed cot
+Where I was king? These fallows, trimmed so fair,
+Some brutal soldier will possess these fields
+An alien master. Ah! to what a pass
+Has civil discord brought our hapless folk!
+For such as these, then, were our furrows sown!
+Now, Meliboeus, graft your pears, now set
+Your vines in order! Go, once happy flock,
+My she-goats, go. Never again shall I,
+Stretched in green cave, behold you from afar
+Hang from the bushy rock; my songs are sung;
+Never again will you, with me to tend,
+On clover-flower, or bitter willows, browse.
+
+TITYRUS
+Yet here, this night, you might repose with me,
+On green leaves pillowed: apples ripe have I,
+Soft chestnuts, and of curdled milk enow.
+And, see, the farm-roof chimneys smoke afar,
+And from the hills the shadows lengthening fall!
+
+
+
+
+ECLOGUE II
+
+ALEXIS
+
+The shepherd Corydon with love was fired
+For fair Alexis, his own master's joy:
+No room for hope had he, yet, none the less,
+The thick-leaved shadowy-soaring beech-tree grove
+Still would he haunt, and there alone, as thus,
+To woods and hills pour forth his artless strains.
+"Cruel Alexis, heed you naught my songs?
+Have you no pity? you'll drive me to my death.
+Now even the cattle court the cooling shade
+And the green lizard hides him in the thorn:
+Now for tired mowers, with the fierce heat spent,
+Pounds Thestilis her mess of savoury herbs,
+Wild thyme and garlic. I, with none beside,
+Save hoarse cicalas shrilling through the brake,
+Still track your footprints 'neath the broiling sun.
+Better have borne the petulant proud disdain
+Of Amaryllis, or Menalcas wooed,
+Albeit he was so dark, and you so fair!
+Trust not too much to colour, beauteous boy;
+White privets fall, dark hyacinths are culled.
+You scorn me, Alexis, who or what I am
+Care not to ask- how rich in flocks, or how
+In snow-white milk abounding: yet for me
+Roam on Sicilian hills a thousand lambs;
+Summer or winter, still my milk-pails brim.
+I sing as erst Amphion of Circe sang,
+What time he went to call his cattle home
+On Attic Aracynthus. Nor am I
+So ill to look on: lately on the beach
+I saw myself, when winds had stilled the sea,
+And, if that mirror lie not, would not fear
+Daphnis to challenge, though yourself were judge.
+Ah! were you but content with me to dwell.
+Some lowly cot in the rough fields our home,
+Shoot down the stags, or with green osier-wand
+Round up the straggling flock! There you with me
+In silvan strains will learn to rival Pan.
+Pan first with wax taught reed with reed to join;
+For sheep alike and shepherd Pan hath care.
+Nor with the reed's edge fear you to make rough
+Your dainty lip; such arts as these to learn
+What did Amyntas do?- what did he not?
+A pipe have I, of hemlock-stalks compact
+In lessening lengths, Damoetas' dying-gift:
+'Mine once,' quoth he, 'now yours, as heir to own.'
+Foolish Amyntas heard and envied me.
+Ay, and two fawns, I risked my neck to find
+In a steep glen, with coats white-dappled still,
+From a sheep's udders suckled twice a day-
+These still I keep for you; which Thestilis
+Implores me oft to let her lead away;
+And she shall have them, since my gifts you spurn.
+Come hither, beauteous boy; for you the Nymphs
+Bring baskets, see, with lilies brimmed; for you,
+Plucking pale violets and poppy-heads,
+Now the fair Naiad, of narcissus flower
+And fragrant fennel, doth one posy twine-
+With cassia then, and other scented herbs,
+Blends them, and sets the tender hyacinth off
+With yellow marigold. I too will pick
+Quinces all silvered-o'er with hoary down,
+Chestnuts, which Amaryllis wont to love,
+And waxen plums withal: this fruit no less
+Shall have its meed of honour; and I will pluck
+You too, ye laurels, and you, ye myrtles, near,
+For so your sweets ye mingle. Corydon,
+You are a boor, nor heeds a whit your gifts
+Alexis; no, nor would Iollas yield,
+Should gifts decide the day. Alack! alack!
+What misery have I brought upon my head!-
+Loosed on the flowers Siroces to my bane,
+And the wild boar upon my crystal springs!
+Whom do you fly, infatuate? gods ere now,
+And Dardan Paris, have made the woods their home.
+Let Pallas keep the towers her hand hath built,
+Us before all things let the woods delight.
+The grim-eyed lioness pursues the wolf,
+The wolf the she-goat, the she-goat herself
+In wanton sport the flowering cytisus,
+And Corydon Alexis, each led on
+By their own longing. See, the ox comes home
+With plough up-tilted, and the shadows grow
+To twice their length with the departing sun,
+Yet me love burns, for who can limit love?
+Ah! Corydon, Corydon, what hath crazed your wit?
+Your vine half-pruned hangs on the leafy elm;
+Why haste you not to weave what need requires
+Of pliant rush or osier? Scorned by this,
+Elsewhere some new Alexis you will find."
+
+
+
+
+ECLOGUE III
+
+MENALCAS   DAMOETAS   PALAEMON
+
+
+MENALCAS
+Who owns the flock, Damoetas? Meliboeus?
+
+DAMOETAS
+Nay, they are Aegon's sheep, of late by him
+Committed to my care.
+
+MENALCAS
+
+                          O every way
+Unhappy sheep, unhappy flock! while he
+Still courts Neaera, fearing lest her choice
+Should fall on me, this hireling shepherd here
+Wrings hourly twice their udders, from the flock
+Filching the life-juice, from the lambs their milk.
+
+DAMOETAS
+Hold! not so ready with your jeers at men!
+We know who once, and in what shrine with you-
+The he-goats looked aside- the light nymphs laughed-
+
+MENALCAS
+Ay, then, I warrant, when they saw me slash
+Micon's young vines and trees with spiteful hook.
+
+DAMOETAS
+Or here by these old beeches, when you broke
+The bow and arrows of Damon; for you chafed
+When first you saw them given to the boy,
+Cross-grained Menalcas, ay, and had you not
+Done him some mischief, would have chafed to death.
+
+MENALCAS
+With thieves so daring, what can masters do?
+Did I not see you, rogue, in ambush lie
+For Damon's goat, while loud Lycisca barked?
+And when I cried, "Where is he off to now?
+Gather your flock together, Tityrus,"
+You hid behind the sedges.
+
+DAMOETAS
+
+                          Well, was he
+Whom I had conquered still to keep the goat.
+Which in the piping-match my pipe had won!
+You may not know it, but the goat was mine.
+
+MENALCAS
+You out-pipe him? when had you ever pipe
+Wax-welded? in the cross-ways used you not
+On grating straw some miserable tune
+To mangle?
+
+DAMOETAS
+
+             Well, then, shall we try our skill
+Each against each in turn? Lest you be loth,
+I pledge this heifer; every day she comes
+Twice to the milking-pail, and feeds withal
+Two young ones at her udder: say you now
+What you will stake upon the match with me.
+
+MENALCAS
+Naught from the flock I'll venture, for at home
+I have a father and a step-dame harsh,
+And twice a day both reckon up the flock,
+And one withal the kids. But I will stake,
+Seeing you are so mad, what you yourself
+Will own more priceless far- two beechen cups
+By the divine art of Alcimedon
+Wrought and embossed, whereon a limber vine,
+Wreathed round them by the graver's facile tool,
+Twines over clustering ivy-berries pale.
+Two figures, one Conon, in the midst he set,
+And one- how call you him, who with his wand
+Marked out for all men the whole round of heaven,
+That they who reap, or stoop behind the plough,
+Might know their several seasons? Nor as yet
+Have I set lip to them, but lay them by.
+
+DAMOETAS
+For me too wrought the same Alcimedon
+A pair of cups, and round the handles wreathed
+Pliant acanthus, Orpheus in the midst,
+The forests following in his wake; nor yet
+Have I set lip to them, but lay them by.
+Matched with a heifer, who would prate of cups?
+
+MENALCAS
+You shall not balk me now; where'er you bid,
+I shall be with you; only let us have
+For auditor- or see, to serve our turn,
+Yonder Palaemon comes! In singing-bouts
+I'll see you play the challenger no more.
+
+DAMOETAS
+Out then with what you have; I shall not shrink,
+Nor budge for any man: only do you,
+Neighbour Palaemon, with your whole heart's skill-
+For it is no slight matter-play your part.
+
+PALAEMON
+Say on then, since on the greensward we sit,
+And now is burgeoning both field and tree;
+Now is the forest green, and now the year
+At fairest. Do you first, Damoetas, sing,
+Then you, Menalcas, in alternate strain:
+Alternate strains are to the Muses dear.
+
+
+DAMOETAS
+"From Jove the Muse began; Jove filleth all,
+Makes the earth fruitful, for my songs hath care."
+
+MENALCAS
+"Me Phoebus loves; for Phoebus his own gifts,
+Bays and sweet-blushing hyacinths, I keep."
+
+DAMOETAS
+"Gay Galatea throws an apple at me,
+Then hies to the willows, hoping to be seen."
+
+MENALCAS
+"My dear Amyntas comes unasked to me;
+Not Delia to my dogs is better known."
+
+DAMOETAS
+"Gifts for my love I've found; mine eyes have marked
+Where the wood-pigeons build their airy nests."
+
+MENALCAS
+"Ten golden apples have I sent my boy,
+All that I could, to-morrow as many more."
+
+
+DAMOETAS
+"What words to me, and uttered O how oft,
+Hath Galatea spoke! waft some of them,
+Ye winds, I pray you, for the gods to hear."
+
+MENALCAS
+"It profiteth me naught, Amyntas mine,
+That in your very heart you spurn me not,
+If, while you hunt the boar, I guard the nets."
+
+DAMOETAS
+"Prithee, Iollas, for my birthday guest
+Send me your Phyllis; when for the young crops
+I slay my heifer, you yourself shall come."
+
+MENALCAS
+"I am all hers; she wept to see me go,
+And, lingering on the word, 'farewell' she said,
+'My beautiful Iollas, fare you well.'"
+
+DAMOETAS
+"Fell as the wolf is to the folded flock,
+Rain to ripe corn, Sirocco to the trees,
+The wrath of Amaryllis is to me."
+
+MENALCAS
+"As moisture to the corn, to ewes with young
+Lithe willow, as arbute to the yeanling kids,
+So sweet Amyntas, and none else, to me."
+
+DAMOETAS
+"My Muse, although she be but country-bred,
+Is loved by Pollio: O Pierian Maids,
+Pray you, a heifer for your reader feed!"
+
+ MENALCAS
+"Pollio himself too doth new verses make:
+Feed ye a bull now ripe to butt with horn,
+And scatter with his hooves the flying sand."
+
+DAMOETAS
+"Who loves thee, Pollio, may he thither come
+Where thee he joys beholding; ay, for him
+Let honey flow, the thorn-bush spices bear."
+
+MENALCAS
+"Who hates not Bavius, let him also love
+Thy songs, O Maevius, ay, and therewithal
+Yoke foxes to his car, and he-goats milk."
+
+DAMOETAS
+"You, picking flowers and strawberries that grow
+So near the ground, fly hence, boys, get you gone!
+There's a cold adder lurking in the grass."
+
+MENALCAS
+"Forbear, my sheep, to tread too near the brink;
+Yon bank is ill to trust to; even now
+The ram himself, see, dries his dripping fleece!"
+
+DAMOETAS
+"Back with the she-goats, Tityrus, grazing there
+So near the river! I, when time shall serve,
+Will take them all, and wash them in the pool."
+
+MENALCAS
+"Boys, get your sheep together; if the heat,
+As late it did, forestall us with the milk,
+Vainly the dried-up udders shall we wring."
+
+
+DAMOETAS
+"How lean my bull amid the fattening vetch!
+Alack! alack! for herdsman and for herd!
+It is the self-same love that wastes us both."
+
+MENALCAS
+"These truly- nor is even love the cause-
+Scarce have the flesh to keep their bones together
+Some evil eye my lambkins hath bewitched."
+
+DAMOETAS
+"Say in what clime- and you shall be withal
+My great Apollo- the whole breadth of heaven
+Opens no wider than three ells to view."
+
+MENALCAS
+"Say in what country grow such flowers as bear
+The names of kings upon their petals writ,
+And you shall have fair Phyllis for your own."
+
+PALAEMON
+Not mine betwixt such rivals to decide:
+You well deserve the heifer, so does he,
+With all who either fear the sweets of love,
+Or taste its bitterness. Now, boys, shut off
+The sluices, for the fields have drunk their fill.
+
+
+
+
+ECLOGUE IV
+
+POLLIO
+
+Muses of Sicily, essay we now
+A somewhat loftier task! Not all men love
+Coppice or lowly tamarisk: sing we woods,
+Woods worthy of a Consul let them be.
+
+Now the last age by Cumae's Sibyl sung
+Has come and gone, and the majestic roll
+Of circling centuries begins anew:
+Justice returns, returns old Saturn's reign,
+With a new breed of men sent down from heaven.
+Only do thou, at the boy's birth in whom
+The iron shall cease, the golden race arise,
+Befriend him, chaste Lucina; 'tis thine own
+Apollo reigns. And in thy consulate,
+This glorious age, O Pollio, shall begin,
+And the months enter on their mighty march.
+Under thy guidance, whatso tracks remain
+Of our old wickedness, once done away,
+Shall free the earth from never-ceasing fear.
+He shall receive the life of gods, and see
+Heroes with gods commingling, and himself
+Be seen of them, and with his father's worth
+Reign o'er a world at peace. For thee, O boy,
+First shall the earth, untilled, pour freely forth
+Her childish gifts, the gadding ivy-spray
+With foxglove and Egyptian bean-flower mixed,
+And laughing-eyed acanthus. Of themselves,
+Untended, will the she-goats then bring home
+Their udders swollen with milk, while flocks afield
+Shall of the monstrous lion have no fear.
+Thy very cradle shall pour forth for thee
+Caressing flowers. The serpent too shall die,
+Die shall the treacherous poison-plant, and far
+And wide Assyrian spices spring. But soon
+As thou hast skill to read of heroes' fame,
+And of thy father's deeds, and inly learn
+What virtue is, the plain by slow degrees
+With waving corn-crops shall to golden grow,
+From the wild briar shall hang the blushing grape,
+And stubborn oaks sweat honey-dew. Nathless
+Yet shall there lurk within of ancient wrong
+Some traces, bidding tempt the deep with ships,
+Gird towns with walls, with furrows cleave the earth.
+Therewith a second Tiphys shall there be,
+Her hero-freight a second Argo bear;
+New wars too shall arise, and once again
+Some great Achilles to some Troy be sent.
+Then, when the mellowing years have made thee man,
+No more shall mariner sail, nor pine-tree bark
+Ply traffic on the sea, but every land
+Shall all things bear alike: the glebe no more
+Shall feel the harrow's grip, nor vine the hook;
+The sturdy ploughman shall loose yoke from steer,
+Nor wool with varying colours learn to lie;
+But in the meadows shall the ram himself,
+Now with soft flush of purple, now with tint
+Of yellow saffron, teach his fleece to shine.
+While clothed in natural scarlet graze the lambs.
+"Such still, such ages weave ye, as ye run,"
+Sang to their spindles the consenting Fates
+By Destiny's unalterable decree.
+Assume thy greatness, for the time draws nigh,
+Dear child of gods, great progeny of Jove!
+See how it totters- the world's orbed might,
+Earth, and wide ocean, and the vault profound,
+All, see, enraptured of the coming time!
+Ah! might such length of days to me be given,
+And breath suffice me to rehearse thy deeds,
+Nor Thracian Orpheus should out-sing me then,
+Nor Linus, though his mother this, and that
+His sire should aid- Orpheus Calliope,
+And Linus fair Apollo. Nay, though Pan,
+With Arcady for judge, my claim contest,
+With Arcady for judge great Pan himself
+Should own him foiled, and from the field retire.
+
+Begin to greet thy mother with a smile,
+O baby-boy! ten months of weariness
+For thee she bore: O baby-boy, begin!
+For him, on whom his parents have not smiled,
+Gods deem not worthy of their board or bed.
+
+
+
+
+ECLOGUE V
+
+MENALCAS   MOPSUS
+
+
+MENALCAS
+Why, Mopsus, being both together met,
+You skilled to breathe upon the slender reeds,
+I to sing ditties, do we not sit down
+Here where the elm-trees and the hazels blend?
+
+MOPSUS
+You are the elder, 'tis for me to bide
+Your choice, Menalcas, whether now we seek
+Yon shade that quivers to the changeful breeze,
+Or the cave's shelter. Look you how the cave
+Is with the wild vine's clusters over-laced!
+
+MENALCAS
+None but Amyntas on these hills of ours
+Can vie with you.
+
+MOPSUS
+
+                 What if he also strive
+To out-sing Phoebus?
+
+MENALCAS
+
+                    Do you first begin,
+Good Mopsus, whether minded to sing aught
+Of Phyllis and her loves, or Alcon's praise,
+Or to fling taunts at Codrus. Come, begin,
+While Tityrus watches o'er the grazing kids.
+
+MOPSUS
+Nay, then, I will essay what late I carved
+On a green beech-tree's rind, playing by turns,
+And marking down the notes; then afterward
+Bid you Amyntas match them if he can.
+
+MENALCAS
+As limber willow to pale olive yields,
+As lowly Celtic nard to rose-buds bright,
+So, to my mind, Amyntas yields to you.
+But hold awhile, for to the cave we come.
+
+MOPSUS
+"For Daphnis cruelly slain wept all the Nymphs-
+Ye hazels, bear them witness, and ye streams-
+When she, his mother, clasping in her arms
+The hapless body of the son she bare,
+To gods and stars unpitying, poured her plaint.
+Then, Daphnis, to the cooling streams were none
+That drove the pastured oxen, then no beast
+Drank of the river, or would the grass-blade touch.
+Nay, the wild rocks and woods then voiced the roar
+Of Afric lions mourning for thy death.
+Daphnis, 'twas thou bad'st yoke to Bacchus' car
+Armenian tigresses, lead on the pomp
+Of revellers, and with tender foliage wreathe
+The bending spear-wands. As to trees the vine
+Is crown of glory, as to vines the grape,
+Bulls to the herd, to fruitful fields the corn,
+So the one glory of thine own art thou.
+When the Fates took thee hence, then Pales' self,
+And even Apollo, left the country lone.
+Where the plump barley-grain so oft we sowed,
+There but wild oats and barren darnel spring;
+For tender violet and narcissus bright
+Thistle and prickly thorn uprear their heads.
+Now, O ye shepherds, strew the ground with leaves,
+And o'er the fountains draw a shady veil-
+So Daphnis to his memory bids be done-
+And rear a tomb, and write thereon this verse:
+'I, Daphnis in the woods, from hence in fame
+Am to the stars exalted, guardian once
+Of a fair flock, myself more fair than they.'"
+
+MENALCAS
+So is thy song to me, poet divine,
+As slumber on the grass to weary limbs,
+Or to slake thirst from some sweet-bubbling rill
+In summer's heat. Nor on the reeds alone,
+But with thy voice art thou, thrice happy boy,
+Ranked with thy master, second but to him.
+Yet will I, too, in turn, as best I may,
+Sing thee a song, and to the stars uplift
+Thy Daphnis- Daphnis to the stars extol,
+For me too Daphnis loved.
+
+MOPSUS
+
+                            Than such a boon
+What dearer could I deem? the boy himself
+Was worthy to be sung, and many a time
+Hath Stimichon to me your singing praised.
+
+MENALCAS
+"In dazzling sheen with unaccustomed eyes
+Daphnis stands rapt before Olympus' gate,
+And sees beneath his feet the clouds and stars.
+Wherefore the woods and fields, Pan, shepherd-folk,
+And Dryad-maidens, thrill with eager joy;
+Nor wolf with treacherous wile assails the flock,
+Nor nets the stag: kind Daphnis loveth peace.
+The unshorn mountains to the stars up-toss
+Voices of gladness; ay, the very rocks,
+The very thickets, shout and sing, 'A god,
+A god is he, Menalcas "Be thou kind,
+Propitious to thine own. Lo! altars four,
+Twain to thee, Daphnis, and to Phoebus twain
+For sacrifice, we build; and I for thee
+Two beakers yearly of fresh milk afoam,
+And of rich olive-oil two bowls, will set;
+And of the wine-god's bounty above all,
+If cold, before the hearth, or in the shade
+At harvest-time, to glad the festal hour,
+From flasks of Ariusian grape will pour
+Sweet nectar. Therewithal at my behest
+Shall Lyctian Aegon and Damoetas sing,
+And Alphesiboeus emulate in dance
+The dancing Satyrs. This, thy service due,
+Shalt thou lack never, both when we pay the Nymphs
+Our yearly vows, and when with lustral rites
+The fields we hallow. Long as the wild boar
+Shall love the mountain-heights, and fish the streams,
+While bees on thyme and crickets feed on dew,
+Thy name, thy praise, thine honour, shall endure.
+Even as to Bacchus and to Ceres, so
+To thee the swain his yearly vows shall make;
+And thou thereof, like them, shalt quittance claim."
+
+MOPSUS
+How, how repay thee for a song so rare?
+For not the whispering south-wind on its way
+So much delights me, nor wave-smitten beach,
+Nor streams that race adown their bouldered beds.
+
+MENALCAS
+First this frail hemlock-stalk to you I give,
+Which taught me "Corydon with love was fired
+For fair Alexis," ay, and this beside,
+"Who owns the flock?- Meliboeus?"
+
+MOPSUS
+
+                                  But take you
+This shepherd's crook, which, howso hard he begged,
+Antigenes, then worthy to be loved,
+Prevailed not to obtain- with brass, you see,
+And equal knots, Menalcas, fashioned fair!
+
+
+
+
+ECLOGUE VI
+
+TO VARUS
+
+First my Thalia stooped in sportive mood
+To Syracusan strains, nor blushed within
+The woods to house her. When I sought to tell
+Of battles and of kings, the Cynthian god
+Plucked at mine ear and warned me: "Tityrus,
+Beseems a shepherd-wight to feed fat sheep,
+But sing a slender song." Now, Varus, I-
+For lack there will not who would laud thy deeds,
+And treat of dolorous wars- will rather tune
+To the slim oaten reed my silvan lay.
+I sing but as vouchsafed me; yet even this
+If, if but one with ravished eyes should read,
+Of thee, O Varus, shall our tamarisks
+And all the woodland ring; nor can there be
+A page more dear to Phoebus, than the page
+Where, foremost writ, the name of Varus stands.
+
+Speed ye, Pierian Maids! Within a cave
+Young Chromis and Mnasyllos chanced to see
+Silenus sleeping, flushed, as was his wont,
+With wine of yesterday. Not far aloof,
+Slipped from his head, the garlands lay, and there
+By its worn handle hung a ponderous cup.
+Approaching- for the old man many a time
+Had balked them both of a long hoped-for song-
+Garlands to fetters turned, they bind him fast.
+Then Aegle, fairest of the Naiad-band,
+Aegle came up to the half-frightened boys,
+Came, and, as now with open eyes he lay,
+With juice of blood-red mulberries smeared him o'er,
+Both brow and temples. Laughing at their guile,
+And crying, "Why tie the fetters? loose me, boys;
+Enough for you to think you had the power;
+Now list the songs you wish for- songs for you,
+Another meed for her" -forthwith began.
+Then might you see the wild things of the wood,
+With Fauns in sportive frolic beat the time,
+And stubborn oaks their branchy summits bow.
+Not Phoebus doth the rude Parnassian crag
+So ravish, nor Orpheus so entrance the heights
+Of Rhodope or Ismarus: for he sang
+How through the mighty void the seeds were driven
+Of earth, air, ocean, and of liquid fire,
+How all that is from these beginnings grew,
+And the young world itself took solid shape,
+Then 'gan its crust to harden, and in the deep
+Shut Nereus off, and mould the forms of things
+Little by little; and how the earth amazed
+Beheld the new sun shining, and the showers
+Fall, as the clouds soared higher, what time the woods
+'Gan first to rise, and living things to roam
+Scattered among the hills that knew them not.
+Then sang he of the stones by Pyrrha cast,
+Of Saturn's reign, and of Prometheus' theft,
+And the Caucasian birds, and told withal
+Nigh to what fountain by his comrades left
+The mariners cried on Hylas till the shore
+"Then Re-echoed "Hylas, Hylas! soothed
+Pasiphae with the love of her white bull-
+Happy if cattle-kind had never been!-
+O ill-starred maid, what frenzy caught thy soul
+The daughters too of Proetus filled the fields
+With their feigned lowings, yet no one of them
+Of such unhallowed union e'er was fain
+As with a beast to mate, though many a time
+On her smooth forehead she had sought for horns,
+And for her neck had feared the galling plough.
+O ill-starred maid! thou roamest now the hills,
+While on soft hyacinths he, his snowy side
+Reposing, under some dark ilex now
+Chews the pale herbage, or some heifer tracks
+Amid the crowding herd. Now close, ye Nymphs,
+Ye Nymphs of Dicte, close the forest-glades,
+If haply there may chance upon mine eyes
+The white bull's wandering foot-prints: him belike
+Following the herd, or by green pasture lured,
+Some kine may guide to the Gortynian stalls.
+Then sings he of the maid so wonder-struck
+With the apples of the Hesperids, and then
+With moss-bound, bitter bark rings round the forms
+Of Phaethon's fair sisters, from the ground
+Up-towering into poplars. Next he sings
+Of Gallus wandering by Permessus' stream,
+And by a sister of the Muses led
+To the Aonian mountains, and how all
+The choir of Phoebus rose to greet him; how
+The shepherd Linus, singer of songs divine,
+Brow-bound with flowers and bitter parsley, spake:
+"These reeds the Muses give thee, take them thou,
+Erst to the aged bard of Ascra given,
+Wherewith in singing he was wont to draw
+Time-rooted ash-trees from the mountain heights.
+With these the birth of the Grynean grove
+Be voiced by thee, that of no grove beside
+Apollo more may boast him." Wherefore speak
+Of Scylla, child of Nisus, who, 'tis said,
+Her fair white loins with barking monsters girt
+Vexed the Dulichian ships, and, in the deep
+Swift-eddying whirlpool, with her sea-dogs tore
+The trembling mariners? or how he told
+Of the changed limbs of Tereus- what a feast,
+What gifts, to him by Philomel were given;
+How swift she sought the desert, with what wings
+Hovered in anguish o'er her ancient home?
+All that, of old, Eurotas, happy stream,
+Heard, as Apollo mused upon the lyre,
+And bade his laurels learn, Silenus sang;
+Till from Olympus, loth at his approach,
+Vesper, advancing, bade the shepherds tell
+Their tale of sheep, and pen them in the fold.
+
+
+
+
+ECLOGUE VII
+
+MELIBOEUS   CORYDON   THYRSIS
+
+Daphnis beneath a rustling ilex-tree
+Had sat him down; Thyrsis and Corydon
+Had gathered in the flock, Thyrsis the sheep,
+And Corydon the she-goats swollen with milk-
+Both in the flower of age, Arcadians both,
+Ready to sing, and in like strain reply.
+Hither had strayed, while from the frost I fend
+My tender myrtles, the he-goat himself,
+Lord of the flock; when Daphnis I espy!
+Soon as he saw me, "Hither haste," he cried,
+"O Meliboeus! goat and kids are safe;
+And, if you have an idle hour to spare,
+Rest here beneath the shade. Hither the steers
+Will through the meadows, of their own free will,
+Untended come to drink. Here Mincius hath
+With tender rushes rimmed his verdant banks,
+And from yon sacred oak with busy hum
+The bees are swarming." What was I to do?
+No Phyllis or Alcippe left at home
+Had I, to shelter my new-weaned lambs,
+And no slight matter was a singing-bout
+'Twixt Corydon and Thyrsis. Howsoe'er,
+I let my business wait upon their sport.
+So they began to sing, voice answering voice
+In strains alternate- for alternate strains
+The Muses then were minded to recall-
+First Corydon, then Thyrsis in reply.
+
+CORYDON
+"Libethrian Nymphs, who are my heart's delight,
+Grant me, as doth my Codrus, so to sing-
+Next to Apollo he- or if to this
+We may not all attain, my tuneful pipe
+Here on this sacred pine shall silent hang."
+
+THYRSIS
+"Arcadian shepherds, wreathe with ivy-spray
+Your budding poet, so that Codrus burst
+With envy: if he praise beyond my due,
+Then bind my brow with foxglove, lest his tongue
+With evil omen blight the coming bard."
+
+CORYDON
+"This bristling boar's head, Delian Maid, to thee,
+With branching antlers of a sprightly stag,
+Young Micon offers: if his luck but hold,
+Full-length in polished marble, ankle-bound
+With purple buskin, shall thy statue stand."
+
+THYRSIS
+"A bowl of milk, Priapus, and these cakes,
+Yearly, it is enough for thee to claim;
+Thou art the guardian of a poor man's plot.
+Wrought for a while in marble, if the flock
+At lambing time be filled,stand there in gold."
+
+CORYDON
+"Daughter of Nereus, Galatea mine,
+Sweeter than Hybla-thyme, more white than swans,
+Fairer than ivy pale, soon as the steers
+Shall from their pasture to the stalls repair,
+If aught for Corydon thou carest, come."
+
+THYRSIS
+"Now may I seem more bitter to your taste
+Than herb Sardinian, rougher than the broom,
+More worthless than strewn sea-weed, if to-day
+Hath not a year out-lasted! Fie for shame!
+Go home, my cattle, from your grazing go!"
+
+CORYDON
+"Ye mossy springs, and grass more soft than sleep,
+And arbute green with thin shade sheltering you,
+Ward off the solstice from my flock, for now
+Comes on the burning summer, now the buds
+Upon the limber vine-shoot 'gin to swell."
+
+THYRSIS
+"Here is a hearth, and resinous logs, here fire
+Unstinted, and doors black with ceaseless smoke.
+Here heed we Boreas' icy breath as much
+As the wolf heeds the number of the flock,
+Or furious rivers their restraining banks."
+
+CORYDON
+"The junipers and prickly chestnuts stand,
+And 'neath each tree lie strewn their several fruits,
+Now the whole world is smiling, but if fair
+Alexis from these hill-slopes should away,
+Even the rivers you would ; see run dry."
+
+THYRSIS
+"The field is parched, the grass-blades thirst to death
+In the faint air; Liber hath grudged the hills
+His vine's o'er-shadowing: should my Phyllis come,
+Green will be all the grove, and Jupiter
+Descend in floods of fertilizing rain."
+
+CORYDON
+"The poplar doth Alcides hold most dear,
+The vine Iacchus, Phoebus his own bays,
+And Venus fair the myrtle: therewithal
+Phyllis doth hazels love, and while she loves,
+Myrtle nor bay the hazel shall out-vie."
+
+THYRSIS
+"Ash in the forest is most beautiful,
+Pine in the garden, poplar by the stream,
+Fir on the mountain-height; but if more oft
+Thou'ldst come to me, fair Lycidas, to thee
+Both forest-ash, and garden-pine should bow."
+
+MELIBOEUS
+These I remember, and how Thyrsis strove
+For victory in vain. From that time forth
+Is Corydon still Corydon with us.
+
+
+
+
+ECLOGUE VIII
+
+TO POLLIO   DAMON   ALPHESIBOEUS
+
+Of Damon and Alphesiboeus now,
+Those shepherd-singers at whose rival strains
+The heifer wondering forgot to graze,
+The lynx stood awe-struck, and the flowing streams,
+Unwonted loiterers, stayed their course to hear-
+How Damon and Alphesiboeus sang
+Their pastoral ditties, will I tell the tale.
+
+Thou, whether broad Timavus' rocky banks
+Thou now art passing, or dost skirt the shore
+Of the Illyrian main,- will ever dawn
+That day when I thy deeds may celebrate,
+Ever that day when through the whole wide world
+I may renown thy verse- that verse alone
+Of Sophoclean buskin worthy found?
+With thee began, to thee shall end, the strain.
+Take thou these songs that owe their birth to thee,
+And deign around thy temples to let creep
+This ivy-chaplet 'twixt the conquering bays.
+
+Scarce had night's chilly shade forsook the sky
+What time to nibbling sheep the dewy grass
+Tastes sweetest, when, on his smooth shepherd-staff
+Of olive leaning, Damon thus began.
+
+DAMON
+"Rise, Lucifer, and, heralding the light,
+Bring in the genial day, while I make moan
+Fooled by vain passion for a faithless bride,
+For Nysa, and with this my dying breath
+Call on the gods, though little it bestead-
+The gods who heard her vows and heeded not.
+
+"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.
+Ever hath Maenalus his murmuring groves
+And whispering pines, and ever hears the songs
+Of love-lorn shepherds, and of Pan, who first
+Brooked not the tuneful reed should idle lie.
+
+"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.
+Nysa to Mopsus given! what may not then
+We lovers look for? soon shall we see mate
+Griffins with mares, and in the coming age
+Shy deer and hounds together come to drink.
+
+"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.
+Now, Mopsus, cut new torches, for they bring
+Your bride along; now, bridegroom, scatter nuts:
+Forsaking Oeta mounts the evening star!
+
+"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.
+O worthy of thy mate, while all men else
+Thou scornest, and with loathing dost behold
+My shepherd's pipe, my goats, my shaggy brow,
+And untrimmed beard, nor deem'st that any god
+For mortal doings hath regard or care.
+
+"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.
+Once with your mother, in our orchard-garth,
+A little maid I saw you- I your guide-
+Plucking the dewy apples. My twelfth year
+I scarce had entered, and could barely reach
+The brittle boughs. I looked, and I was lost;
+A sudden frenzy swept my wits away.
+
+"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.
+Now know I what Love is: 'mid savage rocks
+Tmaros or Rhodope brought forth the boy,
+Or Garamantes in earth's utmost bounds-
+No kin of ours, nor of our blood begot.
+
+"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.
+Fierce Love it was once steeled a mother's heart
+With her own offspring's blood her hands to imbrue:
+Mother, thou too wert cruel; say wert thou
+More cruel, mother, or more ruthless he?
+Ruthless the boy, thou, mother, cruel too.
+
+"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.
+Now let the wolf turn tail and fly the sheep,
+Tough oaks bear golden apples, alder-trees
+Bloom with narcissus-flower, the tamarisk
+Sweat with rich amber, and the screech-owl vie
+In singing with the swan: let Tityrus
+Be Orpheus, Orpheus in the forest-glade,
+Arion 'mid his dolphins on the deep.
+
+"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.
+Yea, be the whole earth to mid-ocean turned!
+Farewell, ye woodlands I from the tall peak
+Of yon aerial rock will headlong plunge
+Into the billows: this my latest gift,
+From dying lips bequeathed thee, see thou keep.
+Cease now, my flute, now cease Maenalian lays."
+
+Thus Damon: but do ye, Pierian Maids-
+We cannot all do all things- tell me how
+Alphesiboeus to his strain replied.
+
+ALPHESIBOEUS
+"Bring water, and with soft wool-fillet bind
+These altars round about, and burn thereon
+Rich vervain and male frankincense, that I
+May strive with magic spells to turn astray
+My lover's saner senses, whereunto
+There lacketh nothing save the power of song.
+
+"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.
+Songs can the very moon draw down from heaven
+Circe with singing changed from human form
+The comrades of Ulysses, and by song
+Is the cold meadow-snake, asunder burst.
+
+"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.
+These triple threads of threefold colour first
+I twine about thee, and three times withal
+Around these altars do thine image bear:
+Uneven numbers are the god's delight.
+
+"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.
+Now, Amaryllis, ply in triple knots
+The threefold colours; ply them fast, and say
+This is the chain of Venus that I ply.
+
+"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.
+As by the kindling of the self-same fire
+Harder this clay, this wax the softer grows,
+So by my love may Daphnis; sprinkle meal,
+And with bitumen burn the brittle bays.
+Me Daphnis with his cruelty doth burn,
+I to melt cruel Daphnis burn this bay.
+
+"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.
+As when some heifer, seeking for her steer
+Through woodland and deep grove, sinks wearied out
+On the green sedge beside a stream, love-lorn,
+Nor marks the gathering night that calls her home-
+As pines that heifer, with such love as hers
+May Daphnis pine, and I not care to heal.
+
+"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.
+These relics once, dear pledges of himself,
+The traitor left me, which, O earth, to thee
+Here on this very threshold I commit-
+Pledges that bind him to redeem the debt.
+
+"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.
+These herbs of bane to me did Moeris give,
+In Pontus culled, where baneful herbs abound.
+With these full oft have I seen Moeris change
+To a wolf's form, and hide him in the woods,
+Oft summon spirits from the tomb's recess,
+And to new fields transport the standing corn.
+
+"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.
+Take ashes, Amaryllis, fetch them forth,
+And o'er your head into the running brook
+Fling them, nor look behind: with these will
+Upon the heart of Daphnis make essay.
+Nothing for gods, nothing for songs cares he.
+
+"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.
+Look, look I the very embers of themselves
+Have caught the altar with a flickering flame,
+While I delay to fetch them: may the sign
+Prove lucky! something it must mean, for sure,
+And Hylax on the threshold 'gins to bark!
+May we believe it, or are lovers still
+By their own fancies fooled?
+
+                           Give o'er, my songs,
+Daphnis is coming from the town, give o'er."
+
+
+
+
+ECLOGUE IX
+
+LYCIDAS   MOERIS
+
+
+LYCIDAS
+Say whither, Moeris?- Make you for the town,
+Or on what errand bent?
+
+MOERIS
+
+                              O Lycidas,
+We have lived to see, what never yet we feared,
+An interloper own our little farm,
+And say, "Be off, you former husbandmen!
+These fields are mine." Now, cowed and out of heart,
+Since Fortune turns the whole world upside down,
+We are taking him- ill luck go with the same!-'
+These kids you see.
+
+LYCIDAS
+
+                      But surely I had heard
+That where the hills first draw from off the plain,
+And the high ridge with gentle slope descends,
+Down to the brook-side and the broken crests
+Of yonder veteran beeches, all the land
+Was by the songs of your Menalcas saved.
+
+MOERIS
+Heard it you had, and so the rumour ran,
+But 'mid the clash of arms, my Lycidas,
+Our songs avail no more than, as 'tis said,
+Doves of Dodona when an eagle comes.
+Nay, had I not, from hollow ilex-bole
+Warned by a raven on the left, cut short
+The rising feud, nor I, your Moeris here,
+No, nor Menalcas, were alive to-day.
+
+LYCIDAS
+Alack! could any of so foul a crime
+Be guilty? Ah! how nearly, thyself,
+Reft was the solace that we had in thee,
+Menalcas! Who then of the Nymphs had sung,
+Or who with flowering herbs bestrewn the ground,
+And o'er the fountains drawn a leafy veil?-
+Who sung the stave I filched from you that day
+To Amaryllis wending, our hearts' joy?-
+"While I am gone, 'tis but a little way,
+Feed, Tityrus, my goats, and, having fed,
+Drive to the drinking-pool, and, as you drive,
+Beware the he-goat; with his horn he butts."
+
+MOERIS
+Ay, or to Varus that half-finished lay,
+"Varus, thy name, so still our Mantua live-
+Mantua to poor Cremona all too near-
+Shall singing swans bear upward to the stars."
+
+LYCIDAS
+So may your swarms Cyrnean yew-trees shun,
+Your kine with cytisus their udders swell,
+Begin, if aught you have. The Muses made
+Me too a singer; I too have sung; the swains
+Call me a poet, but I believe them not:
+For naught of mine, or worthy Varius yet
+Or Cinna deem I, but account myself
+A cackling goose among melodious swans.
+
+MOERIS
+'Twas in my thought to do so, Lycidas;
+Even now was I revolving silently
+If this I could recall- no paltry song:
+"Come, Galatea, what pleasure is 't to play
+Amid the waves? Here glows the Spring, here earth
+Beside the streams pours forth a thousand flowers;
+Here the white poplar bends above the cave,
+And the lithe vine weaves shadowy covert: come,
+Leave the mad waves to beat upon the shore."
+
+LYCIDAS
+What of the strain I heard you singing once
+On a clear night alone? the notes I still
+Remember, could I but recall the words.
+
+MOERIS
+"Why, Daphnis, upward gazing, do you mark
+The ancient risings of the Signs? for look
+Where Dionean Caesar's star comes forth
+In heaven, to gladden all the fields with corn,
+And to the grape upon the sunny slopes
+Her colour bring! Now, the pears;
+So shall your children's children pluck their fruit.
+
+Time carries all things, even our wits, away.
+Oft, as a boy, I sang the sun to rest,
+But all those songs are from my memory fled,
+And even his voice is failing Moeris now;
+The wolves eyed Moeris first: but at your wish
+Menalcas will repeat them oft enow.
+
+LYCIDAS
+Your pleas but linger out my heart's desire:
+Now all the deep is into silence hushed,
+And all the murmuring breezes sunk to sleep.
+We are half-way thither, for Bianor's tomb
+Begins to show: here, Moeris, where the hinds
+Are lopping the thick leafage, let us sing.
+Set down the kids, yet shall we reach the town;
+Or, if we fear the night may gather rain
+Ere we arrive, then singing let us go,
+Our way to lighten; and, that we may thus
+Go singing, I will case you of this load.
+
+MOERIS
+Cease, boy, and get we to the work in hand:
+We shall sing better when himself is come.
+
+
+
+
+ECLOGUE X
+
+GALLUS
+
+This now, the very latest of my toils,
+Vouchsafe me, Arethusa! needs must I
+Sing a brief song to Gallus- brief, but yet
+Such as Lycoris' self may fitly read.
+Who would not sing for Gallus? So, when thou
+Beneath Sicanian billows glidest on,
+May Doris blend no bitter wave with thine,
+Begin! The love of Gallus be our theme,
+And the shrewd pangs he suffered, while, hard by,
+The flat-nosed she-goats browse the tender brush.
+We sing not to deaf ears; no word of ours
+But the woods echo it. What groves or lawns
+Held you, ye Dryad-maidens, when for love-
+Love all unworthy of a loss so dear-
+Gallus lay dying? for neither did the slopes
+Of Pindus or Parnassus stay you then,
+No, nor Aonian Aganippe. Him
+Even the laurels and the tamarisks wept;
+For him, outstretched beneath a lonely rock,
+Wept pine-clad Maenalus, and the flinty crags
+Of cold Lycaeus. The sheep too stood around-
+Of us they feel no shame, poet divine;
+Nor of the flock be thou ashamed: even fair
+Adonis by the rivers fed his sheep-
+Came shepherd too, and swine-herd footing slow,
+And, from the winter-acorns dripping-wet
+Menalcas. All with one accord exclaim:
+"From whence this love of thine?" Apollo came;
+"Gallus, art mad?" he cried, "thy bosom's care
+Another love is following."Therewithal
+Silvanus came, with rural honours crowned;
+The flowering fennels and tall lilies shook
+Before him. Yea, and our own eyes beheld
+Pan, god of Arcady, with blood-red juice
+Of the elder-berry, and with vermilion, dyed.
+"Wilt ever make an end?" quoth he, "behold
+Love recks not aught of it: his heart no more
+With tears is sated than with streams the grass,
+Bees with the cytisus, or goats with leaves."
+"Yet will ye sing, Arcadians, of my woes
+Upon your mountains," sadly he replied-
+"Arcadians, that alone have skill to sing.
+O then how softly would my ashes rest,
+If of my love, one day, your flutes should tell!
+And would that I, of your own fellowship,
+Or dresser of the ripening grape had been,
+Or guardian of the flock! for surely then,
+Let Phyllis, or Amyntas, or who else,
+Bewitch me- what if swart Amyntas be?
+Dark is the violet, dark the hyacinth-
+Among the willows, 'neath the limber vine,
+Reclining would my love have lain with me,
+Phyllis plucked garlands, or Amyntas sung.
+Here are cool springs, soft mead and grove, Lycoris;
+Here might our lives with time have worn away.
+But me mad love of the stern war-god holds
+Armed amid weapons and opposing foes.
+Whilst thou- Ah! might I but believe it not!-
+Alone without me, and from home afar,
+Look'st upon Alpine snows and frozen Rhine.
+Ah! may the frost not hurt thee, may the sharp
+And jagged ice not wound thy tender feet!
+I will depart, re-tune the songs I framed
+In verse Chalcidian to the oaten reed
+Of the Sicilian swain. Resolved am I
+In the woods, rather, with wild beasts to couch,
+And bear my doom, and character my love
+Upon the tender tree-trunks: they will grow,
+And you, my love, grow with them. And meanwhile
+I with the Nymphs will haunt Mount Maenalus,
+Or hunt the keen wild boar. No frost so cold
+But I will hem with hounds thy forest-glades,
+Parthenius. Even now, methinks, I range
+O'er rocks, through echoing groves, and joy to launch
+Cydonian arrows from a Parthian bow.-
+As if my madness could find healing thus,
+Or that god soften at a mortal's grief!
+Now neither Hamadryads, no, nor songs
+Delight me more: ye woods, away with you!
+No pangs of ours can change him; not though we
+In the mid-frost should drink of Hebrus' stream,
+And in wet winters face Sithonian snows,
+Or, when the bark of the tall elm-tree bole
+Of drought is dying, should, under Cancer's Sign,
+In Aethiopian deserts drive our flocks.
+Love conquers all things; yield we too to love!"
+
+These songs, Pierian Maids, shall it suffice
+Your poet to have sung, the while he sat,
+And of slim mallow wove a basket fine:
+To Gallus ye will magnify their worth,
+Gallus, for whom my love grows hour by hour,
+As the green alder shoots in early Spring.
+Come, let us rise: the shade is wont to be
+Baneful to singers; baneful is the shade
+Cast by the juniper, crops sicken too
+In shade. Now homeward, having fed your fill--
+Eve's star is rising-go, my she-goats, go.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Bucolics and Eclogues, by Virgil
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