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Vines are the green wood's glory, grapes the
The bull the cattle's, and the rich land's corn
Thou art thy people's. When thou metst thy
Both Pales and Apollo left our fields.
In furrows where we dropped big barley seeds,
Spring now rank darnel and the barren reed : 40
Not violet soft and shining daffodil,
But thistles rear themselves and sharp-spiked
Shepherds, strow earth with leaves, and hang
the springs With darkness! Daphnis asks of you such
rites : And raise a tomb, and place this rhyme thereon: “Famed in the green woods, famed beyond
the skies, A fair flock’s fairer lord, here Daphnis lies.”
Me. Welcome thy song to me, oh sacred bard,
As, to the weary, sleep upon the grass :
As, in the summer-heat, a bubbling spring 50
Of sweetest water, that shall slake our thirst.
In song, as on the pipe, thy master's match,
Thou, gifted lad, shalt now our master be.
Yet will I sing in turn, in my poor way,
My song, and raise thy Daphnis to the stars—
Raise Daphnis to the stars. He loved me too. Mo. Could aught in my eyes such a boon outweigh ?
Song-worthy was thy theme; and Stimichon
Told me long since of that same lay of thine. Me. (Sings.) Heaven's unfamiliar floor, and clouds and stars,
Fair Daphnis, wondering, sees beneath his feet.
Therefore gay revelries fill wood and field,
Pan, and the shepherds, and the Dryad maids.
Wolves plot not harm to sheep, nor nets to
Because kind Daphnis makes it holiday.
The unshorn mountains fling their jubilant voice
Up to the stars: the crags and copses shout
Aloud, “A god, Menalcas, lo! a god."
Oh! be thou kind and good unto thine own!
Behold four altars, Daphnis: two for thee, 70
Two, piled for Phæbus. Thereupon I'll place
Two cups, with new milk foaming, year by
Two goblets filled with richest olive-oil :
And, first with much wine making glad the
At the fireside in snowtime, 'neath the trees
In harvest-pour, rare nectar, from the can
The wines of Chios. Lyctian Ægon then
Shall sing me songs, and to Damotas' pipe
Alphesibæus dance his Satyr-dance.
And this shalt thou lack never: when we
80 The Nymphs our vows, and when we cleanse
While boars haunt mountain-heights, and fishes
Bees feed on thyme, and grasshoppers on dew,
Thy name, thy deeds, thy glory shall abide.
As Bacchus and as Ceres, so shalt thou
Year after year the shepherd's vows receive;
So bind him to the letter of his vow.
Mo. What can I give thee, what, for such a song?
Less sweet to me the coming South-wind's sigh,
The sea-wave breaking on the shore, the
Of rivers, rushing through the stony vales. Me. First I shall offer you this brittle pipe.
This taught me how to sing, “For one fair
This taught me “Whose flock ? Melibeus's ?" Mo. Take thou this crook; which oft Antigenes
Asked-and he then was loveable—in vain;
Brass-tipped and even-knotted-beautiful !
My muse first stooped to trifle, like the Greek's,
In numbers; and, unblushing, dwelt in woods.
I sang embattled kings : but Cynthius plucked
My ear, and warned me: “Tityrus, fat should be
A shepherd's wethers, but his lays thin-drawn.”
So-for enough and more will strive to tell,
Varus, thy deeds, and pile up grisly wars-
On pipe of straw will I my wood-notes sing :
I sing not all unbid. Yet oh! should one
Smit by great love, should one read this my
10 Then with thee, Varus, shall our myrtle-groves, And all these copses, ring. Right dearly loves Phæbus the page that opens with thy name.
On, sisters !
-Chromis and Mnasylus saw (Two lads) Silents in a cave asleep: As usual, swoln with yesterday's debauch.