Eclogue VIII (Fairclough)

The pastoral Muse of Damon and Alphesiboeus, at whose rivalry the heifer marvelled and forgot to graze, at whose song lynxes stood spell-bound, and rivers were changed and stayed their course — the Muse of Damon and Alphesiboeus I will sing.

But thou, my friend, whether even now thou art passing the crags of great Timavus, or skirting the coast of the Illyrian main — O will that day ever come when I shall be free to tell thy deeds? O shall I ever be free to spread through all the world those songs of thine, alone worthy of the buskin of Sophocles? From thee is my beginning; in thy honour shall I end. Accept the songs essayed at thy bidding, and grant that about thy brows this ivy may creep among the victor's laurels.

Scarce had night's cool shade left the sky, what time the dew on the tender grass is sweetest to the flock, when, leaning on his shapely olive-staff, Damon thus began:

DAMON

"Rise, O morning star, heralding genial day, while I, cheated in the love which my promised Nysa spurned, make lament, and, though their witnessing has availed me naught, yet, as I die, I call on the gods in this my latest hour.

Begin with me, my flute, a song of Maenalus!

Maenalus hath ever tuneful groves and speaking pines; ever does he listen to shepherds' loves and to Pan, who first awoke the idle reeds.

Begin with me, my flute, a song of Maenalus!

To Mopsus is Nysa given! For what may we lovers not look? Griffins now shall mate with mares, and, in the age to come, the timid deer shall come with hounds to drink.

Begin with me, my flute, a song of Maenalus!

Mopsus, cut new torches! For thee they bring the bride! Scatter, bridegroom, the nuts! For thee the Evening-star quits Oeta!

Begin with me, my flute, a song of Maenalus!

O wedded to a worthy lord! even while thou scornest all men, and while thou hatest my pipe and my goats, my shaggy eyebrows and unkempt beard, and thinkest that no god recks aught of the deeds of men!

Begin with me, my flute, a song of Maenalus!

Within our garden-close I saw thee — I was guide for both — a little child, along with my mother, plucking dewy apples. My eleventh year finished, the next had just greeted me; from the ground I could now reach the frail boughs. As I saw, how was I lost! How a fatal frenzy swept me away!

Begin with me, my flute, a song of Maenalus!

Now know I what Love is; on flinty crags Tmarus bare him — or Rhodope, or the farthest Garamantes, a child not of our race or blood!

Begin with me, my flute, a song of Maenalus!

Ruthless Love taught a mother to stain her hands in her children's blood; cruel, too, wast thou, O mother. Was the mother more cruel, or that boy more heartless? Heartless was he; cruel, too, wast thou, O mother!

Begin with me, my flute, a song of Maenalus!

Now let the wolf even flee before the sheep, let rugged oaks bear golden apples, let the alder bloom with narcissus, let tamarisks distil rich amber from their bark, let owls, too, vie with swans, let Tityrus be an Orpheus — an Orpheus in the woods, an Arion among the dolphins!

Begin with me, my flute, a song of Maenalus!

Nay, let all become mid-ocean! Farewell, ye woods! Headlong from some towering mountain-crag I will plunge into the waves; this take thou as my last dying gift!

Cease, my flute, now cease the song of Maenalus!"

Thus Damon. Tell ye, Pierian maids, the answer of Alphesiboeus. Not all things can we all do.

ALPHESIBOEUS

"Bring out water, and wreathe these shrines with soft wool; and burn rich herbs and male frankincense, that I may try with magic rites to turn to fire my lover's coldness of mood. Naught is lacking here save songs.

Bring Daphnis home from town, bring him, my songs!

Songs can even draw the moon down from heaven; by songs Circe changed the comrades of Ulysses; with song the cold snake in the meadows is burst asunder.

Bring Daphnis home from town, bring him, my songs!

Three threads here I first tie round thee, marked with three different hues, and three times round these shrines I draw thy image. In an uneven number heaven delights.

Bring Daphnis home from town, bring him, my songs!

Weave, Amaryllis, three hues in three knots; weave them, Amaryllis, I beg, and say, 'Chains of love I weave!'

Bring Daphnis home from town, bring him, my songs!

As this clay hardens, and as this wax melts in one and the same flame, so may Daphnis melt with love for me! Sprinkle meal, and kindle the crackling bays with pitch. Me cruel Daphnis burns; for Daphnis burn I this laurel.

Bring Daphnis home from town, bring him, my songs!

May such longing seize Daphnis as when a heifer, jaded with the search for her mate amid woods and deep groves, sinks down by a water-brook in the green sedge, all forlorn, nor thinks to withdraw before night's late hour — may such longing seize him, and may I care not to heal it!

Bring Daphnis home from town, bring him, my songs!

These relics that traitor once left me, dear pledges for himself. Now, on my very threshold, I commit them, O Earth, to thee. These pledges make Daphnis my due.

Bring Daphnis home from town, bring him, my songs!

These herbs and these poisons, culled in Pontus, Moeris himself gave me — they grow plenteously in Pontus. By their aid I have oft seen Moeris turn wolf and hide in the woods, oft call spirits from the depth of the grave, and charm sown corn away to other fields.

Bring Daphnis home from town, bring him, my songs!

Carry forth the embers, Amaryllis, and toss them over your head into a running brook; and look not back. With these I will assail Daphnis; he recks naught of gods or songs.

Bring Daphnis home from town, bring him, my songs!

Look! the ash itself while I delay to carry it forth, has of its own accord caught the shrines with quivering flames. Be the omen good! ''Tis something surely, and Hylax is barking at the gate. Can I trust my eyes? Or do lovers fashion their own dreams?

Cease! Daphnis comes home from town; cease now, my songs!"