by Theocritus
[223] Now towards evening he came his ways unto his den full fed both of flesh and gore, his tangled mane, his grim visage and all his chest spattered with blood, and his tongue licking his chaps. To waylay him I hid myself quickly in a brake beside the woody path, and when he came near let fly at his left flank. But it availed me not; the barbèd shaft could not pass the flesh, but glanced and fell on the fresh green sward. Astonied, the beast lift suddenly up his gory head, and looked about him and about, opening his mouth and showing his gluttonous teeth; whereupon I sped another shaft from the string (for I took it ill that the fist had left my hand to no purpose), and smote him clean in the middle of the chest where the lungs do lie. But nay; not even so was the hide of him to be pierced by the sore grievous arrow; there it fell vain and frustrate at his feet.
[240] At this I waxed exceedingly distempered and made to draw for the third time. But, ere that, the ravening beast rolled around his eyes and beheld me, and lashing all his tail about his hinder parts bethought him quickly of battle. Now was his neck brimming with ire, his tawny tresses an-end for wrath, his chine arched like a bow, as he gathered him up all together unto flank and loin. Then even as, when a wainwright, cunning man, takes the seasoned wild-fig boughs he hath warmed at the fire and bends them into wheels for an axled chariot, the thin-rinded figwood escapes at the bending from his grasp and leaps at one bound afar, even so did that direful lion from a great way off spring upon me, panting to be at my flesh. Then it was that with the one hand I thrust before me the cloak from my shoulders folded about my bunched arrows, and with the other lift my good sound staff above my head and down with it on his crown, and lo! my hard wild-olive was broke clean in twain on the mere shaggy pate of that unvanquishable beast. Yes as for him, or ever he could reach me he was fallen from the midst of his spring, and so stood with trembling feet and wagging head, his two eyes being covered in darkness because the brains were all-to-shaken in the skull of him.
[262] Perceiving now that he was all abroad with the pain and grief of it, ere he might recover his wits I cast my bow and my broidered quiver upon the ground and let drive at the nape of that massy neck. Then from the rear, lest he should tear me with his talons, I gat my arm about his throat, and treading his hind-paws hard into the ground for to keep the legs of them from my sides, held on with might and main till at length I could rear him backward by the foreleg, and vasty Hades received his spirit.
[272] That done, I fell a-pondering how I might flay me off the dead beast’s shag-neckèd skin. ‘What a task!’ thought I; for there was no cutting that, neither with wood nor with stone nor yet with iron. At that moment one of the Immortals did mind me I should cut up the lion’s skin with the lion’s talons. So I to it, and had him flayed in a trice, and cast the skin about me for a defence against he havoc of gashing war.
[280] Such, good friend, was the slaying of the Lion of Nemea, that had brought so much and sore trouble both upon man and beast.”
IDYLL XXVI. THE BACCHANALS
This poem was probably written in honour of the initiation of a boy of nine into the mysteries of Dionysus by a mock slaying-rite. That young children were initiated into these mysteries is clear from a poem by Antistius in the Anthology, which may have been written for a similar occasion; and in Callimachus Artemis asks that her maiden attendants shall be nine years old. In this poem the father describes the slaying of Pentheus by his mother, and takes credit to himself for following her example. The slaying of the boy is the bringing of him to Dionysus, even as the eagles made Ganymede immortal by bringing him to Zeus. The poem is almost certainly not by Theocritus, but such poems may well have figured in the competitions mentioned in line 112 of the Ptolemy.
[1] Three dames led three meinies to the mountain, Ino, Autonoë, and apple-cheeked Agavè, and gathering there wild leaves of the shag-haired oak, and living ivy and groundling asphodel, wrought in a lawn of the forest twelve altars, unto Semelè, three and unto Dionysus nine. Then took they from a box offerings made of their hands and laid them in holy silence upon those altars of their gathering, as was at once the precept and the pleasure of the great Dionysus. Meanwhile Pentheus spied upon all they did from a sleepy crag, being crept into an ancient mastich-tree such as grown in that country. Autonoe saw him first and gave a horrible shriek, and made quick confusion of the sacred things of the madding Bacchus with her feet, for these things are not to be seen by the profane. Mad was she now, and the others were straightway mad also. Pentheus, he fled afraid, and the women, girding their kirtles up about their thighs, they went in hot pursuit. Pentheus, he cried “What would you, ye women?” Autonoe, she cried “That shall you know were you hear it.” Then took off the mother the head of her child and roared even as the roar of a milch lioness, while Ino setting foot upon his belly wrenched shoulder and shoulder-blade from the one side of him, and Autonoe made the other side like unto it; and the other women wrought out the rest of the butchery. And so bedabbled all with blood they carried with them into Thebes in the stead of a kindred wight a kindred woe.
[27] And I care not if they did, and may I take thought for no other that is hated of Dionysus, nay, not if such an one suffer a worse fate than Pentheus and be but a child nine years old or going ten years. As for me, may I be pure and do the will of them that are pure. Thus hath the eagle honour of the Aegis-Bearer. To the children of pious fathers belong the good things rather than to those that come of impious men.
[33] All hail to Dionysus, whom most high Zeus took forth from his mighty thigh and laid down in snowy Dracanus; and all hail to beauteous Semele and her heroine sisters, the far-honoured daughters of Cadmus who did at Dionysus’ bidding this deed that none may blame. Where ’tis a god’s will let no man cavil.
IDYLL XXVII. THE LOVER’S TALK
This poem in its complete form was a match between a shepherd and another whom he had challenged, the stake being the shepherd’s pipe. The missing part comprised the lines introducing the match, the whole of the rival’s piece, and the prelude to the shepherd’s piece. What is left is the main part of the shepherd’s piece, its epilogue, and the award of the umpire. The umpire returns the shepherd his pipe, and adds a compliment in the form of a request that now he will play him another of his tunes, as, not having lost his pipe in the match, he will still be able to do. In the dialogue supposed to be recited, or perhaps to be sung, by the shepherd, one speaker answers the other speaker line for line except in two places where the same speaker has two lines. These exceptions necessary in order to shift the rôle of answerer, have brought about a wrong arrangement of lines 9 and 19 in the manuscripts. The poem may have been ascribed to an imitator of Theocritus. Line 4 he has taken bodily from him.
(The Shepherd tells of the conversation between Daphnis and Acrotimè)
ACROTIME
[1] ’Twas a neatherd like you carried off the wise Helen.
DAPHNIS
[2] Helen is more willing now, for she kisses her neatherd.
ACROTIME
[3] Soft, my satyr-boy, be not so sure; there’s a saying “nought goes to a kiss.”
DAPHNIS
[4] Even in an empty kiss there’s a sweet delight.
ACROTIME
[5] Look ye, I wipe my mouth o’ your kiss and spit it from me.
DAPHNIS
[6] Wipe thy lips, quotha? then give them hither again and have thee another.
ACROTIME
[7] ‘Twere rather becoming you to kiss your heifers than a maiden woman like me
DAPHNIS
[8] Soft you, be not so sure; your youth passes you by like a dream.
ACROTIME
[10] But the grape’s in the raisin, and dry rose-leaves may live.
DAPHNIS (kissing her cheek)
[9] Shall this be suffered to grow old, that is my milk and honey? Pray you come hither under those wild-olives; I would fain tell you a tale.
ACROTIME
[12] Nay, I thank you; you beguiled me before with your pretty tales.
DAPHNIS
[13]Then pray you come hither under those elms and let me play you my pipe.
ACROTIME
[14] Nay; that way you may pleasure yourself; scant joy comes of a sorry ting.
DAPHNIS
[15] Alackaday! you likewise, honey, must e’en fear the wrath of Dame Phaphian.
ACROTIME
[16] Dame Paphian may go hang for me; my prayers are to Artemis.
DAPHNIS
[17] Hist! or she’ll have at thee, and then thou’lt be in the trap.
ACROTIME
[18] Let her have at me; Artemis will help me out.
DAPHNIS
[20] No other maiden escapes Love, nor doest thou escape him.
ACROTIME
[19] ‘Fore Pan, that do I; as for you, I only pray you may ever bear his yoke. (he puts his arm about her and makes to kiss her again) Unhand me, man; I’ll bite thy lip yet.
DAPHNIS
[22] But I fear if I let thee go a worser man will have thee.
ACROTIME
[23] Many the wooers have been after me, but never a one have I had to my mind.
DAPHNIS
[24] Well, here am I come to add one more to those may.
ACROTIME
[25] O friend, what is to do? marriage is all woe.
DAPHNIS
[26] Nay; a marriage is a thing neither of pain nor grief but rather of dancing.
ACROTIME
[27] Aye, but I’m told the wives do fear their bed-fellows.
DAPHNIS
[28] Nay; rather have they ever the upper hand; what should wives fear?
ACROTIME
[29] ’Tis the throes I fear; the stroke of Eileithyia is hard to bear.
DAPHNIS
[30] But thou hast Artemis to thy queen, and she lightens the labour.
ACROTIME
[31] Ah! but I fear lest the childbirth lose me my pretty face.
DAPHNIS
[32] But if thou bear sweet children, thou’lt see a new light in thy sons.
ACROTIME
[33] And if I say thee yea, what gift bring’st thou with thee worthy the marriage?
DAPHNIS
[34] Thou shalt have all my herd and all the planting and pasture I possess.
ACROTIME
[35] Swear thou’lt never thereafter leave me all forlorn
DAPHNIS
[36] Before great Pan I swear it, even if thou choose to send me packing.
ACROTIME
[37] Buildest me a bower and a house and a farmstead?
DAPHNIS
[38] Yea, I build thee a house, and the flocks I feed are fine flocks.
ACROTIME
[39] But then my gray-headed father, O what can I say to him?
DAPHNIS
[40] He’ll think well o’ thy wedlock when he hears my name.
ACROTIME
[41] Then tell me that name o’ thine; there’s often joy in a name.
DAPHNIS
[42] ’Tis Daphnis, mine, and my father’s Lycidas and my mother’s Nomaeë.
ACROTIME
[43] Thou com’st of good stock; and yet methinks I am as good as thou.
DAPHNIS
[44] Aye, I know it; thou art Acrotimè and they father Menalcas.
ACROTIME
[45] Come, show me thy planting, show me where thy farmstead is.
DAPHNIS
[46] Lo! this way it is; look how tall and slender my cypress-trees spring!
ACROTIME
[47] Graze on, my goats; I go to see the neatherd’s labours.
DAPHNIS
[48] Feed you well, my bulls; I would fain show the maid my planting.
ACROTIME
[49] What art thou at, satyr-boy? why hast put thy hand inside on my breasts?
DAPHNIS
[50] I am fain to give thy ripe pippins their first lesson.
ACROTIME
[51] ‘Fore pan, I shall swoon; take back thy hand.
DAPHNIS
[52] Never thou mind, sweet; what hadst thou to fear, little coward.
ACROTIME
[53] Thou thrustest me into the water-conduit and soilest my pretty clothes.
DAPHNIS
[54] Nay; look ye there! I cast my soft sheepskin under thy cloak.
ACROTIME
[55] Out, alack! thou hast torn off my girdle, too. Why didst loose that?
DAPHNIS
[56] This shall be my firstlings to our Lady of Paphos.
ACROTIME
[57] Hold, ah hold! sure somebody’s e’en coming. There’s a noise.
DAPHNIS
[58] Aye, the cypress-trees talking together of thy bridal.
ACROTIME
[59] Thou hast torn my mantle and left me in the nude.
DAPHNIS
[60] I’ll give thee another mantle, and an ampler.
ACROTIME
[61] You say you’ll give me anything I may ask, who soon mayhap will deny me salt.
DAPHNIS
[62] Would I could give thee my very soul to boot!
ACROTIME
[63] O Artemis, be not wroth with a transgressor of thy word.
DAPHNIS
[64] Love (Eros) shall have a heifer of me, and great Aphrodite a cow.
ACROTIME
[65] Lo, I came hither a maid and I go home a woman.
DAPHNIS
[66] Aye, a mother and a nursing-mother, maiden no more.
[67] Thus they prattled in the joy of their fresh young limbs. The secret bridal over, she rose and went her ways for to feed her sheep, her look shamefast but her heart glad within her; while as for him, he betook himself to his herds of bulls rejoicing in his wedlock.
THE UMPIRE
[72] Here, take the pipe, thou happy shepherd; ’tis thine once more; and so let’s hear and consider another of the tunes of the leaders o’ sheep.
IDYLL XXVIII. THE DISTAFF
The Distaff is an occasional poem in Aeolic dialect and the Asclepiad metre, and was almost certainly modelled upon Sappho or Alcaeus. It was written by Theocritus before or during a voyage from Syracuse to Miletus, and presented with the gift of a carved ivory distaff to the wife of his friend the poet-physician Nicias.
[1] Distaff, friend of them that weave and spin, gift of the Grey-eyed Huswife above to all good huswives here below, come away, come away to Neleus’ town so bright and fair, where the Cyprian’s precinct lies fresh and green among the tall soft reeds; for ’tis thither bound I ask of Zeus fair passage, with intent both to glad my eyes with the sight and my heart with the love of a dear good child of the Ladies o’ the Voice of Delight, by name Nicias, and to give you, my pretty offspring of laboured ivory, into the hands of the goodwife of the same, to be her helpmate in the making of much wool into clothes, whether the coats of men or those translucent robes the women do wear. For the fleecy mothers o’ flocks might well get them shorn afield twice in one year for aught Mistress Pretty-toes would care, so busy a little body is she and enamoured of all that delighteth the discreet. Trust me, I would never have given a fellow-countryman it is, seeing you hail from the town of old Archias founded out of Ephyra, the sap and savour of the Isle o’ Three Capes, the birthplace of good men and true.
[19] But now you are to lodge at a wiseacre’s deep-learned in the lore of such spells as defend us of the flesh from woeful ills; now you are to dwell among an Ionian people in Miletus the delectable, to the end that Theugenis’ neighbours may be jealous of her and her distaff, and so you may serve always to mind her of her friend the lover of song. For at the sight of you it shall be said, “Great love goes here with a little gift, and all is precious that comes of a friend.”
IDYLL XXIX. THE FIRST LOVE-POEM
These two poems are inspired, like XII, by a passionate friendship. The first line of No. 1 contains a quotation from Alcaeus, and in both poems metre and dialect point to him or Sappho as the model. The metre in the one case is the fourteen-syllable Sapphic Pentamet
er, and in the other the Greater Asclepiad. As in XII. There is much here that is reminiscent to us of some of the Elizabethan love-poetry.
[1] In sack, out sooth goes the saying, lad, and now that you and I are a-drinking we must fain be men of truth. I for one will tell what doth lie in my mind’s hold, and it is that you will not that I should love you with my whole heart. I know it; for such is the power of your beauty that there’s but half a living left me to love you withal, seeing my day is spent like as a god’s or in very darkness according as you do choose. What righteousness is here, to deliver one that loves you over unto woe? Trust me, if you ‘ld only hearken to your elder ’twould be profit unto you and thanks unto me. Listen then: one tree should hold one nest, and that where no noisome beast may come at it; but you, you do possess one bough to-day and another to-morrow, seeking ever from this unto that; and if one but see and praise your fair face, straightway are you more than a three years’ friend to him, and as for him that first loved you, in three days, lad, you reckon him of those men whose very manhood you seem to disdain. Choose rather to be friends with the same body so long as you shall live; for if so you do, you will have both honour of the world and kindness of that Love who doth so easily vanquish the mind of man and hath melted in me a hart of very iron.
[25] O by those soft lips I beseech you remember that you were younger a year agone, and as we men wax old and wrinkled sooner than one may spit, so there’s no re-taking of Youth once she be fled, seeing she hath wings to her shoulders, and for us ’tis ill catching winged beasts. Come then, think on these things and be the kinder for’t, and give love for love where true loving is; and so when Time shall bring thee a beard we’ll be Achilles and his friend. But if so be you cast me these words to the winds, and say, and say in your heart, “Peace, man; begone,” then, for all I would go now for your sake and get the Golden Apples to fetch you the Watch-dog o’ the Dead, I would not come forth, no, not if you should stand at my very door and call me, for the pain of my woodness would be overpast.
