Eclogues

Perseus Latin · Perseus Latin · 1,060 sections

7.60
ward off the solstice from my flock, for now
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comes on the burning summer, now the buds
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upon the limber vine-shoot 'gin to swell.”
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“Here is a hearth, and resinous logs, here fire
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unstinted, and doors black with ceaseless smoke.
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Here heed we Boreas' icy breath as much
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as the wolf heeds the number of the flock,
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or furious rivers their restraining banks.”
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“The junipers and prickly chestnuts stand,
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and 'neath each tree lie strewn their several fruits,
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now the whole world is smiling, but if fair
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alexis from these hill-slopes should away,
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even the rivers you would ; see run dry.”
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“The field is parched, the grass-blades thirst to death
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in the faint air; Liber hath grudged the hills
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his vine's o'er-shadowing: should my Phyllis come,
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green will be all the grove, and Jupiter
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descend in floods of fertilizing rain.”
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“The poplar doth Alcides hold most dear,
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the vine Iacchus, Phoebus his own bays,
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and Venus fair the myrtle: therewithal
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phyllis doth hazels love, and while she loves,
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myrtle nor bay the hazel shall out-vie.”
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“Ash in the forest is most beautiful,
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pine in the garden, poplar by the stream,
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fir on the mountain-height; but if more oft
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thou'ldst come to me, fair Lycidas, to thee
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both forest-ash, and garden-pine should bow.”
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These I remember, and how Thyrsis strove
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for victory in vain. From that time forth
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is Corydon still Corydon with us.
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of Damon and Alphesiboeus now,
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those shepherd-singers at whose rival strains
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the heifer wondering forgot to graze,
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the lynx stood awe-struck, and the flowing streams,
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unwonted loiterers, stayed their course to hear—
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how Damon and Alphesiboeus sang
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their pastoral ditties, will I tell the tale.
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Thou, whether broad Timavus' rocky banks
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thou now art passing, or dost skirt the shore
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of the Illyrian main,—will ever dawn
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that day when I thy deeds may celebrate,
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ever that day when through the whole wide world
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I may renown thy verse—that verse alone
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of Sophoclean buskin worthy found?
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With thee began, to thee shall end, the strain.
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Take thou these songs that owe their birth to thee,
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and deign around thy temples to let creep
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this ivy-chaplet 'twixt the conquering bays.
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Scarce had night's chilly shade forsook the sky
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what time to nibbling sheep the dewy grass
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tastes sweetest, when, on his smooth shepherd-staff
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of olive leaning, Damon thus began.
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“Rise, Lucifer, and, heralding the light,
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bring in the genial day, while I make moan
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fooled by vain passion for a faithless bride,
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for Nysa, and with this my dying breath
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call on the gods, though little it bestead—
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the gods who heard her vows and heeded not.
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‘Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.’
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Ever hath Maenalus his murmuring groves
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and whispering pines, and ever hears the songs
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of love-lorn shepherds, and of Pan, who first
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brooked not the tuneful reed should idle lie.
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‘Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.’
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Nysa to Mopsus given! what may not then
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we lovers look for? soon shall we see mate
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griffins with mares, and in the coming age
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shy deer and hounds together come to drink.
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‘Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.’
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Now, Mopsus, cut new torches, for they bring
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your bride along; now, bridegroom, scatter nuts:
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forsaking Oeta mounts the evening star!
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‘Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.’
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O worthy of thy mate, while all men else
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thou scornest, and with loathing dost behold
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my shepherd's pipe, my goats, my shaggy brow,
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and untrimmed beard, nor deem'st that any god
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for mortal doings hath regard or care.
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‘Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.’
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Once with your mother, in our orchard-garth,
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a little maid I saw you—I your guide—
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plucking the dewy apples. My twelfth year
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I scarce had entered, and could barely reach
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the brittle boughs. I looked, and I was lost;
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a sudden frenzy swept my wits away.
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‘Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.’
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Now know I what Love is: 'mid savage rocks
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tmaros or Rhodope brought forth the boy,
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or Garamantes in earth's utmost bounds—
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no kin of ours, nor of our blood begot.
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‘Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.’
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Fierce Love it was once steeled a mother's heart
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with her own offspring's blood her hands to imbrue:
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mother, thou too wert cruel; say wert thou
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more cruel, mother, or more ruthless he?
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Ruthless the boy, thou, mother, cruel too.
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‘Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.’
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Now let the wolf turn tail and fly the sheep,
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tough oaks bear golden apples, alder-trees

Perseus Latin. CTS URN phi0690.phi001.perseus-eng2. Via the Perseus Digital Library / Open Greek and Latin TEI corpora. Licence: CC BY-SA 4.0. Source.