A goatherd, leaving his goats to feed on the hillside, in the charge of t.i.tyrus, approaches the cavern of Amaryllis, with its veil of ferns and ivy, and attempts to win back the heart of the girl by song. He mingles promises with harmless threats, and repeats, in exquisite verses, the names of the famous lovers of old days, Milanion and Endymion. Failing to move Amaryllis, the goatherd threatens to die where he has thrown himself down, beneath the trees.
Courting Amaryllis with song I go, while my she-goats feed on the hill, and t.i.tyrus herds them. Ah, t.i.tyrus, my dearly beloved, feed thou the goats, and to the well-side lead them, t.i.tyrus, and "ware the yellow Libyan he-goat, lest he b.u.t.t thee with his horns.
Ah, lovely Amaryllis, why no more, as of old, dust thou glance through this cavern after me, nor callest me, thy sweetheart, to thy side. Can it be that thou hatest me? Do I seem snub-nosed, now thou hast seen me near, maiden, and under-hung? Thou wilt make me strangle myself!
Lo, ten apples I bring thee, plucked from that very place where thou didst bid me pluck them, and others to-morrow I will bring thee.
Ah, regard my heart"s deep sorrow! ah, would I were that humming bee, and to thy cave might come dipping beneath the fern that hides thee, and the ivy leaves!
Now know I Love, and a cruel G.o.d is he. Surely he sucked the lioness"s dug, and in the wild wood his mother reared him, whose fire is scorching me, and bites even to the bone.
Ah, lovely as thou art to look upon, ah heart of stone, ah dark- browed maiden, embrace me, thy true goatherd, that I may kiss thee, and even in empty kisses there is a sweet delight!
Soon wilt thou make me rend the wreath in pieces small, the wreath of ivy, dear Amaryllis, that I keep for thee, with rose-buds twined, and fragrant parsley. Ah me, what anguish! Wretched that I am, whither shall I turn! Thou dust not hear my prayer!
I will cast off my coat of skins, and into yonder waves I will spring, where the fisher Olpis watches for the tunny shoals, and even if I die not, surely thy pleasure will have been done.
I learned the truth of old, when, amid thoughts of thee, I asked, "Loves she, loves she not?" and the poppy petal clung not, and gave no crackling sound, but withered on my smooth forearm, even so. {21}
And she too spoke sooth, even Agroeo, she that divineth with a sieve, and of late was binding sheaves behind the reapers, who said that I had set all my heart on thee, but that thou didst nothing regard me.
Truly I keep for thee the white goat with the twin kids that Mermnon"s daughter too, the brown-skinned Erithacis, prays me to give her; and give her them I will, since thou dost flout me.
My right eyelid throbs, is it a sign that I am to see her? Here will I lean me against this pine tree, and sing, and then perchance she will regard me, for she is not all of adamant.
Lo, Hippomenes when he was eager to marry the famous maiden, took apples in his hand, and so accomplished his course; and Atalanta saw, and madly longed, and leaped into the deep waters of desire.
Melampus too, the soothsayer, brought the herd of oxen from Othrys to Pylos, and thus in the arms of Bias was laid the lovely mother of wise Alphesiboea.
And was it not thus that Adonis, as he pastured his sheep upon the hills, led beautiful Cytherea to such heights of frenzy, that not even in his death doth she unclasp him from her bosom? Blessed, methinks is the lot of him that sleeps, and tosses not, nor turns, even Endymion; and, dearest maiden, blessed I call Iason, whom such things befell, as ye that be profane shall never come to know.
My head aches, but thou carest not. I will sing no more, but dead will I lie where I fall, and here may the wolves devour me.
Sweet as honey in the mouth may my death be to thee.
IDYL IV
Battus and Corydon, two rustic fellows, meeting in a glade, gossip about their neighbour, Aegon, who has gone to try his fortune at the Olympic games. After some random banter, the talk turns on the death of Amaryllis, and the grief of Battus is disturbed by the roaming of his cattle. Corydon removes a thorn that has run into his friend"s foot, and the conversation comes back to matters of rural scandal.
The scene is in Southern Italy.
Battus. Tell me, Corydon, whose kine are these,--the cattle of Philondas?
Corydon. Nay, they are Aegon"s, he gave me them to pasture.
Battus. Dost thou ever find a way to milk them all, on the sly, just before evening?
Corydon. No chance of that, for the old man puts the calves beneath their dams, and keeps watch on me.
Battus. But the neatherd himself,--to what land has he pa.s.sed out of sight?
Corydon. Hast thou not heard? Milon went and carried him off to the Alpheus.
Battus. And when, pray, did HE ever set eyes on the wrestlers" oil?
Corydon. They say he is a match for Heracles, in strength and hardihood.
Battus. And I, so mother says, am a better man than Polydeuces.
Corydon. Well, off he has gone, with a shovel, and with twenty sheep from his flock here. {24}
Battus. Milo, thou"lt see, will soon be coaxing the wolves to rave!
Corydon. But Aegon"s heifers here are lowing pitifully, and miss their master.
Battus. Yes, wretched beasts that they are, how false a neatherd was theirs!
Corydon. Wretched enough in truth, and they have no more care to pasture.
Battus. Nothing is left, now, of that heifer, look you, bones, that"s all. She does not live on dewdrops, does she, like the gra.s.shopper?
Corydon. No, by Earth, for sometimes I take her to graze by the banks of Aesarus, fair handfuls of fresh gra.s.s I give her too, and otherwhiles she wantons in the deep shade round Latymnus.
Battus. How lean is the red bull too! May the sons of Lampriades, the burghers to wit, get such another for their sacrifice to Hera, for the township is an ill neighbour.
Corydon. And yet that bull is driven to the mere"s mouth, and to the meadows of Physcus, and to the Neaethus, where all fair herbs bloom, red goat-wort, and endive, and fragrant bees-wort.
Battus. Ah, wretched Aegon, thy very kine will go to Hades, while thou too art in love with a luckless victory, and thy pipe is flecked with mildew, the pipe that once thou madest for thyself!
Corydon. Not the pipe, by the nymphs, not so, for when he went to Pisa, he left the same as a gift to me, and I am something of a player. Well can I strike up the air of Glauce and well the strain of Pyrrhus, and the praise of Croton I sing, and Zacynthus is a goodly town, and Lacinium that fronts the dawn! There Aegon the boxer, unaided, devoured eighty cakes to his own share, and there he caught the bull by the hoof, and brought him from the mountain, and gave him to Amaryllis. Thereon the women shrieked aloud, and the neatherd,--he burst out laughing.
Battus. Ah, gracious Amaryllis! Thee alone even in death will we ne"er forget. Dear to me as my goats wert thou, and thou art dead!
Alas, too cruel a spirit hath my lot in his keeping.
Corydon. Dear Battus, thou must needs be comforted. The morrow perchance will bring better fortune. The living may hope, the dead alone are hopeless. Zeus now shows bright and clear, and anon he rains.
Battus. Enough of thy comforting! Drive the calves from the lower ground, the cursed beasts are grazing on the olive-shoots. Hie on, white face.
Corydon. Out, Cymaetha, get thee to the hill! Dost thou not hear?
By Pan, I will soon come and be the death of you, if you stay there!
Look, here she is creeping back again! Would I had my crook for hare killing: how I would cudgel thee.
Battus. In the name of Zeus, prithee look here, Corydon! A thorn has just run into my foot under the ankle. How deep they grow, the arrow-headed thorns. An ill end befall the heifer; I was p.r.i.c.ked when I was gaping after her. Prithee dost see it?