Eclogues of Virgil (1908)/Eclogue 3
ECLOGUE III.
PALÆMON.
Menalcas. Damœtas. Palæmon.
Men.Damœtas, I would know of thee; to whom
Belongs this flock of sheep?—to Melibœus?
Dam.Not so! 'tis Ægon's flock—lately he gave
His sheep unto my care.
Men.A luckless flock!
While with Neæra does their owner play,
Fearing lest she prefer my love to his,
This hireling robs his sheep, for hour by hour,
Twice does he milk the ewes, so cheats their lambs.
Dam.Nay, be not hasty to accuse thy kin;
All know of thee, that thou lett'st Virtue slip
While easy-going Nymphs smiled pleasantly,
But all thy he-goats turned their heads aside.
Men.That was when I stood hacking Micon's grove
With envious hand-bill.
Dam.Yes, or it might be
When thou, amongst the beeches old, did'st break
The bows and shafts of Daphnis: thou didst grieve,
Envious Menalcas, when thou saw'st the gift
Daphnis received, and forthwith thou didst yearn
To do the boy some harm, or die of spite.
Men.We masters must outwit yon thieving knaves—
Ah! rascal! whom I saw catch Damon's goat
Loud tho' the sheep-dog barked! loud though I cried
To Tityrus to guard his flock, but thou didst hide
Among the sedges.
Dam.Nay, but I had won
That goat in rivalry of tuneful pipes—
You might not know it, but that goat was mine,
As Damon did confess, although indeed
He swore he could not give it up to me.
Men.Thou vanquished him in song? Not so, I ween;
When didst thou ever own a wax-joined pipe?
Didst thou not use, poor dunce, to squeak through straws
Murdering a wretched tune, on the cross-roads?
Dam.Well, shall we try, by turns, what each can do?
This heifer young my stake shall be, and lest
Thou should'st refuse, I'll tell thee of her worth.
Twice in the day the milking pail she fills,
Suckling two calves besides! Say now, what stake
Canst thou on thy side show when we contend?
Men.Ah! from our flock I dare not bring thee aught
Fearing the wrath of step-mother and sire;
Each day a careful reckoning they make
Of the whole flock, one of them counts the kids.
But if thou needst must fool, I'll lay a stake
Of greater value far, as thou wilt own,
Even the beechwood bowls, with carving rich
Of god-like Alcimedon: round the edge
Clusters a vine, formed by light graver's tool,
Clothing pale ivy with its scattered fruit.
Two figures in the midst—Conon is one,
The other—who was he who with his staff
Unto the nations of the globe marked out
The various seasons—for the reaper glad,
And bending ploughman. Not yet with my lips
Have I approached them, for I laid them by.
Dam.Yes, for us also Alcimedon carved
Two goblets with the soft acanthus wreathed
Around their handles—Orpheus in the midst
In his own woods, and I have kept them safe
Untouched by any lip. This heifer—see,
Thy cups in worth will not compare with her.
Men.Think not thou canst escape me so, this day,
When thou shalt challenge, then will I appear.
Let but one hear us—ah, Palæmon comes!
No challenge shall be thine, in future days.
Dam.No longer then delay—sing what thou canst.
No hearers do I fear, but, neighbour mine,
Palæmon, give thy utmost mind to this,
For 'tis no trifling matter. Now begin.
Pal.Sing on; whilst on the soft grass we may rest.
Now is the fairest time of all the year,
For now the fields and trees bring forth their buds
And leafy are the woods. Damœtas first—
Menalcas follow—in alternate verse,
For so the Muses love.
Dam.From Jove the Muse begins;
All things are full of him: he guards the earth,
He listens to my songs.
Men.Phœbus loves me,
My gifts he welcomes—bays and hyacinths red.
Dam.Gay Galatea with an apple pelts,
Then flies to hide 'mongst willows, all the while
Desiring to be seen.
Men.Ah, but hear!
Amyntas, of his own accord, to me
Offers his friendship—so our household dogs
Know him as well as Delia.
Dam.For my love
Are plenteous gifts provided; I have marked
The spot where the doves build their lofty nest.
Men.And I have done my utmost; from the tree
Ten golden apples gathered for my boy
And on the morrow, more I mean to send.
Dam.How often did my Galatea whisper words
To my quick ear? Ye winds, I pray you waft
Some portion of them to the listening gods.
Men.Amyntas, though thou do not me despise
What boots it if I needs must guard the nets
Whilst thou canst gaily chase the rushing boar?
Dam.Send Phyllis to me, Iolas—it is
My birthday—come yourself and see
When the young heifer for the crops I slay.
Men.Phyllis I love above all women—she
Wept at my leaving, crying, "Now farewell,
A long farewell to thee, thou charming one!"
Dam.The wolf is fatal in the fold, and so
Are hailstones to ripe corn, wind blasts to trees—
Or—Amaryllis' anger to us all.
Men.How sweet is gentle rain! and to the kids
From mother weaned, the arbutus is good,
So pliant willows to the pregnant kine—
But to my mind, Amyntas reigns alone.
Dam.Our Muse is rustic, yet by Pollio loved
Pierian maid, a heifer feed for him.
Men.Pollio himself makes freshest songs, so feed
For him a bull that can already gore
And spurn the sand beneath his furious feet.
Dam.Where thou dost love to be, O Pollio, there
Let him who loves thee come, and for his joy
Let honey flow amain, let brambles balsam yield.
Men.Who hates not Bavius' songs, he may love thine,
O, Mævius; may yoke foxes, he-goats milk!
Dam.Ye children, picking flowers and low-grown fruit,
Flee hence, for in the grass lurks a cold snake!
Men.My sheep, go carefully—it is not safe
To trust the bank—the ram himself was forced
To dry his fleece.
Dam.Now, Tityrus, keep back
The grazing kids from river-bed, and I
In due time, in the pool will wash them all.
Men.Come, boys, we'll fold the sheep, if the fierce heat
Should, as of late, dry up the flow of milk,
Then vainly would our hands their udders press.
Dam.Alas, how lean of flesh, amidst the tares
My bull has grown! well, love has wrought the same
Ruin, alike to herd and herdsmen both.
Men.Nay, but love certainly is not the cause
With these—why, to their bones they scarcely cling,
What evil eye is cast on my young lambs?
Dam.If thou canst tell me in what lands the sky
Seems but three ells in width, thou shalt to me
Be as the great Apollo oracle.
Men.Rather tell me where I can find the lands
In which flowers bloom, printed with names of kings,
Then Phyllis shalt thou claim, as all thine own.
Palæmon.Such rivalry as yours, I cannot judge
The heifer both of you deserve, and so,
Whoever fears sweet love, or tasted has
Love's bitterness, that one is worthy too.
Lads! it is time to turn the streams aside
The thirsty meadows now have drunk their fill.