To ask who I may be, nor what my wealth
In white-fleeced flocks—or in abundant milk.
My thousand Iambs wander on Sicily's hills:
Fresh milk I lack not all the rolling year.
The airs Amphion loved, I often sing,
Calling the herds together, and, indeed
My looks are pleasant: lately on the shore
In the still mirror of the sea I saw
My image, truly now I do not fear
The rivalry of Daphnis—be thou judge.
Oh that thou wouldst be pleased to dwell with me
In humble cot, to chase the graceful stags
Or drive the kids, where the green mallows grow.
Then in the woods thou mightest sing me songs
To rival Pan himself. He first taught men
With wax to join together several reeds.
Pan guards our sheep, and faithful Shepherds too.
Scorn not to put thy lips to pastoral pipes
Whose art Amqutas gained with toil and pain.
Damœtas, dying, gave to me his pipe
Formed of seven reeds, all of unequal length—
Saying, "Its second master now thou art."
Foolish Amqutas envies me the gift.
Besides these treasures, I possess two fawns.
In a steep-sided valley they were found
Already showing coats of dappled white—
Twice daily do they drain a she-goat's milk
These I could give thee—they were coveted
By Thestylis long since—and thou dost scorn
10
