IDYL XXI.

THE FISHERMEN.

THE nurse of industry and arts is want;
Care breaks the labourer's sleep, my Diophant!
And should sweet slumber o'er his eyelids creep,
Dark cares stand over him, and startle sleep.

Two fishers old lay in their wattled shed,
Close to the wicker on one sea-moss bed;

Near them the tools wherewith they plied their craft,
The basket, rush-trap, line, and reedy shaft,
Weed-tangled baits, a drag-net with its drops,
Hooks, cord, two oars, an old boat fixt on props.
Their rush-mat, clothes, and caps, propt either head;
These were their implements by which they fed,
And this was all their wealth. They were not richer
By so much as a pipkin or a pitcher.

All else seemed vanity: they could not mend

Their poverty — which was their only friend.

They had no neighbours; but upon the shore
The sea soft murmured at their cottage door.
The chariot of the moon was midway only,
When thoughts of toil awoke those fishers lonely:
And shaking sleep off they began to sing.

ASPHALION.

The summer-nights are short, when Zeus the king
Makes the days long, some say and lie. This night
I've seen a world of dreams, nor yet 'tis light.
What's all this? am I wrong? or say I truly?

And can we have a long, long night in July?

FRIEND.

Do you the summer blame? The seasons change,
Nor willingly transgress their wonted range.

From care, that frightens sleep, much longer seems
The weary night.

ASPHALION.

Can you interpret dreams?

I've seen a bright one, which I will declare,
That you my visions, as my toil may share.

To whom should you in mother-wit defer?
And quick wit is best dream-interpreter.

We've leisure, and to spare: what can one do,
Lying awake on leaves, as I and you,

Without a lamp? they say the town-hall ever
Has burning lights-its booty fails it never.

FRIEND.

Well let us have your vision of the night.

ASPHALION.

When yester-eve I slept, outwearied quite
With the sea-toil, not over-fed, for our
Commons, you know, were short at feeding hour,
I saw myself upon a rock, where I

Sat watching for the fish-so eagerly!

And from the reed the tripping bait did shake,
Till a fat fellow took it- no mistake:
('Twas natural-like that I should dream of fish,
As hounds of meat upon a greasy dish):

He hugged the hook, and then his blood did flow;
His plunges bent my reed like any bow;

I stretched both arms, and had a pretty bout,

To take with hook so weak a fish so stout.

I gently warned him of the wound he bore;

"Ha! will you prick me? you'll be pricked much more."

But when he struggled not, I drew him in;

The contest then I saw myself did win.

I landed him, a fish compact of gold!
But then a sudden fear my mind did hold,
Lest king Poseidon made it his delight,
Or it was Amphitrite's favourite.

I loosed him gently from the hook, for fear

It from his mouth some precious gold might tear,
And with my line I safely towed him home,

And swore that I on sea no more would roam,
But ever after would remain on land,

And there my gold, like any king, command.
At this I woke; your wits, good friend, awaken,
For much I fear to break the oath I've taken.

FRIEND.

Fear not you swore not, saw not with your eyes
The fish you saw; for visions all are lies.
But now no longer slumber: up, awake!
And for a false a real vision take.

Hunt for the foodful fish that is, not seems,

For fear you starve amid your golden dreams.

IDYL XXII.

CASTOR AND POLLUX.

ARGUMENT.

This hymn is divided into two parts, in the first of which Pollux, and in the second Castor is celebrated. The pugilistic contest of Pollux with Amycus is described. When the good ship Argo arrived at the Bebrycian shores, Castor and Pollux went to a spring for water, and found Amycus there guarding it, like a giant in the romances. He allows no one to draw water without first doing battle with him. On this occasion poetical justice is duly observed, and Amycus is beaten within an inch of his life.

In the second part the battle of Castor with Lynceus is described. The daughters of Leucippus, already betrothed to the two brothers Lynceus and Idas, are carried off by Castor and Pollux. The injured brothers pursue the ravishers, and overtake them at the tomb of Aphareus. Lynceus first tries to persuade the Dioscuri to restore their captives; but failing in this attempt, he challenges Castor to decide the question of right by a trial of might in single combat with himself. Contrary to all justice, might is here right; Lynceus is slain by Castor, and his brother Idas is smitten with a thunderbolt by Zeus.