Some Longer Elizabethan Poems :: THE ELEVENTH IDILLION .

THE ELEVENTH IDILLION .

Argument.

Theocritus wrote this Idillion to Nicias a learned Physician: wherein he sheweth—by the example of Polyphemus a giant in Sicily, of the race of the Cyclops, who loved the Water Nymph Galatea—that there is no medicine so sovereign against Love as is Poetry. Of whose Love Song, as this Idillion, is termed Cyclops; so he was called Cyclops, because he had but one eye, that stood like a circle in the midst of his forehead.

CYCLOPS.

Nicias, there is no other remedy for Love,

With ointing, or with sprinkling on, that ever I could prove,

Beside the Muses nine! This pleasant medicine of the mind

Grows among men; and seems but light, yet very hard to find:

As well I wote you know; who are in physic such a Leech,

And of the Muses so beloved. The cause of this my speech

A Cyclops is, who lived here with us right wealthily;

That ancient Polyphem, when first he loved Galate

(When, with a bristled beard, his chin and cheeks first clothed were):

He loved her not with roses, apples, or with curlÈd hair;

But with the Furies' rage. All other things he little plied.

Full often to their fold, from pastures green, without a guide,

His sheep returnÈd home: when all the while he singing lay

In honour of his Love, and on the shore consumed away

From morning until night; sick of the wound, fast by the heart,

Which mighty Venus gave, and in his liver stuck the dart.

For which, this remedy he found, that sitting oftentimes

Upon a rock and looking on the sea, he sang these rhymes:

"O Galatea fair, why dost thou shun thy lover true?

More tender than a lamb, more white than cheese when it is new,

More wanton than a calf, more sharp than grapes unripe, I find.

You use to come when pleasant sleep, my senses all do bind:

But you are gone again when pleasant sleep doth leave mine eye;

And as a sheep you run, that on the plain a wolf doth spy.

"I then began to love thee, Galate, when first of all

You, with my mother, came to gather leaves of crowtoe [hyacinth] small

Upon our hill; when I, as Usher, squired you all the way.

Nor when I saw thee first, nor afterwards, nor at this day,

Since then could I refrain: but you, by Jove! nought set thereby!

"But well I know, fair Nymph, the very cause why thus you fly.

Because upon my front, one only brow, with bristles strong

From one ear to the other ear is stretchÈd all along:

'Neath which, one eye; and on my lips, a hugy nose, there stands.

Yet I, this such a one, a thousand sheep feed on these lands;

And pleasant milk I drink, which from the strouting bags is presst.

Nor want I cheese in summer, nor in autumn of the best,

Nor yet in winter time. My cheese racks ever laden are;

And better can I pipe than any Cyclops may compare.

O apple sweet! of thee, and of myself I use to sing,

And that at midnight oft. For thee! eleven fawns up I bring,

All great with young: and four bears' whelps, I nourish up for thee!

But come thou hither first, and thou shall have them all of me.

And let the bluish coloured sea beat on the shore so nigh,

The night with me in cave, thou shalt consume more pleasantly!

There are the shady bays, and there tall cypress trees do sprout:

And there is ivy black, and fertile vines are all about.

Cool water there I have, distilled of the whitest snow,

A drink divine, which out of woody Etna mount doth flow.

In these respects, who in the sea and waves would rather be?

"But if I seem as yet too rough and savage unto thee,

Great store of oaken wood I have, and never-quenchÈd fire;

And I can well endure my soul to burn with thy desire,

With this my only eye, than which I nothing think more trim:

Now woe is me, my mother bore me not with fins to swim!

That I might dive to thee; that I thy dainty hand might kiss,

If lips thou wouldst not let. Then would I lilies bring iwis,

And tender poppy-toe that bears a top like rattles red,

And these in summer time: but others are in winter bred,

So that I cannot bring them all at once. Now certainly

I'll learn to swim of some or other stranger passing by,

That I may know what pleasure 'tis in waters deep to dwell.

"Come forth, fair Galate! and once got out, forget thee well

}

(As I do, sitting on this rock) home to return again!{

But feed my sheep with me, and for to milk them take the pain!{

And cheese to press, and in the milk the rennet sharp to strain!{

My mother only wrongeth me; and her I blame, for she

Spake never yet to thee one good, or lovely, word of me:

And that, although she daily sees how I away do pine.

But I will say, 'My head and feet do ache,' that she may whine,

And sorrow at the heart: because my heart with grief is swoll'n.

"O Cyclops, Cyclops! whither is thy wit and reason flown?

If thou would'st baskets make; and cut down brouzing from the tree,

And bring it to thy lambs, a great deal wiser thou should'st be!

Go, coy some present Nymph! Why dost thou follow flying wind?

Perhaps another Galate, and fairer, thou shalt find!

}

For many Maidens in the evening tide with me will play,{

And all do sweetly laugh, when I stand heark'ning what they say:{

And I somebody seem, and in the earth do bear a sway."{

Thus Polyphemus singing, fed his raging love of old;

Wherein he sweeter did, than had he sent her sums of gold.

Polyphem's Emblem.
Ubi Dictamum inventiam?

Polyphems Emblem

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