ECLOGUE V.
DAPHNIS.
Menalcas.Come, Mopsus, now so happily we meet
And seem so good a pair, why not remain
Resting in shade of elms and hazel copse?
Thou canst breathe music from thy reed, and I
Can harmonize some verses to thy tune.
Mopsus.Nay, thou canst claim, Menalcas, by thine age
The rule o'er me; choose thou (I will obey)
Whether we rest 'neath changeful shadow here
Or in deep shelter stay, in yonder cave—
See how 'tis garnished by the wild vine's sprays!
Menalcas.I know but one whose fame can vie with thine.
Mopsus.Will that one seek to rival Phœbus next?
Menalcas.Well, Mopsus, for thy song! first shall it tell
Of thy warm love for Phyllis—or the praise
Of Alcon, or the scolding Codrus flout?
Begin—while Tityrus doth tend the grazing kids.
Mopsus.Nay, let me try the songs I lately wrote
On a green beech bark, with the notes between.
Next, thou canst call Amyntas to the strife.
Menalcas.Ah, well! we all do judge thee to excel,
Amyntas, as the olive stronger stands
Than bending osier, or as low-grown reeds
Do yield in beauty to the crimson rose.
Mopsus.Enough, my friend, for we have reached the cave.
Song.
"Sore wept the Nymphs at sight of Daphnis slain.
O hazel brakes and running rivers, ye
Witnessed their sorrow! there whilst she embraced
Her son's poor corpse, his mother called to gods
And to the stars that pitied not her woe.
In those sad days, Daphnis, men did neglect
To drive their cattle, as was once their wont
To the cool streams—so the four-footed tribe
Pined, but in vain, for pasture and for drink.
Daphnis, the hills and woods tell wondrous tales
How Punic lions mourned at thy decease.
Ofttimes, at Daphnis' bidding, men did bind
Tigresses of Armenia to his car
And worshippers of Bacchus proudly stepped
Their tall wands twisted round with foliage soft.
The glory of the vine makes fair the elm
As do her grapes the vine. Bulls are the pride
Of the mild lowing herds: the golden corn
Adorns the smiling fields. So thou alone
Didst glorify thy race—but—thou art gone!
By cruel fate. Since then the land is left
By Pales and Apollo, desolate.
In the warm furrows, where our barley grew
Now spring the barren darnel, and wild oats.
Violets have let sharp thistles take their place
And thorny shrubs banished Narcissus bright.
Oh shepherds! Daphnis bids you strew green leaves
As carpet o'er the ground, and shade the springs
In his remembrance, then to raise a mound
And at its summit, just this epitaph—
"Lo, here is Daphnis! known in leafy groves
As well as in the skies—my flocks were fair
But I myself was fairer far than they!"
Menalcas.Oh, divine poet! unto us thy song
Is like sweet sleep that to the weary steals
'Mid the cool herbage—as refreshing streams
To men whose throats are parched with summer heat;
In voice and music, thou dost equal now
Even thy master—happy youth—indeed
Thou may'st be ranked with him. Yet, in my turn
If thou wilt listen to a song of mine
As best I may, thy Daphnis I'll exalt
And raise him to the skies—he loved us too.
Mopsus.No higher gift than that, could ye desire;
The glorious boy was worthy of the songs;
While of your verse, praise have I long since heard.
Menalcas (sings)The white-robed Daphnis, now at Heaven's gate
Marvels as he beholds—he sees the stars
And all Earth's clouds far far beneath his feet.
Now reigns gay pleasure in the woods and meads
Pan and his shepherds dance with Dryads young.
The gentle Daphnis loved both peace and rest.
So shall the wolf cease to assault the flock,
So shall no toils be set to ensnare the deer,
The untilled mountains cry aloud for joy,
The rocks, the groves resounding to the cry,
He is a God, Menalcas, yes, a God!
Then show thy fav'ring grace to all thine own,
Daphnis! Two altars to thy honour stand
As two to Phœbus—yearly shalt thou find
Two bowls of frothing milk, two of rich oil,
And to make glad the feast, new Chios wine,
Shall be poured out—in winter by the fire;
Or, if at harvest time, beneath the shade,
Œgon shall sing me songs—Damœtas too.
Alphesibœus, mimic frisking Fauns,
This place is thine alway. When to the Nymphs
We pay our vows, and when we mark our fields.
While the fierce boar shall haunt the mountain tops
While fishes love the floods, and bees suck thyme,
Or grasshoppers sip dew, still shall endure
Thy honour, Daphnis, and thy glorious name.
As do the swains yearly their vows perform
To Bacchus and to Ceres, so to thee
Shall they be paid; and thou shalt bind them too.
Mopsus.And what reward can I bestow on thee
For such a song? Neither the whisp'ring wind
That gathers in the South, nor breaking wave,
Nor rushing waterfalls, can so delight
My heart, Menalcas!
Menalcas.Take this gift from me,
This hemlock-pipe that taught us many tunes.
Mopsus.And thou, this crook, adorned with studs of brass
Antigenes begged often—but in vain—
Though he deserved my love, but not as thou, Menalcas.