Eclogues, The

<SPAN name="book02"></SPAN> <h3> ECLOGUE II<br/> </h3> <h3> ALEXIS<br/> </h3> <p class="poem"> The shepherd Corydon with love was fired<br/> For fair Alexis, his own master's joy:<br/> No room for hope had he, yet, none the less,<br/> The thick-leaved shadowy-soaring beech-tree grove<br/> Still would he haunt, and there alone, as thus,<br/> To woods and hills pour forth his artless strains.<br/> "Cruel Alexis, heed you naught my songs?<br/> Have you no pity? you'll drive me to my death.<br/> Now even the cattle court the cooling shade<br/> And the green lizard hides him in the thorn:<br/> Now for tired mowers, with the fierce heat spent,<br/> Pounds Thestilis her mess of savoury herbs,<br/> Wild thyme and garlic. I, with none beside,<br/> Save hoarse cicalas shrilling through the brake,<br/> Still track your footprints 'neath the broiling sun.<br/> Better have borne the petulant proud disdain<br/> Of Amaryllis, or Menalcas wooed,<br/> Albeit he was so dark, and you so fair!<br/> Trust not too much to colour, beauteous boy;<br/> White privets fall, dark hyacinths are culled.<br/> You scorn me, Alexis, who or what I am<br/> Care not to ask- how rich in flocks, or how<br/> In snow-white milk abounding: yet for me<br/> Roam on Sicilian hills a thousand lambs;<br/> Summer or winter, still my milk-pails brim.<br/> I sing as erst Amphion of Circe sang,<br/> What time he went to call his cattle home<br/> On Attic Aracynthus. Nor am I<br/> So ill to look on: lately on the beach<br/> I saw myself, when winds had stilled the sea,<br/> And, if that mirror lie not, would not fear<br/> Daphnis to challenge, though yourself were judge.<br/> Ah! were you but content with me to dwell.<br/> Some lowly cot in the rough fields our home,<br/> Shoot down the stags, or with green osier-wand<br/> Round up the straggling flock! There you with me<br/> In silvan strains will learn to rival Pan.<br/> Pan first with wax taught reed with reed to join;<br/> For sheep alike and shepherd Pan hath care.<br/> Nor with the reed's edge fear you to make rough<br/> Your dainty lip; such arts as these to learn<br/> What did Amyntas do?- what did he not?<br/> A pipe have I, of hemlock-stalks compact<br/> In lessening lengths, Damoetas' dying-gift:<br/> 'Mine once,' quoth he, 'now yours, as heir to own.'<br/> Foolish Amyntas heard and envied me.<br/> Ay, and two fawns, I risked my neck to find<br/> In a steep glen, with coats white-dappled still,<br/> From a sheep's udders suckled twice a day-<br/> These still I keep for you; which Thestilis<br/> Implores me oft to let her lead away;<br/> And she shall have them, since my gifts you spurn.<br/> Come hither, beauteous boy; for you the Nymphs<br/> Bring baskets, see, with lilies brimmed; for you,<br/> Plucking pale violets and poppy-heads,<br/> Now the fair Naiad, of narcissus flower<br/> And fragrant fennel, doth one posy twine-<br/> With cassia then, and other scented herbs,<br/> Blends them, and sets the tender hyacinth off<br/> With yellow marigold. I too will pick<br/> Quinces all silvered-o'er with hoary down,<br/> Chestnuts, which Amaryllis wont to love,<br/> And waxen plums withal: this fruit no less<br/> Shall have its meed of honour; and I will pluck<br/> You too, ye laurels, and you, ye myrtles, near,<br/> For so your sweets ye mingle. Corydon,<br/> You are a boor, nor heeds a whit your gifts<br/> Alexis; no, nor would Iollas yield,<br/> Should gifts decide the day. Alack! alack!<br/> What misery have I brought upon my head!-<br/> Loosed on the flowers Siroces to my bane,<br/> And the wild boar upon my crystal springs!<br/> Whom do you fly, infatuate? gods ere now,<br/> And Dardan Paris, have made the woods their home.<br/> Let Pallas keep the towers her hand hath built,<br/> Us before all things let the woods delight.<br/> The grim-eyed lioness pursues the wolf,<br/> The wolf the she-goat, the she-goat herself<br/> In wanton sport the flowering cytisus,<br/> And Corydon Alexis, each led on<br/> By their own longing. See, the ox comes home<br/> With plough up-tilted, and the shadows grow<br/> To twice their length with the departing sun,<br/> Yet me love burns, for who can limit love?<br/> Ah! Corydon, Corydon, what hath crazed your wit?<br/> Your vine half-pruned hangs on the leafy elm;<br/> Why haste you not to weave what need requires<br/> Of pliant rush or osier? Scorned by this,<br/> Elsewhere some new Alexis you will find."<br/></p> <br/><br/><br/> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />