by Theocritus
If otherwhere those feet be gone, pasture’s lean and shepherd lone.
DAPHNIS
[41] Where sweet Naïs comes a-straying there the green meads go a-maying;
Where’er her pathway lies along, there’s springing teats and growing young;
If otherwhere her gate be gone, cows are dry and herd fordone.
MENALCAS
[49] Buck-goat, husband of the she’s, hie to th’ wood’s infinities –
Nay, snubbies, hither to the spring; this errand’s not for your running; –
Go buck, and “Fairest Milon” say, “a god kept seals once on a day.”
DAPHNIS
[Daphnis’ reply is lost]
MENALCAS
[53] I would not Pelops’ tilth untold nor all Croesus’ coffered gold,
Nor yet t’ outfoot the storm-wind’s breath, so I may sit this rock beneath,
Pretty pasture-mate, wi’ thee, and gaze on the Sicilian sea.
DAPHNIS
[57] Wood doth fear the tempest’s ire, water summer’s drouthy fire,
Beasts the net and birds the snare. Man the love of maiden fair;
Not I alone lie under ban; Zeus himself’s a woman’s man.
[61] So far went the lads’ songs by course. Now ’twas the envoy, and Menalcas thus began:
MENALCAS
[63] Spare, good Wolf, the goats you see, spare them dam and kid for me;
If flock is great and flockman small, is’t reason you should wrong us all?
Come, White-tail, why so sound asleep? Good dogs wake when boys tend sheep.
Fear not, ewes, your fill to eat; for when the new blade sprouteth sweet,
Then ye shall no losers be; to’t, and fed you every she,
Feed till every udder teem store for lambs and store for cream.
[71] Then Daphnis, for his envoy, lifted up his tuneful voice, singing –
DAPHNIS
[72] Yestermorn a long-browed maid, spying from a rocky shade
Neat and neatherd passing by, cries “What a pretty boy am I!”
Did pretty boy the jape repay: Nay, bent his head and went his way.
Sweet to hear and sweet to smell, god wot I love a heifer well,
And sweet alsó ‘neath summer sky to sit where brooks go babbling by;
But ’tis berry and bush, ’tis fruit and tree, ’tis calf and cow, wi’ my kine and me.
[81] So sang those two lads, and this is what the goatherd said of their songs: “You, good Daphnis, have a sweet and delightful voice. Your singing is to the ear as honey to the lip. Here’s the pipe; take it; your song has fairly won it you. And if you are willing to teach me how to sing while I share pasture with you, you shall have the little she-goat yonder to your school-money, and I warrant you she’ll fill your pail up the brim and further.”
[88] At that the lad was transported, and capered and clapped hands for joy of his victory; so capers a fawn at the sight of his dam. At that, too, the other’s fire was utterly extinct, and his heart turned upside-down for grief; so mourns a maiden that is forced against her will.
[92] From that day forth Daphnis had the pre-eminence of the shepherds, insomuch that he was scarce come to man’s estate ere he had to wife that Naïs of whom he sang.
IDYLL IX. THE THIRD COUNTRY SINGING-MATCH
This poem would seem to be merely a poor imitation of the last. The characters are two neatherds, Daphnis and Menalcas, and the writer himself. We are to imagine the cattle to have just been driven out to pasture. There is no challenge and no stake. At the request of the writer that they shall compete in song before him, each of the herdsmen sings seven lines, Daphnis setting the theme; and then the writer, leaving it to be implied that he judged them equal, tells us how he gave them each a gift and what it was. The writer now appeals to the Muses to tell him the song he himself sang on the occasion, and he sings a six-line song in their praise.
[1] Sing a country-song, Daphnis. Be you the first and Menalcas follow when you have let out the calves to run with the cows and the bulls with the barren heifers. As for the cattle, may they feed together and wander together among the leaves and never stray alone, but do you come and sing me your song on this side, and Menalcas stand for judgment against you on that.
DAPHNIS (sings)
[7] O sweet the cry o’ the calf, and sweet the cry o’ the cow,
And sweet he tune o’ the neatherd’s pipe, and I sing sweet enow;
And a greenbed’s mine by the cool brook-side piled thick and thick with many a hide
From the pretty heifers wi’ skin so white which the storm found browsing on the height
And hurled them all below:
And as much reck I o’ the scorching heat as a love-struck lad of his father’s threat.
[14] So sang me Daphnis, and then Menalcas thus:-
MENALCAS
[15] Etna, mother o’ mine! my shelter it is a grot,
A pretty rift in a hollow clift, and for skins to my bed, god wot,
Head and foot ’tis goats and sheep as many as be in a vision o’ sleep,
And an oaken fire i’ the winter days with chestnuts roasting at the blaze
And puddings in the pot:
And as little care I for the wintry sky as the toothless for nuts when porridge is by.
[22] Then clapped I the lads both, and then and there gave them each a gift, Daphnis a club which grew upon my father’s farm and e’en the same as it grew – albeit an artificer could not make one to match it – , and Menalcas a passing fine conch, of which the fish when I took it among the Icarian rocks furnished five portions for five mouths, – and he blew a blast upon the shell.
[28] All hail, good Muses o’ the countryside! and the song I did sing that day before those herdsmen, let it no longer raise pushes on the tip o’ my tongue, but show it me you:
[31] (the song) O cricket is to cricket dear, and ant for ant doth long,
The hawk’s the darling of his fere, and o’ me the Muse and her song:
Of songs be my house the home away, for neither sleep, nor a sudden spring-day,
Nor flowers to the bees, are as sweet as they; I love the Muse and her song:
For any the Muses be glad to see, is proof agen Circè’s witcheyre.
IDYLL X. THE REAPERS
The characters of this pastoral mime are two reapers, Milon, the man of experience, and Bucaeus, called also Buscus, the lovesick youth. The conversation takes place in the course of their reaping, and leads to a love-song from the lover and a reaping-song from his kindly mentor. When Milon calls his song the song of the divine Lityerses he is using a generic term. There was at least one traditional reaping-song which told how Lityerses, son of Midas, of Celaenae in Phrygia, after entertaining strangers hospitably, made them reap with him till evening, when he cut off their heads and hid their bodies in the sheaves. This apparently gave the name to all reaping-songs. Milon’s song, after a prayer to Demeter, addresses itself in succession to binders, threshers, and reapers, and lastly to the steward. Both songs are supposed to be impromptu, and sung as the men reap on.
MILON
[1] Husbandman Bucaeus, what ails ye now, good drudge? you neither can cut your swath straight as once you did, nor keep time in your reaping with your neighbour. You’re left behind by the flock like a ewe with a thorn in her foot. How will it be wi’ you when noon is past and day o’ the wane, if thus early you make not a clean bite o’ your furrow?
BUCAEUS
[7] Good master early-and-late-wi’-sickle, good Sire chip-o’-the-flint, good Milon, hath it never befallen thee to wish for one that is away?
MILON
[9] Never, i’ faith; what has a clown like me to do with wishing where there’s no getting?
BUCAEUS
[10] Then hath it never befallen thee to lie awake o’ nights for love?
MILON
[11] Nay, and god forbid it should. ’Tis ill letting the dog taste pudding.
BUCAEUS
MILON
[13] Then ’tis manifest thou draw’st thy wine from the hogshead the while I am short of vinegar-water.
BUCAEUS
[14] – And so it is that the land at my very door since was seed-time hath not felt hoe.
MILON
[15] And which o’ the lasses is they undoing?
BUCAEUS
[16] ’Tis Polybotas’ daughter, she that was at Hippocion’s t’other day a-piping to the reapers.
MILON
[17] Lord! thy sin hath found thee out. Thou’dst wished and wished, and now, ‘faith, thou’st won. There’ll be a locust to clasp thee all night long.
BUCAEUS
[19] Thou bid’st fair to play me fault-finder. But there’s blind men in heaven besides Him o’ the Money-bags, fool Cupid for one. So prithee talk not so big.
MILON
[21] I talk not big, not I; pray be content, go thou on wi’ thy laying o’ the field, and strike up a song o’ love to thy leman. ‘Twill sweeten thy toil. Marry, I know thou wast a singer once.
BUCAEUS (sings)
[24] Pierian Muses, join with me a slender lass to sing;
For all ye Ladies take in hand ye make a pretty thing.
Bombýca fair, to other folk you may a Gipsy be;
Sunburnt and lean they call you; you’re honey-brown to me.
Of flowers the violet’s dark, and dark the lettered flag-flower tall,
But when there’s nosegays making they choose them first of all.
Dame Goat pursues the clover, Gray Wolf doth goat pursue,
Sir Stork pursues the plough; and I – O! I am wild for you,
Would all old Croesus had were mine! O then we’ld figured be
In good red gold for offerings rare before the Love-Ladye,
You with your pipes, a rose in hand or apple, I bedight
Above with mantle fine, below, new buskins left and right.
Bombyca fair, your pretty feet are knucklebones, and O!
Your voice is poppy, but your ways – they pass my power to show.
MILON
[38] Marry, ’twas no ‘prentice hand after all. Mark how cunningly he shaped his tune! Alackaday what a dolt was I to get me a beard! But come hear this of the divine Lityerses:
[42] (sings) Demeter, Queen of fruit and ear, bless O bless our field;
Grant our increase greatest be that toil therein may yield.
Grip tight your sheaves, good Binders all, or passerby will say
‘These be men of elder-wood; more wages thrown away.’
‘Twixt Northwind and Westwind let straws endlong be laid;
The breeze runs up the hollow and the ear is plumper made.
For Threshers, lads, the noontide nap’s a nap beside the law.
For noontide’s the best tide for making chaff of straw;
But Reapers they are up wi’ the lark, and with the lark to bed;
To rest the heat o’ the day, stands Reapers in good stead.
And ’tis O to be a frog, my lands, and live aloof from care!
He needs no drawer to his drink; ’tis plenty everywhere.
Fie, fie, Sir Steward! Better beans, an’t please ye, another day;
Thou’lt cut thy finger, niggard, a-splitting caraway.
[56] That’s the sort o’ song for such as work i’ the sun; but the starveling love-ditty o’ thine, Bucaeus, would make brave telling to thy mammy abed of a morning.
IDYLL XI. THE CYCLOPS
Theocritus offers a conolatio amoris to his friend the poet-physician Nicias of Miletus, with whom he studied under the physician Erasistratus. After a brief introduction by way of stage-direction, he tells him the song the Cyclops sang to his love the sea-nymph. Metrical and grammatical considerations make it probable that the poem was an early one; it may well be anterior to The Distaff. There is ‘tragic irony’ in the Cyclops’ reference to his eye when speaking of singeing his beard, and also in his mention of the possible advent of a stranger from overseas.
[1] It seems there’s no medicine for love, Nicias, neither salve nor plaster, but only the Pierian Maids. And a gentle medicine it is and sweet for to use upon the world, but very hard to find, as indeed one like you must know, being both physician and well-belov’d likewise of the Nine. ’Twas this, at least, gave best comfort to my countryman the Cyclops, old Polyphemus, when he was first showing beard upon cheek and chin and Galatea was his love. His love was no matter of apples, neither, nor of rosebuds nor locks of hair, but a flat frenzy which recked nought of all else. Time and again his sheep would leave the fresh green pasturage and come back unbidden to the fold, while their master must peak and pine alone upon the wrack-strown shore a-singing all the day long of Galatea, sick at heart of the spiteful wound the shaft of the great Cyprian had dealt him. Nevertheless he found the medicine for it, and sitting him down upon an upstanding rock looked seawards and sang:
[19] O Galatea fair and white, white as curds in whey,
Dapper as lamb a-frisking, wanton as calf at play,
And plum o’ shape as ruddying grape, O why deny thy lover?
O soon enow thou’rt here, I trow, when sweet sleep comes me over,
But up and gone when sleeping’s done – O never flees so fast
Ewe that doth spy gray wolf anight, as thou when slumber’s past.
My love of thee began, sweeting, when thou – I mind it well –
Wast come a-pulling luces wi’ my mother on the fell;
I showed ye where to look for them, and from that hour to this
I’ve loved ye true; but Lord! to you my love as nothing is.
[30] O well I wot pretty maid, for why thou shun’st me so,
One long shag eyebrow ear t o ear my forehead o’er doth go,
And but one eye beneath doth lie, and the nose stands wide on the lip;
Yet be as I may, still this I say, I feed full a thousand sheep,
And the milk to my hand’s the best i’ the land, and my cheese ’tis plenty alsó;
Come summer mild, come winter wild, my cheese-racks ever o’erflow.
And, for piping, none o’ my kin hereby can pipe like my piping,
And of thee and me, dear sweet-apple, in one song oft I sing,
Often at dead of night. And O, there’s gifts in store for thee,
Eleven fawns, all white-collárs, and cosset bear’s cubs four for thee.
[42] O leave it be, the blue blue sea, to gasp an ‘t will o’ the shore,
And come ye away to me, to me; I’ll lay ye’ll find no ill store.
A sweeter night thou’lt pass i’ the cave with me than away i’ the brine;
There’s laurel and taper cypress, swart ivy and sweet-fruit vine,
And for thy drinking the cool watér woody Etna pours so free
For my delight from his snow so white, and a heav’nly draught it be.
Now who would choose the sea and his waves, and a home like this forgo?
[50] But if so be the master o’ t too shag to thy deeming show,
There’s wood in store, and on the floor a fire that smoulders still,
And if thou would’st be burning, mayst burn my soul an thou will,
Yea, and the dear’st of all my goods, my one dear eye. O me!
That I was not born with fins to be diving down to thee,
To kiss, if not thy lips, at least hey hand, and give thee posies
Of poppies trim with scarlet rim or snow-white winter-roses!
And if a stranger a-shipboard come, e’en now, my little sweeting,
E’en now to swim I’ll learn of him, and then shall I be weeting
Wherefore it be ye folk o’ the sea are so life to be living below.
[63] Come forth and away, my pretty fay, and when thou comest, O
Forget, as he that sitteth here, they ways again to go;
Feed flock wi’ me, draw milk wi’ me, and if ‘t my darling p
lease,
Pour rennet tart the curds to part and set the good white cheese.
’Tis all my mother’s doing; she sore to blame hath bin;
Never good word hath spoke you o’ me, though she sees me waxing so thin.
I’ll tell her of throbbing feet, I’ll tell her of aching eyne;
I am fain that misery be hers sith misery be mine.
[72] O Cyclops, Cyclops, where be your wits gone flying?
Up, fetch you loppings for your lambs, or go a withy-plying;
The wearier’s oft the wiser man, and that there’s no denying.
Milk the staying, leave the straying, chase not them that shy;
Mayhap you’ll find e’en sweeter Galateans by and by.
There’s many a jill says ‘Come an you will and play all night wi’ me,’
And he laugh I hear when I give ear is soft and sweet as can be;
E’en I, ’tis plain, be somebody, ashore, if not ‘I the sea.
[80] Thus did Polyphemus tend his love-sickness with music, and got more comfort thereout than he could have had for any gold.
IDYLL XII. THE BELOVED
The Greeks sometimes exalted friendship to a passion, and such a friendship doubtless inspired this fine poem. Theocritus acknowledges his indebtedness to the Ionian lyrists and elegists by using their dialect. The passage rendered here in verse contains what at first sight looks like a mere display of learning, but has simply this intention: ‘Our love will be famous among so remote a posterity that the very words for it will be matter for learned comment.’
[1] Thou’rt come, dear heart; thou’rt come after two days and nights, albeit one will turn a lover gray. As spring is sweeter than winter, and pippin than damson-plum; as mother-ewe is shaggier than her lambkin, and maiden more to be desired than a thice-wed wife; as the fawn is nimbler-footed than the calf, and the nightingale clearest-tongued of all the wingèd songsters; so am I gladded above all at the sight of thee, and run to thee as a wayfarer runneth to the shady oak when the sun is burning hot. And ’tis O that equal Loves might inspire thee and me, and we become this song and saying unto all them that follow after:-
[12] Here were two men of might the antique years among,
The one Inspirant hight i’ th’ Amyclaean tongue,