Now Daphnis shines, among the gods a god, Struck with the splendours of his new abode. Beneath his footstool far remote appear
The clouds slow-sailing, and the starry sphere.
Hence lawns and groves with gladsome raptures ring,
The swains, the nymphs, and Pan in concert sing.
The wolves to murder are no more inclined,
No guileful nets ensnare the wandering hind.
Deceit and violence and rapine cease,
For Daphnis loves the gentle arts of peace.
From savage mountains shouts of transport rise,
Borne in triumphant echoes to the skies:
The rocks and shrubs emit melodious sounds,
Through nature's vast extent the god, the god rebounds.
Be gracious still, still present to our prayer;
Four altars, lo! we build with pious care.
Two for th' inspiring god of song divine,
And two, propitious Daphnis, shall be thine.
Two bowls white-foaming with their milky store,
Of generous oil two brimming goblets more,
Each year we shall present before thy shrine,
And cheer the feast with liberal draughts of wine;
Before the fire when winter storms invade,
In summer's heat beneath the breezy shade:
The hallow'd bowls with wine of Chios crown'd,
Shall pour their sparkling nectar to the ground.
Damotas shall with Lyctian* Ægon play,
And celebrate with festive strains the day.
Alphesibous to the sprightly song
Shall like the dancing satyrs trip along.
These rites shall still be paid, so justly due,
Both when the nymphs receive our annual vow,
And when with solemn songs, and victims crown'd,
Our lands in long procession we surround.
* Lyctium was a city of Crete.
While fishes love the streams and briny deep,
And savage boars the mountain's rocky steep,
While grasshoppers their dewy food delights,
While balmy thyme the busy bee invites ;
So long shall last thine honours and thy fame,
So long the shepherds shall resound thy name.
Such rites to thee shall husbandmen ordain,
As Ceres and the god of wine obtain.
Thou to our prayers propitiously inclined
Thy grateful suppliants to their vows shall bind.
What boon, dear shepherd, can your song requite? For naught in nature yields so sweet delight. Not the soft sighing of the southern gale, That faintly breathes along the flowery vale; Nor, when light breezes curl the liquid plain, To tread the margin of the murmuring main ; Nor melody of streams, that roll away Through rocky dales, delights me as your lay.
No mean reward, my friend, your verses claim; Take, then, this flute that breathed the plaintive theme Of Corydon; when proud Damotas + tried
To match my skill, it dash'd his hasty pride.
And let this sheepcrook by my friend be worn, Which brazen studs in beamy rows adorn;
This fair Antigenes oft begg'd to gain,
But all his beauty, all his prayers were vain.
My sportive Muse first sung Sicilian strains,
Nor blush'd to dwell in woods and lowly plains.
To sing of kings and wars when I aspire,
Apollo checks my vainly-rising fire.
"To swains the flock and silvan pipe belong,
Then choose some humbler theme, nor dare heroic song."
The voice divine, O Varus, I obey,
And to my reed shall chant a rural lay;
Since others long thy praises to rehearse,
And sing thy battles in immortal verse.
Yet if these songs, which Phoebus bids me writę,
Hereafter to the swains shall yield delight,
Of thee the trees and humble shrubs shall sing,
And all the vocal grove with Varus ring.
The song inscrib'd to Varus' sacred name,
To Phoebus' favour has the justest claim.
Come, then, my Muse, a silvan song repeat.
'Twas in his shady arbour's cool retreat
Two youthful swains the god Silenus found,
In drunkenness and sleep his senses bound;
His turgid veins the late debauch betray;
His garland on the ground neglected lay,
Fallen from his head; and by the well-worn ear
His cup of ample size depended near.
Sudden the swains the sleeping god surprise,
And with his garland bind him as he lies,
(No better chain at hand,) incensed so long
To be defrauded of their promised song.
To aid their project, and remove their fears,
Ægle, a beauteous fountain-nymph, appears;
* The cave of Silenus, which is the scene of this eclogue, is delineated with sufficient accuracy. The time seems to be the evening; at least the song
does not cease till the flocks are folded and the evening star appears.
Who, while he hardly opes his heavy eyes,
His stupid brow with bloody berries dyes.
Then smiling at the fraud, Silenus said,
"And dare you thus a sleeping god invade?
To see me was enough; but haste, unloose
My bonds; the song no longer I refuse;
Unloose me, youths; my song shall pay your pains;
For this fair nymph another boon remains."
He sung; responsive to the heavenly sound
The stubborn oaks and forests dance around;
Tripping, the satyrs and the fauns advance,
Wild beasts forget their rage, and join the general
dance.
Not so Parnassus' listening rocks rejoice,
When Phoebus raises his celestial voice;
Nor Thracia's echoing mountains so admire,
When Orpheus strikes the loud-lamenting lyre.
For first he sung of nature's wondrous birth;
How seeds of water, air, and flame, and earth,
Down the vast void with casual impulse hurl'd,
Clung into shapes, and form'd this fabric of the world.
Then hardens by degrees the tender soil,
And from the mighty mound the seas recoil.
O'er the wide world new various forms arise;
The infant sun along the brighten❜d skies
Begins his course, while earth with glad amaze
The blazing wonder from below surveys.
The clouds sublime their genial moisture shed,
And the green grove lifts high its leafy head.
The savage beasts o'er desert mountains roam,
Yet few their numbers, and unknown their home.
He next the blest Saturnian ages sung;
How a new race of men from Pyrrha sprung; *
Prometheus' daring theft, and dreadful doom,
Whose growing heart devouring birds consume.
* See Ovid's Met., Lib. I.
Then names the spring, renown'd for Hylas' fate,
By the sad mariners bewail'd too late;
They call on Hylas with repeated cries,
And Hylas, Hylas, all the lonesome shore replies.
Next he bewails Pasiphæ, (hapless dame !)
Who for a bullock felt a brutal flame.
What fury fires thy bosom, frantic queen!
How happy thou if herds had never been!
The maids, whom Juno, to avenge her wrong,*
Like heifers doom'd to low the vales along,
Ne'er felt the rage of thy detested fire,
Ne'er were polluted with thy foul desire;
Though oft for horns they felt their polish'd brow,
And their soft necks oft fear'd the galling plough.
Ah, wretched queen! thou roam'st the mountain waste,
While, his white limbs on lilies laid to rest,
The half-digested herb again he chews,
Or some fair female of the herd pursues.
Beset, ye Cretan nymphs, beset the grove,
And trace the wandering footsteps of my love.
Yet let my longing eyes my love behold,
Before some favourite beauty of the fold
Entice him with Gortynian † herds to stray,
Where smile the vales in richer pasture gay."
He sung how golden fruit's resistless grace
Decoy'd the wary virgin from the race.‡
Then wraps in bark the mourning sisters round,§
And rears the lofty alders from the ground.
He sung, while Gallus by Permessus || stray'd,
A sister of the nine the hero led
* Their names were Lysippe, Ipponoë, and Cyrianassa. Juno, to be avenged of them for preferring their own beauty to hers, struck them with madness to such a degree that they imagined themselves to be heifers.
+ Gortyna was a city of Crete. See Ovid's Art. Am., Lib. I.
Atalanta. See Ovid's Metamorph., Lib. X.
§ See Ovid's Metamorph., Lib. II.
A river in Boeotia arising from Mount Helicon, sacred to the Muses.
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