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 a.s.syrian 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 st.u.r.dy 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.

a.s.sume thy greatness, for the time draws nigh, Dear child of G.o.ds, great progeny of Jove!

See how it totters- the world's...o...b..d 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 rehea.r.s.e 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, G.o.ds 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 cl.u.s.ters 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 t.i.tyrus 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 G.o.ds 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 gra.s.s-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 p.r.i.c.kly 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 gra.s.s 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 a.s.sails 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 G.o.d, A G.o.d 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-G.o.d'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 l.u.s.tral 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 bra.s.s, 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 G.o.d Plucked at mine ear and warned me: "t.i.tyrus, 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 Parna.s.sian 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 sh.o.r.e "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?