THEOCRITUS

Idyll I - The Song of Thyrsis.

Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song!

Thyrsis of Etna am I, and this is the voice of Thyrsis.

Where, ah! where were ye when Daphnis was languishing;

ye Nymphs, where were ye? By Peneus’s beautiful dells,

or by dells of Pindus? for surely ye dwelt not

by the great stream of the river Anapus,

nor on the watch-tower of Etna,

nor by the sacred water of Acis.

Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song!

For him the jackals, for him the wolves did cry;

for him did even the lion out of the forest lament.

Kine and bulls by his feet right many,

and heifers plenty, with the young calves bewailing him.

Begin, ye Muses dear, begin the pastoral song!

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Idyll II - The Sorceress

Where are the bay-leaves, Thestylis, and the charms?

Fetch all; with fiery wool the caldron crown;

Let glamour win me back my false lord's heart!

Twelve days the wretch hath not come nigh to me,

Nor made enquiry if I die or live,

Nor clamoured (oh unkindness!) at my door.

Sure his swift fancy wanders otherwhere,

The slave of Aphrodite and of Love.

I'll off to Timagetus' wrestling-school

At dawn, that I may see him and denounce

His doings; but I'll charm him now with charms.

So shine out fair, O moon! To thee I sing

My soft low song: to thee and Hecate

The dweller in the shades, at whose approach

E'en the dogs quake, as on she moves through blood

And darkness and the barrows of the slain.

All hail, dread Hecate: companion me

Unto the end, and work me witcheries

Potent as Circe or Medea wrought,

Or Perimede of the golden hair!

_Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love_.

First we ignite the grain. Nay, pile it on:

Where are thy wits flown, timorous Thestylis?

Shall I be flouted, I, by such as thou?

Pile, and still say, 'This pile is of his bones.'

_Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love_.

Delphis racks me: I burn him in these bays.

As, flame-enkindled, they lift up their voice,

Blaze once, and not a trace is left behind:

So waste his flesh to powder in yon fire!

_Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love_.

E'en as I melt, not uninspired, the wax,

May Mindian Delphis melt this hour with love:

And, swiftly as this brazen wheel whirls round,

May Aphrodite whirl him to my door.

_Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love_.

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Idyll III - The Goatherd serenade

I pipe to Amaryllis; while my goats,

Tityrus their guardian, browse along the fell.

O Tityrus, as I love thee, feed my goats:

And lead them to the spring, and, Tityrus, 'ware

The lifted crest of yon gray Libyan ram.

Ah winsome Amaryllis! Why no more

Greet'st thou thy darling, from the caverned rock

Peeping all coyly? Think'st thou scorn of him?

Hath a near view revealed him satyr-shaped

Of chin and nostril? I shall hang me soon.

See here ten apples: from thy favourite tree

I plucked them: I shall bring ten more anon.

Ah witness my heart-anguish! Oh were I

A booming bee, to waft me to thy lair,

Threading the fern and ivy in whose depths

Thou nestlest! I have learned what Love is now:

Fell god, he drank the lioness's milk,

In the wild woods his mother cradled him,

Whose fire slow-burns me, smiting to the bone.

O thou whose glance is beauty and whose heart

All marble: O dark-eyebrowed maiden mine!

Cling to thy goatherd, let him kiss thy lips,

For there is sweetness in an empty kiss.

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