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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 VARUS



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

Scattered among the hills that knew them not.

Then sang he of the stones by Pyrrha cast,

Of Saturn's reign, and of Prometheus' theft,

And the