TJ
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 b^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 V
 
 SICILIAN IDYLS 
 
 And Other Verses 
 
 Translated from the Greek 
 
 By 
 
 JANE MINOT SEDGWICK 
 
 BOSTON 
 COPELAND AND DAY 
 
 M DCCC XCVIII
 
 COPYRIGHT 1898 BY COPELAND AND DAY
 
 ?A 
 
 S ^¥s 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Theocritus (of Syracuse, the greatest ot Greek 
 pastoral poets, lived for some time at Alex- 
 andria under Ptolemy Philadelphus, about 
 280 B.C., and afterwards in Syracuse, dur- 
 ing the reign of Hiero II). 
 
 Idyl I 3 
 
 Idyl III 1 1 
 
 Idyl V 16 
 
 Idyl VI 30 
 
 Idyl VII 34 
 
 Idyl XI 43 
 
 Idyl XV 47 
 BiON (born at Syracuse, and a contemporary 
 
 of Theocritus) 62 
 
 The Lament for Adonis 62 
 Meleager (born at Gadara in Palestine, in 
 
 the ist Century, B.C.) 67 
 
 Aristodicus (of Rhodes, zd Century, B.C.) 77 
 
 Author unknown 7° 
 
 EvENUs (of Ascalon, ist Century, A.D.) 79 
 
 Tymnes (2d Century, B.C.) 80 
 
 SiMMiAS (of Rhodes, circa 300, B.C.) 81 
 
 Antipater (of Sidon, 2d Century, B.C.) 82 
 
 Author unknown 84 
 
 DioTiMUS (circa 200, B.C.) ^5 
 
 Satyrus (2d Century, A.D.) 86 
 
 Anyte (of Tcgca, 3d Century, B.C.) 87 
 
 Author unknown 88 
 
 S0i247
 
 INDEX 
 
 AscLEPiADES (son of Sicclides of Samos, 3CI 
 
 Century, B.C.) 89 
 
 SiMONiDEs (of Ceos, 556-467, B.C.) 92 
 
 Alpheus (of Mitylene, zd Century, A.D.) 94 
 
 DiONYSius (of Cyzicus, 2d Century, B.C.) 95 
 
 Unknown 96 
 DioscoRiDEs (of Alexandria, zd Century, 
 
 B.C.) 97 
 
 Philodemus (of Gadara, ist Century, B.C.) 98 
 
 Marcus Argentarius (ist Century, A.D.) 99 
 
 Strato (of Sardis, zd Century, A.D.) loi 
 Agathias (of Myrina, in Mysia ; 536-582 
 
 A.D.) 103 
 Paulus Silentiarius (of Constantinople, 
 
 6th Century, A.D.) 105 
 
 Thymocles (zd Century, A.D.) 108 
 Macedonius (of Thessalonica, 6th Century, 
 
 A.D.) 109 
 RuFiNUS (of Constantinople, 6th Century, 
 
 A.D.) no 
 Author unknown i i 2 
 Author unknown I 1 3 
 Anacreontic 114 
 Julianus i^GYPTius (6th Century, A.D.) 115 
 Palladas (of Alexandria, lived in the latter 
 part of the 4th and beginning of the 
 5th Centuries, A.D.) 116 
 Marianus (of Constantinople ; the end of 
 the 5th and beginning of the 6th Cen- 
 turies, A.D.) 118
 
 THEOCRITUS
 
 THEOCRITUS 
 
 IDYL I 
 Thyrsis and the Goatherd 
 
 AT the hour of noon, beside a cool spring, 
 Thyrsis, a Sicilian shepherd, meets with a 
 goatherd who begs him to sing his well- 
 known song of the woes of Daphnis, promising 
 him a beautifully carved bowl as a reward. 
 
 Daphnis, the traditional hero of the shepherds, 
 was a herdsman v/ho had promised eternal con- 
 stancy to his bride Nais. The jealous Aphrodite 
 resented his vow as an infringement of her rights, 
 and punished him with a fatal passion for another 
 maiden who loved him in return. Daphnis 
 proudly resisted the temptation, but lost his life 
 in consequence. He was bewailed by the creat- 
 ures of the pasture and the forest, twitted by 
 Hermes and Priapus, and finally cruelly taunted 
 by Aphrodite, upon whom he retorted with 
 spirit. He then lamented his fate and died. 
 
 3
 
 s; 
 
 Theocritus. Thyrsii. 
 
 iwEET is the music of the rustling pine 
 • Above the springs, and sweet also is thine, 
 O Goatherd ! When Pan piping with thee vies. 
 Thou takest, after him, the second prize ; 
 For if he bear the horned he-goat away. 
 Its mate thou winnest on the self-same day; 
 But if the she-goat falleth to his share. 
 Thou hast the kid, and kids are dainty fare. 
 
 Goatheni. 
 Sweeter thy song, O Shepherd ! than the sound 
 Of yonder fountain flowing to the ground. 
 When the contending Muses win the ewe, 
 A little stall-fed lamb is thy just due ; 
 But when it pleaseth them to take the lamb. 
 Then thou receivest rightfully its dam. 
 
 Thyrsis. 
 Say, Goatherd, by the Nymphs ! is it thy will 
 To sit beside me on this pleasant hill. 
 And pipe beneath the leafy tamarisk tree. 
 While I watch all thy pretty goats for thee ? 
 
 Goatherd. 
 Nay, Shepherd, not at this the noontide hour 
 Am I allowed to pipe ; I fear the power 
 Of Pan, who, weary, resteth from the chase ; 
 His mood is sharp, and wrath is on his face. 
 But, Thyrsis, thou hast sung of Daphnis' woe, 
 
 4
 
 And loved the rustic Muses long ago ; Theocritus. 
 
 So let us take this seat for shepherds made 
 
 Near the oak-copse, beneath the elm-tree's shade ; 
 
 While opposite, from out their neighbouring nook, 
 
 Priapus and the fountain Nymphs may look. 
 
 And if, as when the Libyan Chromis thou 
 
 In singing did'st surpass, thou singest now. 
 
 Then I will let thee milk my she-goat thrice. 
 
 The mother of two new-born kids, and twice. 
 
 At every milking, shall she fill thy pail. 
 
 I promise, too, to give thee without fail 
 
 A bowl of ivy-wood, with wax besmeared. 
 
 Fresh from the carver's knife, deep and two- 
 eared. 
 
 About the rim thick leaves of ivy twine. 
 
 And mingle with a golden-flowered vine ; 
 
 While, clasping round the bowl with many a 
 shoot, 
 
 A tendril climbs, gay with its saffron fruit. 
 
 Inside, with godlike art a woman fair 
 
 Is fashioned, clothed in curious raiment rare ; 
 
 A fillet on her lovely brow is bound. 
 
 And men with drooping love-locks stand around. 
 
 Contending for her in alternate speech. 
 
 Not all their words her careless heart may reach. 
 
 But now on one she turns her light gay smile. 
 
 And now upon another ; they, meanwhile, 
 
 With heavy eyes that tell of sleepless pain. 
 
 And long love-vigils, strive for her in vain. 
 
 Near them an ancient fisherman is wrought. 
 
 Who to a rugged rock his net has brought, 
 
 5
 
 Theocritus. And labours hard to cast it from the height- 
 He looks as if he worked with all his might ; 
 The sinews swell upon his neck ; in truth, 
 Though old, his strength is as the strength of 
 
 youth. 
 From him, divided by a little space. 
 Carved in the bowl, there is a vineyard place. 
 The purple clusters from the branches fall, 
 A young lad watches from a rough stone-wall ; 
 One little fox is skulking through the lines 
 Of grapes, and seeks to spoil the tender vines ; 
 Another looks, with mischievous intent. 
 Upon the leathern pouch, on stealing bent. 
 And means its longed-for contents to possess. 
 Leaving the boy bereft and breakfastless. 
 While he, absorbed, a cage for locusts weaves. 
 Joining together reeds and stalks and leaves ; 
 He cares not for his wallet, nor the grapes. 
 So much he loves the plaited work he shapes. 
 Around the bowl, carved by Aeolian art. 
 The soft acanthus spreads in every part : 
 A miracle for thee to look upon. 
 Once from a ferryman in Chalydon 
 I bought the bowl, and paid a goat to him. 
 Besides a great white cheese ; its maiden brim 
 Has never touched my lips, but still it lies 
 Unused, and freely shalt thou have the prize. 
 I shall not grudge its being thine to-day. 
 If thou wilt sing me now thy lovely lay. 
 Begin, while yet is time ; thy songs, my friend. 
 In Hades and oblivion shall end.
 
 Song of Thyrsis Theocritus. 
 
 Thyrsis. 
 
 Begin, dear Muses, sing the pastoral strain ! 
 
 This is the voice of Thyrsis come again. 
 
 Where were ye nymphs when vour loved Daph- 
 
 nis died. 
 In Peneus' glade, or on great Pindus' side ? 
 For neither were ye by Anapus' stream. 
 Nor yet where Acis' holy waters gleam ; 
 By Etna's watch-tower ye took not your way. 
 
 Begin, dear Muses, sing the pastoral lay ! 
 For him the jackals and the wolves did cry. 
 The lion wept that such a youth should die. 
 
 Begin, dear Muses, sing the pastoral song ! 
 About his feet there pressed a crowded throng 
 Of kine and bulls, young calves and heifers there. 
 
 Begin, dear Muses, sing the pastoral air ! 
 First Hermes came, down-hastening from the hill. 
 He asked: " O Daphnis! who doth thee this ill ? 
 Whom dost thou love, my child, with so much 
 pain ? ' ' 
 
 Begin, dear Muses, sing the pastoral strain ! 
 About him neatherds, shepherds, goatherds came. 
 Beseeching him his weary woe to name. 
 Priapus, meeting him so far astray. 
 Said : " Wretched Daphnis, wastest thou away ?
 
 Theocritus. Behold, she seeketh thee, thy maiden fleet. 
 By vale and fountain borne on flying feet ; 
 Thou art a laggard and a luckless swain ! " 
 
 Begin, dear Muses, sing the pastoral strain ! 
 Daphnis would neither answer nor attend. 
 But bare his bitter love unto the end ; 
 Unto the fated end his love he bare. 
 
 Begin, dear Muses, sing the pastoral air ! 
 Next Cypris came and smiled with crafty art ; 
 Her smile was sweet, but wrath was in her heart. 
 She said : " O foolish Daphnis ! thou didst vow 
 To give a fall to cruel Love, but now 
 That thou art thrown by him, what canst thou 
 say r 
 
 Begin, dear Muses, sing the pastoral lay ! 
 He answered: "Cypris dread, insatiate. 
 Implacable, whom all men jusdy hate ; 
 Though thou mayst think my latest sun is set, 
 Daphnis shall conquer Love in Hades yet." 
 
 Begin, dear Muses, sing the pastoral strain ! 
 The herdsman said to Cypris : *• Go again 
 To Ida, to thy loved Anchises go : 
 There are the oaks, here the rank grasses grow ; 
 And here the bees are humming everywhere." 
 
 8
 
 Begin, dear Muses, sing the pastoral air ! Theocritus. 
 
 " Adonis now is in his lovely prime ; 
 
 He herds his sheep, it is the accustomed time 
 
 For him to hunt the boar and slay the hare." 
 
 Begin, dear Muses, sing the pastoral air ! 
 
 ** Go back again, and tell thy Diomed 
 
 Thou hast slain Daphnis ; fight with him instead." 
 
 Begin, dear Muses, sing the pastoral air ! 
 
 " O wolf, and jackal, and cave-dwelling bear ! 
 
 Your Daphnis bids you a long last farewell. 
 
 For nevermore in forest, grove, or dell 
 
 Shall ye again behold him ; now good-night, 
 
 O Arethusan fount, and rivers bright 
 
 That down the Thymbris pour your waters fair." 
 
 Begin, dear Muses, sing the pastoral air ! 
 
 *' I am the herdsman Daphnis who doth bring 
 
 His bulls and cows to drink from this fresh 
 
 spring ; 
 Who in these grassy pastures doth belong." 
 
 Begin, dear Muses, sing the pastoral song ! 
 
 "O Pan ! O Pan ! If on Lycaeus' hill 
 
 Or mighty Maenalus thou rangest still. 
 
 Come hither to our far Sicilian isle, 
 
 Leaving the cairn of Helicc awhile. 
 
 The tomb built where Lycaon's daughter lies, 
 
 A wonder to the gods* immortal eyes."
 
 Theocritus. Ye pastoral Muses, cease, forget to sing ! 
 
 " Come, take this sweet-breathed pipe, O Pan, 
 
 my King ! 
 My pipe with fair white wax together bound. 
 And fitly for the player's lip curved round. 
 I go to Hades, dragged by Love along ! " 
 
 Ye pastoral Muses, cease, forget your song ! 
 «• Let violets on thorns and brambles blow. 
 And soft narcissus on rough branches grow ; 
 Let all things change, ripe pears on pines be 
 
 found. 
 Since Daphnis dies ; let hinds pursue the hound ; 
 Let mountain owls strive with the nightingale." 
 
 Ye Muses, cease, forget your pastoral tale ! 
 He stopped, and then was Aphrodite fain 
 To call him back to life, but all in vain. 
 The fates had spun out all his thread at last. 
 And Daphnis down the stream went floating past. 
 The whirling wave his lovely head closed o'er. 
 The head the Muses and the Nymphs adore. 
 
 Ye Muses, cease, forget your pastoral lay ! 
 Give me thy bowl, give me thy goat, I pray. 
 That, having milked, I may libation make. 
 Before I go, for the kind Muses' sake. 
 Adieu, ye Muses, many times adieu. 
 Next time I'll sing a sweeter song to you. 
 
 lo
 
 Goatherd. Theocritm. 
 
 Oh, may thy mouth be filled with honey sweet. 
 And with the honey-comb ; and may'st thou eat 
 The rich dried fig that comes from Aegilus, 
 Since thou hast vanquished the cicala thus ! 
 Here take the cup, my Thyrsis ; sweet its smell 
 As if the Hours had dipped it in their well. 
 Cissaetha waits fisr thee to milk her ; come. 
 Ye naughty goats, be not so quarrelsome ! 
 
 IDYL III 
 
 Amaryllis 
 
 IN this idyl a goatherd, leaving his flock on 
 the hillside, in charge of Tityrus, serenades 
 the fair Amaryllis, in front of her cavern 
 that is thickly overgrown with a screen of ivy 
 and fern. He promises her apples — always the 
 gift of love — and a milk-white kid; complaining 
 bitterly of her cruelty, although he admits that 
 it has long been foretold to him both by the fail- 
 ure of the love-charm, and by the old witch in 
 whose company he has bound the sheaves. He 
 then recounts the names of famous and happy 
 lovers of old, and ends by threatening to lie down 
 and die on the spot. 
 
 COME, I will sing to her now, the dear young 
 maid Amaryllis, 
 While on the mountain my goats are feeding, and 
 Tityrus drives them. 
 
 1 1
 
 Theocritus. Tityrus, feed my flocks ; oh, feed them, my 
 
 dearly-beloved ! 
 Lead them up to the spring, and, Tityrus, hark to 
 
 my warning : 
 Shun the old Libyan he-goat, or he will be 
 
 certain to butt thee. 
 
 Oh, my fair Amaryllis ! no more at the door of 
 
 the cavern 
 Standest thou as before to shoot a shy glance at 
 
 thy lover. 
 Calling to him as he passes ; and dost thou dislike 
 
 him in earnest ? 
 
 Now thou has seen me beside thee, am 1 so 
 
 unpleasant a fellow ? 
 Pray, is my nose too flat, or is it my chin that is 
 
 ugly ? 
 Thou wilt force me to hang myself in despair, let 
 
 me tell thee. 
 
 Here, I bring thee ten apples I plucked from the 
 
 place in the orchard 
 Where thou didst ask me to pluck them ; I'll 
 
 bring thee as many to-morrow. 
 
 See, I am cut to the heart by all thy bitterness 
 
 toward me ! 
 Oh, that I were as the bee that buzzes about thy 
 
 cavern. 
 Entering in through the screen of fern and thick- 
 
 growmg ivy ! 
 
 12
 
 Now I have seen what Love is, I know he is Theocritus. 
 
 wicked and cruel. 
 Surely a lioness mother has reared him afar in the 
 
 forest ; 
 Me he bums to the bone and with his fire con- 
 
 sumeth. 
 
 Though thou art fair to look at, alas ! thou art 
 
 stony-hearted ; 
 Dark-browed damsel, come hither, that I, thy 
 
 goatherd, may kiss thee ; 
 Even in empty kisses there is a delicate rapture. 
 
 Soon wilt thou make me tear in pieces the flowery 
 garland 
 
 Kept for thee, Amaryllis, my garland woven of 
 ivy. 
 
 Mingled with buds of roses, and curling sweet- 
 smelling parsley. 
 
 What shall become of me now, poor wretch, 
 since thou wilt not hear me ? 
 
 Casting away my coat, I'll jump in the swelling 
 
 billow. 
 Jump from the place where Olpis the fisher 
 
 watches the mackerel ; 
 Then, though I fail to perish, I yet shall have 
 
 done thee a pleasure. 
 
 '3
 
 Theocritus. Long, long ago 1 knew it, as once I played with 
 
 the love-charm. 
 Trying to find from a leaf if my sweetheart loved 
 
 me or hated ; 
 There on my arm it withered, and neither clung 
 
 nor crackled. 
 
 Truly she spake to me then, the witch, the di- 
 viner of fortunes. 
 
 When she bound the sheaves with me, in the 
 path of the reapers. 
 
 Saying I lived for thee, but that to thee I was 
 nothing. 
 
 Yes, a milk-white goat with kids for thee I am 
 keeping. 
 
 Those that the sun-burnt maid of Mermon is 
 ever demanding ; 
 
 Lo ! I will give them to her, if thou continue co- 
 quetting. 
 
 There, my right eyelid is twitching ! I think that 
 
 it means she is coming. 
 If I go on with my song, as I lean in the shade 
 
 of the pine-tree. 
 Then she will see me, perhaps, for she cannot be 
 
 all adamantine. 
 
 14
 
 Hippoinenes, when ot old he courted a fleet- Theocrittts. 
 
 footed virgin, 
 Carried a handful of apples, and ran his race to 
 
 the ending ; 
 Atalanta looked, and longed, and loved him to 
 
 madness. 
 
 Once the seer Melampus, who led the herd of 
 
 oxen. 
 Brought them to Pylos in safety, and so in the 
 
 arms of Bias 
 Lay the lovely mother of virtuous Alphesiboea. 
 
 Was it not thus on the hills that the youthful 
 
 shepherd Adonis 
 Tended his flock and drove the fair Cytherea to 
 
 frenzy. 
 So that although he is dead, she clasps him still 
 
 to her bosom ? 
 
 Blest is Endymion sleeping the sleep that knows 
 
 no arousing ; 
 Blest, also, my beloved, I hold the hero Jason, 
 Whom high fortunes befell, and wonders un- 
 known to the vulgar. 
 
 Ah, my head, how it aches ! I'll cease, and 
 
 stop my singing. 
 I shall lie down and die, and the wolves may 
 
 come and devour me ; 
 Sweet as honey to thee may be the news of my 
 
 dying! 
 
 '5
 
 Theocritus. 
 
 IDYL V 
 
 COMATAS AND LaCON 
 
 COMATAS, a goatherd in the service of 
 Eumares, and Lacon, a shepherd in the 
 service of Sibyrtas, meet by accident as 
 they are driving their flocks. After a good deal of 
 banter and jeering on both sides, they agree upon 
 their stakes, call in a woodcutter as umpire between 
 the two, and begin the usual singing-match. 
 
 The woodcutter assigns the prize to Comatas, 
 who is greatly delighted. 
 
 Melanthius, referred to by Comatas, is the 
 treacherous goatherd in the Odyssey. 
 
 The scene is laid near Thurium, a town built 
 by the Athenians in Southern Italy, on the ruins 
 of the older Sybaris. When Eumares is spoken 
 of as belonging to Sybaris, it is as a descendant of 
 one of the former inhabitants of that town. 
 
 Comatas. 
 
 OH, fly, my little flock of goats ! From Lacon 
 fly away, 
 Sibyrtas' shepherd, for he stole my goatskin yes- 
 terday. 
 
 Lacon. 
 Will not ye leave the spring, my lambs, and 
 
 can't ye look and see 
 Comatas coming, him that took my pretty pipe 
 
 from me .^ 
 
 16
 
 Comatas. Theocritus. 
 
 What pipe, thou slave ? A pipe of thine I never 
 
 looked upon. 
 Was it not quite enough for thee with clownish 
 
 Corydon 
 To pass the time in whistling through a wretched 
 
 flute of straw ? 
 
 Lacon. 
 The pipe that Lycon gave me, sir ; but pray who 
 
 ever saw 
 Me carrying off a skin of thine : Come, answer 
 
 me aright ! 
 Not even has thy master one to keep him warm 
 
 at night. 
 
 Comatas. 
 The dappled skin that Crocylos gave me from his 
 
 she-goat. 
 When, sacrificing to the Nymphs, he cut the 
 
 creature's threat. 
 With envv thou wast pining then, and now thou 
 
 stripst me bare. 
 
 Lacon. 
 No, no! by Pan, the guardian great of all the 
 
 shore, I swear 
 I never took thy goatskin coat, and from these 
 
 rocks forsooth 
 May I leap down a frenzied man, if I speak not 
 
 the truth. 
 
 17
 
 Theocritus. Comatas. 
 
 Now by the fair Nymphs of rhe mere, I too can 
 
 swear, my friend. 
 So be they mild and merciful until my life shall 
 
 end, 
 If anybody stole thy pipe, I never was the thief. 
 
 La con. 
 
 If I believe thee, let me bear the weight of 
 Daphnis' grief ! 
 
 But if thou care to set a stake of little worth, thy 
 kid, 
 
 I'll sing with thee and never cease till thou thy- 
 self forbid. 
 
 Comatas. 
 They say the great Athene once was challenged 
 
 by a swine ! 
 There lies my kid ; do thou set up a well-fed 
 
 lamb of thine. 
 
 Lac on. 
 
 Thou cunning fox ! That is for me a too un- 
 equal stake ; 
 
 For who, if he could shear a sheep, a kid would 
 choose to take ? 
 
 And who, if he could milk a goat, a dog would 
 not despise ? 
 
 i8
 
 Comatas. Theocritus. 
 
 A fellow quite as sure as thou that he must win 
 the prize 
 
 Is like the buzzing wasp against the shrill cicala 
 sweet. 
 
 Behold ! 1 stake a goat instead ; begin, I do en- 
 treat. 
 
 Lacon. 
 
 No haste ! Thou art not burning up ; besides, 
 
 more sweetly far 
 Thou mayest sing within the grove where the 
 
 wild olives are ; 
 There water cool is trickling down, but soft 
 
 green grass is here ; 
 A bed of leaves is thickly strown and locusts 
 
 chatter near. 
 
 Comatas. 
 
 There is no haste ; but let me say, it is a sad dis- 
 grace 
 
 That thou shouldst dare so unabashed to look me 
 in the face. 
 
 I taught thee while thou wast a child ; this is thy 
 gratitude ! 
 
 Bring up wolf-whelps, and, in return, be bitten by 
 the brood. 
 
 19
 
 Theocritus. Lacon. 
 
 What good thing have I ever learned from thee 
 
 since I began ? 
 Thou art an evil, envious thing, a wretched little 
 
 man. 
 But come this vi^ay, oh, come to me and sing thy 
 
 country catch ! 
 
 Comatas. 
 
 I will not go where thou dost call to hold our 
 
 singing-match. 
 The oaks are growing there, but here the rich 
 
 rank sedges thrive. 
 And here the bees are flying round and humming 
 
 toward the hive. 
 Twin fountains, too, are bubbling up with water 
 
 icy chill. 
 And in the branches of the tree the birds their 
 
 carols trill. 
 More deep and grateful is the shade than there 
 
 where thou art gone. 
 While from the lofty pine above, the cones drop 
 
 one by one. 
 
 Lacon. 
 
 Oh ! if thou wilt but come to me, a carpet thou 
 
 shalt tread. 
 Softer than sleep, of snowy wool and tender 
 
 fleeces spread ; 
 
 20
 
 Whereas the goatskins that thou hast give forth an Theocritus. 
 
 evil smell. 
 And 1 will set a bowl of milk, another, too, as 
 
 well. 
 Of odorous oil to please the Nymphs, — for them 
 
 an offering meet. 
 
 Comatas. 
 
 Nay, come this way and thou shalt find that, 
 underneath thy feet. 
 
 Are flowering thyme and feathered fern, and also 
 softer far 
 
 Than all the fleeces of thy lambs, my skins of she- 
 goats are. 
 
 And I will ofi^er up to Pan eight bowls filled to 
 the brim 
 
 With milk, and eight with honeycombs, a sacri- 
 fice to him. 
 
 Lacon. 
 
 Begin, sing there thy shepherd's song, since there 
 
 thou wish to stay ; 
 Tread thine own skins and keep thine oaks all to 
 
 thyself, I pray. 
 Oh, that Lycopas might come here, to judge 
 
 betwixt us both ! 
 
 Comatai. 
 The cowherd .'' No, I like him not ; but I am 
 nothing loath 
 
 21
 
 Theocritus. To call Morson, the woodcutter, for surely that 
 is he 
 Plucking the tufts of heather bloom not very far 
 from thee. 
 
 Lacon. 
 Then let us call. 
 
 Comatas. 
 
 Do thou speak first. 
 
 Lacon. 
 
 Oho! 
 
 look here, thou swain ! 
 Come listen to our singing match and say which 
 
 of the twain 
 Is best at a sweet rustic song ; and, Morson, keep 
 
 in mind 
 Thou must not favour me too much, nor be to 
 
 him too kind. 
 
 Comatas. 
 
 Yes, Morson, dear, by all the Nymphs ! let not 
 
 thy heart incline 
 Toward me, nor let thy judgment lean more to 
 
 his side than mine. 
 The Thurian Sibyrtas owns this flock of sheep, 
 
 and this 
 Of goats belongs to Eumares who comes from 
 
 Sybaris. 
 
 22
 
 Lacon. Theocritus. 
 
 By Zeus! who ever asked of thee that thou 
 
 shouldst thus impart 
 This information of my flock ? A babbHng fool 
 
 thou art ! 
 
 Comatas. 
 And yet, O best of men ! believe I always speak 
 
 the truth 
 And never boast ; but thou hast been a scolder 
 
 from thy youth. 
 
 Lacon. 
 Come, say thy say, if thou intend to let poor 
 
 Morson live 
 To get safe home. Apollo, Lord ! thou art too 
 
 talkative. 
 
 The Singing-match. 
 
 Comatas. 
 The Muses love me very much ; they loved not 
 
 Daphnis so ; 
 I sacrificed two goats to them a little while ago. 
 
 Lacon. 
 
 Apollo has me in his care ; he loves me best of 
 all : 
 
 A rambling ram 1 rear for him to grace his festi- 
 val. 
 
 23
 
 Theocritus. Comatas. 
 
 My good she-goats have all borne twins, save 
 
 only two or three ; 
 '• Poor fellow, dost thou milk alone ? " the maiden 
 
 calls to me. 
 
 Lacon. 
 
 Lo ! Lacon has almost a score of baskets full of 
 
 cheese ; 
 And Lacon loves among the flowers to stretch 
 
 himself at ease. 
 
 Comatas. 
 With apples Clearista pelts the goatherd driving 
 
 His flock of goats, and breathes for him a softly 
 murmured sigh. 
 
 Lacon. 
 
 But I to madness do adore the fairest of the fair ; 
 I love a white and slender throat and clouds of 
 shining hair. 
 
 Comatas. 
 
 Ye may not liken the dog-briar unto the perfect 
 
 rose 
 That climbs against the shelt'ring wall within the 
 
 garden close. 
 
 24
 
 Lacon. Theocritus. 
 
 Nor may the arid acorn be beside the apple 
 
 placed ; 
 For that is bitter in the rind, but this is sweet to 
 
 taste. 
 
 Comatas. 
 A brooding ring-dove 1 will give to her whom I 
 
 love best ; 
 I know the tree of juniper wherein is built its 
 
 nest. 
 
 Lacon. 
 And I a fleece of warm soft wool will give my 
 
 dearest dear, \ 
 
 To make a cloak, when once again my blackest 
 
 ewe I shear. 
 
 Comatas. 
 
 Stop bleating by the olive-tree ; come here, my 
 goats, to frisk. 
 
 And feed upon this gentle slope, beneath the tam- 
 arisk. 
 
 Lacon. 
 Come leave the oaks, come, Conaros, Cynaetha, 
 
 come, thou beast ! 
 And graze beside thy Phalaros, here fronting 
 
 toward the East. 
 
 25
 
 Jheotritus. Comatas. 
 
 I keep a bowl of cypress-wood to give my girl ; a 
 
 cup, 
 The work of great Praxiteles, for her I treasure 
 
 up. 
 
 Lacon. 
 I have a dog that loves the flock, a trusty dog 
 
 that kills 
 The wolf; I'll lend him to my love for hunting in 
 
 the hills. 
 
 Comatas. 
 Ye locusts, that will overleap the prickly hedges 
 
 set 
 About the vineyards, spare the vines, for they are 
 
 tender yet. 
 
 Lacon. 
 Look here, ye chirping grasshoppers! see how I 
 
 chafe and tease 
 The goatherd, as ye also chafe the mowers when 
 
 ye please. 
 
 Comatas. 
 I hate the little foxes sly that slink, with bushy 
 
 tails. 
 To eat the grapes of Micon's vines, when first 
 
 the daylight fails. 
 
 26
 
 Lacon. Theocritus. 
 
 I hate the winged lady -birds that fly too oft to 
 
 find 
 Philondas' ripening figs, and flit so fast before the 
 
 wind. 
 
 Comatas, 
 
 Dost thou remember how it was that when thy 
 
 head I broke. 
 Thou then didst smile awry, and writhe, and 
 
 catch at yonder oak ? 
 
 Lacon. 
 
 No, I do not remember that, but this indeed I 
 
 do. 
 That Eumares once bound thee there, and flogged 
 
 thee, justly, too. 
 
 Comatas. 
 
 O Morson ! some one waxes cross ! Hast thou 
 
 not understood ? — 
 Go seek a witch's grave and pluck the squills to 
 
 cure thy mood. 
 
 Lacon. 
 
 Ha! Morson, I tease some one too; thou must 
 
 have seen it then ; — 
 Go to the brink of Hales' stream, and dig the 
 
 cyclamen. 
 
 27
 
 Theocritm. Comatas. 
 
 Let Himera flow white with milk, and Crathis 
 
 red with wine ; 
 And let the reeds upon the banks bring forth a 
 
 fruit divine. 
 
 Lacon. 
 Oh, may the fount of Sybaris with honey run 
 
 until 
 The little damsel go at dawn her pitcher there to 
 
 fill ! 
 
 Comatas. 
 My goats with honeysuckle buds and cytisus are 
 
 fed; 
 They lie upon arbutus leaves, and on the lentisk 
 
 tread. 
 
 Lacon. 
 The honey-scented balm grows here to feed my 
 
 tender ewes ; 
 And countless vines of wild roses their wand'ring 
 
 flowers diffuse. 
 
 Comatas. 
 No longer, after yesterday, Alcippe do I love ; 
 She kissed me not, nor stroked my chejk when 1 
 
 gave her the dove. 
 
 28
 
 Lacon. Theocritus. 
 
 Yet for my part, for some one else with grateful 
 
 love I burn ; 
 For when I gave a shepherd's pipe, a kiss was 
 
 mv return. 
 
 Comatas. 
 
 Lacon ! let not magpies dare with nightin- 
 gales to sing. 
 
 Nor hoopoe-birds with swans ; thou art too 
 fond of quarrelling. 
 
 Mors on. 
 
 1 bid the shepherd stop his song. Comatas. I 
 declare 
 
 The lamb is thine, and if, anon, thou wish, with 
 
 pious care. 
 To sacrifice her to the Nymphs, send me, I beg, 
 
 a share. 
 
 Comatas. 
 I will, by Pan ! And all ye goats, go snort and 
 
 spring about ! 
 Oh, look and see how I exult, and laugh aloud 
 
 and shout ! 
 Lacon is badly beaten now ; the little lamb is 
 
 giv'n 
 A orizc ro me and I will jump with joy as high 
 
 as heav'n. 
 
 29
 
 Theocritus. Take heart, my herd of horned goats, to-morrow 
 
 I do mean 
 Within the fount of Sybaris to wash you white 
 
 and clean. 
 But if thou touch one of my flock, thou white 
 
 goat over there, 
 Before I sacrifice the lamb, I'll thrash thee well, 
 
 I swear. 
 I see he's doing it again : unless I beat him sore. 
 Call me Melanthius and not Comatas any more ! 
 
 IDYL VI 
 
 Daphnis and Damoetas 
 
 Two herdsmen, Damoetas and Daphnis, 
 meeting together at a fountain-side in Sicily, 
 carry on a triendly contest of song in alter- 
 nate verse, Damoetas takes the part of Polyphe- 
 mus sitting on a rock by the sea, watching the 
 nymph Galatea as she sports in the clear waves. 
 Daphnis speaks as a spectator trying to rouse the 
 attention of Polyphemus by describing the beguil- 
 ing arts of Galatea. 
 
 Damoetas and Daphnis prove themselves 
 equally skilful singers, and exchange flute and 
 pipe with joy. 
 
 Aratus, to whom this idyl is addressed, was 
 the author of the poem quoted by St. Paul, his 
 fellow-countryman. Acts xvii., 28. He is also 
 mentioned in Idyl VII. 
 
 30
 
 ONCE as young Daphnis his sleek herd was Theocritus. 
 tending 
 (Listen, Aratus !) in a pastoral place. 
 He met Damoetas who was thither wending. 
 The first soft down of manhood on his face. 
 
 The hot and sultry summer noon was burning 
 When they sat down beside a bubbling spring : 
 Then Daphnis, quickly to his comrade turning. 
 Challenged him first, and first began to sing. 
 
 Daphnis addresses Damoetas as Polyphemus. 
 
 "Look, Polyphemus ! Galatea, hitting 
 
 Thy sheep with apples, mocks at thee and 
 
 cries 
 That thou art crossed in love ; but thou art 
 
 sitting. 
 And, pleased with piping, liftest not thine eyes. 
 
 " Look, look again ! Another apple throwing, 
 She pelts the dog that guards thy flock for 
 
 thee ; 
 He barks upon the beach ; now watch him 
 
 going 
 Along the margin of the plashmg sea ! 
 
 «' For brightly through the clear green waves ap- 
 pearing, 
 He sees the white limbs of the maiden shine ; 
 
 3'
 
 Theocritus. Take heed and call him, lest he should be 
 tearing 
 Her fair smooth flesh when she steps from the 
 brine. 
 
 *' But she is still coquetting with light laughter, 
 Like thistledown upon a summer's day ; 
 For when thou fliest her, she follows after. 
 And when thou followest, she flies away. 
 
 " Yes, all she can the little witch is doing 
 To make thee look at her ; for all is fair 
 In love, O Polyphemus ! ' ' Then pursuing 
 The song, Damoetas next struck up the air. 
 
 Damoetas answers as Polyphemus. 
 
 *' I saw, by Pan ! the apples she was shying ; 
 Yes, by the sweet light of my single eye. 
 With which I hope to see until my dying. 
 In rpite of Telemos', the prophet's, cry. 
 
 ** Let that grim seer take home his sorry saying, 
 'jid tell it to the babes upon his knee ; 
 But now, no more attention to her paying, 
 I'll say I love a milder maid than she. 
 
 •* She will be madly jealous, O Apollo ! 
 When she hears this, and quite forget her pride. 
 And rushing from the water, she will follow 
 To find the cave where with my flock I hide. 
 
 32
 
 *' Then I will hiss and set the dog upon her, Theocritus. 
 
 The dog that used to welcome her with glee ; 
 And when she sees the rudeness 1 have done 
 
 her. 
 She'll send a messenger to treat with me. 
 
 " But I will close my doors, no one admitting. 
 Until she swear that she will spread for me 
 A couch upon this island, as is fitdng. 
 I'm not so ugly as I'm said to be : 
 
 " For lately, as it happened I was gazing 
 Upon my image in the glassy sea, 
 I thought the beauty of my face amazing. 
 And that my eye was bright exceedingly. 
 
 '* It seemed to me that with my teeth in white- 
 ness 
 
 The purest Parian stone could never vie ; 
 
 Then, lest I should be punished for my light- 
 ness, 
 
 I tried the charm against the evil eye." 
 
 At last Damoetas, who had sung his measure. 
 Kissed Daphnis, and received from him his flute. 
 Giving away his pipe in turn with pleasure. 
 And Daphnis left the pipe no longer mute. 
 
 33
 
 Theoiritus. Damoetas played the Bute, while round them 
 leaping. 
 The heifers sprang in soft green meadow-grass ; 
 Thus, neither of the youths the victory reaping. 
 Each was unvanquished, as it came to pass. 
 
 IDYL VII 
 The Harvest Feast 
 
 THEOCRITUS, under the name of Simi- 
 chidas, makes an excursion, in company 
 with certain intimate friends, to the farm of 
 Phrasidemus, who is celebrating the Harvest Feast 
 of Demeter. On the way, under the hot mid- 
 day sun, they overtake Lycidas, a goatherd, and 
 after some conversation, in which Theocritus 
 alludes to his favourite masters in poetry, Lycidas 
 is persuaded to sing a song of his own making. 
 Theocritus, in the person of Simichidas, then re- 
 plies with one of his, celebrating the loves of the 
 well-known poet Aratus. After this they sepa- 
 rate very pleasantly, and the party of friends 
 continues its way to the Harvest Feast. 
 
 Then follows the description of an afternoon 
 in the late summer, when all things have reached 
 the fulness of perfection. 
 
 The sweet singer Comatas, mentioned in the 
 song of Lycidas, was a goatherd who used to 
 sacrifice his master's goats to the Muses. In 
 revenge, his master locked him up in a cedar 
 
 34
 
 chest, but because of the nectar the Muses had Theocritus. 
 dropped upon his lips, the bees came and fed 
 him with honey, so that after the space of a year 
 he was found still alive. 
 
 Simichidas speaks of the Loves having sneezed, 
 as sneezing was considered a good omen. 
 
 The scene is probably in the island of Cos. 
 
 ONCE Eucritus and I walked out from town 
 Toward Hales' stream; — Amyntas was the 
 
 third — 
 For Phrasidemus and Antigenes, 
 Lycopeus' sons, were holding Harvest Home. 
 They came of high-descended birth, if aught 
 May be deemed old or noble ; for they sprang 
 From Chalcon, Clytia's son, who pressed his 
 
 knee 
 Against the rock, when a clear fountain flowed 
 Forth at his feet, and straight around it grew 
 A grove of poplars dark, and shady elms 
 That overarched the spring with branches green. 
 We had not yet left half the way behind. 
 Nor had the tomb of Brasilas appeared. 
 When, by the Muses' grace, we overtook 
 A Cretan wayfarer, a kindly man. 
 Whose name was Lycidas ; a goatherd he — 
 Nor could we doubt, for from his shoulders 
 
 drooped 
 A shaggv yellow goatskin to which clung 
 The fragrance of fresh cheese, and round his 
 
 breast 
 
 35
 
 Theocritus. A broad belt buckled in his mantle old. 
 In his right hand he held a crooked staff 
 Made from wild olive, and a gentle smile 
 Played ever on his lips and gladly gleamed 
 Within his eyes, as thus to me he spake : 
 
 '• Oh, whither art thou bound, Simichidas, 
 
 That thou dost walk beneath the noontide sun ? 
 
 For now the lizard sleeps upon the stone. 
 
 And every crested lark has gone to rest. 
 
 I think thou hastenest to some man's feast. 
 
 Or else to tread the wine from out his grapes. 
 
 That thy steps echo on the pebbly path." 
 
 I answered him : ** O Lycidas ! they say 
 
 Among the shepherds and the reapers thou 
 
 Art best of flute-players, and we rejoice ; 
 
 Yet I believe that I can vie with thee. 
 
 We three are going to the Harvest Feast, 
 
 As our friends there perform the solemn rites. 
 
 With offering of first-fruits of the earth. 
 
 In honor of Demeter, the fair-robed ; 
 
 For in full measure, and with rich increase 
 
 Of barley, hath she blessed their threshing-floor. 
 
 Come, since the day and way are thine and 
 
 mine. 
 For pleasure, let us pipe a pastoral strain. 
 I, too, have the clear voice the Muses love, 
 And many call my songs the best of all. 
 But I am unconvinced, for, by the earth ! 
 To my own mind, I never could surpass 
 
 36
 
 Philetas, nor the precious Samian bard. Theocritus. 
 
 Like a poor frog with crickets, so I chirp." 
 
 Thus said I purposely, and with a laugh 
 
 The goatherd answered : " Here I give my 
 
 crook 
 To thee, the scion of almighty Zeus, 
 Because thou never seekest to deceive. 
 Hateful to me as the bold builder is 
 Who rears a giant's house, raising the roof 
 High as a hill, so are the Muses' birds 
 Who strive to drown the Chian poet's voice 
 With the vain cackle of their silly song. 
 But let us now recite our rustic verse ; 
 And see, Simichidas, if thou like this 
 I made but lately on the mountain side." 
 
 The Song of Lycidas. 
 "May Ageanax a prosperous voyage make 
 To Mytilene, even though he sail 
 When in the west the rainy Kids sink low. 
 Or when the feet of old Orion rest 
 Upon the ocean floor, and the vext waves 
 Are tossed and driv'n by the damp south wind. 
 So he remember to requite the love 
 Of Lycidas to whom he is so dear. 
 
 *' And may the Halcyons smooth out the deep, 
 And lull the south wind and the cast that blows 
 The salt seaweed upon the farthest shores, 
 
 37
 
 Tfuocritus. The Halcyons of all the birds that take 
 
 Their prey from out the sea, the best-belov'd 
 By the green-tressed maids of Nereus. 
 Oh, may all things full fit and fair befall 
 My Ageanax, until in time his ship 
 To Mytilene's happy haven come ! 
 
 "That day shall I, with crimson roses crowned. 
 Or with white violets, or wreathed dill. 
 Pour out the wine of Ptelea from the bowl. 
 While I lie by the fire, and some one roasts 
 The beans upon the glowing coals for me. 
 And elbow-deep my couch shall be soft strewn 
 With yellow wild flowers, and with asphodel. 
 And leaves of curling parsley, green and fresh 
 Lapt in luxurious ease, I'll drink the health 
 Of Ageanax, and steep my lips in wine. 
 Draining the cup until I reach the lees. 
 
 "Two shepherd lads shall play the flute to me. 
 One from Acharne, from Lycope one ; 
 Meanwhile, in tune young Tityrus shall sing 
 How once the herdsman Daphnis lov'd a lass. 
 And wandered desolate among the hills ; 
 And how the oak-trees sang his dirge, — the oaks 
 That grow along the banks of Himera's stream, — 
 While he was wasting like the winter snows 
 That melt in spring beneath the soaring steep 
 Of Haemus high, Athos, or Rhodope, 
 Or Caucasus, the limit of the world.
 
 •* And he shall tell how once a goatherd lay Theocritus. 
 
 Imprisoned still alive, within a chest. 
 
 By his lord's wicked and infatuate will ; 
 
 And how the little humming bees, that came 
 
 From gathering honey in the happy fields. 
 
 Flew toward him in the fragrant cedar chest. 
 
 And fed him with their flowery food, because 
 
 The Muse had dropped sweet nectar on his lips. 
 
 " O blest Comatas ! this great joy was thine. 
 And thou didst lie a captive in the chest. 
 Feeding on honey-dew the summer long ; 
 But would that in my days thou couldst have 
 
 been 
 Still numbered with the living, for with joy 
 I should have tended all thy pretty goats 
 Upon the hills, and listened to thy voice, 
 Whilst underneath the shade of oak or pine. 
 Divine Comatas, thou didst sweetly sing." 
 
 He ceased from chanting thus, and then I said : 
 "Dear Lycidas, me, too, the Nymphs have 
 
 taught 
 A thousand other songs, as on the hills 
 My herd of kinc I followed, and perchance 
 Fame may have borne them to the throne of Zeus. 
 But this which now I will begin to sing. 
 To do thee honour, far exceeds them all. 
 Oh, listen, as thou art the Muses' friend ! 
 
 39
 
 Theocritus. SoNG OF SlMiCHlDAS. 
 
 ♦•The little Loves have sneezed to bring me luck. 
 And I love Myrto as the goats love Spring. 
 Aratus, too, the best of all my friends, 
 Deep down within his heart holds hot desire. 
 Aristis knows it — he, the wise and good. 
 Whom ev'n Apollo would permit to play. 
 Beside his holy tripods, on a lyre — 
 Aristis knows Aratus burns with love. 
 
 ** And thou, O Pan ! who keepest in thy charge 
 Malea's lovely plain, bring all uncalled 
 To my Aratus' arms his dearest love, — 
 Whoe'er that love may be, — and oh, dear 
 
 Pan! 
 If thou do this, may no Arcadian boys 
 Come with their stinging rods to flog thy sides 
 And shoulders, when they see too small a share 
 Of meats for them upon thine altar left. 
 
 •* But if thou shouldst decide another way. 
 Then may thy skin be torn and scratched with 
 
 nails ; 
 And be it thine in winter's cold to dwell 
 Where down the drear Edonian hills there runs 
 The river Hebrus toward the Polar star. 
 And in the summer mayst thou wander on 
 Among the farthest Ethiopians 
 Beneath the heeding clift' of the Blemyes, 
 Whence none may see the waters of the Nile. 
 
 40
 
 "And you, ye little Loves, with cheeks as red Theocritus. 
 
 As rosy apples ; ye, that dwell afar 
 
 In golden-haired Dione's lofty home ; 
 
 Come, leave the limpid founts of Byblis sweet, 
 
 And of Hyetis ; bring your deadly darts, 
 
 And strike with all your might my cruel love ; 
 
 Oh, strike the heart that will not pity me ! 
 
 Behold, my love is like the pear o'er-ripe. 
 
 For all the maidens look and cry, * Alas ! 
 
 The fair bloom of the flower fades away ! ' 
 
 ** Let us no longer watch beside these doors, 
 No more, Aratus, bruise our tired heels 
 With standing here in vain ; and let the cock 
 Rouse with its crowing other men than we 
 To feel the numbing chill of early dawn. 
 Let others wrestle here and be hard pressed ; 
 For us a life of quietness and ease. 
 And some old crone at hand to work the charm 
 That scares all ugly evil things away." 
 
 I sang, and he, still smiling as before. 
 
 Gave me the crook for his dear Muses' sake ; 
 
 Then turning off upon the left he took 
 
 The path to Pyxa ; Eucritus and I, 
 
 And that fair youth Amyntas, kept our way 
 
 Toward Phrasidemus' farm. There on soft beds 
 
 Of fragrant Icntisk leaves and delicate shoots 
 
 Of new-cut vines, high-heaped upon the ground. 
 
 We lay rejoicing, while above our heads 
 
 The elms and poplars their tall branches waved. 
 
 4'
 
 Theocritus. Hard by, from out the Nymphs' cool cave, the 
 spring 
 Of sacred water gushed with murmuring sound. 
 On shady boughs the burnt cicalas piped 
 Their shrill and ceaseless note ; afar, an owl 
 Cried from its nest amid a brake of thorns. 
 The larks and linnets sang, the ring-doves cooed. 
 The yellow bees about the fountain flew ; 
 The breath of the rich summer was abroad. 
 And filled the air with scent of ripening fruits. 
 The apples rolled beside us in the grass. 
 The pears were lying at our feet, and plums 
 Bent down the tender branches of the trees ; 
 The four years' seal was loosened from the jar. 
 
 Oh, tell me, ye Castalian Nymphs that dwell 
 Upon Parnassus Peak, was it like this. 
 The bowl old Chiron in the rocky cave 
 Of Pholus set before great Herakles .'' 
 The nectar that beguiled the shepherd fierce 
 About his sheepfold once to dance and trip, — 
 The shepherd of Anapus, him who hurled 
 Mountains at ships, the mighty Polypheme, — 
 Was it delicious as the draught that flowed 
 For us, ye Nymphs, close by the altar side 
 Of our Demeter of the threshing-floor ? 
 Ah, on the goddess' heap of golden grain 
 May I soon plant again her winnowing fan. 
 While holding bright-red poppies in her hands. 
 And sheaves of wheat, she stands and smiles at 
 
 me ! 
 
 42
 
 Theocritus. 
 IDYL XI 
 
 Polyphemus and Galatea. 
 
 THIS idyl is addressed to Nicias, who was 
 both a physician and a poet, and also in 
 love. Theocritus recommends him song as 
 the only remedy possible for his disease, and re- 
 minds him that it was by this means the Cyclops 
 cured himself of his passion for Galatea. 
 
 He then repeats the song of the Cyclops, 
 which is perfectly pastoral in expression. 
 
 It is strange to find the fierce one-eyed monster 
 of the Odyssey transformed into a love-sick shep- 
 herd by the later Greeks. 
 
 I THINK there is no other cure of love. 
 My Nicias, no potion strong nor balm. 
 Excepting song, that brings sweet ease to men. 
 Yet this is hard to find, as thou must know 
 Who art a wise physician, and, besides. 
 Beloved greatly by the Muses nine. 
 
 So was it that the Cyclops long of old, 
 Our Polyphemus, passed the weary days. 
 When first the soft young down began to fringe 
 His cheek and chin, and he was deep in love 
 With Galatea. Then he paid her court. 
 Not with red apples, nor a blushing rose. 
 Nor yet with curling locks of yellow hair ; 
 But loved her to distraction, thinking naught 
 Of all things else in the wide world but her. 
 
 43
 
 Theocriiui. Full oftentimes his sheep came home alone, 
 Untended, from the distant pastures green. 
 While on the weed-strewn beach he sang alone 
 Of Galatea, and from break of day 
 Pined with a hateful wound within his heart, 
 A wound by mighty Cypris' arrows made. 
 Sitting aloof upon a lofty clifF, 
 And looking out across the deep he sang : 
 
 "O fairest Galatea ! tell me why 
 Thou castest me away, who love thee so ? 
 Thou art more white to see than curdled cream. 
 More tender than the new-born lamb, more gay 
 Than is the wanton calf, and brighter far 
 Than polished clusters of the ripening grape. 
 Then only 'when sweet sleep possesses me 
 Thou comest hither, and when sweet sleep goes 
 Thou, too, departest, as the silly sheep 
 That sees the gray wolf lurking in the brake. 
 
 " I fell in love with thee, dear maid, when first 
 Thou earnest with my mother to this place 
 To pluck the plumes of purple hyacinth 
 Upon the hill, and I showed thee the way. 
 Once having seen thee, never afterwards, 
 From that same hour, no, not even now. 
 Could I one moment cease from loving thee. 
 And yet, by Zeus, thou carest not at all ! 
 
 <' I know, my girl, why thou dost fly from me : 
 It is because one shaggy eyebrow spans 
 
 44
 
 My forehead, stretching out from ear to ear ; Theocriius. 
 
 Because one single eye alone is mine. 
 
 And my broad nose is flattened on my face. 
 
 Yet even as thou seest me, I feed 
 
 A thousand ewes that yield the richest milk ; 
 
 My fresh cheese never fails in summer's heat. 
 
 Nor in the autumn, nor in winter's storms ; 
 
 Mv wicker baskets to the brim are filled. 
 
 " And 1 am skilled in piping, as not one 
 
 Of all the other Cyclops here, and oft 
 
 I sing of thee, sweet-apple of my heart. 
 
 And of myself, till late into the night. 
 
 I keep for thee eleven pretty fawns. 
 
 Each with a crescent traced upon its brow. 
 
 And four young cubs of mountain-ranging bears. 
 
 ** Come, come to me, and all I have is thine : 
 Leave the gray sea to roll the waves ashore ; 
 More sweedy shalt thou spend the night with me 
 Within my cave ; thereby the laurels grow, 
 And slender cypress trees, and ivy dim. 
 And vines that bear the honey-fruited grape. 
 There, too, is water cool that ^tna sends 
 From high white snow, down dark deep-wooded 
 
 slopes. 
 To me, a draught divine. Ah, who would 
 
 choose 
 To live instead within the weltering sea ? 
 
 45
 
 Theocritus. " But if I seem to thee to be too rough 
 
 And shaggy, 1 have piles of oaken wood. 
 And underneath the ashes on the hearth 
 Still glow the coals of never-dying fire ; 
 And I could bear to let thee burn my soui. 
 And this one eye, the dearest thing I have. 
 
 *' I wish I had been born with fishes' fins. 
 For then I should go down to thee and kiss 
 Thy hand at least, if not thy lovely lips ; 
 And I should bring thee lilies snowy white. 
 Or poppies soft with scarlet petals spread. 
 These grow in summer, those in winter time. 
 So that I could not bring them both at once. 
 
 ** Now, I will try to learn to swim, if e'er 
 A stranger sail this way in his fair ship, 
 That 1 may know why it is sweet to thee 
 To have thy dwelling in the dismal deep. 
 
 " Come hither, Galatea, and forget. 
 
 As I who sit here have forgotten too. 
 
 The homeward way ; and choose with me to lead 
 
 A shepherd's life, to help me milk the ewes. 
 
 To make the cheese, and pour the rennet in. 
 
 '* My mother wrongs me ; her, alone, I blame ; 
 For never has she said a loving word 
 To thee of me, in kindness, though she sees 
 Me growing thinner, wasting day by day. 
 
 46
 
 To frighten her, I'll say a fever fierce Theocritus. 
 
 Is throbbing in my burning head and feet. 
 That she may suffer, as I suffer now. 
 
 " Ah, silly Cyclops, has thou lost thy wits ? 
 
 Go, weave thy wickerwork, and break the boughs 
 
 To give thy lambs, and thou wilt be more wise. 
 
 Go, milk the ewe thou hast, for why pursue 
 
 The fleeting thing that flies away from thee .-' 
 
 Anotiier Galatea thou mayst find 
 
 Again, perchance, and still more fair ; who knows .'' 
 
 For many are the girls that call to me 
 
 To come with them and pass the night in play. 
 
 And they laugh lightly if I lend an ear. 
 
 So even I, on land, am something worth." 
 
 Thus Polyphemus once beguiled his love 
 With song, and, piping, found more sweet con- 
 tent 
 Than had he given gold for peace of mind. 
 
 IDYL XV 
 
 GORGO AND PraXINOE AT THE FESTIVAL OF AdONIS 
 
 GORGO and Praxinoeare Syracusan women 
 of the middle class, living in Alexandria. 
 Gorgo calls upon Praxinoe, and after 
 some conversation in the manner of women of 
 every age, Gorgo invites Praxinoe to go with her 
 to the palace of King Ptolemy Philadelphus, to 
 see the festival of the resurrection of Adonis, 
 
 47
 
 Theocritus, which is being celebrated there with peculiar mag- 
 nificence by Arsinoe the Queen, wife of Ptolemy. 
 Accompanied by their maids Eunoe and Euty- 
 chis, they make their way through the crowded 
 streets with difficulty, and manage finally to enter 
 the palace. There they admire the image of 
 Adonis, lying on a silver bed, surrounded by tap- 
 estries and precious offerings of all kinds, and listen 
 to the hymn sung in his honour by a famous per- 
 former. 
 
 P 
 
 Gorgo. 
 
 LEASE, is Praxinoe at home ? 
 
 Praxino'e. 
 
 Oh, Gorgo ! have you come ? 
 It's very long since we have met ; I'm glad to be 
 
 at home. 
 I wonder you are here at last. Quick, Eunoe, 
 
 this way. 
 Go get a chair and cushion. 
 
 Gorgo. 
 
 Praxinoe. 
 Gorgo, pray. 
 
 Thanks. 
 
 Sit down, dear 
 48
 
 Gorgo. Theocritus. 
 
 I scarcely lived to get to you, I was a fool to try. 
 Praxinoe, there's such a crowd of wagons driving 
 
 by; 
 Men in high boots and uniforms are tramping up 
 
 and down ; 
 The road was endless. Oh, my dear ! you live too 
 
 far from town. 
 
 Praxinoe. 
 
 My crazy husband took this hole, here where cre- 
 ation ends, — 
 
 It's not a house, — just to prevent our ever being 
 friends. 
 
 He's always the same jealous brute ; I know 'twas 
 out of spite. 
 
 Gorgo. 
 
 Don't speak like that before your bov, it really 
 
 isn't right. 
 Just watch the child, his eyes are sharp ; he's 
 
 staring at you yet. 
 Zopyrion, it's not papa she means, my pretty pet. 
 
 Praxinoe. 
 Good heavens ! the child does understand ; he 
 takes in all we say. 
 
 Gorgo. 
 Dear, nice papa ! 
 
 49
 
 Theocritus. Praxinoi. 
 
 That nice papa of his the other day 
 Went to the shop for soap and rouge I wanted 
 
 him to bring. 
 But came back home with salt instead, the great 
 big stupid thing. 
 
 Gorgo. 
 My husband is a spendthrift too, for yesterday he 
 
 paid 
 Almost two silver dollars for a purchase that he 
 
 made. 
 Instead of getting fleeces five of lambs' wool as he 
 
 thought. 
 The skins of dogs and dirty trash was all the stuff" 
 
 he bought. 
 More work for me, of course. But get your 
 
 cloak and shawl to wear ; 
 We'll go to the King's palace now, to see Adonis 
 
 there. 
 I hear the Queen has made it all a very splendid 
 
 show. 
 
 Praxinoi. 
 The great can do all things in style. 
 
 Gorgo. 
 
 Moreover, if you go. 
 You can describe what you have seen to those 
 
 who stay away. 
 It's time to start. 
 
 50
 
 Praxinoe. Theocritus. 
 
 To idle folk it's always holiday. 
 Here, Eunoe, pick up my work, and put it out 
 
 of sight. 
 You lazy girl; it's just the bed in which the cats 
 
 delight. 
 Come, bring the water here at once ; the water 
 
 first, make haste ; 
 She brings the soap ; — well, hand it here; oh, 
 
 not so much, don't waste ! 
 Now, pour the water. Oh, you goose ! my 
 
 gown you're wetting fast : 
 Stop, stop ; as it has pleased the gods, I've 
 
 washed my hands at last. 
 Where is the key to the great chest ? Go quick 
 
 and bring it here. 
 
 Gorgo. 
 
 Praxinoe, that pleated cloak is most becoming, 
 
 dear. 
 I like the stuff"; tell me how much it cost to have 
 
 it made ? 
 
 Praxinoe. 
 
 Don't speak of it ! Eight dollars down and 
 
 more than that I paid. 
 And then the work ! I slaved and slaved till I 
 
 was almost dead. 
 
 5»
 
 Theocritus. Gorgo. 
 
 I think it is a great success. 
 
 Praxino'e. 
 
 Thank you for what you've said. 
 Come, bring me here my shawl at once, and set 
 
 my hat on right. 
 No, child, you cannot come. Bugbears ! A 
 
 horse outside will bite ! 
 Oh ! Cry as much as you may choose ; I cannot 
 
 have you lame. 
 Now, let us start. Here, Phrygia, amuse him 
 
 with a game ; 
 Call in the dog, and don't forget to lock the 
 
 street-door, too. 
 
 ( They go out into the street. ) 
 
 Gods ! What a fearful crowd there is ! How are 
 we to get through ? 
 
 How many people there are here — like count- 
 less ants they swarm ! 
 
 How much King Ptolemy has done to save us 
 all from harm. 
 
 Since his dead father joined the gods ; for now 
 no one need feel 
 
 Afraid of wicked pickpockets that sneak about 
 and steal 
 
 In the old true Egyptian style. What tricks they 
 used to play ! 
 
 52
 
 So mischievous, and all alike ! All scamps in Theocritus. 
 
 every way. 
 O Gorgo ! see ! What shall we do ? The horses 
 
 of the Crown 
 Are pressing on us. My dear man ! try not to 
 
 tread me down. 
 The bay has reared up in the air. Oh, what a 
 
 vicious horse ! 
 Look out, you foolish Eunoe. He'll kill the 
 
 man, of course. 
 How glad I am that I refused to bring the child 
 
 along! 
 
 Gorgo. 
 Courage, Praxinoe ; they've gone ahead where 
 they belong. 
 
 Praxinoe. 
 
 Now they have passed, it seems to me that I can 
 
 breathe again. 
 Horses and snakes all through my life have been 
 
 my greatest bane. 
 But let us hasten on before the dreadful mob is 
 
 here. 
 
 Gorgo ( to an old woman in the crowd ) . 
 
 Oh, mother! Have vou been to court.'' 
 
 Old Woman. 
 
 1 come from there, my dear. 
 
 53
 
 Theocritus. Gorgo. 
 
 Can we get in ? 
 
 Old Woman. 
 
 It was, they say, by trying hard alone 
 The Greeks got into Troy. All things by try- 
 ing can be done. 
 
 Gorgo. 
 
 She's spoken like an oracle, and now has gone 
 away. 
 
 Praxinoe. 
 
 There's nothing women do not know — ev'n 
 Hera's wedding day. 
 
 Gorgo. 
 
 Praxinoe, see, at the doors great crowds of people 
 stand ! 
 
 Praxinoe. 
 
 Tremendous ; — Gorgo, wait until you let me 
 
 have your hand. 
 Hold Eunoe to Eutychis, lest you get out of 
 
 sight ; 
 There, now we're going all at once. O Eunoe ! 
 
 hold tight ! 
 Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! How sad I am ! My 
 
 scarf is torn in two. 
 
 54
 
 {To a stranger. ) Theocritus. 
 
 For Heaven's sake, sir, if you wish good luck to 
 
 come to you. 
 Help me to save my shawl, oh, please ! you kind, 
 
 obliging man ! 
 
 1st Stranger. 
 
 I fear it's not within my power, but I'll do all I 
 can. 
 
 Praxinoe. 
 Oh, what an awful crowd it is ! Like pigs the 
 people push ! 
 
 1st Stranger. 
 
 Lady, you need not be afraid, we've passed the 
 greatest rush. 
 
 Praxinoe. 
 
 May Heaven bless you all your life, my dear kind 
 
 sir, for this. 
 Oh, what a nice, obliging man that civil 
 
 stranger is ! 
 Poor Eunoe is squeezed — press, fool! There, 
 
 now we're all inside, 
 As once the bridegroom said, when he was locked 
 
 in with the bride. 
 
 55
 
 Theocritus. Gorgo. 
 
 Praxinoe, come this way first. How delicate and 
 
 fair 
 Are those embroideries ! They look fit for the 
 
 gods to wear. 
 
 Praxinoe. 
 
 Athene Lady, what skilled hands have wrought 
 the work so fine ! 
 
 What clever painters, those that drew that marvel- 
 lous design ! 
 
 The figures seem to move about ; we might almost 
 believe 
 
 That they are real. How great man is ! What 
 cannot he achiev^e ? 
 
 Adonis, too, is lying there upon his silver bed ; 
 
 With the soft down of early youth his cheeks are 
 overspread ; 
 
 Adonis, he the thrice-belov'd, still loved in Ach- 
 eron. 
 
 2d Stranger. 
 
 You foolish magpies, can't you stop? For if you 
 chatter on 
 
 In that broad accent, I shall die ; it is too tire- 
 some. 
 
 56
 
 Gorgo. Theocritus. 
 
 I must say 1 should like to know what place that 
 
 man is from ! 
 And if we choose to talk, pray, sir, why should 
 
 you make a fuss ? 
 Command your servants, if you please, you can't 
 
 rule over us. 
 We are from Corinth by descent, if you must 
 
 know that too. 
 As was Bellerophon, and speak as Peloponnesians 
 
 do. 
 Can Dorians speak Doric, then, without reproach, 
 
 or not ? 
 
 Praxinoe. 
 O honey-sweet Persephone, beside the lord we've 
 
 got, 
 Give us no other master, please; I don't care 
 
 what you say. 
 You need not offer your advice in this officious 
 
 way . 
 
 Gorgo. 
 
 Be quiet now, Praxinoe, don't talk ; I want to 
 hear 
 
 The girl who's going to sing the hymn : she won 
 the prize last year. 
 
 She's very clever, and I know she'll give us some- 
 thing rare ; 
 
 She is already putting on her most coquettish air. 
 
 57
 
 Theotritus. The Hymn for Adonis. 
 
 O Lady Aphrodite, thou who dost with joy behold 
 IdaHum and Eryx' steep, and playest still with 
 
 gold ; 
 Lo ! the soft-footed Hours bring Adonis back to 
 
 thee. 
 In twelve months back from Acheron that flows 
 
 eternally. 
 Slower than all immortals else, the blessed Hours 
 
 move. 
 Longed for by men, for when they come they 
 
 bring a gift of love. 
 
 Since thou didst change Berenice who was of 
 
 mortal birth 
 To an immortal, as they say, O Cypris ! upon 
 
 earth. 
 By dropping thine ambrosia sweet into her 
 
 woman's breast. 
 Therefore, O thou of many names and many 
 
 shrines possessed ! 
 For thy delight, Berenice's dear child Arsinoe 
 Hath decked thine own Adonis out, in gratitude 
 
 to thee. 
 
 Before him lie all kinds of fruit the laden branches 
 bear. 
 
 All forest-nuts and tender plants in gardens grown 
 are there. 
 
 In silver baskets gathered up ; and boxes gold- 
 inlaid, 
 
 58
 
 With richest Syrian perfumes filled, of alabaster Theocritus. 
 
 made. 
 All cakes that on their kneading-trays the women 
 
 knead with care. 
 Mingling the fragrant blossoms in with flour white 
 
 and fair ; 
 Cakes that are made of honey sweet and of fresh 
 
 olive oil. 
 Shaped like the things that fly above and creep 
 
 upon the soil. 
 
 And there are bowers built for him, bent down 
 
 with anise soft ; 
 Boy Loves among the wealth of green are flutter- 
 ing aloft ; 
 Like tender little nightingales that in the branches 
 
 sing. 
 They hop about from twig to twig to try their 
 
 strength of wing. 
 O precious gold and ebony ! and, wonderful to 
 
 see. 
 Twin eagles bearing Ganymede, carved out of 
 
 ivory. 
 The purple coverlets are spread — "softer by 
 
 far than sleep" 
 (Or so the trader says that sells the wool of 
 
 Samian sheep J. 
 For beautiful Adonis, lo ! a second couch is 
 
 strown : 
 For rosy-armed Adonis one, and one for Cypris* 
 
 own. 
 
 59
 
 Theocritus. He is a bridegroom of eighteen or only nineteen 
 years ; 
 His kisses prick not ; on his lip the Hrst down 
 scarce appears. 
 
 We leave thee with him, Cypris, now, and all 
 bid thee good-night. 
 
 To-morrow we shall come again when dawns the 
 eastern light. 
 
 To carry him through morning dews down to the 
 wild seashore. 
 
 Where on the strand the plashing waves are roll- 
 ing evermore. 
 
 There, with our garments all ungirt, our bosoms 
 white and bare. 
 
 And tresses loosened in the wind, we'll sing our 
 shrill sweet air. 
 
 " Belov'd Adonis, thou alone of all heroic men 
 Art free to go to Acheron and here return again. 
 Not ev'n Agamemnon could ascend the upward 
 
 track. 
 And Ajax, mighty in his wrath, has never yet 
 
 come back. 
 Hector himself, of Hecuba the first-born, has not 
 
 come ; 
 Patrocles nor young Pyrrhus who went home 
 
 from Ilium. 
 No, not the early Lapithae, nor Pelops' race 
 
 divine. 
 Nor sons of old Deucalion and Argos' ancient line. 
 
 60
 
 Be gracious, loved Adonis, now, to us while thou Tkeocrittts. 
 
 art here. 
 And let thy favour follow us through all the future 
 
 year. 
 Dear art thou, O Adonis ! now, and dear another 
 
 time." 
 
 Gorgo. 
 Praxinoe, I must confess that woman is sublime. 
 How lucky that she knows so much and that her 
 
 voice is fine ! 
 But I must hasten home again, my husband has 
 
 to dine ; 
 You can't go near him when he fasts — his 
 
 temper is so bad. 
 Farewell, Adonis best-belov'd, come back and 
 
 make us glad. 
 
 6i
 
 BION 
 
 THE LAMENT FOR ADONIS 
 
 THIS lament was probably written to be 
 sung at the yearly festival held in honour of 
 Adonis, the fair youth who was beloved 
 by Aphrodite, and gored to death by the tusk of 
 a wild boar which he was pursuing in the chase. 
 A similar festival is described in the fifteenth 
 idyl of Theocritus. 
 
 w 
 
 OE for Adonis ; he is gone forever ! 
 
 Dead is Adonis ; all the Loves lament him. 
 
 Sleep no more, Cypris, in thy purple raiment : 
 Arise, thou wretched one, all sable-stolfed ; 
 Go beat thy breast, and call aloud to all men 
 That he is dead, thy beautiful Adonis. 
 
 Woe for Adonis ; all the Loves lament him. 
 
 Low on the hills the lost Adonis lieth ; 
 
 The wild boar's tusk his thigh hath torn and 
 
 wounded ; 
 He breathes away his soul to Cypris' sorrow. 
 The black blood down his snowy side is flowing ; 
 Beneath his brows his eyes are fixed in darkness ; 
 The rose hath fled his lips, where also dieth 
 The kiss that Cypris now no more may gather. 
 Alas ! though he is dead, she loves his kisses. 
 And yet he knew not that she kissed him dying. 
 
 62
 
 Woe for Adonis ; all the Loves lament him. The Lament 
 
 for Adonis. 
 
 A cruel, cruel wound hath slain Adonis, 
 
 But worse the wound in Cytherea's bosom. 
 
 His hunting hounds are baying all around him. 
 
 And him the mountain Nymphs are loudly wailing. 
 
 But Aphrodite, with her tresses loosened. 
 
 Wandering along the spaces of the forest. 
 
 Goes all ungirt, and with her feet unsandalled ; 
 
 The thorny brambles tear her as she passes. 
 
 And drink her blood divine, as through the wood- 
 lands 
 
 She weeps and calls for her Assyrian lover. 
 
 And all the while his life-blood, ever springing. 
 
 Hath darkly stained his arms and breast with 
 purple — 
 
 Adonis' breast that once than snow was whiter. 
 
 Woe, woe, the Loves lament for Cytherea. 
 
 Her lord is lost, and lost her sacred beauty ; 
 For Cypris' beauty lived while lived Adonis, 
 But when Adonis died, her beauty withered. 
 The mountains mourn, and cry, alas ! for Cypris ; 
 Woe for Adonis all the oak-trees murmur ; 
 The rivers wail the woes of Aphrodite ; 
 The wells upon the hillside weep Adonis ; 
 The very flowers flush rose-red with anguish ; 
 While Cythcrea, through the wooded uplands. 
 Sings the sad dirge for beautiful Adonis, 
 And echo answers : " He is dead, Adonis." 
 
 63
 
 The Lament Who would not weep the zvoeful love of Cspris ? 
 fur Adonis. 
 
 When first she saw Adonis' wound unstanched. 
 Saw the bright blood upon his side so languid. 
 She wrung her hands and moaned : "Oh, sta\ , 
 
 Adonis ! 
 Ill-starred Adonis, stay until my coming ; 
 Till in my arms one last time I infold thee. 
 And one last time my lips with thy lips mingle. 
 Awake, and give me thy last kiss, Adonis ; 
 Oh, kiss me for the time a kiss endureth ! 
 Until into my lips and heart thou breathest 
 Thy last life-breath, and I have drained the philter 
 Of thy sweet love, and drunk it down forever. 
 And this thy kiss, Adonis, I shall treasure 
 Ev'n as thyself, since thou art flying from me. 
 Flying as far as Acheron, Adonis, 
 To that fierce cruel king, while I, a goddess. 
 Must still live on forlorn and cannot follow. 
 Take, take, Persephon^, my lord beloved. 
 For thou art stronger, mightier than I am. 
 And all fair things are always flowing toward 
 
 thee. 
 Ill-fated and insatiate of sorrow, 
 I weep Adonis dead to me, despairing. 
 Thou diest, diest, O thou thrice desired ! 
 And my desire as a dream is fleeting. 
 Oh, widowed is unhappy Cytherea ! 
 The Loves are idle in the palace-chambers ; 
 With thee the girdle of my beauty withered. 
 Being so fair, why wast thou over-daring ? 
 
 64
 
 Why didst thou go to fight with savage creat- The Lament 
 y^gg _? " for Adonis. 
 
 Thus Cypris mourned ; with her the Loves 
 lamented. 
 
 Woe, Cstherea, dead is thine Adonis I 
 
 As many tears the Paphian is shedding 
 As are the drops of blood Adonis poureth ; 
 Upon the ground they turn to buds and blossoms ; 
 His blood brings forth the rose, her tears the 
 wind-flow' r. 
 
 Woe for Adonis ; he is gone forever ! 
 
 No longer in the deep dark forest, Cypris, 
 
 Lament thy lord ; no longer leave him lying 
 
 Upon his lonely bed of scattered oak-leaves. 
 
 But now that he is dead, lay thine Adonis 
 
 On thine own couch to rest, O Cytherea ! 
 
 Ev'n in his death how very fair he seemeth ! 
 
 Though dead, he looks as if he were but sleeping. 
 
 In softest coverlets of thine infold him. 
 
 Wherein he shared with thee the sacred slumber, 
 
 On thy gold bed that calls for sad Adonis. 
 
 Strew him with garlands and with wreaths of 
 flowers. 
 
 And sprinkle him with myrrh and Syrian spike- 
 nard. 
 
 Oh, let all perfumes pass away and perish, 
 
 Since he has died, who was thy precious perfume !
 
 The Lament Ifoe for Adonis; all the Loves lament him. 
 for Adonis. 
 
 The delicate Adonis lies in purple : 
 About him weep the little Loves deploring. 
 And clip their curling locks for dead Adonis. 
 One treads upon his bow, another tramples 
 His arrows down, and one destroys his quiver. 
 Another yet hath loosened both his sandals. 
 And some of them bring vessels filled with water : 
 One laves his wounded side, and one behind him 
 With feathered wings is fanning fair Adonis. 
 
 Woe for Adonis ; all the Loves lament him. 
 
 Hymen hath quenched the lamps along the 
 
 lintels. 
 And scattered far abroad the marriage garland ; 
 He sings no more his music hymenaeal. 
 But wails another song for his Adonis. 
 Grieving for Cinyras' fair son, the Graces 
 To one another say : " Adonis perished." 
 The Muses, too, forget their joyful paeans. 
 And shrilly cry instead : "Alas, Adonis! " 
 They chant him songs, but he may never hear 
 
 them : 
 It is not that he would be loath to listen. 
 But that Persephone will not release him. 
 
 Cease, Cytherea, cease thy dismal dirges ; 
 To-day no longer sing thy lamentations : 
 Another year thou shalt again bewail him, 
 
 66
 
 MELEAGER 
 I 
 
 O NIGHT ! O ever-wakeful hopes and 
 fears ! 
 And, in the cold gray light of doubtful 
 dawn. 
 Eyes that do sting and burn with briny tears ! 
 Is my fair love's affection from me gone ? 
 Or doth she still in her remembrance hold. 
 And with her kisses warm my picture cold ? 
 
 Do tears abide with her, and scare her rest ? 
 
 And doth she see me in a dream by night. 
 
 Clasping a vision vainly to her breast ? 
 
 Or hath she a new love, a new delight ? 
 
 Look not on this, O Lamp ! but keep good ward 
 
 Of her I gave to thee to watch and guard. 
 
 n 
 
 THE cup rejoiceth in its pride. 
 And gladly doth attest 
 That to my girl's melodious mouth 
 It hath been often pressed. 
 
 But would that she might lay her lips 
 
 On mine, O happy cup ! 
 And drawing forth my inmost soul 
 
 At one draught drink it up. 
 
 67
 
 MeUager. HI 
 
 IHOU slumberest, my pretty flower ; 
 Had it been mine to creep 
 Upon thine eyelids at this hour, 
 A wingless sleep. 
 
 T 
 
 Not he that charms Zeus' eyes above 
 To thee had e'er come nigh ; 
 
 But I had held thee fast, my love. 
 And none but I. 
 
 IV 
 
 WHEN Clearista loosed the virgin knot 
 That bound the girdle of her maidenhood. 
 The bridegroom she had looked for she forgot. 
 For Death instead of Love to greet her stood. 
 
 The flutes that echoed at the bridal door. 
 
 At day's decline, were scarce in silence hushed. 
 
 And but a little space of time before. 
 
 The folding portals were together pushed ; 
 
 When loud the cry of lamentation strong 
 Was heard at coming of the morning pale ; 
 Mute were the strains of Hvmenseus' song. 
 The joyful music turned into a wail : 
 
 And those same torches flaring by her bed 
 Lighted her downward path among the dead. 
 
 68
 
 Y Meleager. 
 
 BY the braided tresses fair 
 Of my Demo's golden hair ; 
 By the softly sandalled feet 
 Of my Heliodora sweet ; 
 By Timarion's scented door 
 Dropping perfumes evermore ; 
 By the smile that I surprise 
 In my Anticleia's eyes ; 
 By the garlands of fresh flowers 
 Filling Dorothea's bovvers ; 
 Love, thy quiver hides no more 
 Bitter arrows, as before ; 
 Thou mayst see each feathered dart 
 Deep infixed in my heart. 
 
 VI 
 
 FAREWELL, star of the morning, 
 Phosphor, herald of dawning ; 
 
 Come back as Hesper bright. 
 Star of the early night, 
 
 Bringing in secret to me 
 
 Her whom thou takest with thee. 
 
 VII 
 
 OHOLY night ! and thou, O lamp! trmimcd 
 low, 
 — For we took none but you 
 
 69
 
 MeUager. As witnesses of our most solemn vow 
 When she sware to be true ; 
 And I, in turn, sware I should always stay 
 With her, close by her side, — 
 Ye heard the words we spake, but now, to-day. 
 She says that written wide 
 Upon the waters float her oaths unblest ; 
 And thou, O lamp ! dost shine. 
 Seeing her lie upon another's breast. 
 And not, alas ! on mine. 
 
 VIJI 
 
 THE wan white violet unfolds again. 
 And the narcissus, lover of the rain ; 
 The lilies on the hills are blowing fast ; 
 
 And now, with all the flowers of the spring. 
 Another flower, too, is blossoming ; 
 Persuasion's sweet, sweet rose hath bloomed at last. 
 
 Then why, ye meadows, why with vain delight. 
 Why should ye laugh to see yourselves so bright ? 
 My rose, my girl, your garlands hath surpassed. 
 
 IX 
 
 I SAW her at the hour of noon 
 Come through the fields of corn. 
 Just when the tresses of the grain 
 Were by the reapers shorn ; 
 
 70
 
 And suddenly two blinding rays MeUager, 
 
 Bewildered me with double blaze : 
 One from the midday sun above. 
 And from her eyes the light of love. 
 
 The shadows of the evening quench 
 
 The sun's resplendent beams. 
 But her's a vision of the night 
 
 Rekindles in my dreams. 
 Sleep, that to others brings release. 
 Allows me neither rest nor peace. 
 Shaping an image of desire 
 That burns into mv soul with fire. 
 
 X 
 
 OH, ye bitter waves of Love, 
 Restless blasts of jealousy. 
 Wintry seas of revelling, 
 Whither are ve bearing me ? 
 
 All the rudders of my heart 
 Are unloosened from the helm : 
 Is insidious Scylla doomed 
 Me again to overwhelm ? 
 
 XI 
 
 SOUL, my soul, thou poor little dear. 
 Did I not warn thee many a time 
 Never to flutter again so near, 
 
 Near to the twigs that are spread with the lime ? 
 
 7'
 
 Mdea^er. Did I not tell thee to take more care ? 
 
 But now, little bird, thou art caught in the snare. 
 
 Why dost thou gasp in the toils in vain ? 
 
 For lo ! it is Love who has bound thy wings ; 
 He will scorch thee, and then let his perfumes 
 rain. 
 
 Till thou swoon with the scent of his offerings. 
 With thine own hot tears he has filled his cup, 
 And, now, little soul, thou must drink them up. 
 
 XII 
 
 Go to her, Dorcas, from me ; now go and 
 take her my message, 
 Lo ! take it twice and again ; Dorcas, run quick, 
 
 tell her all. 
 Tarry no longer, but fly ; yet, Dorcas, just stay 
 
 for a moment ; 
 Dorcas, whither so fast .'' Wait, please, until I 
 
 explain. 
 Add to the words I hav^e said — yet, no, I will 
 
 not be so foolish ! 
 Say to her nothing, except — yes, go on, and 
 
 say all. 
 Spare not to tell her the whole. But why am I 
 
 sending thee, Dorcas ? 
 See, I myself go forth, at the same instant with 
 
 thee ! 
 
 72
 
 XIII Meleager. 
 
 DEEP in my heart Love himself hath moulded 
 my Heliodora ; 
 Her of the sweet-sounding voice, soul of my 
 innermost soul. 
 
 XIV 
 
 POUR, for my Heliodora as Cypris and fairest 
 Persuasion ; 
 Once for my dear one again, pour as the sweet- 
 speaking Grace. 
 She is the goddess I worship, whose name, for- 
 ever beloved, 
 I will mingle and drink, always in unmixed wine. 
 
 XV 
 
 WEAVING my wreath, I will twine white 
 violets mingled with myrde, 
 
 Tender narcissus in bloom, lilies that laugh on 
 their stems ; 
 
 Blending the fragrant crocus with buds of hya- 
 cinth blossom. 
 
 Purple and dark, I will twine roses, the lover's 
 delight ; 
 
 So that my garland shall bind the fair brows of 
 my Heliodora, 
 
 Shedding its petals and leaves over her sweet- 
 smelling hair. 
 
 73
 
 MeUagtr. XVI 
 
 H, pour ! and " Heliodora "say. 
 Again, again the same ; 
 And mingle with the unmixed wine 
 The sweetness of her name. 
 
 o 
 
 Bring out the wreath of yesterday 
 
 That drips with scent and myrrh ; 
 
 And bind it quick about my brow 
 In memory of her. 
 
 Lo ! see the rose, the tender flower 
 That lovers love the best. 
 
 Sheds tears because she is not here 
 Clasped close upon my breast. 
 
 XVII 
 
 TEARS of affection for the dead 
 I give thee in thine earthy bed. 
 Tears that how bitterly are shed. 
 My Heliodora ! 
 
 Libation on thy grave I pour 
 Of my wild longing evermore. 
 Memorial of the love I bore. 
 My Heliodora. 
 
 Though thou among the dead art gone. 
 Still Meleager weepeth on, — 
 An empty gift to Acheron,— 
 My Heliodora. 
 
 74
 
 Ah, where is my fair flower flown ? Meteager. 
 
 Hades hath plucked her for his own ; 
 Dust mars the blossom freshly blown. 
 My Heliodora. 
 
 But thou who all things nourishest, 
 O mother Earth ! hear my request. 
 And clasp her gently to thy breast. 
 My Heliodora. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 GRASSHOPPER, bringer of sleep, and killer of 
 longing forlorn. 
 
 Shrill-winged Muse of the field, who singest away 
 in the corn ; 
 
 Grasshopper, strike up the chords of thy little coun- 
 terfeit lyre. 
 
 Smiting thy wings with thy feet, and play me a 
 tune of desire. 
 
 Grasshopper, make me forget the pain of my sleep- 
 less ills. 
 
 Letting thy love-soothing voice re-echo in tremu- 
 lous trills ; 
 
 Gifts I will give thee to-morrow, when morning 
 Cometh again. 
 
 Fair green leaves fresh sprayed with showers of 
 dewy rain. 
 
 75
 
 S' 
 
 Meleager. XIX 
 
 I HRiLL— VOICED grasshoppcr, drunk with drops ot 
 the morning dew. 
 
 Singing thy rustic song in the greenwood hidden 
 from view ; 
 
 Perched on the edge of a leaf, thou tunest thy 
 lyre-strings 
 
 With thy tiny jagged legs and thy swart and 
 sunburnt wings. 
 
 Chirp a new air, little friend, to cheer the 
 Nymphs of the trees. 
 
 Making thy music echo to Pan's sweet melodies ; 
 
 So that, escaping from Love, I may sink into noon- 
 tide sleep 
 
 Here, at this plane-tree's foot, as I lie in the 
 shadow deep. 
 
 76
 
 ARISTODICUS 
 
 THE morning sun shall not find thee again 
 In noble Aids' hall, 
 O thou shrill grasshopper ! thy plaintive strain 
 Singing aloud to all : 
 
 For thou hast flown down to the underworld. 
 
 And now perchance mayst see 
 
 The flowery meadows with fresh dew-drops 
 
 pearled. 
 Of gold Persephone. 
 
 77
 
 AUTHOR UNKNOWN 
 
 WHY, cruel shepherds, do ye tear. 
 Thus rudely from the dewy spray. 
 Me, a poor cricket chirping there 
 So shrilly at the hot midday. 
 In lonely hill and leafy dale 
 The Nymphs' road-haunting nightingale ? 
 
 The blackbird and the thrush are here ; 
 
 See, too, in flocks the starlings fly ! 
 
 These are the freebooters ye fear ; 
 
 'Tis meet such ravagers should die. 
 
 Kill them, they steal your fruits from you : 
 
 Why grudge to me my leaves and dew ? 
 
 78
 
 EVENUS 
 
 O SWALLOW ! Attic maid, with honey 
 Canst thou, who art a singer sweet ot 
 tongue. 
 Bear off a singing grasshopper for bread 
 To bring the brood of thine unfledged young ? 
 
 A chatterer thou, a chatterer molest, 
 A winged thing break with a winged brother, 
 A summer's guest destroy a summer's guest. 
 One litde stranger strive against the other ? 
 
 Wilt not thou drop it now and let it go ? 
 It is not right nor just for it to die ; 
 A pretty songster should not perish so, 
 A fellow-songster's greed to satisfy. 
 
 79
 
 TYMNES 
 
 SINGING-BIRD ! who wast so dear 
 
 Unto the Graces three ; 
 Most like the Halcyons to hear. 
 Now snatched away from me : 
 
 O 
 
 Dear little warbler, thou hast flown ; 
 
 Thy breath of sweet delight. 
 And all thy pretty ways gone down 
 
 The silent paths of night. 
 
 80
 
 SIMMIAS 
 
 O HUNTER partridge ! thy cry's echoing 
 sound 
 Is heard no more. 
 Along the shady forest feeding-ground. 
 Where oft before 
 
 Thou didst decoy thy speckled comrades small. 
 
 Luring them on ; 
 
 For thou art gone the final way of all 
 
 To Acheron. 
 
 8r
 
 c 
 
 ANTIPATER OF SIDON 
 
 I 
 
 LOSE beside the threshing floor, 
 Where thou long didst work before. 
 
 Here to thee, O toiler ant ! 
 Rearing a memorial scant, 
 
 I will set a little sod. 
 Moulded from a thirsty clod ; 
 
 So that, although thou art dead. 
 The rich furrow overhead. 
 
 Which Demeter doth adorn 
 With her ears of ripening corn. 
 
 Lull thee with a charmed spell. 
 Lying in thy rustic cell. 
 
 II 
 
 THE golden chamber waited 
 For the bride to enter in. 
 And with the fragrant saffron 
 Was strewn the bed within. 
 
 Her guardians hoped to kindle 
 The torches' flaring light. 
 Holding them high above her 
 In both hands stretched upright ; 
 82
 
 When first a cruel sickness Antipater 
 
 Snatched her away instead, "/ •^''^'"'• 
 
 And to the Sea of Lethe 
 While yet a maiden led. 
 
 Her comrades at the portal 
 Knocked not to rouse her rest. 
 But beat the diapason 
 Of Death upon their breast. 
 
 83
 
 AUTHOR UNKNOWN 
 
 CHILL green early pastures, and ye young 
 Naiads that stray. 
 Tell the bees when they come in the 
 Spring on their flowery way. 
 Old Leucippus perished, in setting his cunning 
 
 snares. 
 Late on a winter's night, for the little light-footed 
 
 hares ; 
 Now he cares no more for his hives, but the 
 
 valleys weep 
 Him who dwelt so long by the neighbouring 
 mountain steep. 
 
 84
 
 DIOTIMUS 
 
 THE oxen came unherded home at even. 
 Back from the hills, with thick snow covered 
 deep ; 
 Therimachus, struck down by fire from heaven. 
 Beneath an oak, sleeps out the last long sleep.
 
 SATYRUS 
 
 HERE along this sylvan glade. 
 Lovely Echo, tongueless maid. 
 Sings a sweet repeating strain. 
 Answering the birds again. 
 
 86
 
 ANYTE 
 
 I HERMES, in this windy orchard close 
 Stand, by the cross-ways, near the gray sea- 
 5 shore ; 
 I give to weary travellers repose. 
 And cool clear waters from my fountain pour. 
 
 87
 
 AUTHOR UNKNOWN 
 
 THOU who on thy way dost pass. 
 Here upon green meadow grass 
 Fling thy weary limbs and rest ; 
 While the zephyrs from the west. 
 Playing in the tall pine-tree. 
 Lull thee with their melody. 
 At the same time thou shalt hear 
 Shrill cicalas chirping clear. 
 While the shepherd on the hills 
 Pipes at noon his pastoral trills. 
 Near the spring, beneath the shade 
 By the leafy plane-copse made. 
 Thou shalt find in this retreat 
 Refuge from the burning heat 
 Of the fierce autumnal star ; 
 And to-morrow speeding far. 
 Thou shalt climb and cross the steep. 
 Pan bids thee his counsel keep. 
 
 88
 
 ASCLEPIADES 
 I 
 
 THOU hoardes: still thy maidenhood's hid 
 treasure. 
 And yet what profit hast thou of thy care ? 
 For down in Hades, girl, there is no pleasure. 
 Nor wilt thou find a faithful lover there. 
 
 The joys of Cypris are among the living. 
 And when to awful Acheron we go. 
 We shall have nothing, maiden, of her giving. 
 But dust and ashes all shall lie below. 
 
 II 
 
 DRINK deep and wipe thy tears away : 
 Why shouldst thou weep and moan ? 
 Harsh Cypris hath not made her prey 
 Of thee alone. 
 
 Not for thee only doth Love whet 
 
 The arrows of his bow : 
 Why, in the dust, while living yet, 
 
 Liest thou so low ? 
 
 Ill 
 
 STAY where ye are high -hanging overhead. 
 My garlands fair. 
 Beside her doors, and hasten not to shed 
 Your petals there. 
 89
 
 Asclepiades. Ye that are drenched with tears (for lovers' eyes 
 
 Drip briny showers). 
 When through the opening portal ye surprise 
 
 Her with vour flowers. 
 Let fall upon her head salt drops of dew. 
 
 As she appears. 
 So that, at least, her hair of golden hue 
 
 May drink my tears. 
 
 IV 
 
 SWEET to the thirsty the draught that is cooled 
 with snow in the summer ; 
 Sweet, at the sailor's return, flowering garlands 
 
 of spring. 
 After the winter is over ; but sweetest of all when 
 
 two lovers. 
 Sheltered under one cloak, both tell their tale of 
 true love. 
 
 V 
 
 SNOW and hail and tempest loud. 
 Burst with purple thunder-cloud. 
 And the darkening earth enshroud ! 
 
 If, O Zeus ! thou mean to slay, 
 I shall cease and die to-day ; 
 But if thou my death delay. 
 
 Though henceforward thou mayst tease 
 Me with things far worse than these, 
 I shall revel as I please. 
 
 90
 
 For a mightier god than thou AscUptades. 
 
 Holds me in his bondage now ; 
 He to whom thou once didst bow. 
 
 When to thy beloved's bower 
 Thou didst pierce the brazen tower. 
 Entering in a golden shower. 
 
 91
 
 SIMONIDES 
 
 DANAE, in a curious chest. 
 Cast upon the seas to die. 
 When the waves about her pressed. 
 And the wailing winds were high. 
 Hard beset by heavy fears. 
 Stained her face with many tears. 
 
 Clasping Perseus in her arms, 
 
 *♦ Ah ! " she said, " I weep, my child. 
 
 Whilst thou, knowing no alarms, 
 
 Liest lapt in slumbers mild ; 
 
 Shut in brass-nailed timbers tight. 
 
 Voyaging through dusk and night. 
 
 " Though the thunderous passing wave 
 Break above thy tangled hair. 
 Though the winds' wild voices rave. 
 Thou dost neither cry nor care. 
 In thy purple mantle warm. 
 Sleep, my darling, free from harm. 
 
 " Oh ! if grief were grief to thee. 
 Thou wouldst bend thy little ear. 
 Hearing how I prayed the sea 
 Might be calm, and thou, my dear, 
 Mightest sleep, while slept also 
 My immeasurable woe. 
 
 92
 
 "I implore thee. Father Zeus, Simonides. 
 
 Change our fate from foul to fair ; 
 
 Listen, think not to refuse. 
 
 And forgive mv earnest prayer. 
 
 Confidently thus I spake. 
 
 Asking for the child's sweet sake." 
 
 93
 
 ALPHEUS 
 
 WE still see Troy from her foundations fall. 
 Still hear the wail of sad Andromache, 
 Hear in the battle Ajax' lusty call ; 
 And underneath the crown of towers see 
 
 By horses Hector in the dust dragged down. 
 Through old Maeonides' majestic verse ; 
 His, whom no single land claims as her own. 
 But who belongs to the wide universe. 
 
 94
 
 DIONYSIUS 
 
 OME with your basket of roses. 
 
 You that are fair as a rose. 
 And tell us what wares you are selling ; 
 Come, tell us, for nobody knows. 
 
 C 
 
 Is it yourself, pretty maiden, 
 
 Or a rose you are seeking to sell ? 
 
 Is it your basket of roses. 
 
 Or a rose and yourself as well ? 
 
 95
 
 UNKNOWN 
 
 MY love is like a sudden storm 
 That comes in early spring. 
 Upon a wide and treacherous sea 
 Astray and wandering. 
 For first from your sweet eyes the tears 
 
 Fall fast in showers of rain. 
 And then in your returning smile 
 The sunlight breaks again. 
 
 Like a poor shipwrecked sailor flung 
 
 Upon the mighty deep. 
 Amid the wash of whirling waves 
 
 My course 1 blindly keep. 
 Show me a sign of love or hate. 
 
 Whichever it may be. 
 To let me know from you, dear one. 
 
 The nature of this sea. 
 
 96
 
 DIOSCORIDES 
 
 HE sang to me the fatal horse. 
 
 And Troy was all on fire ; 
 1 kindled with the light perforce 
 And burned with flames as dire. 
 
 S 
 
 The ten years' toil of vengeful men 
 No more did me amaze ; 
 
 And Troy and I together then 
 Both perished in the blaze. 
 
 97
 
 PHILODEMUS 
 
 TWO-HORNED Lady of the night. 
 Lover of the midnight hour. 
 Through the lattice let thy light 
 Fall into Kallistion's bower. 
 Make, O Moon ! thy glory shine 
 On that golden girl of mine. 
 
 Thou, who art a goddess bright. 
 
 Art allowed to look and see 
 Two young lovers there to-night : 
 
 Bless, O Moon ! both her and me. 
 Once Endymion did move 
 Ev'n thee to burn with love. 
 
 98
 
 MARCUS ARGENTARIUS 
 
 THOU fair young moon with golden horns. 
 And fiery stars of night. 
 That quench within the ocean stream 
 Your flames of shining light. 
 
 See how my perfume-breathing love 
 
 Has left me all alone ! 
 Alas ! I cannot find her out. 
 
 Though twice three days have flown. 
 
 And yet I mean to seek her still. 
 
 And set upon her track 
 The silver sleuth-hounds Cypris has 
 
 To bring my darling back. 
 
 II 
 
 ALTHOUGH thy rest be tenfold balm, awake. 
 Sweet-breathing Isias ! send sleep away ; 
 In thy dear hands this flowery garland take, 
 That now doth flourish fair and freshly gay, 
 And yet shall fade ere dawning of the day : 
 For thou shalt see in its brief blooming time. 
 The likeness of a maiden's perfect prime. 
 
 99
 
 Marcus III 
 
 Ar^eutartus. xj UT SIX poor feet in earth thou shalt possess, 
 
 JjWhen thy turn comes to die ; 
 
 Thou shalt see nothing of life's joyousness. 
 
 Nor yet the sunlit sky. 
 
 Therefore with gladness the gay goblet raise. 
 And drink the unmixed wine ; 
 Clasping, O Cincius ! in a close embrace 
 That lovely wife of thine. 
 
 And if thy reason teach thee that thy mind 
 Is born immortal, know 
 Cleathes and great Zeno, with their kind. 
 To Hades went below. 
 
 loo
 
 STRATO 
 
 I 
 
 Othou who dost in beauty boast ! 
 Know that the rose is gay. 
 But once her brilliant bloom is lost. 
 She's cut and cast away. 
 
 For beauty bright and summer flower 
 Live out the same short day. 
 Awaiting time's allotted hour 
 Of envious decav. 
 
 II 
 
 WHEN last I left my dearest love, it seemed 
 That she kissed me good-night ; 
 If this were true, or if I only dreamed, 
 I cannot say aright. 
 
 And yet the other things so very clear 
 
 Within my mind remain ; 
 All that she said and all she asked to hear 
 
 In turn from me again. 
 
 I cannot be quite sure about the kiss. 
 
 If it were really so. 
 Could I, when lifted into heaven's bliss. 
 
 Still live on earth below ? 
 
 lOl
 
 Strata . Ill 
 
 ow shall I know when the prime 
 Of my fair one is finished and over. 
 If 1 live by her side all the time. 
 And am loyal and true as a lover ? 
 
 H 
 
 Shall yesterday's joy that was mine 
 This morning be turned into sorrow ? 
 And, to-day, if I think her divine. 
 Why should not I think so to-morrow ? 
 
 I02
 
 AGATHIAS 
 
 I 
 
 I LIE and weep the weary night away. 
 And when the gray and gracious dawn appears. 
 The swallows twittering at the break of day 
 Steal my sweet sleep and bring again my tears. 
 My open eyes may never close in rest 
 For thoughts of luckless love that vex my breast. 
 
 Ye envious chatterers, cease ; it was not J 
 Who cut the tongue of lovely Philomel ; 
 Go, wail for Itylus on mountains high. 
 And his sad story to the hoopoe tell. 
 Now let me sleep, that I perchance may seem 
 To clasp Rhodanthe in a happy dream. 
 
 Jl 
 
 TF.i.L me, Philinna, canst thou feel 
 The sharp point of desire. 
 Tossing at night upon thy couch. 
 With aching eyes on fire .' 
 Or dost thou lie with mind at ease 
 Lapt close in sweetest sleep. 
 Taking, alas ! no count nor care 
 Whether I wake or weep ? 
 
 Thy fate, proud girl, shall find thee out. 
 And 1 shall see thee yet. 
 When with the salt and frequent tears 
 Thy pallid check is wet. 
 103
 
 With malice in all other things 
 Men Cypris may upbraid, 
 But this at least is true of her- 
 She hates a haughty maid. 
 
 Ill 
 
 I LOVE not to look on the wine-cup ; 
 And yet if thou pass it to me 
 When thou hast first sipped of its vintage, 
 I fain must receive it from thee. 
 
 If thy lips have but touched the bright border. 
 
 To drain it I cannot decline ; 
 Nor can 1 escape the sweet tempting 
 
 Of her who pours out the red wine. 
 
 For the cup that thou bringest me carries 
 The kiss left by thee on the brim. 
 
 And tells me the grace thou hast lent it 
 Still lingers within the gold rim. 
 
 104
 
 PAULUS SILENTIARIUS 
 
 I 
 
 1 MEANT to bid thee, sweet, farewell. 
 But it was not to be ; 
 I check the words I would have said. 
 And stay, my love, with thee. 
 
 I cannot live from thee apart ; 
 From banishment I shrink. 
 As from the black and bitter night 
 Of Acheron's dark brink. 
 
 Thy light is as the light of day. 
 And yet the day is dumb ; 
 But thy soft murmuring voice I hear 
 When thou again art come. 
 
 That voice to me is sweeter far 
 Than any Siren's tongue ; 
 And all my hopes and all my joys 
 Are on those accents hung. 
 
 II 
 
 GALATEA slammed her door 
 Jn my face, and furthermore 
 Added scorn thereto. 
 How is it that people say 
 Scornful words drive love away f 
 Mine but greater grew. 
 105
 
 Paulus At first, in wrath, I did but swear 
 
 SUenttarius. j ^^uld not see her for a year ; 
 
 Alas ! that was last night. 
 The folly of my oath 1 learned. 
 When as a suppliant I returned 
 To her at morning light. 
 
 Ill 
 
 How long, how long do ye still mean, mine 
 eyes. 
 To drain the nectarous draught of Love divine ? 
 Have not ye learned at last to be more wise 
 Than thus to drink of beauty's unmixed wine ? 
 
 As far, far off as me my strength may bring. 
 Let me escape, and there in calm and ease, 
 I will pour out a sober offering 
 And seek a milder Cypris to appease. 
 
 But if ev'n there the cruel sting pursue. 
 Oh, then, mine eyes, chill tears forever rain ! 
 Eternal toil be your deserved due ; 
 Through you I fell upon this fiery pain. 
 
 IV 
 
 THE third lamp of the lonely night 
 Wastes silently away ; 
 It casts a feeble flickering light. 
 Oh ! why doth she delay ? 
 1 06
 
 But would that also, in my breast, Paulus 
 
 Were quenched the fatal fire SiUntiarim. 
 
 That tortures me with long unrest. 
 And wakeful wild desire. 
 
 And yet how many times she swore 
 
 At dusk to meet me here ! 
 For men she hath no pity more. 
 
 And of the gods no fear. 
 
 107
 
 THYMOCLES 
 
 REMEMBER now how once I said to thee 
 The solemn word that of all things that be 
 Both fair and fleet, the very fairest far 
 And fleetest thing is opportunity. 
 
 And not the bird with swiftest wings outspread. 
 That cleaves the bright clear ether overhead. 
 Can overtake lost opportunity. 
 Lo ! on the ground thy flowers all are shed ! 
 
 io8
 
 MACEDONIUS 
 
 AH, Constance ! when I heard your name, 
 I thought it sounded fair and true ; 
 I would your nature were the same ! 
 But death is not so sharp as you. 
 
 From him who loves you fly away. 
 And him who loves not you pursue. 
 That, when you make him love, he may 
 In turn again be flouted too. 
 
 109
 
 RUFINUS 
 I 
 
 I AM armed with the breastplate of reason 
 To battle with Eros alone ; 
 And I know that he never can conquer 
 In the warfare of one against one. 
 Though mortal matched with an immortal, 
 
 I care not, yet what could I do 
 If he should bring Bacchus to help him. 
 And I were but one against two ? 
 
 II 
 
 HAVING bathed, and bound our hair, 
 Prodice, with garlands fair. 
 Let us drink a draught divine 
 Of the pure unmingled wine ; 
 To our lips still lifting up 
 Every time a larger cup. 
 Short our life of joy at best. 
 Old age comes to stop the rest ; 
 And, when age itself is past. 
 Death must be our end at last. 
 
 Ill 
 
 WHERE is gone the golden splendour 
 Of Melissa's fine array ? 
 Where the pomp that did attend her ? 
 Where is all her vain display ? 
 I lo
 
 Where is her disdainful seeming, Rujinus. 
 
 Brows that oft were bent in scorn ? 
 Where the jewelled sandals gleaming 
 On her wanton ankles worn ? 
 
 And where are her bright tresses braided ? 
 Lo ! the loss she cannot hide : 
 For when a woman once is faded. 
 See the end of all her pride ! 
 
 I I I
 
 AUTHOR UNKNOWN 
 
 ON thy new, fresh-heaped tomb. 
 Fairest flowers bud and bloom ; 
 Here the rank weed shall not blow. 
 Nor the thorny bramble grow ; 
 But the white narcissus wet. 
 Marjoram and violet. 
 And the ruddy summer rose 
 Deck the place of thy repose. 
 
 I 12
 
 AUTHOR UNKNOWN 
 
 SHORT, alas ! the flowering time 
 Of the rose's lov^ely prime. 
 Once her crimson bloom is past. 
 Seeking thou shalt find at last. 
 On her withered stem forlorn. 
 Not a rose-bud, but a thorn. 
 
 113
 
 ANACREONTIC 
 
 THE black earth drinketh daily. 
 The trees from earth are drinking. 
 The sea drinks up the vapours. 
 The sun drinks from the ocean ; 
 The moon, too, drinks the sunbeams — 
 Why quarrel with me, comrades. 
 If I myself am drinking ? 
 
 114
 
 o 
 
 JULIANUS ^GYPTIUS 
 
 FTEN I sang it of old, and out of my 
 
 grave I will cry it. 
 Drink before you are clothed round with 
 
 the raiment of dust ! 
 
 "5
 
 PALLADAS 
 
 I 
 
 NAKED I was when I began my life 
 On earth, and naked under earth I go. 
 Then wherefore should I wage this idle 
 ' strife. 
 
 Since the end's utter nakedness I know ? 
 
 II 
 
 I WAS born weeping, having wept I die. 
 And all my life in many tears is passed. 
 O tearful race of weak humanity ! 
 Dragged under earth to moulder at the last. 
 
 Ill 
 
 UPON life's tempest-troubled seas afloat. 
 We strike worse rocks than shipwrecked 
 sailors know ; 
 With Chance the pilot of our storm-tossed boat. 
 Upon a doubtful dangerous voyage we go ; 
 Though some fair weather, and some foul have 
 
 found, 
 We all meet in one haven underground. 
 
 16
 
 IV Palladas. 
 
 ALL mortal men are doomed to pay Death's 
 debt. 
 And no one knows if he will live to-morrow. 
 Learn this, O man ! Make merry and forget 
 In wine's oblivion fear of death and sorrow. 
 With love and pleasure thy brief days enhance, 
 And leave all else to the control of chance. 
 
 117
 
 MARIANUS 
 
 WHERE is that bow of thine all backward 
 bent. 
 Thine arrows that straight through the 
 mid-heart sped ? 
 Where are thy wings ? Are thy fierce torches 
 
 spent ? 
 Why wearest thou a crown upon thy head ? 
 And what are those three wreaths within thy 
 hands outspread ? 
 
 thou that askest me ! not from the earth 
 
 1 spring, nor from the earth's unclean desire ; 
 Not from mad mortal joy have I my birth ; 
 But the pure hearts of men I set on fire. 
 
 And upward lead to heaven the souls that I in- 
 spire. 
 
 From the four virtues wreaths I twine to wear ; 
 These that thou seest in my hands I bear. 
 And wisdom's crown I bind about my hair. 
 
 ii8 
 
 I
 
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