MENALCAS为什么Mopsus,一起都满足,你skilled to breathe upon the slender reeds, I to sing ditties, do we not sit down Here where the elm-trees and the hazels blend? MOPSUS You are the elder, 'tis for me to bide Your choice, Menalcas, whether now we seek Yon shade that quivers to the changeful breeze, Or the cave's shelter. Look you how the cave Is with the wild vine's clusters over-laced! MENALCAS None but Amyntas on these hills of ours Can vie with you. MOPSUS What if he also strive To out-sing Phoebus? MENALCAS Do you first begin, Good Mopsus, whether minded to sing aught Of Phyllis and her loves, or Alcon's praise, Or to fling taunts at Codrus. Come, begin, While Tityrus watches o'er the grazing kids. MOPSUS Nay, then, I will essay what late I carved On a green beech-tree's rind, playing by turns, And marking down the notes; then afterward Bid you Amyntas match them if he can. MENALCAS As limber willow to pale olive yields, As lowly Celtic nard to rose-buds bright, So, to my mind, Amyntas yields to you. But hold awhile, for to the cave we come. MOPSUS 'For Daphnis cruelly slain wept all the Nymphs- Ye hazels, bear them witness, and ye streams- When she, his mother, clasping in her arms The hapless body of the son she bare, To gods and stars unpitying, poured her plaint. Then, Daphnis, to the cooling streams were none That drove the pastured oxen, then no beast Drank of the river, or would the grass-blade touch. Nay, the wild rocks and woods then voiced the roar Of Afric lions mourning for thy death. Daphnis, 'twas thou bad'st yoke to Bacchus' car Armenian tigresses, lead on the pomp Of revellers, and with tender foliage wreathe The bending spear-wands. As to trees the vine Is crown of glory, as to vines the grape, Bulls to the herd, to fruitful fields the corn, So the one glory of thine own art thou. When the Fates took thee hence, then Pales' self, And even Apollo, left the country lone. Where the plump barley-grain so oft we sowed, There but wild oats and barren darnel spring; For tender violet and narcissus bright Thistle and prickly thorn uprear their heads. Now, O ye shepherds, strew the ground with leaves, And o'er the fountains draw a shady veil- So Daphnis to his memory bids be done- And rear a tomb, and write thereon this verse: 'I, Daphnis in the woods, from hence in fame Am to the stars exalted, guardian once Of a fair flock, myself more fair than they.'' MENALCAS So is thy song to me, poet divine, As slumber on the grass to weary limbs, Or to slake thirst from some sweet-bubbling rill In summer's heat. Nor on the reeds alone, But with thy voice art thou, thrice happy boy, Ranked with thy master, second but to him. Yet will I, too, in turn, as best I may, Sing thee a song, and to the stars uplift Thy Daphnis- Daphnis to the stars extol, For me too Daphnis loved. MOPSUS Than such a boon What dearer could I deem? the boy himself Was worthy to be sung, and many a time Hath Stimichon to me your singing praised. MENALCAS 'In dazzling sheen with unaccustomed eyes Daphnis stands rapt before Olympus' gate, And sees beneath his feet the clouds and stars. Wherefore the woods and fields, Pan, shepherd-folk, And Dryad-maidens, thrill with eager joy; Nor wolf with treacherous wile assails the flock, Nor nets the stag: kind Daphnis loveth peace. The unshorn mountains to the stars up-toss Voices of gladness; ay, the very rocks, The very thickets, shout and sing, 'A god, A god is he, Menalcas 'Be thou kind, Propitious to thine own. Lo! altars four, Twain to thee, Daphnis, and to Phoebus twain For sacrifice, we build; and I for thee Two beakers yearly 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