Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ECLOGUE 5, by PUBLIUS VERGILIUS MARO


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ECLOGUE 5, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Mopsus, suppose, now two good men have met
Last Line: Brass-tipped and even-knotted -- beautiful!
Alternate Author Name(s): Virgil; Vergil


MENALCAS. MOPSUS.

Me.

MOPSUS, suppose, now two good men have met --
You at flute-blowing, as at verses I --
We sit down here, where elm and hazel mix.
Mo. Menalcas, meet it is that I obey
Mine elder. Lead, or into shade -- that shifts
At the wind's fancy -- or (mayhap the best)
Into some cave. See here's a cave, o'er which
A wild vine flings her flimsy foliage.
Me. On these hills one -- Amyntas -- vies with you.
Mo. Suppose he thought to outsing Phoebus' self?
Me. Mopsus, begin. If aught you know of flames
That Phyllis kindles; aught of Alcon's worth,
Or Codrus's ill-temper; then begin:
Tityrus meanwhile will watch the grazing kids.
Mo. Ay, I will sing the song which t'other day
On a green beech's bark I cut; and scored
The music, as I wrote. Hear that, and bid
Amyntas vie with me.
Me. As willow lithe
Yields to pale olive; as to crimson beds
Of roses yields the lowly lavender;
So, to my mind, Amyntas yields to you.
Mo. But, lad, no more: we are within the cave.
(Sings.) The Nymphs wept Daphnis, slain by ruthless death.
Ye, streams and hazels, were their witnesses:
When, clasping tight her son's unhappy corpse,
"Ruthless," the mother cried, "are gods and stars."
None to the cool brooks led in all those days,
Daphnis, his fed flocks: no four-footed thing
Stooped to the pool, or cropped the meadow-grass.
How lions of the desert mourned thy death,
Forests and mountains wild proclaim aloud,
'Twas Daphnis taught mankind to yoke in cars
The tiger; lead the winegod's revel on,
And round the tough spear twine the bending leaf.
Vines are the green wood's glory, grapes the vine's:
The bull the cattle's, and the rich land's corn.
Thou art thy people's. When thou metst thy doom,
Both Pales and Apollo left our fields.
In furrows where we dropped big barley seeds,
Spring now rank darnel and the barren reed:
Not violet soft and shining daffodil,
But thistles rear themselves and sharp-spiked thorn.
Shepherds, strow earth with leaves, and hang the springs
With darkness! Daphnis asks of you such rites:
And raise a tomb, and place this rhyme thereon:
"Famed in the green woods, famed beyond the skies,
A fair flock's fairer lord, here Daphnis lies."
Me. Welcome thy song to me, oh sacred bard,
As, to the weary, sleep upon the grass:
As, in the summer-heat, a bubbling spring
Of sweetest water, that shall slake our thirst.
In song, as on the pipe, thy master's match,
Thou, gifted lad, shalt now our master be.
Yet will I sing in turn, in my poor way,
My song, and raise thy Daphnis to the stars --
Raise Daphnis to the stars. He loved me too.
Mo. Could aught in my eyes such a boon outweigh?
Song-worthy was thy theme: and Stimichon
Told me long since of that same lay of thine.
Me. (Sings.) Heaven's unfamiliar floor, and clouds and stars,
Fair Daphnis, wondering, sees beneath his feet.
Therefore gay revelries fill wood and field,
Pan, and the shepherds, and the Dryad maids.
Wolves plot not harm to sheep, nor nets to deer;
Because kind Daphnis makes it holiday.
The unshorn mountains fling their jubilant voice
Up to the stars: the crags and copses shout
Aloud, "A god, Menalcas, lo! a god."
Oh! be thou kind and good unto thine own!
Behold four altars, Daphnis: two for thee,
Two, piled for Phoebus. Thereupon I'll place
Two cups, with new milk foaming, year by year;
Two goblets filled with richest olive-oil:
And, first with much wine making glad the feast --
At the fireside in snowtime, 'neath the trees
In harvest -- pour, rare nectar, from the can
The wines of Chios. Lyctian AEgon then
Shall sing me songs, and to Damoetas' pipe
Alphesiboeus dance his Satyr-dance.
And this shalt thou lack never: when we pay
The Nymphs our vows, and when we cleanse the fields.
While boars haunt mountain-heights, and fishes streams.
Bees feed on thyme, and grasshoppers on dew,
Thy name, thy needs, thy glory shall abide.
As Bacchus and as Ceres, so shalt thou
Year after year the shepherd's vows receive;
So bind him to the letter of his vow.
Mo. What can I give thee, what, for such a song?
Less sweet to me the coming South-wind's sigh,
The sea-wave breaking on the shore, the noise
Of rivers, rushing through the stony vales.
Me. First I shall offer you this brittle pipe.
This taught me how to sing, "For one fair face:"
This taught me "Whose flock? Meliboeus's?"
Mo. Take thou this crook; which oft Antigenes
Asked -- and he then was loveable -- in vain;
Brass-tipped and even-knotted -- beautiful!





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