ECLOGUE VI.
SILENUS.
My Muse at first did condescend to sing
In Syracusan verse, nor did she blush
To dwell in simple woodland. As for me,
As I was praising battles fierce, and kings,
Apollo twitched my ear, with this advice:
"A shepherd, Tityrus, may tend fat sheep,
But it becomes him to subdue his song."
Now will I hold my slender reed awhile
And meditate upon the Muse of fields;
For there be many, Varus, who will long
To tell thy praises, and describe grim wars.
Nor do I sing a quite unbidden strain:
But if there should be one to read my verse,
Induced by love—oh, Varus, every grove
And all our shrubs shall surely sing of thee.
There is no page that pleases Phœbus more
Than does that one that Varus' name doth bear.
Muses, continue. In a cave, two boys
Chromis, and Mnasylos, Silenus found
Lying asleep, all swollen with the wine
Of yesterday, as always he is seen.
His garlands lay beyond, fall'n from his head;
His heavy wine-jar from worn handle hung:
They seize him (for he oft had promised fair
To sing them songs) and bind, with his own wreaths;
Now comes the fairest of the Naiads near,
Ægle, encouraging the coward boys,
And, as he opes his eyes, she with the juice
Of mulberries, stains his brows and temples red.
He, laughing at the trick, saith, "Loose me, lads,
Why tie these bonds? Enough that I am seen.
"Now hear the songs ye wish for—songs for you—
"For her some other payment"—then began
And as he sang you well could think you saw
Fauns and wild creatures frisking in the dance;
Then the stiff oaks waving their topmost boughs,
The cliff Parnassian, less in Phœbus joyed,
Less did the Thracian hills Orpheus admire,
For now he sang how through the vasty void
Were gathered once the seeds of all those things
In earth and air and sea and liquid fire
That grew together—till the young orbed world
Itself was shaped—then how the solid earth
Separate became, and all the waters wide
Were prison'd by degrees in the sea's cup.
Then sang he how the lands were all amazed
To see the new-born Sun rise and shine forth
And from the clouds on high the rain showers fall.
When the thick forests first began to rise
And a few creatures ranged the unknown hills,
Now told he of the stones by Pyrrha cast,
Of Saturn's realm, of birds of Caucasus
And of Prometheus' theft—yet more he sang
How the fair youth of Argos, left behind
Beside the fountain, was in vain invoked
By sailors calling Hylas, Hylas! till
The shore was made to echo with the name.
He tries to comfort the ill-fated Pasiphæ,
Whose mind was turned to fancies base and wild.
Ah, hapless maid, of reason sweet bereft!
And sent to wander on the mountain drear,
Thy only friends the scattered herds of kine—
Ah, hapless maid! trod down by evil tongues!
The snow-white steer rests on the soft blue bloom
Of hyacinths, and chews the freshest grass,
Or follows one amongst the numerous herd.
Ye Nymphs of Crete, now close the forest paths,
Perchance his vagrant foot-prints we may see;
Or haply, they may lure him with green food,
Or he may follow heifers to their stalls.
—Now sings the bard of Atalanta; charmed
With golden apples of Hesperides—
Next tells how Phæton's sisters were transformed
To poplars—clothed with moss and bitter bark;
Then of the straying Gallus, by the streams
Sacred to Muses; how one led his steps
To the Aonian hills, and there rose up
The whole of Phœbus' choir, to honour him
And Linus, shepherd of grand song, his locks
All twined with bitter parsley and with flowers,
Spoke thus to him: "Behold, the Muses give
"These pipes to thee: receive them as the same,
"That formerly they gave old Hesiod, he
"Who laid low by his songs stubborn ash-trees
"Upon the hills. On these pipes thou shalt sing
"The first beginning of the Grynean grove
"Than which not one is more Apollo's pride."
Why should I tell, how Scylla, Nisus' maid,
Her snowy sides circled with noisy beasts,
Harassed Ulysses' ships, and her sea-hounds
In the deep whirlpool, tore their frightened crews?
He also sang of Tereus' transformed limbs
Of Philomela's banquets, and the gifts
Prepared by her; then how she fled in grief
To desert places, also of the wings
On which she hovered high, before her home.
All that of you happy Eurotas heard
From musing Phœbus, and bid laurels learn.
All this he sang, and to the stars resound
The echoing valleys: at his word at last
The sheep are gathered to their fold, and soon
Are numbered; then the Evening Star shines forth
In the reluctant heavens—Vesper glows.