This is a modern-English version of The Bucolics and Eclogues, originally written by Virgil. It has been thoroughly updated, including changes to sentence structure, words, spelling, and grammar—to ensure clarity for contemporary readers, while preserving the original spirit and nuance. If you click on a paragraph, you will see the original text that we modified, and you can toggle between the two versions.

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37 BC







THE ECLOGUES





by Virgil











ECLOGUE I
ECLOGUE II
ECLOGUE III
ECLOGUE IV




ECLOGUE V
ECLOGUE VI
ECLOGUE VII
ECLOGUE VIII




ECLOGUE IX
ECLOGUE X
 
 










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.


MELIBOEUS

You, Tityrus, lounging under a big beech tree,

Practicing your countryside songs on the thin oats:

I’m leaving my beloved fields,

And the familiar limits of home, right now.

I’m exiled from home; while you, Tityrus,

Relax in the shade, singing for your song,

"Pretty Amaryllis," making the woods echo.



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.


TITYRUS

Oh Meliboeus, it was a god who granted

This comfort to us, for I will always consider him a god.

From my flocks, a gentle lamb

Often with its blood will mark his altar.

It’s his gift that, as you can see,

My cattle can graze freely, and I myself

Play whatever songs I like on my shepherd's pipe.



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.


MELIBOEUS

I don’t resent your gift, but I’m puzzled more,

Such chaos spreads across the countryside.

Look, heartbroken I guide my she-goats along,

And this one, oh my Tityrus, can barely walk:

For just now in the hazel thicket

She gave birth to her newborn kids on the bare stone,

The hope of the flock— a sign I remember well,

Which many times, if not for my blinded heart,

The lightning-struck oak warned about, too

From its hollow trunk the raven's eerie call.

But who is this god of yours? Come on, Tityrus, tell me.



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.


TITYRUS

The city they call Rome, Meliboeus,

I, a simpleton, thought it was like our town,

Where we shepherds often take

The young ones of the flock: just like I knew

Puppies resemble dogs, and kids their mothers,

Comparing the small to the great; but this city

Stands head and shoulders above all others

Like a cypress stands above flexible willow trees.



MELIBOEUS

And what so potent cause took you to Rome?


MELIBOEUS
  
So, what strong reason brought 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.


TITYRUS

Freedom, which, although late, finally

Looked at the slacker, when my beard

Started to turn gray under the barber's blade—

I say looked, and though it took a while, it arrived,

Now that I’m free from Galatea’s control,

I only serve Amaryllis: because I admit,

While Galatea was in charge of me, I had

No hope for freedom and no thought of escape.

Though many a victim left my flock,

Or rich cheese was made for the ungrateful town,

I never came home with full hands.



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.


MELIBOEUS

I used to wonder, Amaryllis, why

You cried to the heavens so sadly, and for whom

You left the apples hanging on the trees;

It was Tityrus who was away. Why, Tityrus,

The very pines, the very springs,

The very vineyards, cried out 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."


TITYRUS

What could I do? How else could I be freed from these bonds,

Or find other gods so close to help?

There, Meliboeus, I saw that young man to whom

For twelve days a year my altars burn.

Right away, he answered my plea,

"Keep feeding your cows, boys, and raise 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.


MELIBOEUS

So in your old age, you happy man, your fields

Will still belong to you, and be plenty for your needs!

Even if the pastures are covered in bare stones

And choked with muddy rush, your ewes with young

Will not be tempted by strange feed, nor hurt

By disease from a neighboring flock.

Happy old man, who among familiar streams

And sacred springs, will enjoy the cool shade!

Here, just like before, your neighbor's hedge,

That feeds the Hybla bees with willow flowers,

Will often gently lull you to sleep,

While the leafcutter under some tall rock

Sings his song, and the wood-pigeons that you love

Keep cooing loudly, and the doves moan in the elm tree above.



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.


TITYRUS

It's easier for light stags to graze in the air,

For the seas to leave their fish exposed on the shore,

For Germans and Parthians to move beyond their natural borders,

And for these to drink from the Arar, those from the Tigris,

Than for his face and memory to fade from my heart.



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.


MELIBOEUS

But we're far away now, some heading to burning Libya,

Some to the Scythian plains, or your swift river,

Cretan Oaxes, we must now make our way,

Or Britain, so far removed from the rest of the world.

Ah! Will I ever in the future see

My homeland again—witness many harvests here

With longing eyes from the humble, thatched-roof cottage

Where I was once a king? These fields, so neatly trimmed,

Some brutal soldier will take over these lands

As an outsider. Ah! What a state

Has civil strife brought our unfortunate people to!

For such as these, surely, were our fields cultivated!

Now, Meliboeus, plant your pears, now arrange

Your vines! Go, once happy flock,

My she-goats, go. I will never again,

Lying in the green cave, watch you from afar

Hanging from the bushy rock; my songs are finished;

Never again will you, with me to tend,

Graze on clover flowers or bitter willows.



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!


TITYRUS

But here, tonight, you could relax with me,

On soft green leaves: I have ripe apples,

Soft chestnuts, and plenty of fresh milk.

And look, the smoke is rising from the farm chimneys in the distance,

And the shadows are growing longer from the hills!










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."


The shepherd Corydon was in love

With fair Alexis, the pride of his master:

He had no real hope, yet despite that,

He still wandered in the thick, leafy beech grove

And there alone poured out his simple songs to the woods and hills.

"Cruel Alexis, don’t you hear my songs?

Have you no compassion? You’ll drive me to my death.

Even the cattle seek the cool shade

And the green lizard hides in the thorny bushes:

Now for the tired mowers, after the fierce heat,

Thestilis prepares her mix of savory herbs,

Wild thyme and garlic. I, all alone,

Only accompanied by the loud cicadas chirping through the bushes,

Still follow your footprints beneath the blazing sun.

It would be better to endure the haughty disdain

Of Amaryllis or the wooing of Menalcas,

Even though he was dark and you are so beautiful!

Don’t trust too much in looks, beautiful boy;

White privets fall, dark hyacinths are picked.

You scorn me, Alexis, not caring who I am

Or how abundant I am in flocks or

In snow-white milk: yet for me

A thousand lambs roam on Sicilian hills;

Summer or winter, my milk pails are always full.

I sing like Amphion once did for Circe,

When he called his cattle home

On Attic Aracynthus. I’m not

Such a bad sight either: recently on the beach

I caught a glimpse of myself when the winds calmed the sea,

And if that mirror doesn't lie, I wouldn’t be afraid

To challenge Daphnis, even with you as judge.

Ah! If only you would be content to stay with me.

A simple cottage in the rough fields could be our home,

We could hunt stags or with green willow wands

Round up the straying flock! There, together with me,

You’d learn to rival Pan in rustic tunes.

Pan first taught reeds to join together;

For both sheep and shepherd, Pan is responsible.

Don’t fear to roughen

Your delicate lips on the reed's edge; to learn these skills

What did Amyntas do?—what didn’t he do?

I have a pipe made from hemlock stalks,

Shaped in decreasing lengths, a dying gift from Damoetas:

‘Once mine,’ he said, ‘now yours to claim as your own.’

Foolish Amyntas heard and envied me.

And yes, I risked my neck to find

Two fawns in a steep valley, still with dappled coats,

Suckled twice a day from a sheep's milk—

I still keep them for you; Thestilis

Often asks me to let her take them away;

And she can have them, since you reject my gifts.

Come here, beautiful boy; the Nymphs

Bring baskets, see, filled with lilies for you; for you,

Gathering pale violets and poppyheads,

Now the fair Naiad is making a bouquet of narcissus flowers

And fragrant fennel, twisting them together—

With cassia and other aromatic herbs,

She blends them and highlights the tender hyacinth

With yellow marigold. I too will gather

Quinces, all covered in silvery down,

Chestnuts, which Amaryllis used to love,

And waxy plums: this fruit too

Will deserve its honor; I will also pick

You laurels and myrtles nearby,

To mix your scents together. Corydon,

You are a simpleton, and Alexis doesn’t care

About your gifts; no, nor would Iollas concede,

If gifts were what mattered. Alas! alas!

What misery I’ve brought upon myself!

Siroces has unleashed upon the flowers my ruin,

And the wild boar has claimed my crystal springs!

Whom do you flee, foolish one? The gods before now,

And Dardan Paris, have made the woods their home.

Let Pallas keep the towers she built,

But let the woods delight us above all.

The fierce lioness pursues the wolf,

The wolf chases the she-goat, who herself

In playful abandon leaps among the flowering bushes,

And Corydon, Alexis, each led on

By their own desires. Look, the ox comes home

With its plow raised, and the shadows grow

To twice their length with the setting sun,

Yet love still burns in me, for who can contain love?

Ah! Corydon, Corydon, what has driven you mad?

Your vine is half-pruned hanging on the leafy elm;

Why don’t you hurry to weave what you need

With pliant rush or willow? If you ignore this,

You’ll find some new Alexis elsewhere."










ECLOGUE III





MENALCAS    DAMOETAS    PALAEMON








MENALCAS

Who owns the flock, Damoetas? Meliboeus?


MENALCAS
  
Who owns the flock, Damoetas? Meliboeus?



DAMOETAS

Nay, they are Aegon's sheep, of late by him

Committed to my care.


DAMOETAS
  
No, they are Aegon’s sheep, recently entrusted to my care.



MENALCAS


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.


In every way

Unhappy sheep, unhappy flock! While he

Still pursues Neaera, worried that her choice

Might land on me, this greedy shepherd here

Milks their udders twice an hour, stealing from the flock

Their life’s essence, taking the lambs’ 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-


DAMOETAS
  
Hold on! Don’t be so quick to mock people!
  
We know who was once there, and in what shrine with you-
  
The he-goats looked away- the light nymphs laughed-



MENALCAS

Ay, then, I warrant, when they saw me slash

Micon's young vines and trees with spiteful hook.


MENALCAS

Oh, I bet when they saw me cut down

Micon's young vines and trees with a vicious 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.


DAMOETAS

Or here by these old beeches, when you broke

The bow and arrows of Damon; because you got upset

When you first saw them given to the boy,

Grumpy Menalcas, yeah, and if you hadn't

Done him some harm, you would have been mad 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.


MENALCAS

With thieves so bold, what can masters do?

Did I not see you, trickster, lying in wait

For Damon's goat, while loud Lycisca barked?

And when I shouted, "Where is he going now?

Gather your flock together, Tityrus,"

You hid behind the reeds.



DAMOETAS


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.


Well, was he?

Who I had beaten still to keep the goat.

Which in the music contest my instrument 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?


MENALCAS

You outplay him? When have you ever played

With waxed pipes? Didn't you used to

Play some awful tune on scratching straw

To mess it up?



DAMOETAS


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.


So, how about we put our skills to the test?

Taking turns against each other? Unless you're hesitant,

I'll bet this heifer; she comes

To the milking pail twice every day and has

Two calves at her udder: what do you want to stake

In this match against 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.


MENALCAS

I won’t stray from the flock, because at home

I have a father and a harsh stepmother,

And twice a day they count the flock,

And also the kids. But I’ll make a bet,

Since you’re so eager, on what you’ll admit

Is far more valuable—two beechwood cups

Crafted and engraved by Alcimedon,

Where a graceful vine,

Wound around them by the engraver’s skill,

Twines over clusters of pale ivy berries.

He placed two figures, one of Conon in the middle,

And another—what’s his name, who with his wand

Outlined for everyone the whole sky,

So that those who reap or plow

Can know their seasons? And I haven’t even

Sipped from them yet, just set them aside.



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?


DAMOETAS
  
For me, Alcimedon also made
  
A set of cups, with flexible acanthus wrapped around the handles,
  
Orpheus in the center, with the forests trailing behind him; but I still
  
Haven't taken a sip from them, just left them aside.
  
Who would talk about cups when paired with a heifer?



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.


MENALCAS

You won’t hold me back now; wherever you want,

I’ll be with you; just let’s have

An audience—or look, here comes Palaemon! In our singing contests,

I won’t let you play the challenger anymore.



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.


DAMOETAS

Go ahead and give it your all; I won’t back down,

Or move for anyone: just you,

Neighbor Palaemon, with all your heart and skill—

Because it’s no small deal—perform your role.



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.


PALAEMON

Go ahead then, since we’re sitting on the grass,

And everything’s blooming in the fields and trees;

The forest is lush, and this is the best time of year.

You start first, Damoetas, then you, Menalcas, take your turn:

The Muses love a back-and-forth song.






DAMOETAS

"From Jove the Muse began; Jove filleth all,

Makes the earth fruitful, for my songs hath care."


DAMOETAS

"From Jupiter the Muse began; Jupiter fills everything,

Makes the earth fertile, for my songs have purpose."



MENALCAS

"Me Phoebus loves; for Phoebus his own gifts,

Bays and sweet-blushing hyacinths, I keep."


MENALCAS

"Phoebus loves me; for I keep Phoebus's own gifts,

Laurels and beautiful, fragrant hyacinths."



DAMOETAS

"Gay Galatea throws an apple at me,

Then hies to the willows, hoping to be seen."


DAMOETAS

"Flirty Galatea throws an apple at me,

Then runs to the willows, hoping to be noticed."



MENALCAS

"My dear Amyntas comes unasked to me;

Not Delia to my dogs is better known."


MENALCAS

"My dear Amyntas comes to me without being called;

Not even Delia is better known to my dogs."



DAMOETAS

"Gifts for my love I've found; mine eyes have marked

Where the wood-pigeons build their airy nests."


DAMOETAS

"I've found gifts for my love; I’ve seen where

The wood-pigeons make their airy nests."



MENALCAS

"Ten golden apples have I sent my boy,

All that I could, to-morrow as many more."


MENALCAS

"I’ve sent my boy ten golden apples,

All that I could; tomorrow I’ll send just 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."


DAMOETAS

"What words have Galatea spoken to me, and oh how often!

Please, winds, carry some of them 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."


MENALCAS

"It doesn't help me at all, my Amyntas,

That you don't truly reject me in your heart,

If, while you're out hunting the boar, I'm stuck guarding 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."


DAMOETAS

"Please, Iollas, for my birthday guest

Send me your Phyllis; when I sacrifice my heifer

for the young crops, you should come too."



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.'"


MENALCAS

"I'm completely hers; she cried when I had to leave,

And, holding on to the word 'goodbye,' she said,

'My beautiful Iollas, take care.'"



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."


DAMOETAS

"Fierce as a wolf is to a flock of sheep,

Like rain to ripe corn, Sirocco to the trees,

The anger of Amaryllis is toward 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."


MENALCAS

"As moisture is to corn, as it is to young ewes,

As flexible willow is to newborn kids,

So sweet Amyntas is to me, and no one else."



DAMOETAS

"My Muse, although she be but country-bred,

Is loved by Pollio: O Pierian Maids,

Pray you, a heifer for your reader feed!"


DAMOETAS

"My Muse, even though she comes from the countryside,

Is loved by Pollio: O Pierian Maids,

Please, provide a heifer for your reader!"



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."


MENALCAS

"Pollio himself is writing fresh verses:

Get a bull ready to charge with its horns,

And kick up the flying sand with its hooves."



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."


DAMOETAS

"Whoever loves you, Pollio, may he go there

Where he enjoys seeing you; for him

Let honey flow, and let the thorn-bush bear spices."



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."


MENALCAS

"Who doesn’t hate Bavius should also love

Your songs, O Maevius, yes, and along with that

Harness foxes to his chariot, and milk from he-goats."



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."


DAMOETAS

"You, picking flowers and strawberries that grow

So close to the ground, go on, boys, get out of here!

There's a cold snake hiding 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!"


MENALCAS

"Hold back, my sheep, and don't go too close to the edge;

That bank isn't reliable; look, even now

The ram himself is over there drying his wet 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."


DAMOETAS

"Back with the female goats, Tityrus, grazing so close to the river! When the time is right, I’ll gather 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."


MENALCAS

"Guys, gather your sheep; if the heat,

Like it did before, catches us off guard with the milk,

We’ll find ourselves squeezing dry udders for nothing."






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."


DAMOETAS

"Look how skinny my bull is next to the fattening vetch!

Oh no! Oh no! for the herdsman and for the herd!

It's the same kind of love that’s wearing us both down."



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."


MENALCAS

"Honestly, love isn't even the reason—

They can barely keep their bones intact

Some evil eye has cursed my little lambs." 



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."


DAMOETAS

"Tell me where you are, and I’ll show you

My great Apollo—there's no wider view

Of the entire sky than three yards to see."



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."


MENALCAS

"Tell me in what country flowers bloom that have

The names of kings written on their petals,

And you will have beautiful Phyllis for yourself."



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.


PALAEMON

It's not up to me to choose between such rivals:

You truly deserve the heifer, and so does he,

Along with everyone who either fears the joys of love,

Or experiences its pain. Now, boys, close off

The gates, because the fields have had enough.










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.


Muses of Sicily, we are about to write an essay

A task that's a bit more ambitious! Not everyone loves

Thickets or lowly tamarisk: let's sing about forests,

Forests worthy of a Consul, let that be our focus.



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.


Now the last age sung by Cumae's Sibyl

Has come and gone, and the grand cycle

Of centuries starts again:

Justice returns, old Saturn's reign returns,

With a new generation sent down from heaven.

Just support him, chaste Lucina, at the boy's birth in whom

The iron age will end, and the golden race will rise,

It's your own Apollo who reigns. And during your consulate,

This glorious age, O Pollio, will begin,

And the months will embark on their mighty march.

Under your guidance, whatever remains

Of our old wickedness, once wiped away,

Shall free the earth from never-ending fear.

He will receive the life of gods and see

Heroes mixing with gods, and he himself

Will be seen by them, and with his father's worth

Will reign over a peaceful world. For you, O boy,

The earth, untilled, will freely yield

Her childish gifts, the climbing ivy-spray

Mixed with foxglove and Egyptian bean-flower,

And laughing-eyed acanthus. By themselves,

Untended, the she-goats will come home

With their udders swollen with milk, while flocks in the fields

Will fearlessly face the monstrous lion.

Your very cradle will bring forth for you

Caressing flowers. The serpent will die,

The treacherous poison-plant will die, and far

And wide, Assyrian spices will spring. But soon

As you learn to read about heroes' fame,

And your father's deeds, and understand

What virtue is, the plain will gradually

Grow golden with waving corn-crops,

The wild briar will hang with blushing grapes,

And stubborn oaks will sweat honey-dew. Still

Some traces of ancient wrong will linger,

Tempting people to sail the deep with ships,

Surround towns with walls, and plow the earth.

There will be a second Tiphys,

A second Argo carrying hero-freight;

New wars will arise, and once again,

A great Achilles will be sent to some Troy.

Then, when the mellowing years have made you a man,

No more will sailors sail, nor pine-tree bark

Make trade on the sea, but every land

Will bear all things equally: the land will no longer

Feel the plow's grip, nor vine the hook;

The sturdy farmer will free the yoke from the ox,

Nor will wool learn to lie in varying colors;

But in the meadows, the ram himself,

Now with soft shades of purple, now with tints

Of yellow saffron, will teach his fleece to shine.

While clothed in natural scarlet, the lambs will graze.

"Such still, such ages weave ye, as ye run,"

Sang the agreeing Fates to their spindles,

By Destiny's unchangeable decree.

Embrace your greatness, for the time is near,

Dear child of gods, great progeny of Jupiter!

See how it wobbles—the world's mighty orb,

Earth, and vast ocean, and the profound sky,

All, see, enchanted by the coming time!

Ah! if only such a long life could be mine,

And strength enough to tell your deeds,

Neither Thracian Orpheus could out-sing me then,

Nor Linus, though his mother this, and that

His father should support—Orpheus with Calliope,

And Linus with fair Apollo. No, even if Pan,

With Arcadia as judge, contests my claim,

With Arcadia as judge, great Pan himself

Would acknowledge defeat and retreat from the field.



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.


Begin to greet your mother with a smile,

O baby-boy! ten months of exhaustion

She endured for you: O baby-boy, start!

For him, who has not received a smile from his parents,

The gods consider him unworthy of their table 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?


MENALCAS

Hey, Mopsus, now that we’re both here,

You good at playing the thin reeds,

And I at singing songs, shouldn’t we sit down

Right here where the elm trees and hazels mix?}



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!


MOPSUS

You're the elder, so it's up to you

Menalcas, whether we go now to find

That shade swaying in the changing breeze,

Or the shelter of the cave. Just look how the cave

Is covered with clusters of wild vines!



MENALCAS

None but Amyntas on these hills of ours

Can vie with you.


MENALCAS
  
No one but Amyntas on these hills of ours
  
Can compete with you.
 



MOPSUS


MOPSUS



What if he also strive

To out-sing Phoebus?


What if he tries too?

to out-sing Phoebus?



MENALCAS


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.


Do you want to begin,

Good Mopsus, whether you feel like singing anything

About Phyllis and her loves, or praising Alcon,

Or throwing shade at Codrus. Come on, start,

While Tityrus keeps an eye on 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.


MOPSUS

No, then, I will try what I recently carved

On a green beech tree's bark, taking turns,

And writing down the notes; then later

I’ll ask you to see if Amyntas can match them.



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.


MENALCAS

Just as a flexible willow bends to pale olive,

And as humble nard gives way to bright rosebuds,

So, in my opinion, Amyntas submits to you.

But wait a moment, for we’re approaching the cave.



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.'"


MOPSUS

"All the Nymphs wept for Daphnis, who was cruelly slain—

You hazels, bear witness, and you streams—

When she, his mother, held in her arms

The unfortunate body of the son she bore,

She poured out her sorrow to the unfeeling gods and stars.

Then, Daphnis, the cool streams saw no

Pastured oxen, and no beast

Drank from the river, or would touch the grass.

Even the wild rocks and woods echoed the roar

Of African lions mourning your death.

Daphnis, it was you who commanded the Armenian tigresses to yoke to Bacchus' chariot,

Leading the parade of revelers, and with tender leaves adorned

The bending spears. Just as the vine is the crown of glory for trees,

As the grape is for vines,

As bulls are to the herd, and corn to productive fields,

So are you the singular glory of your own art.

When the Fates took you away, even Pales,

And Apollo himself left the land desolate.

Where we often sowed the plump barley seed,

Now only wild oats and barren darnel grow;

For every tender violet and bright narcissus,

Thistle and prickly thorn raise their heads.

Now, O shepherds, scatter leaves on the ground,

And draw a shady cover over the fountains—

So Daphnis has asked us to do in his memory—

And build a tomb, writing this verse on it:

'I, Daphnis, in the woods, have now been exalted in fame

To the stars, once the guardian

Of a beautiful flock, myself fairer 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.


MENALCAS

Your song is to me, divine poet,

Like resting on the grass for tired limbs,

Or quenching thirst from a sweet, bubbling spring

In the summer heat. You’re not just on the reeds,

But with your voice, you are, oh joyful boy,

Positioned with your master, only second to him.

Still, I will also, in my own way,

Sing you a song and lift Daphnis

To the stars—Daphnis, praised among the stars,

For Daphnis loved me too.



MOPSUS


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.


Than this kind of gift

What could I value more? The boy himself

Was fit to be celebrated, and many times

Stimichon has praised your singing to me.



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."


MENALCAS

"In brilliant light with unfamiliar eyes

Daphnis stands mesmerized before Olympus' gate,

And sees the clouds and stars beneath his feet.

That's why the woods and fields, Pan, shepherds,

And Dryad-maidens, are filled with eager joy;

Neither wolf with deceitful trick attacks the flock,

Nor snares the stag: kind Daphnis loves peace.

The rugged mountains call to the stars

With voices of happiness; yes, even the rocks,

The very thickets, shout and sing, 'A god,

A god is he, Menalcas. Be generous,

Favorable to your own. Look! Four altars,

Two for you, Daphnis, and two for Phoebus

For sacrifice, we build; and I for you

Will set out two cups yearly of fresh milk,

And two bowls of rich olive oil;

And from the wine-god’s bounty above all,

Whether cold, before the hearth, or in the shade

At harvest time, to brighten the festive hour,

From bottles of Arian grape I will pour

Sweet nectar. Then at my request

Lyctian Aegon and Damoetas will sing,

And Alphesiboeus will dance

Like the dancing Satyrs. This, your due service,

You shall never lack, both when we pay the Nymphs

Our yearly vows, and when with purifying rites

We bless the fields. As long as the wild boar

Will love the mountains, and fish the streams,

While bees feast on thyme and crickets on dew,

Your name, your praise, your honor, shall endure.

Just as to Bacchus and to Ceres, so

To you the shepherd will make his yearly vows;

And you, like them, shall claim your reward."



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.


MOPSUS

How can I repay you for such a rare song?

For nothing—the whispering south wind on its way,

Not the wave-tossed beach,

Nor streams rushing down their rocky 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?"


MENALCAS

First, I give you this delicate hemlock stalk,

Which taught me that "Corydon was in love

With beautiful Alexis," and also this,

"Who owns the flock? Meliboeus?"



MOPSUS


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!


But take you.

This shepherd's crook, which, no matter how hard he begged,

Antigenes, truly deserving of love,

Could not manage to get—made of brass, you see,

And tied with equal knots, Menalcas, crafted beautifully!










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.


First my Thalia bent down in a playful mood

To Syracusan melodies, unashamed to dwell

In the woods. When I tried to talk

About battles and kings, the Cynthian god

Tapped my ear and warned me: "Tityrus,

A shepherd should graze fat sheep,

But sing a simple song." Now, Varus, I—

For there won't be a lack of people who would praise your deeds,

And discuss sorrowful wars—will instead choose

To play my wooded tune on the slender reed.

I sing only as I am allowed; yet even this

If, just one person with captivated eyes should read,

Of you, O Varus, shall our tamarisks

And all the forest echo; nor can there be

A page more cherished by Phoebus than the page

Where, written first, the name of Varus appears.



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.


Speed up, Pierian Maids! In a cave,

Young Chromis and Mnasyllos happened to see

Silenus sleeping, flushed from yesterday's wine.

Not far off,

Garlands had slipped from his head, and there

By its worn handle hung a heavy cup.

As they approached—because the old man had often

Denied them a long-awaited song—

They turned the garlands into shackles and bound him tight.

Then Aegle, the fairest of the Naiads,

Came up to the half-scared boys,

And as he lay there with open eyes,

Smeared him all over with juice from blood-red mulberries,

Both his brow and temples. Laughing at their trick,

He said, "Why bind me? Let me go, boys;

It's enough that you think you have the power;

Now listen to the songs you want—songs for you,

And another reward for her"—and he began right away.

Then you could see the wild things of the woods,

With Fauns joyfully keeping time,

And stubborn oaks bowing their branchy tops.

Not even Phoebus stirs the rough Parnassian crag

Like this, nor does Orpheus entrance the heights

Of Rhodope or Ismarus: for he sang

About how through the vast void the seeds were scattered

Of earth, air, ocean, and liquid fire,

How everything grew from those beginnings,

And how the young world itself took shape,

Then began to harden its crust, and in the deep

Shut Nereus off, gradually molding the forms of things;

And how the amazed earth

Saw the new sun shining, and the showers

Fell as the clouds rose higher, when the woods

Started to rise, and living things roamed

Scattered among hills that were new to them.

Then he sang of the stones thrown by Pyrrha,

Of Saturn's reign, and Prometheus' theft,

And the Caucasian birds, and shared how near

To which fountain, left by his companions,

The sailors called for Hylas until the shore

Echoed "Hylas, Hylas!" He calmed

Pasiphae with her love for the white bull—

Happy if cattle had never existed!

O unfortunate maiden, what frenzy took hold of you?

The daughters of Proetus filled the fields

With their false lowings, yet none of them

Ever longed for such an unholy union

As to mate with a beast, though many times

On her smooth forehead she had sought for horns,

And feared the harsh plow on her neck.

O unfortunate maiden! You now roam the hills,

While he, his snowy side

Resting under some dark holm oak,

Grazes on pale grass, or some heifer wanders

Among the crowded herd. Now come close, you Nymphs,

You Nymphs of Dicte, close the forest paths,

In case I might happen upon the white bull's tracks: maybe

Following the herd, or lured by green pastures,

Some cows might lead him to the Gortynian stalls.

Then he sings of the girl so awestruck

By the apples of the Hesperides, and then

With mossy, bitter bark rings around the forms

Of Phaethon's fair sisters, towering

Into poplars. Next, he sings

Of Gallus wandering by Permessus' stream,

And led by a Muse's sister

To the Aonian mountains, and how all

The choir of Phoebus came to greet him; how

The shepherd Linus, divine singer,

Crowned with flowers and bitter parsley, spoke:

"These reeds the Muses give you, take them,

Once given to the aged bard of Ascra,

With which in singing he used to draw

Time-rooted ash-trees from the mountain heights.

With these, let the birth of the Grynean grove

Be echoed by you, that no grove but this

May Apollo boast of more." So, why not speak

Of Scylla, child of Nisus, who, it's said,

Armed her fair white loins with barking monsters

And tormented the Dulichian ships, and in the deep

Swirling whirlpool, with her sea-dogs tore

The trembling sailors? Or how he told

Of Tereus’ transformed limbs—what a feast,

What gifts Philomel gave him;

How swiftly she sought the wild, with what wings

She hovered in anguish over her old home?

All that, long ago, Eurotas, happy stream,

Heard, as Apollo mused on the lyre,

And urged his laurels to listen, Silenus sang;

Until from Olympus, loath to approach him,

Evening star approached, urging the shepherds

To share their tales 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.


Daphnis was sitting under a rustling holly tree

Thyrsis and Corydon had gathered the flock, Thyrsis with the sheep,

And Corydon with the milk-heavy goats—

Both in their prime, both Arcadians,

Ready to sing and respond in kind.

While I was protecting my delicate myrtles from the frost,

The he-goat himself, the leader of the flock, strayed this way; when I spotted Daphnis!

As soon as he saw me, he called out, "Come over here, O Meliboeus! The goat and kids are safe;

And if you have some free time,

Rest here in the shade. The steers will come through the meadows,

On their own to drink, without anyone watching. Here, the Mincius has

Lined his lush banks with soft reeds,

And from that sacred oak, the bees are buzzing." What could I do?

I had no Phyllis or Alcippe at home

To care for my newly weaned lambs,

And a singing contest

Between Corydon and Thyrsis was no small thing. Still,

I decided to pause my work for their fun.

So they began to sing, their voices responding

In alternating melodies—for the Muses had decided to inspire alternating songs—

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."


CORYDON

"Libethrian Nymphs, who are the joy of my heart,

Grant me, like my friend Codrus, the ability to sing-

Next to Apollo he- or if we can't all reach this

My beautiful pipe

Here on this sacred pine will hang silently."



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."


THYRSIS

"Arcadian shepherds, crown your budding poet with ivy sprigs

So that Codrus is overcome with envy:

If he praises me too much,

Then wrap my head with foxglove, so his tongue

Doesn't bring a bad omen to the future 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."


CORYDON

"This fierce boar's head, Delian Maid, is offered to you,

With the branching antlers of a lively stag,

Young Micon presents it: if his luck continues,

Your statue will stand in full-length polished marble, ankle-bound

With purple boots."



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."


THYRSIS

"A bowl of milk, Priapus, and these cakes,

Every year, it's enough for you to claim;

You are the protector of a poor man's plot.

Made of marble for a while, if the flock

Is filled at lambing time, 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."


CORYDON

"Galatea, daughter of Nereus, my love,

Sweeter than thyme from Hybla, whiter than swans,

More beautiful than pale ivy, as soon as the cattle

Return from grazing to their stalls,

If you have any feelings for Corydon, please 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!"


THYRSIS

"Now I might seem more bitter to you

Than Sardinian herb, rougher than broom,

More useless than scattered seaweed, if today

Has not outlasted a year! Shame on you!

Go home, my cattle, stop grazing!"



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."


CORYDON

"You mossy springs, and grass softer than sleep,

And green arbutus providing light shade for you,

Keep the summer heat away from my flock, because now

The scorching summer is here, and the buds

On the flexible vine branches are starting 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."


THYRSIS

"Here is a fireplace, and resinous logs, here fire

In abundance, and doors black with constant smoke.

Here we feel Boreas' icy breath as much

As the wolf pays attention to the size of the flock,

Or wild rivers to 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."


CORYDON

"The junipers and prickly chestnuts stand,

And beneath each tree lie scattered their various fruits,

Now the whole world is smiling, but if beautiful

Alexis were to leave these hills,

Even the rivers would dry up."



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."


THYRSIS

"The field is dry, the grass blades are dying of thirst

In the light air; Liber has held back the hills

From his vine's shade: if my Phyllis comes,

The grove will be lush, and Jupiter

Will shower us with nourishing 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."


CORYDON

"Heracles cherishes the poplar the most,

The vine is loved by Dionysus, and Apollo has his own laurel,

And beautiful Venus loves the myrtle: along with that,

Phyllis loves hazels, and while she loves,

Neither the myrtle nor laurel can compete with the hazel."



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."


THYRSIS

"The ash in the forest is the most beautiful,

Pine in the garden, poplar by the stream,

Fir on the mountain height; but if you would come

More often to me, fair Lycidas, both the forest ash

And garden pine would bow to you."



MELIBOEUS

These I remember, and how Thyrsis strove

For victory in vain. From that time forth

Is Corydon still Corydon with us.


MELIBOEUS
  
I remember these things, and how Thyrsis tried
  
For victory but failed. Ever since then,
  
Corydon has always been 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.


Of Damon and Alphesiboeus now,

Those shepherd-singers whose competing songs

Made the heifer stop grazing in wonder,

The lynx stood amazed, and the flowing streams,

Unaccustomed to pause, held their course to listen—

How Damon and Alphesiboeus sang

Their pastoral tunes, I will share the story.



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.


You, whether you’re passing by the rocky banks of broad Timavus, or skirting the shores of the Illyrian sea—will there ever be a day when I can celebrate your deeds? That day when throughout the entire world, I can make your poetry famous—the poetry that is worthy of Sophoclean stature? From you it begins, and to you it will end, this song. Take these songs that owe their existence to you, and allow this ivy crown to weave itself around your temples among the victorious 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.


Hardly had the night's cold darkness left the sky

When the nibbly sheep find the dewy grass

Tastes the best, as Damon leaned on his smooth shepherd's staff

Made of olive, and began to speak.



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.


DAMON

"Get up, Lucifer, and announce the light,

Bring in the warm day, while I complain

Fooled by foolish love for a unfaithful bride,

For Nysa, and with this my last breath

I call on the gods, though it won't help-

The gods who heard her promises and ignored them.



"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.


"Start, my flute, with me Maenalian tunes.

Maenalus always has his murmuring groves

And whispering pines, and constantly hears the songs

Of lovesick shepherds, and of Pan, who first

Couldn’t stand the tuneful reed lying around idle.



"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.


"Start, my flute, with me Maenalian tunes.

Nysa has been given to Mopsus! What can we lovers expect then?

Soon we’ll see griffins paired with mares, and in the future

Timid deer and hounds will come together 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!


"Start, my flute, with me Maenalian tunes.

Now, Mopsus, make some new torches, because they lead

Your bride here; now, groom, throw out nuts:

Leaving Oeta, the evening star rises!"



"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.


"Start, my flute, with these Maenalian tunes.

O worthy of your partner, while all other men

You reject, looking down with disgust

At my shepherd's pipe, my goats, my rough brow,

And unkempt beard, not believing that any god

Cares about the actions of mortals.



"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.


"Start, my flute, with me Maenalian songs.

Once with your mother, in our orchard,

I saw you as a little girl- I was your guide-

Picking the dewy apples. I had just turned twelve,

And could barely reach the fragile branches.

I looked, and I was captivated;

A sudden rush overwhelmed my senses.



"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.


"Start, my flute, with me Maenalian tunes.

Now I understand what Love is: among wild rocks

Tmaros or Rhodope gave birth to the boy,

Or Garamantes in the farthest reaches of the earth-

No relation of ours, nor born from our blood.



"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.


"Start, my flute, with the tunes of Maenalus.

It was fierce Love that once hardened a mother's heart

To stain her hands with the blood of her own child:

Mother, you were cruel too; tell me, were you

More cruel, mother, or was he more ruthless?

Ruthless was the boy, and you, mother, were 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.


"Start, my flute, with me Maenalian songs.

Now let the wolf run away from the sheep,

Strong oaks produce golden apples, alder trees

Blossom with narcissus flowers, the tamarisk

Sweats with rich amber, and the screech owl competes

In singing with the swan: let Tityrus

Be Orpheus, Orpheus in the forest clearing,

Arion among his dolphins in the sea.



"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."


"Start, my flute, with me Maenalian tunes.

Yes, may the entire earth turn into the ocean!

Goodbye, woodlands; from the high peak

Of that towering rock, I will dive

Into the waves: this is my final gift,

From dying lips passed on to you, so keep it safe.

Stop now, my flute, stop the Maenalian tunes."



Thus Damon: but do ye, Pierian Maids-

We cannot all do all things- tell me how

Alphesiboeus to his strain replied.


Thus Damon: but you, Pierian Maids-

We can't all do everything - tell me how

Alphesiboeus answered his tune.



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.


ALPHESIBOEUS

"Bring water, and with soft woolen strands wrap

These altars all around, and burn on them

Rich vervain and male frankincense, so I

Can use magic spells to lead astray

My lover's clearer senses, which lack

Nothing but 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.


"Bring Daphnis back home with my songs.

Songs can even pull the moon down from the sky

Circe transformed her friends with her singing

And by song

The cold meadow snake was split apart."



"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.


"Bring Daphnis back home with my songs, town.

I wrap these three strands of color around you first

And three times as well

I place your image around these altars:

Odd numbers please the gods."



"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.


"Bring Daphnis back to the town with my songs.

Now, Amaryllis, weave in triple knots

The three colors; work on them quickly, and say

This is the chain of Venus that I'm weaving.



"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.


"Bring Daphnis back to town with my songs.

Just like how the same fire hardens clay

And softens wax,

May my love for Daphnis do the same; sprinkle flour,

And with bitumen scorch the brittle leaves.

Daphnis burns me with his cruelty,

And I use this bay to melt cruel Daphnis."



"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 Daphnis home from the town with my songs.

Like a heifer searching for her bull

Through the forest and dense groves, exhausted,

She lies down on the green grass by a stream, heartbroken,

Not noticing the night closing in that beckons her back—

Just like that heifer, may Daphnis yearn, and I won't bother to help."



"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.


"Bring my songs back to the town, and bring Daphnis home.

These keepsakes, once dear tokens of himself,

The traitor left me, which, oh earth, to you

Here on this very doorstep I offer-

Tokens that tie him to repay 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.


"Bring my songs back to the town, bring Daphnis home.

These poisonous herbs were given to me by Moeris,

Gathered in Pontus, where harmful plants thrive.

With these, I’ve often seen Moeris transform

Into a wolf and hide himself in the woods,

Often calling spirits from the depths of graves,

And moving the standing crops to new fields.



"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, bring Daphnis home.

Take the ashes, Amaryllis, bring them out,

And over your head into the flowing brook

Throw them, and don’t look back: with these will

Try to touch the heart of Daphnis.

He doesn't care about the gods, he doesn’t care about songs."



"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?


"Bring my songs from the town, and lead Daphnis home.

Look, look at the very embers themselves

That have caught the altar with a flickering flame,

While I hesitate to bring them: may the sign

Be a good omen! It must mean something, for sure,

And Hylax on the doorstep starts to bark!

Can we trust it, or are lovers still

Fooled by their own fantasies?



Give o'er, my songs,

Daphnis is coming from the town, give o'er."


Stop it, my music,

Daphnis is coming from the town, stop it."










ECLOGUE IX





LYCIDAS    MOERIS








LYCIDAS

Say whither, Moeris?- Make you for the town,

Or on what errand bent?


LYCIDAS

Hey, Moeris—are you heading to town,

or what are you up to?



MOERIS


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.


Oh Lycidas,

We’ve made it to see something we never thought would happen,

An outsider claiming our small farm,

And saying, "Get lost, former farmers!

These fields are mine." Now, beaten down and discouraged,

Since luck has turned the world upside down,

We’re dealing with him—bad luck be with him!—

These kids you see.



LYCIDAS


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.


But I must have heard

That where the hills begin to rise from the flat land,

And the high ridge slopes down gently,

Down to the creek and the rugged tops

Of those old beech trees over there, all the land

Was preserved by the songs of your Menalcas.



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.


MOERIS

You heard it, and so the rumor spread,

But amid the clash of weapons, my Lycidas,

Our songs mean no more than, as it’s said,

Doves of Dodona when an eagle appears.

No, if I hadn’t, from the hollow oak trunk,

Been warned by a raven on the left, interrupted

The rising conflict, neither I, your Moeris here,

Nor Menalcas, would be alive today.



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."


LYCIDAS

Oh no! Could anyone be guilty of such a terrible crime? Ah! How close we were to losing the comfort we found in you, Menalcas! Who else among the Nymphs would have sung, or who would have scattered flowering herbs on the ground, and drawn a leafy curtain over the fountains? Who sang the melody I stole from you that day on my way to Amaryllis, our hearts' delight? "While I'm gone, it’s just a short trip, Tityrus, please feed my goats, and when you're done feeding, take them to the watering hole, and as you go, watch out for the billy goat; he’ll headbutt you with his horns."



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."


MOERIS

Oh, or to Varus that half-finished poem,

"Varus, may your name keep our Mantua alive-

Mantua is all too close to poor Cremona-

Shall singing swans lift it up 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.


LYCIDAS

So may your flocks avoid the Cyrnean yew-trees,

Your cows swell their udders with the cytisus,

Start, if you have anything to share. The Muses have made

Me a singer too; I've sung as well; the shepherds

Call me a poet, but I don't believe them:

For I don't consider anything of mine, or anything worthy of Varius yet

Or Cinna, but think of myself

As a noisy goose among beautiful 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."


MOERIS

I was thinking about doing that, Lycidas;

Just now I was quietly considering

If I could remember this – not some trivial tune:

"Come, Galatea, what's the fun in playing

Among the waves? Here, Spring shines, and the earth

By the streams bursts into a thousand flowers;

Here the white poplar leans over the cave,

And the graceful vine creates a shady cover: come,

Leave the wild waves to crash against 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.


LYCIDAS
  
What about the melody I heard you sing once
  
On a clear night all by yourself? I still
  
Remember the notes, if only I could remember 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.


MOERIS

"Why, Daphnis, are you looking up and watching

The old constellations? Look

Where Caesar's star shines bright

In the sky, bringing joy to all the fields with crops,

And giving color to the grapes on the sunny hills.

Now, the pears;

Your grandchildren will enjoy 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.


Time takes everything away, even our sanity.

As a boy, I often sang the sun to sleep,

But all those songs have slipped from my memory,

And even Moeris's voice is fading now;

The wolves targeted Moeris first: but at your request,

Menalcas will sing them again and again.



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.


LYCIDAS
  
Your pleas still linger in my heart's desire:
  
Now the deep is quiet and still,
  
And all the gentle breezes have settled down.
  
We're halfway there, as Bianor's tomb
  
Starts to appear: here, Moeris, where the deer
  
Are trimming the thick leaves, let's sing.
  
Drop the kids off, and we’ll still make it to town;
  
Or, if we’re worried that the night might bring rain
  
Before we get there, then let’s go singing,
  
To lighten our way; and, to help with that,
  
I’ll take this load off you.



MOERIS

Cease, boy, and get we to the work in hand:

We shall sing better when himself is come.


MOERIS

Stop, kid, and let’s get to the task at hand:

We’ll sing better when he arrives.










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!"


This is now the latest of my efforts,

Grant me this, Arethusa! I must

Sing a short song for Gallus—short, but still

Something that Lycoris herself can appropriately read.

Who wouldn’t sing for Gallus? So, when you

Glide beneath the Sicilian waves,

May Doris not mix any bitter wave with yours,

Let’s begin! The love of Gallus is our subject,

And the sharp pains he felt while nearby,

The flat-nosed she-goats grazed on the tender underbrush.

We’re not singing to deaf ears; every word of ours

Resonates in the woods. What groves or meadows

Held you, O Dryad maidens, when for love—

Love unworthy of such a painful loss—

Gallus lay dying? For neither did the hills

Of Pindus or Parnassus stop you then,

No, nor Aonian Aganippe. Even the laurels and tamarisks cried;

For him, stretched out beneath a lonely rock,

Wept pine-covered Maenalus, and the rocky cliffs

Of cold Lycaeus. The sheep too stood around—

They feel no shame for us, divine poet;

Nor should you feel shame for the flock: even fair

Adonis tended his sheep by the rivers—

A shepherd came too, and a slow-moving swineherd,

And Menalcas, dripping from winter acorns.

All together exclaimed:

"Where does this love of yours come from?" Apollo showed up;

"Gallus, are you crazy?" he cried, "You’re caring for your heart

While another love is on its way." Then

Silvanus arrived, crowned with rural honors;

The flowering fennels and tall lilies shook

Before him. Yes, and our own eyes witnessed

Pan, god of Arcady, dyed with blood-red juice

From the elderberry and vermilion.

"Will you ever stop?" he asked, "Look

Love doesn’t care at all: his heart is never

More satisfied with tears than grass is with streams,

Or bees with cytisus, or goats with leaves."

"Yet will you sing, Arcadians, of my sorrows

On your mountains," he replied sadly—

"Arcadians, who alone have the skill to sing.

Oh, how softly my ashes would rest,

If one day your flutes would tell of my love!

And how I wish I had been part of your circle,

Or a caretaker of the ripening grapes,

Or a guardian of the flock! For surely then,

Let Phyllis, or Amyntas, or whoever,

Enchant me—what if dark Amyntas be?

Dark is the violet, dark the hyacinth—

Among the willows, under the flexible vine,

My love would have lay down with me,

Phyllis made garlands, or Amyntas sang.

Here are cool springs, soft meadows and groves, Lycoris;

Here, our lives could have faded with time.

But fierce love of the war-god traps me

Armed among weapons and opposing foes.

While you—ah! can I even believe this?!—

Alone without me, far from home,

Look on the Alpine snows and frozen Rhine.

Oh! may the frost not harm you, may the sharp

And jagged ice not hurt your tender feet!

I will leave, reworking the songs I made

In Chalcidian verse to the oaten reed

Of the Sicilian shepherd. I’m determined

To couch in the woods, rather, with wild beasts,

And bear my fate, and carve my love

Into the soft tree trunks: they will grow,

And you, my love, will grow with them. And meanwhile,

I will haunt Mount Maenalus with the Nymphs,

Or hunt the swift wild boar. No frost so cold

But I will fill your forest glades with hounds,

Parthenius. Even now, I feel like I roam

Over rocks, through echoing groves, and enjoy launching

Cydonian arrows from a Parthian bow.—

As if my madness could find healing this way,

Or that a god would soften at a mortal’s grief!

Now, neither the Hamadryads nor songs

Bring me any joy anymore: you woods, away with you!

No pain of ours can change him; not even if we

Drink the river of Hebrus in mid-frost,

And face the Sithonian snows in wet winters,

Or, when the tall elm's bark is dying of drought,

Should, under Cancer's sign,

Drive our flocks in Aethiopian deserts.

Love conquers all; let’s yield to love too!"



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.


These songs, Pierian Maids, should be enough

For your poet to have sung while he sat,

And wove a delicate basket from slim mallow:

You’ll praise their value for Gallus,

Gallus, for whom my love grows stronger every hour,

Like the green alder shoots in early Spring.

Come on, let’s get up: the shade can be

Harmful to singers; the shade

From the juniper is bad too, as crops also suffer

In the shade. Now let’s head home, having eaten our fill—

Eve's star is rising—go, my goats, go.










        
        
    

    
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