Eclogue V (Fairclough)

MENALCAS

Mopsus, now that we have met, good men both, you at breathing in slender reeds, I at singing verses — why not seat us among these elms, with hazels interspersed?

MOPSUS

You are the elder, Menalcas: it is fitting that I obey you, whether we pass beneath the shades that shift at the Zephyrs' stirring, or rather into the cave. See, how the wild vine with its stray clusters has overrun the cave.

MENALCAS

Among our hills your only rival is Amyntas.

MOPSUS

What if he should rival Phoebus, too, for the prize of song?

MENALCAS

Begin first, Mopsus, if you have any strains on your flame Phyllis, or in praise of Alcon, or in raillery at Codrus. Begin. Tityrus will tend the grazing kids.

MOPSUS

Nay, I will try these verses, which the other day I carved on the green beech-bark, and set to music, marking words and tune in turn. Then do you bid Amyntas rival me!

MENALCAS

As far as the lithe willow yields to the pale olive, as far as the lowly Celtic reed yields to crimson rosebeds, so far, to my mind, does Amyntas yield to you. Nay, say no more, lad; we have passed into the cave.

MOPSUS

"For Daphnis, cut off by a cruel death, the Nymphs wept — ye hazels and rivers bear witness to the Nymphs — when, clasping her son's piteous corpse, his mother cried out on the cruelty of both gods and stars. On those days, Daphnis, none drove the pastured kine to the cool streams; no four-footed beast tasted the brook or touched a blade of grass. Daphnis, the wild mountains and woods tell us that even African lions moaned over thy death.

"Daphnis it was that taught men to yoke Armenian tigers beneath the car, to lead on the dances of Bacchus and entwine in soft leaves the tough spears. As the vine gives glory to its trees, as the grape to the vines, as the bull to the herd, as the corn to rich fields, thou alone givest glory to thy people. Since the Fates bore thee off, even Pales has left our fields, and even Apollo. Often in the furrows, to which we entrusted the big barley-grains, luckless darnel springs up and barren oat-straws. Instead of the j soft violet, instead of the gleaming narcissus, the thistle rises up and the sharp-spiked thorn. Strew the turf with leaves, ye shepherds, curtain the springs with shade — such honours Daphnis charges you to .pay him. And build a tomb, and on the tomb place, too, this verse: 'Daphnis was I amid the woods, known from here even to the stars. Fair was the flock I guarded, but fairer was I, the master.'"

MENALCAS

Your lay, heavenly bard, is to me even as sleep on the grass to the weary, as in summer-heat the slaking of thirst in a dancing rill of sweet water. Not with the pipe alone, but in voice do you match your master. Happy lad! now you will be next after him. Still I will sing you in turn, poorly it may be, this strain of mine, and exalt your Daphnis to the stars. Daphnis I will exalt to the stars; me, too, Daphnis loved.

MOPSUS

Could any boon be greater in my eyes than this? Not only was the boy himself worthy to be sung, but long ago Stimichon praised to me those strains of yours.

MENALCAS

"Daphnis, in radiant beauty, marvels at Heaven's unfamiliar threshold, and beneath his feet beholds the clouds and the stars. Therefore frolic glee seizes the woods and all the countryside, and Pan, and the shepherds, and the Dryad maids. The wolf plans no ambush for the flock, and nets no snare for the stag; kindly Daphnis loves peace. The very mountains, with woods unshorn, joyously fling their voices starward; the very rocks, the very groves ring out the song: A god is he, a god, Menalcas! Be kind and gracious to thine own! Lo here are four altars — two, see, for thee, Daphnis; two for Phoebus! Two cups, foaming with fresh milk, will I year by year set up for thee, and two bowls of rich olive oil; and, for my chief care, making the feast merry with wine — in winter, before the hearth; in harvest-time, in the shade — I will pour from goblets the fresh nectar of Chian wine. Damoetas and Lyctian Aegon shall sing for me, and Alphesiboeus mimic the dancing Satyrs.

"These rites shall be thine for ever, both when we pay our yearly vows to the Nymphs, and when we purify our fields. Long as the boar loves the mountain ridges, as the fish the streams; long as the bees feed on thyme and the cicalas on dew, so long shall thy honour and name and glories abide. As to Bacchus and Ceres, so to thee, year by year, shall the husbandmen pay their vows; thou, too, shalt bind them to their vows."

MOPSUS

What gifts, pray, can I give you for such a song? For no such charm for me has the rustle of the rising South, nor the beach lashed by surge, nor streams tumbling down amid rocky glens.

MENALCAS

This frail reed I will give you first. This taught me "Corydon was aflame for the fair Alexis"; this too: "Who owns the flock? Is it Meliboeus?"

MOPSUS

But do you, Menalcas, take this crook, which Antigenes won not, often as he begged it of me — and in those days he was worthy of my love — a goodly crook, with even knots and ring of bronze.