The Bucolics and Eclogues
 Virgil




Virgil

The Bucolics and Eclogues





ECLOGUE I

MELIBOEUS

TITYRUS



MELIBOEUS

		You, Tityrus, 'neath a broad beech-canopy
		Reclining, on the slender oat rehearse
		Your silvan ditties: I from my sweet fields,
		And home's familiar bounds, even now depart.
		Exiled from home am I; while, Tityrus, you
		Sit careless in the shade, and, at your call,
		"Fair Amaryllis" bid the woods resound.


TITYRUS

		O Meliboeus, 'twas a god vouchsafed
		This ease to us, for him a god will I
		Deem ever, and from my folds a tender lamb
		Oft with its life-blood shall his altar stain.
		His gift it is that, as your eyes may see,
		My kine may roam at large, and I myself
		Play on my shepherd's pipe what songs I will.


MELIBOEUS

		I grudge you not the boon, but marvel more,
		Such wide confusion fills the country-side.
		See, sick at heart I drive my she-goats on,
		And this one, O my Tityrus, scarce can lead:
		For 'mid the hazel-thicket here but now
		She dropped her new-yeaned twins on the bare flint,
		Hope of the flock- an ill, I mind me well,
		Which many a time, but for my blinded sense,
		The thunder-stricken oak foretold, oft too
		From hollow trunk the raven's ominous cry.
		But who this god of yours? Come, Tityrus, tell.


TITYRUS

		The city, Meliboeus, they call Rome,
		I, simpleton, deemed like this town of ours,
		Whereto we shepherds oft are wont to drive
		The younglings of the flock: so too I knew
		Whelps to resemble dogs, and kids their dams,
		Comparing small with great; but this as far
		Above all other cities rears her head
		As cypress above pliant osier towers.


MELIBOEUS

		And what so potent cause took you to Rome?


TITYRUS

		Freedom, which, though belated, cast at length
		Her eyes upon the sluggard, when my beard
		'Gan whiter fall beneath the barber's blade-
		Cast eyes, I say, and, though long tarrying, came,
		Now when, from Galatea's yoke released,
		I serve but Amaryllis: for I will own,
		While Galatea reigned over me, I had
		No hope of freedom, and no thought to save.
		Though many a victim from my folds went forth,
		Or rich cheese pressed for the unthankful town,
		Never with laden hands returned I home.


MELIBOEUS

		I used to wonder, Amaryllis, why
		You cried to heaven so sadly, and for whom
		You left the apples hanging on the trees;
		'Twas Tityrus was away. Why, Tityrus,
		The very pines, the very water-springs,
		The very vineyards, cried aloud for you.


TITYRUS

		What could I do? how else from bonds be freed,
		Or otherwhere find gods so nigh to aid?
		There, Meliboeus, I saw that youth to whom
		Yearly for twice six days my altars smoke.
		There instant answer gave he to my suit,
		"Feed, as before, your kine, boys, rear your bulls."


MELIBOEUS

		So in old age, you happy man, your fields
		Will still be yours, and ample for your need!
		Though, with bare stones o'erspread, the pastures all
		Be choked with rushy mire, your ewes with young
		By no strange fodder will be tried, nor hurt
		Through taint contagious of a neighbouring flock.
		Happy old man, who 'mid familiar streams
		And hallowed springs, will court the cooling shade!
		Here, as of old, your neighbour's bordering hedge,
		That feasts with willow-flower the Hybla bees,
		Shall oft with gentle murmur lull to sleep,
		While the leaf-dresser beneath some tall rock
		Uplifts his song, nor cease their cooings hoarse
		The wood-pigeons that are your heart's delight,
		Nor doves their moaning in the elm-tree top.


TITYRUS

		Sooner shall light stags, therefore, feed in air,
		The seas their fish leave naked on the strand,
		Germans and Parthians shift their natural bounds,
		And these the Arar, those the Tigris drink,
		Than from my heart his face and memory fade.


MELIBOEUS

		But we far hence, to burning Libya some,
		Some to the Scythian steppes, or thy swift flood,
		Cretan Oaxes, now must wend our way,
		Or Britain, from the whole world sundered far.
		Ah! shall I ever in aftertime behold
		My native bounds- see many a harvest hence
		With ravished eyes the lowly turf-roofed cot
		Where I was king? These fallows, trimmed so fair,
		Some brutal soldier will possess these fields
		An alien master. Ah! to what a pass
		Has civil discord brought our hapless folk!
		For such as these, then, were our furrows sown!
		Now, Meliboeus, graft your pears, now set
		Your vines in order! Go, once happy flock,
		My she-goats, go. Never again shall I,
		Stretched in green cave, behold you from afar
		Hang from the bushy rock; my songs are sung;
		Never again will you, with me to tend,
		On clover-flower, or bitter willows, browse.


TITYRUS

		Yet here, this night, you might repose with me,
		On green leaves pillowed: apples ripe have I,
		Soft chestnuts, and of curdled milk enow.
		And, see, the farm-roof chimneys smoke afar,
		And from the hills the shadows lengthening fall!




ECLOGUE II

ALEXIS


		The shepherd Corydon with love was fired
		For fair Alexis, his own master's joy:
		No room for hope had he, yet, none the less,
		The thick-leaved shadowy-soaring beech-tree grove
		Still would he haunt, and there alone, as thus,
		To woods and hills pour forth his artless strains.
		"Cruel Alexis, heed you naught my songs?
		Have you no pity? you'll drive me to my death.
		Now even the cattle court the cooling shade
		And the green lizard hides him in the thorn:
		Now for tired mowers, with the fierce heat spent,
		Pounds Thestilis her mess of savoury herbs,
		Wild thyme and garlic. I, with none beside,
		Save hoarse cicalas shrilling through the brake,
		Still track your footprints 'neath the broiling sun.
		Better have borne the petulant proud disdain
		Of Amaryllis, or Menalcas wooed,
		Albeit he was so dark, and you so fair!
		Trust not too much to colour, beauteous boy;
		White privets fall, dark hyacinths are culled.
		You scorn me, Alexis, who or what I am
		Care not to ask- how rich in flocks, or how
		In snow-white milk abounding: yet for me
		Roam on Sicilian hills a thousand lambs;
		Summer or winter, still my milk-pails brim.
		I sing as erst Amphion of Circe sang,
		What time he went to call his cattle home
		On Attic Aracynthus. Nor am I
		So ill to look on: lately on the beach
		I saw myself, when winds had stilled the sea,
		And, if that mirror lie not, would not fear
		Daphnis to challenge, though yourself were judge.
		Ah! were you but content with me to dwell.
		Some lowly cot in the rough fields our home,
		Shoot down the stags, or with green osier-wand
		Round up the straggling flock! There you with me
		In silvan strains will learn to rival Pan.
		Pan first with wax taught reed with reed to join;
		For sheep alike and shepherd Pan hath care.
		Nor with the reed's edge fear you to make rough
		Your dainty lip; such arts as these to learn
		What did Amyntas do?– what did he not?
		A pipe have I, of hemlock-stalks compact
		In lessening lengths, Damoetas' dying-gift:
		'Mine once,' quoth he, 'now yours, as heir to own.'
		Foolish Amyntas heard and envied me.
		Ay, and two fawns, I risked my neck to find
		In a steep glen, with coats white-dappled still,
		From a sheep's udders suckled twice a day-
		These still I keep for you; which Thestilis
		Implores me oft to let her lead away;
		And she shall have them, since my gifts you spurn.
		Come hither, beauteous boy; for you the Nymphs
		Bring baskets, see, with lilies brimmed; for you,
		Plucking pale violets and poppy-heads,
		Now the fair Naiad, of narcissus flower
		And fragrant fennel, doth one posy twine-
		With cassia then, and other scented herbs,
		Blends them, and sets the tender hyacinth off
		With yellow marigold. I too will pick
		Quinces all silvered-o'er with hoary down,
		Chestnuts, which Amaryllis wont to love,
		And waxen plums withal: this fruit no less
		Shall have its meed of honour; and I will pluck
		You too, ye laurels, and you, ye myrtles, near,
		For so your sweets ye mingle. Corydon,
		You are a boor, nor heeds a whit your gifts
		Alexis; no, nor would Iollas yield,
		Should gifts decide the day. Alack! alack!
		What misery have I brought upon my head!-
		Loosed on the flowers Siroces to my bane,
		And the wild boar upon my crystal springs!
		Whom do you fly, infatuate? gods ere now,
		And Dardan Paris, have made the woods their home.
		Let Pallas keep the towers her hand hath built,
		Us before all things let the woods delight.
		The grim-eyed lioness pursues the wolf,
		The wolf the she-goat, the she-goat herself
		In wanton sport the flowering cytisus,
		And Corydon Alexis, each led on
		By their own longing. See, the ox comes home
		With plough up-tilted, and the shadows grow
		To twice their length with the departing sun,
		Yet me love burns, for who can limit love?
		Ah! Corydon, Corydon, what hath crazed your wit?
		Your vine half-pruned hangs on the leafy elm;
		Why haste you not to weave what need requires
		Of pliant rush or osier? Scorned by this,
		Elsewhere some new Alexis you will find."




ECLOGUE III

MENALCAS

DAMOETAS

PALAEMON



MENALCAS

		Who owns the flock, Damoetas? Meliboeus?


DAMOETAS

		Nay, they are Aegon's sheep, of late by him
		Committed to my care.


MENALCAS

		O every way
		Unhappy sheep, unhappy flock! while he
		Still courts Neaera, fearing lest her choice
		Should fall on me, this hireling shepherd here
		Wrings hourly twice their udders, from the flock
		Filching the life-juice, from the lambs their milk.


DAMOETAS

		Hold! not so ready with your jeers at men!
		We know who once, and in what shrine with you-
		The he-goats looked aside- the light nymphs laughed-


MENALCAS

		Ay, then, I warrant, when they saw me slash
		Micon's young vines and trees with spiteful hook.


DAMOETAS

		Or here by these old beeches, when you broke
		The bow and arrows of Damon; for you chafed
		When first you saw them given to the boy,
		Cross-grained Menalcas, ay, and had you not
		Done him some mischief, would have chafed to death.


MENALCAS

		With thieves so daring, what can masters do?
		Did I not see you, rogue, in ambush lie
		For Damon's goat, while loud Lycisca barked?
		And when I cried, "Where is he off to now?
		Gather your flock together, Tityrus,"
		You hid behind the sedges.


DAMOETAS

		Well, was he
		Whom I had conquered still to keep the goat.
		Which in the piping-match my pipe had won!
		You may not know it, but the goat was mine.


MENALCAS

		You out-pipe him? when had you ever pipe
		Wax-welded? in the cross-ways used you not
		On grating straw some miserable tune
		To mangle?


DAMOETAS

		Well, then, shall we try our skill
		Each against each in turn? Lest you be loth,
		I pledge this heifer; every day she comes
		Twice to the milking-pail, and feeds withal
		Two young ones at her udder: say you now
		What you will stake upon the match with me.


MENALCAS

		Naught from the flock I'll venture, for at home
		I have a father and a step-dame harsh,
		And twice a day both reckon up the flock,
		And one withal the kids. But I will stake,
		Seeing you are so mad, what you yourself
		Will own more priceless far- two beechen cups
		By the divine art of Alcimedon
		Wrought and embossed, whereon a limber vine,
		Wreathed round them by the graver's facile tool,
		Twines over clustering ivy-berries pale.
		Two figures, one Conon, in the midst he set,
		And one- how call you him, who with his wand
		Marked out for all men the whole round of heaven,
		That they who reap, or stoop behind the plough,
		Might know their several seasons? Nor as yet
		Have I set lip to them, but lay them by.


DAMOETAS

		For me too wrought the same Alcimedon
		A pair of cups, and round the handles wreathed
		Pliant acanthus, Orpheus in the midst,
		The forests following in his wake; nor yet
		Have I set lip to them, but lay them by.
		Matched with a heifer, who would prate of cups?


MENALCAS

		You shall not balk me now; where'er you bid,
		I shall be with you; only let us have
		For auditor- or see, to serve our turn,
		Yonder Palaemon comes! In singing-bouts
		I'll see you play the challenger no more.


DAMOETAS

		Out then with what you have; I shall not shrink,
		Nor budge for any man: only do you,
		Neighbour Palaemon, with your whole heart's skill-
		For it is no slight matter-play your part.


PALAEMON

		Say on then, since on the greensward we sit,
		And now is burgeoning both field and tree;
		Now is the forest green, and now the year
		At fairest. Do you first, Damoetas, sing,
		Then you, Menalcas, in alternate strain:
		Alternate strains are to the Muses dear.


DAMOETAS

		"From Jove the Muse began; Jove filleth all,
		Makes the earth fruitful, for my songs hath care."


MENALCAS

		"Me Phoebus loves; for Phoebus his own gifts,




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