THYRSIS.

Sweet are the whispers of yon pine that makes

Low music o'er the spring, and, Goatherd, sweet

Thy piping; second thou to Pan alone.

Is his the horned ram? then thine the goat.

Is his the goat? to thee shall fall the kid;

And toothsome is the flesh of unmilked kids.

GOATHERD.

Shepherd, thy lay is as the noise of streams

Falling and falling aye from yon tall crag.

If for their meed the Muses claim the ewe,

Be thine the stall-fed lamb; or if they choose

The lamb, take thou the scarce less-valued ewe.

THYRSIS.

Pray, by the Nymphs, pray, Goatherd, seat thee here

Against this hill-slope in the tamarisk shade,

And pipe me somewhat, while I guard thy goats.

GOATHERD.

I durst not, Shepherd, O I durst not pipe

At noontide; fearing Pan, who at that hour

Rests from the toils of hunting. Harsh is he;

Wrath at his nostrils aye sits sentinel.

But, Thyrsis, thou canst sing of Daphnis' woes;

High is thy name for woodland minstrelsy:

Then rest we in the shadow of the elm

Fronting Priapus and the Fountain-nymphs.

There, where the oaks are and the Shepherd's seat,

Sing as thou sang'st erewhile, when matched with him

Of Libya, Chromis; and I'll give thee, first,

To milk, ay thrice, a goat—she suckles twins,

Yet ne'ertheless can fill two milkpails full;—

Next, a deep drinking-cup, with sweet wax scoured,

Two-handled, newly-carven, smacking yet

0' the chisel. Ivy reaches up and climbs

About its lip, gilt here and there with sprays

Of woodbine, that enwreathed about it flaunts

Her saffron fruitage. Framed therein appears

A damsel ('tis a miracle of art)

In robe and snood: and suitors at her side

With locks fair-flowing, on her right and left,

Battle with words, that fail to reach her heart.

She, laughing, glances now on this, flings now

Her chance regards on that: they, all for love

Wearied and eye-swoln, find their labour lost.

Carven elsewhere an ancient fisher stands

On the rough rocks: thereto the old man with pains

Drags his great casting-net, as one that toils

Full stoutly: every fibre of his frame

Seems fishing; so about the gray-beard's neck

(In might a youngster yet) the sinews swell.

Hard by that wave-beat sire a vineyard bends

Beneath its graceful load of burnished grapes;

A boy sits on the rude fence watching them.

Near him two foxes: down the rows of grapes

One ranging steals the ripest; one assails

With wiles the poor lad's scrip, to leave him soon

Stranded and supperless. He plaits meanwhile

With ears of corn a right fine cricket-trap,

And fits it on a rush: for vines, for scrip,

Little he cares, enamoured of his toy.

The cup is hung all round with lissom briar,

Triumph of Æolian art, a wondrous sight.

It was a ferryman's of Calydon:

A goat it cost me, and a great white cheese.

Ne'er yet my lips came near it, virgin still

It stands. And welcome to such boon art thou,

If for my sake thou'lt sing that lay of lays.

I jest not: up, lad, sing: no songs thou'lt own

In the dim land where all things are forgot.

THYSIS [sings].

Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song.

The voice of Thyrsis. Ætna's Thyrsis I.

Where were ye, Nymphs, oh where, while Daphnis pined?

In fair PenËus' or in Pindus' glens?

For great Anapus' stream was not your haunt,

Nor Ætna's cliff, nor Acis' sacred rill.

Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song.

O'er him the wolves, the jackals howled o'er him;

The lion in the oak-copse mourned his death.

Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song.

The kine and oxen stood around his feet,

The heifers and the calves wailed all for him.

Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song.

First from the mountain Hermes came, and said,

"Daphnis, who frets thee? Lad, whom lov'st thou so?"

Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song.

Came herdsmen, shepherds came, and goatherds came;

All asked what ailed the lad. Priapus came

And said, "Why pine, poor Daphnis? while the maid

Foots it round every pool and every grove,

(Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song)

"O lack-love and perverse, in quest of thee;

Herdsman in name, but goatherd rightlier called.

With eyes that yearn the goatherd marks his kids

Run riot, for he fain would frisk as they:

(Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song):

"With eyes that yearn dost thou too mark the laugh

Of maidens, for thou may'st not share their glee."

Still naught the herdsman said: he drained alone

His bitter portion, till the fatal end.

Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song.

Came AphroditÈ, smiles on her sweet face,

False smiles, for heavy was her heart, and spake:

"So, Daphnis, thou must try a fall with Love!

But stalwart Love hath won the fall of thee."

Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song.

Then "Ruthless AphroditÈ," Daphnis said,

"Accursed AphroditÈ, foe to man!

Say'st thou mine hour is come, my sun hath set?

Dead as alive, shall Daphnis work Love woe."

Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song.

"Fly to Mount Ida, where the swain (men say)

And AphroditÈ—to Anchises fly:

There are oak-forests; here but galingale,

And bees that make a music round the hives.

Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song.

"Adonis owed his bloom to tending flocks

And smiting hares, and bringing wild beasts down.

Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song.

"Face once more Diomed: tell him 'I have slain

The herdsman Daphnis; now I challenge thee.'

Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song.

"Farewell, wolf, jackal, mountain-prisoned bear!

Ye'll see no more by grove or glade or glen

Your herdsman Daphnis! Arethuse, farewell,

And the bright streams that pour down Thymbris' side.

Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song.

"I am that Daphnis, who lead here my kine,

Bring here to drink my oxen and my calves.

Begin, sweet Maids, begin the woodland song.

"Pan, Pan, oh whether great Lyceum's crags

Thou haunt'st to-day, or mightier MÆnalus,

Come to the Sicel isle! Abandon now

Rhium and HelicÈ, and the mountain-cairn

(That e'en gods cherish) of Lycaon's son!

Forget, sweet Maids, forget your woodland song.

"Come, king of song, o'er this my pipe, compact

With wax and honey-breathing, arch thy lip:

For surely I am torn from life by Love.

Forget, sweet Maids, forget your woodland song.

"From thicket now and thorn let violets spring,

Now let white lilies drape the juniper,

And pines grow figs, and nature all go wrong:

For Daphnis dies. Let deer pursue the hounds,

And mountain-owls outsing the nightingale.

Forget, sweet Maids, forget your woodland song."

So spake he, and he never spake again.

Fain AphroditÈ would have raised his head;

But all his thread was spun. So down the stream

Went Daphnis: closed the waters o'er a head

Dear to the Nine, of nymphs not unbeloved.

Now give me goat and cup; that I may milk

The one, and pour the other to the Muse.

Fare ye well, Muses, o'er and o'er farewell!

I'll sing strains lovelier yet in days to be.

GOATHERD.

Thyrsis, let honey and the honeycomb

Fill thy sweet mouth, and figs of Ægilus:

For ne'er cicala trilled so sweet a song.

Here is the cup: mark, friend, how sweet it smells:

The Hours, thou'lt say, have washed it in their well.

Hither, CissÆtha! Thou, go milk her! Kids,

Be steady, or your pranks will rouse the ram.