The Bucolics and Ecloges [English] | Page 6

and see?Heroes with gods commingling, and himself?Be seen of them, and with his father's worth?Reign o'er a world at peace. For thee, O boy,?First shall the earth, untilled, pour freely forth?Her childish gifts, the gadding ivy-spray?With foxglove and Egyptian bean-flower mixed,?And laughing-eyed acanthus. Of themselves,?Untended, will the she-goats then bring home?Their udders swollen with milk, while flocks afield?Shall of the monstrous lion have no fear.?Thy very cradle shall pour forth for thee?Caressing flowers. The serpent too shall die,?Die shall the treacherous poison-plant, and far?And wide Assyrian spices spring. But soon?As thou hast skill to read of heroes' fame,?And of thy father's deeds, and inly learn?What virtue is, the plain by slow degrees?With waving corn-crops shall to golden grow,?From the wild briar shall hang the blushing grape,?And stubborn oaks sweat honey-dew. Nathless?Yet shall there lurk within of ancient wrong?Some traces, bidding tempt the deep with ships,?Gird towns with walls, with furrows cleave the earth.?Therewith a second Tiphys shall there be,?Her hero-freight a second Argo bear;?New wars too shall arise, and once again?Some great Achilles to some Troy be sent.?Then, when the mellowing years have made thee man,?No more shall mariner sail, nor pine-tree bark?Ply traffic on the sea, but every land?Shall all things bear alike: the glebe no more?Shall feel the harrow's grip, nor vine the hook;?The sturdy ploughman shall loose yoke from steer,?Nor wool with varying colours learn to lie;?But in the meadows shall the ram himself,?Now with soft flush of purple, now with tint?Of yellow saffron, teach his fleece to shine.?While clothed in natural scarlet graze the lambs.?"Such still, such ages weave ye, as ye run,"?Sang to their spindles the consenting Fates?By Destiny's unalterable decree.?Assume thy greatness, for the time draws nigh,?Dear child of gods, great progeny of Jove!?See how it totters- the world's orbed might,?Earth, and wide ocean, and the vault profound,?All, see, enraptured of the coming time!?Ah! might such length of days to me be given,?And breath suffice me to rehearse thy deeds,?Nor Thracian Orpheus should out-sing me then,?Nor Linus, though his mother this, and that?His sire should aid- Orpheus Calliope,?And Linus fair Apollo. Nay, though Pan,?With Arcady for judge, my claim contest,?With Arcady for judge great Pan himself?Should own him foiled, and from the field retire.
Begin to greet thy mother with a smile,?O baby-boy! ten months of weariness?For thee she bore: O baby-boy, begin!?For him, on whom his parents have not smiled,?Gods deem not worthy of their board or bed.
ECLOGUE V
MENALCAS MOPSUS
MENALCAS?Why, Mopsus, being both together met,?You skilled to breathe upon the slender reeds,?I to sing ditties, do we not sit down?Here where the elm-trees and the hazels blend?
MOPSUS?You are the elder, 'tis for me to bide?Your choice, Menalcas, whether now we seek?Yon shade that quivers to the changeful breeze,?Or the cave's shelter. Look you how the cave?Is with the wild vine's clusters over-laced!
MENALCAS?None but Amyntas on these hills of ours?Can vie with you.
MOPSUS
What if he also strive?To out-sing Phoebus?
MENALCAS
Do you first begin,?Good Mopsus, whether minded to sing aught?Of Phyllis and her loves, or Alcon's praise,?Or to fling taunts at Codrus. Come, begin,?While Tityrus watches o'er the grazing kids.
MOPSUS?Nay, then, I will essay what late I carved?On a green beech-tree's rind, playing by turns,?And marking down the notes; then afterward?Bid you Amyntas match them if he can.
MENALCAS?As limber willow to pale olive yields,?As lowly Celtic nard to rose-buds bright,?So, to my mind, Amyntas yields to you.?But hold awhile, for to the cave we come.
MOPSUS?"For Daphnis cruelly slain wept all the NymphsYe?hazels, bear them witness, and ye streamsWhen?she, his mother, clasping in her arms?The hapless body of the son she bare,?To gods and stars unpitying, poured her plaint.?Then, Daphnis, to the cooling streams were none?That drove the pastured oxen, then no beast?Drank of the river, or would the grass-blade touch.?Nay, the wild rocks and woods then voiced the roar?Of Afric lions mourning for thy death.?Daphnis, 'twas thou bad'st yoke to Bacchus' car?Armenian tigresses, lead on the pomp?Of revellers, and with tender foliage wreathe?The bending spear-wands. As to trees the vine?Is crown of glory, as to vines the grape,?Bulls to the herd, to fruitful fields the corn,?So the one glory of thine own art thou.?When the Fates took thee hence, then Pales' self,?And even Apollo, left the country lone.?Where the plump barley-grain so oft we sowed,?There but wild oats and barren darnel spring;?For tender violet and narcissus bright?Thistle and prickly thorn uprear their heads.?Now, O ye shepherds, strew the ground with leaves,?And o'er the fountains draw a shady veilSo?Daphnis to his memory bids be doneAnd?rear a tomb, and write thereon this verse:?'I, Daphnis in the woods, from hence in fame?Am to the stars exalted, guardian once?Of a fair flock, myself more fair than they.'"
MENALCAS?So is thy song to me, poet divine,?As slumber on the grass to weary limbs,?Or to slake thirst from some sweet-bubbling rill?In summer's heat. Nor