Complete Works of Virgil Read online

  Alternate strains are to the Muses dear.

  DAMOETAS

  “From Jove the Muse began; Jove filleth all,

  Makes the earth fruitful, for my songs hath care.”

  MENALCAS

  “Me Phoebus loves; for Phoebus his own gifts,

  Bays and sweet-blushing hyacinths, I keep.”

  DAMOETAS

  “Gay Galatea throws an apple at me,

  Then hies to the willows, hoping to be seen.”

  MENALCAS

  “My dear Amyntas comes unasked to me;

  Not Delia to my dogs is better known.”

  DAMOETAS

  “Gifts for my love I’ve found; mine eyes have marked

  Where the wood-pigeons build their airy nests.”

  MENALCAS

  “Ten golden apples have I sent my boy,

  All that I could, to-morrow as many more.”

  DAMOETAS

  “What words to me, and uttered O how oft,

  Hath Galatea spoke! waft some of them,

  Ye winds, I pray you, for the gods to hear.”

  MENALCAS

  “It profiteth me naught, Amyntas mine,

  That in your very heart you spurn me not,

  If, while you hunt the boar, I guard the nets.”

  DAMOETAS

  “Prithee, Iollas, for my birthday guest

  Send me your Phyllis; when for the young crops

  I slay my heifer, you yourself shall come.”

  MENALCAS

  “I am all hers; she wept to see me go,

  And, lingering on the word, ‘farewell’ she said,

  ‘My beautiful Iollas, fare you well.’”

  DAMOETAS

  “Fell as the wolf is to the folded flock,

  Rain to ripe corn, Sirocco to the trees,

  The wrath of Amaryllis is to me.”

  MENALCAS

  “As moisture to the corn, to ewes with young

  Lithe willow, as arbute to the yeanling kids,

  So sweet Amyntas, and none else, to me.”

  DAMOETAS

  “My Muse, although she be but country-bred,

  Is loved by Pollio: O Pierian Maids,

  Pray you, a heifer for your reader feed!”

  MENALCAS

  “Pollio himself too doth new verses make:

  Feed ye a bull now ripe to butt with horn,

  And scatter with his hooves the flying sand.”

  DAMOETAS

  “Who loves thee, Pollio, may he thither come

  Where thee he joys beholding; ay, for him

  Let honey flow, the thorn-bush spices bear.”

  MENALCAS

  “Who hates not Bavius, let him also love

  Thy songs, O Maevius, ay, and therewithal

  Yoke foxes to his car, and he-goats milk.”

  DAMOETAS

  “You, picking flowers and strawberries that grow

  So near the ground, fly hence, boys, get you gone!

  There’s a cold adder lurking in the grass.”

  MENALCAS

  “Forbear, my sheep, to tread too near the brink;

  Yon bank is ill to trust to; even now

  The ram himself, see, dries his dripping fleece!”

  DAMOETAS

  “Back with the she-goats, Tityrus, grazing there

  So near the river! I, when time shall serve,

  Will take them all, and wash them in the pool.”

  MENALCAS

  “Boys, get your sheep together; if the heat,

  As late it did, forestall us with the milk,

  Vainly the dried-up udders shall we wring.”

  DAMOETAS

  “How lean my bull amid the fattening vetch!

  Alack! alack! for herdsman and for herd!

  It is the self-same love that wastes us both.”

  MENALCAS

  “These truly- nor is even love the cause-

  Scarce have the flesh to keep their bones together

  Some evil eye my lambkins hath bewitched.”

  DAMOETAS

  “Say in what clime- and you shall be withal

  My great Apollo- the whole breadth of heaven

  Opens no wider than three ells to view.”

  MENALCAS

  “Say in what country grow such flowers as bear

  The names of kings upon their petals writ,

  And you shall have fair Phyllis for your own.”

  PALAEMON

  Not mine betwixt such rivals to decide:

  You well deserve the heifer, so does he,

  With all who either fear the sweets of love,

  Or taste its bitterness. Now, boys, shut off

  The sluices, for the fields have drunk their fill.

  ECLOGUE IV

  POLLIO

  Muses of Sicily, essay we now

  A somewhat loftier task! Not all men love

  Coppice or lowly tamarisk: sing we woods,

  Woods worthy of a Consul let them be.

  Now the last age by Cumae’s Sibyl sung

  Has come and gone, and the majestic roll

  Of circling centuries begins anew:

  Justice returns, returns old Saturn’s reign,

  With a new breed of men sent down from heaven.

  Only do thou, at the boy’s birth in whom

  The iron shall cease, the golden race arise,

  Befriend him, chaste Lucina; ’tis thine own

  Apollo reigns. And in thy consulate,

  This glorious age, O Pollio, shall begin,

  And the months enter on their mighty march.

  Under thy guidance, whatso tracks remain

  Of our old wickedness, once done away,

  Shall free the earth from never-ceasing fear.

  He shall receive the life of gods, and see

  Heroes with gods commingling, and himself

  Be seen of them, and with his father’s worth

  Reign o’er a world at peace. For thee, O boy,

  First shall the earth, untilled, pour freely forth

  Her childish gifts, the gadding ivy-spray

  With foxglove and Egyptian bean-flower mixed,

  And laughing-eyed acanthus. Of themselves,

  Untended, will the she-goats then bring home

  Their udders swollen with milk, while flocks afield

  Shall of the monstrous lion have no fear.

  Thy very cradle shall pour forth for thee

  Caressing flowers. The serpent too shall die,

  Die shall the treacherous poison-plant, and far

  And wide Assyrian spices spring. But soon

  As thou hast skill to read of heroes’ fame,

  And of thy father’s deeds, and inly learn

  What virtue is, the plain by slow degrees

  With waving corn-crops shall to golden grow,

  From the wild briar shall hang the blushing grape,

  And stubborn oaks sweat honey-dew. Nathless

  Yet shall there lurk within of ancient wrong

  Some traces, bidding tempt the deep with ships,

  Gird towns with walls, with furrows cleave the earth.

  Therewith a second Tiphys shall there be,

  Her hero-freight a second Argo bear;

  New wars too shall arise, and once again

  Some great Achilles to some Troy be sent.

  Then, when the mellowing years have made thee man,

  No more shall mariner sail, nor pine-tree bark

  Ply traffic on the sea, but every land

  Shall all things bear alike: the glebe no more

  Shall feel the harrow’s grip, nor vine the hook;

  The sturdy ploughman shall loose yoke from steer,

  Nor wool with varying colours learn to lie;

  But in the meadows shall the ram himself,

  Now with soft flush of purple, now with tint

  Of yellow saffron, teach his fleece to shine.

  While clothed in natural scarlet graze the lambs.

>   “Such still, such ages weave ye, as ye run,”

  Sang to their spindles the consenting Fates

  By Destiny’s unalterable decree.

  Assume thy greatness, for the time draws nigh,

  Dear child of gods, great progeny of Jove!

  See how it totters- the world’s orbed might,

  Earth, and wide ocean, and the vault profound,

  All, see, enraptured of the coming time!

  Ah! might such length of days to me be given,

  And breath suffice me to rehearse thy deeds,

  Nor Thracian Orpheus should out-sing me then,

  Nor Linus, though his mother this, and that

  His sire should aid- Orpheus Calliope,

  And Linus fair Apollo. Nay, though Pan,

  With Arcady for judge, my claim contest,

  With Arcady for judge great Pan himself

  Should own him foiled, and from the field retire.

  Begin to greet thy mother with a smile,

  O baby-boy! ten months of weariness

  For thee she bore: O baby-boy, begin!

  For him, on whom his parents have not smiled,

  Gods deem not worthy of their board or bed.

  ECLOGUE V

  MENALCAS MOPSUS

  MENALCAS

  Why, Mopsus, being both together met,

  You skilled to breathe upon the slender reeds,

  I to sing ditties, do we not sit down

  Here where the elm-trees and the hazels blend?

  MOPSUS

  You are the elder, ’tis for me to bide

  Your choice, Menalcas, whether now we seek

  Yon shade that quivers to the changeful breeze,

  Or the cave’s shelter. Look you how the cave

  Is with the wild vine’s clusters over-laced!

  MENALCAS

  None but Amyntas on these hills of ours

  Can vie with you.

  MOPSUS

  What if he also strive

  To out-sing Phoebus?

  MENALCAS

  Do you first begin,

  Good Mopsus, whether minded to sing aught

  Of Phyllis and her loves, or Alcon’s praise,

  Or to fling taunts at Codrus. Come, begin,

  While Tityrus watches o’er the grazing kids.

  MOPSUS

  Nay, then, I will essay what late I carved

  On a green beech-tree’s rind, playing by turns,

  And marking down the notes; then afterward

  Bid you Amyntas match them if he can.

  MENALCAS

  As limber willow to pale olive yields,

  As lowly Celtic nard to rose-buds bright,

  So, to my mind, Amyntas yields to you.

  But hold awhile, for to the cave we come.

  MOPSUS

  “For Daphnis cruelly slain wept all the Nymphs-

  Ye hazels, bear them witness, and ye streams-

  When she, his mother, clasping in her arms

  The hapless body of the son she bare,

  To gods and stars unpitying, poured her plaint.

  Then, Daphnis, to the cooling streams were none

  That drove the pastured oxen, then no beast

  Drank of the river, or would the grass-blade touch.

  Nay, the wild rocks and woods then voiced the roar

  Of Afric lions mourning for thy death.

  Daphnis, ’twas thou bad’st yoke to Bacchus’ car

  Armenian tigresses, lead on the pomp

  Of revellers, and with tender foliage wreathe

  The bending spear-wands. As to trees the vine

  Is crown of glory, as to vines the grape,

  Bulls to the herd, to fruitful fields the corn,

  So the one glory of thine own art thou.

  When the Fates took thee hence, then Pales’ self,

  And even Apollo, left the country lone.

  Where the plump barley-grain so oft we sowed,

  There but wild oats and barren darnel spring;

  For tender violet and narcissus bright

  Thistle and prickly thorn uprear their heads.

  Now, O ye shepherds, strew the ground with leaves,

  And o’er the fountains draw a shady veil-

  So Daphnis to his memory bids be done-

  And rear a tomb, and write thereon this verse:

  ‘I, Daphnis in the woods, from hence in fame

  Am to the stars exalted, guardian once

  Of a fair flock, myself more fair than they.’”

  MENALCAS

  So is thy song to me, poet divine,

  As slumber on the grass to weary limbs,

  Or to slake thirst from some sweet-bubbling rill

  In summer’s heat. Nor on the reeds alone,

  But with thy voice art thou, thrice happy boy,

  Ranked with thy master, second but to him.

  Yet will I, too, in turn, as best I may,

  Sing thee a song, and to the stars uplift

  Thy Daphnis- Daphnis to the stars extol,

  For me too Daphnis loved.

  MOPSUS

  Than such a boon

  What dearer could I deem? the boy himself

  Was worthy to be sung, and many a time

  Hath Stimichon to me your singing praised.

  MENALCAS

  “In dazzling sheen with unaccustomed eyes

  Daphnis stands rapt before Olympus’ gate,

  And sees beneath his feet the clouds and stars.

  Wherefore the woods and fields, Pan, shepherd-folk,

  And Dryad-maidens, thrill with eager joy;

  Nor wolf with treacherous wile assails the flock,

  Nor nets the stag: kind Daphnis loveth peace.

  The unshorn mountains to the stars up-toss

  Voices of gladness; ay, the very rocks,

  The very thickets, shout and sing, ‘A god,

  A god is he, Menalcas “Be thou kind,

  Propitious to thine own. Lo! altars four,

  Twain to thee, Daphnis, and to Phoebus twain

  For sacrifice, we build; and I for thee

  Two beakers yearly of fresh milk afoam,

  And of rich olive-oil two bowls, will set;

  And of the wine-god’s bounty above all,

  If cold, before the hearth, or in the shade

  At harvest-time, to glad the festal hour,

  From flasks of Ariusian grape will pour

  Sweet nectar. Therewithal at my behest

  Shall Lyctian Aegon and Damoetas sing,

  And Alphesiboeus emulate in dance

  The dancing Satyrs. This, thy service due,

  Shalt thou lack never, both when we pay the Nymphs

  Our yearly vows, and when with lustral rites

  The fields we hallow. Long as the wild boar

  Shall love the mountain-heights, and fish the streams,

  While bees on thyme and crickets feed on dew,

  Thy name, thy praise, thine honour, shall endure.

  Even as to Bacchus and to Ceres, so

  To thee the swain his yearly vows shall make;

  And thou thereof, like them, shalt quittance claim.”

  MOPSUS

  How, how repay thee for a song so rare?

  For not the whispering south-wind on its way

  So much delights me, nor wave-smitten beach,

  Nor streams that race adown their bouldered beds.

  MENALCAS

  First this frail hemlock-stalk to you I give,

  Which taught me “Corydon with love was fired

  For fair Alexis,” ay, and this beside,

  “Who owns the flock?- Meliboeus?”

  MOPSUS

  But take you

  This shepherd’s crook, which, howso hard he begged,

  Antigenes, then worthy to be loved,

  Prevailed not to obtain- with brass, you see,

  And equal knots, Menalcas, fashioned fair!

  ECLOGUE VI

  TO VARUSr />
  First my Thalia stooped in sportive mood

  To Syracusan strains, nor blushed within

  The woods to house her. When I sought to tell

  Of battles and of kings, the Cynthian god

  Plucked at mine ear and warned me: “Tityrus,

  Beseems a shepherd-wight to feed fat sheep,

  But sing a slender song.” Now, Varus, I-

  For lack there will not who would laud thy deeds,

  And treat of dolorous wars- will rather tune

  To the slim oaten reed my silvan lay.

  I sing but as vouchsafed me; yet even this

  If, if but one with ravished eyes should read,

  Of thee, O Varus, shall our tamarisks

  And all the woodland ring; nor can there be

  A page more dear to Phoebus, than the page

  Where, foremost writ, the name of Varus stands.

  Speed ye, Pierian Maids! Within a cave

  Young Chromis and Mnasyllos chanced to see

  Silenus sleeping, flushed, as was his wont,

  With wine of yesterday. Not far aloof,

  Slipped from his head, the garlands lay, and there

  By its worn handle hung a ponderous cup.

  Approaching- for the old man many a time

  Had balked them both of a long hoped-for song-

  Garlands to fetters turned, they bind him fast.

  Then Aegle, fairest of the Naiad-band,

  Aegle came up to the half-frightened boys,

  Came, and, as now with open eyes he lay,

  With juice of blood-red mulberries smeared him o’er,

  Both brow and temples. Laughing at their guile,

  And crying, “Why tie the fetters? loose me, boys;

  Enough for you to think you had the power;

  Now list the songs you wish for- songs for you,

  Another meed for her” -forthwith began.

  Then might you see the wild things of the wood,

  With Fauns in sportive frolic beat the time,

  And stubborn oaks their branchy summits bow.

  Not Phoebus doth the rude Parnassian crag

  So ravish, nor Orpheus so entrance the heights

  Of Rhodope or Ismarus: for he sang

  How through the mighty void the seeds were driven

  Of earth, air, ocean, and of liquid fire,

  How all that is from these beginnings grew,

  And the young world itself took solid shape,

  Then ‘gan its crust to harden, and in the deep

  Shut Nereus off, and mould the forms of things

  Little by little; and how the earth amazed

  Beheld the new sun shining, and the showers

  Fall, as the clouds soared higher, what time the woods

  ‘Gan first to rise, and living things to roam