Of god-like Alcimedon: round the edge
Clusters a vine, formed by light graver's tool,
Clothing pale ivy with its scattered fruit.
Two figures in the midst—Conon is one,
The other—who was he who with his staff
Unto the nations of the globe marked out
The various seasons—for the reaper glad,
And bending ploughman. Not yet with my lips
Have I approached them, for I laid them by.
Dam.Yes, for us also Alcimedon carved
Two goblets with the soft acanthus wreathed
Around their handles—Orpheus in the midst
In his own woods, and I have kept them safe
Untouched by any lip. This heifer—see,
Thy cups in worth will not compare with her.
Men.Think not thou canst escape me so, this day,
When thou shalt challenge, then will I appear.
Let but one hear us—ah, Palæmon comes!
No challenge shall be thine, in future days.
Dam.No longer then delay—sing what thou canst.
No hearers do I fear, but, neighbour mine,
Palæmon, give thy utmost mind to this,
For 'tis no trifling matter. Now begin.
Pal.Sing on; whilst on the soft grass we may rest.
Now is the fairest time of all the year,
For now the fields and trees bring forth their buds
And leafy are the woods. Damœtas first—
Menalcas follow—in alternate verse,
15
