Classic Poem

ECLOGUE VIII

A LPHESIBoeUS'S and Damon's muse —
Charmed by whose strife the steer forgot to graze;
Whose notes made lynxes motionless, and bade
Rivers turn back and listen — sing we next:
Alphesibaeus's and Damon's muse.

Winn'st thou the crags of great Timavus now,
Or skirtest strands where break Illyrian seas?
I know not. But oh when shall that day dawn
When I may tell thy deeds? give earth thy lays
That match alone the pomp of Sophocles?
With thee began, with thee shall end, my song:
Accept what thou didst ask; and round thy brow
Twine this poor ivy with thy victor bays
'Twas at the hour when night's cold shadow scarce
Had left the skies; when, blest by herdsmen, hangs
The dewdrop on the grass; that Damon leaned
On his smooth olive-staff, and thus began.

" Wake, morning star! Prevent warm day, and come!
While, duped and humbled, I — because I loved
Nisa with all a husband's love — complain;
And call the gods, (though naught their cognizance
Availed,) at my last hour, a dying man
Begin, my flute, a song of Arcady.

" There forests murmur aye, and pines discourse;
And lovelorn swains, and Pan, who first reclaimed
From idleness the reed, hath audience there,
Begin, my flute, a song of Arcady.

" Nisa — is aught impossible in love? —
Is given to Mopsus. Griffins next will mate
With mares: our children see the coward deer
Come with the hound to drink. Go, shape the torch,
Mopsus! fling, bridegroom, nuts! Thou lead'st a wife
Home, and o'er oeta peers the evening star
Begin, my flute, a song of Arcady.

" Oh, mated with a worthy husband! thou
Who scorn'st mankind — abhorr'st this pipe, these goats
Of mine, and shaggy brows, and hanging beard:
Nor think'st that gods can see what mortals do!
Begin, my flute, a song of Arcady.

" Within our orchard-walls I saw thee first,
A wee child with her mother — (I was sent
To guide you) — gathering apples wet with dew.
Ten years and one I scarce had numbered then;
Could scarce on tiptoe reach the brittle boughs.
I saw, I fell, I was myself no more
Begin, my flute, a song of Arcady.

" Now know I what love is. On hard rocks born
Tmaros, or Rhodope, or they who dwell
In utmost Africa do father him;
No child of mortal blood or lineage.
Begin, my flute, a song of Arcady.

" In her son's blood a mother dipped her hands
At fierce love's bidding. Hard was her heart too —
Which harder? her heart or that knavish boy's?
Knavish the boy, and hard was her heart too.
Begin, my flute, a song of Arcady.

" Now let the wolf first turn and fly the sheep:
Hard oaks bear golden apples: daffodil
Bloom on the alder: and from myrtle-stems
Ooze richest amber. Let owls vie with swans;
And be as Orpheus — Orpheus in the woods,
Arion with the dolphins — every swain,
(Begin, my flute, a song of Arcady)

" And earth become mid ocean. Woods, farewell!
Down from some breezy mountain height to the waves
I'll fling me. Take this last gift ere I die.
Unlearn, my flute, the songs of Arcady. "

Thus Damon. How the other made reply
Sing, sisters. Scarce may all do everything
" Fetch water: wreathe yon altar with soft wool.
And burn rich vervain and brave frankincense;
That I may try my lord's clear sense to warp
With dark rites. Naught is lacking save the songs
Bring, songs, bring Daphnis from the city home.

" Songs can bring down the very moon from heaven.
Circe with songs transformed Ulysses' crew
Songs shall in sunder burst the cold grass-snake.
Bring, songs, bring Daphnis from the city home.

" Three threads about thee, of three several hues,
I twine; and thrice — (odd numbers please the god) —
Carry thy image round the altar-stones.
Bring, songs, bring Daphnis from the city home.

" Weave, Amaryllis, in three knots three hues
Just weave and say " I'm weaving chains of love."
Bring, songs, bring Daphnis from the city home.

" As this clay hardens, melts this wax, at one
And the same flame: so Daphnis 'neath my love.
Strew meal, and light with pitch the crackling bay.
Daphnis burns me; for Daphnis burn these bays.
Bring, songs, bring Daphnis from the city home.

" Be his such longing as the heifer feels,
When, faint with seeking her lost mate through copse
And deepest grove, beside some water-brook
In the green grass she sinks in her despair,
Nor cares to yield possession to the night.
Be his such longing: mine no wish to heal.
Bring, songs, bring Daphnis from the city home.

" Pledges of love, these clothes the traitor once
Bequeathed me. I commit them. Earth, to thee
Here at my threshold. He is bound by these
Bring, songs, bring Daphnis from the city home.

" These deadly plants great Maeris gave to me,
In Pontus plucked: in Pontus thousands grow.
By their aid have I seen him skulk in woods
A wolf, unsepulchre the buried dead,
And charm to other fields the standing corn
Bring, songs, bring Daphnis from the city home.

" Go, Amaryllis, ashes in thy hand:
Throw them — and look not backwards — o'er thy head
Into a running stream. These next I'll try
On Daphnis; who regards not gods nor songs
Bring, songs, bring Daphnis from the city home.

" See! While I hesitate, a quivering flame
Hath clutched the wood, self-issuing from the ash
May this mean good! Something — for Hylas too
Barks at the gate — it must mean. Is it true?
Or are we lovers dupes of our own dreams?
Cease, songs, cease. Daphnis comes from the city home! "