To Pollio Damon Alphesiboeus

Of Damon and Alphesiboeus now,Those shepherd-singers at whose rival strainsThe heifer wondering forgot to graze,The lynx stood awe-struck, and the flowing streams,Unwonted loiterers, stayed their course to hear-How Damon and Alphesiboeus sangTheir pastoral ditties, will I tell the tale.

Thou, whether broad Timavus' rocky banksThou now art passing, or dost skirt the shoreOf the Illyrian main,- will ever dawnThat day when I thy deeds may celebrate,Ever that day when through the whole wide worldI may renown thy verse- that verse aloneOf Sophoclean buskin worthy found?With thee began, to thee shall end, the strain.Take thou these songs that owe their birth to thee,And deign around thy temples to let creepThis ivy-chaplet 'twixt the conquering bays.

Scarce had night's chilly shade forsook the skyWhat time to nibbling sheep the dewy grassTastes sweetest, when, on his smooth shepherd-staffOf olive leaning, Damon thus began.

"Rise, Lucifer, and, heralding the light,Bring in the genial day, while I make moanFooled by vain passion for a faithless bride,For Nysa, and with this my dying breathCall on the gods, though little it bestead-The gods who heard her vows and heeded not.

"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.Ever hath Maenalus his murmuring grovesAnd whispering pines, and ever hears the songsOf love-lorn shepherds, and of Pan, who firstBrooked not the tuneful reed should idle lie.

"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.Nysa to Mopsus given! what may not thenWe lovers look for? soon shall we see mateGriffins with mares, and in the coming ageShy deer and hounds together come to drink.

"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.Now, Mopsus, cut new torches, for they bringYour bride along; now, bridegroom, scatter nuts:Forsaking Oeta mounts the evening star!

"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.O worthy of thy mate, while all men elseThou scornest, and with loathing dost beholdMy shepherd's pipe, my goats, my shaggy brow,And untrimmed beard, nor deem'st that any godFor mortal doings hath regard or care.

"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.Once with your mother, in our orchard-garth,A little maid I saw you- I your guide-Plucking the dewy apples. My twelfth yearI scarce had entered, and could barely reachThe brittle boughs. I looked, and I was lost;A sudden frenzy swept my wits away.

"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.Now know I what Love is: 'mid savage rocksTmaros or Rhodope brought forth the boy,Or Garamantes in earth's utmost bounds-No kin of ours, nor of our blood begot.

"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.Fierce Love it was once steeled a mother's heartWith her own offspring's blood her hands to imbrue:Mother, thou too wert cruel; say wert thouMore cruel, mother, or more ruthless he?Ruthless the boy, thou, mother, cruel too.

"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.Now let the wolf turn tail and fly the sheep,Tough oaks bear golden apples, alder-treesBloom with narcissus-flower, the tamariskSweat with rich amber, and the screech-owl vieIn singing with the swan: let TityrusBe Orpheus, Orpheus in the forest-glade,Arion 'mid his dolphins on the deep.

"Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.Yea, be the whole earth to mid-ocean turned!Farewell, ye woodlands I from the tall peakOf yon aerial rock will headlong plungeInto the billows: this my latest gift,From dying lips bequeathed thee, see thou keep.Cease now, my flute, now cease Maenalian lays."

Thus Damon: but do ye, Pierian Maids-We cannot all do all things- tell me howAlphesiboeus to his strain replied.

"Bring water, and with soft wool-fillet bindThese altars round about, and burn thereonRich vervain and male frankincense, that IMay strive with magic spells to turn astrayMy lover's saner senses, whereuntoThere lacketh nothing save the power of song.

"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.Songs can the very moon draw down from heavenCirce with singing changed from human formThe comrades of Ulysses, and by songIs the cold meadow-snake, asunder burst.

"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.These triple threads of threefold colour firstI twine about thee, and three times withalAround these altars do thine image bear:Uneven numbers are the god's delight.

"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.Now, Amaryllis, ply in triple knotsThe threefold colours; ply them fast, and sayThis is the chain of Venus that I ply.

"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.As by the kindling of the self-same fireHarder this clay, this wax the softer grows,So by my love may Daphnis; sprinkle meal,And with bitumen burn the brittle bays.Me Daphnis with his cruelty doth burn,I to melt cruel Daphnis burn this bay.

"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.As when some heifer, seeking for her steerThrough woodland and deep grove, sinks wearied outOn the green sedge beside a stream, love-lorn,Nor marks the gathering night that calls her home-As pines that heifer, with such love as hersMay Daphnis pine, and I not care to heal.

"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.These relics once, dear pledges of himself,The traitor left me, which, O earth, to theeHere on this very threshold I commit-Pledges that bind him to redeem the debt.

"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.These herbs of bane to me did Moeris give,In Pontus culled, where baneful herbs abound.With these full oft have I seen Moeris changeTo a wolf's form, and hide him in the woods,Oft summon spirits from the tomb's recess,And to new fields transport the standing corn.

"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.Take ashes, Amaryllis, fetch them forth,And o'er your head into the running brookFling them, nor look behind: with these willUpon the heart of Daphnis make essay.Nothing for gods, nothing for songs cares he.

"Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.Look, look I the very embers of themselvesHave caught the altar with a flickering flame,While I delay to fetch them: may the signProve lucky! something it must mean, for sure,And Hylax on the threshold 'gins to bark!May we believe it, or are lovers stillBy their own fancies fooled?

Give o'er, my songs,Daphnis is coming from the town, give o'er."