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.
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