Of Damon and Alphesiboeus now, Those shepherd-singers at whose rival strains The heifer wondering forgot to graze, The lynx stood awe-struck, and the flowing streams, Unwonted loiterers, stayed their course to hear- How Damon and Alphesiboeus sang Their pastoral ditties, will I tell the tale. Thou, whether broad Timavus' rocky banks Thou now art passing, or dost skirt the shore Of the Illyrian main,- will ever dawn That day when I thy deeds may celebrate, Ever that day when through the whole wide world I may renown thy verse- that verse alone Of Sophoclean buskin worthy found? With thee began, to thee shall end, the strain. Take thou these songs that owe their birth to thee, And deign around thy temples to let creep This ivy-chaplet 'twixt the conquering bays. Scarce had night's chilly shade forsook the sky What time to nibbling sheep the dewy grass Tastes sweetest, when, on his smooth shepherd-staff Of olive leaning, Damon thus began. DAMON 'Rise, Lucifer, and, heralding the light, Bring in the genial day, while I make moan Fooled by vain passion for a faithless bride, For Nysa, and with this my dying breath Call on the gods, though little it bestead- The gods who heard her vows and heeded not. 'Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays. Ever hath Maenalus his murmuring groves And whispering pines, and ever hears the songs Of love-lorn shepherds, and of Pan, who first Brooked not the tuneful reed should idle lie. 'Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays. Nysa to Mopsus given! what may not then We lovers look for? soon shall we see mate Griffins with mares, and in the coming age Shy deer and hounds together come to drink. 'Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays. Now, Mopsus, cut new torches, for they bring Your bride along; now, bridegroom, scatter nuts: Forsaking Oeta mounts the evening star! 'Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays. O worthy of thy mate, while all men else Thou scornest, and with loathing dost behold My shepherd's pipe, my goats, my shaggy brow, And untrimmed beard, nor deem'st that any god For mortal doings hath regard or care. 'Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays. Once with your mother, in our orchard-garth, A little maid I saw you- I your guide- Plucking the dewy apples. My twelfth year I scarce had entered, and could barely reach The brittle boughs. I looked, and I was lost; A sudden frenzy swept my wits away. 'Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays. Now know I what Love is: 'mid savage rocks Tmaros or Rhodope brought forth the boy, Or Garamantes in earth's utmost bounds- No kin of ours, nor of our blood begot. 'Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays. Fierce Love it was once steeled a mother's heart With her own offspring's blood her hands to imbrue: Mother, thou too wert cruel; say wert thou More cruel, mother, or more ruthless he? Ruthless the boy, thou, mother, cruel too. 'Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays. Now let the wolf turn tail and fly the sheep, Tough oaks bear golden apples, alder-trees Bloom with narcissus-flower, the tamarisk Sweat with rich amber, and the screech-owl vie In singing with the swan: let Tityrus Be Orpheus, Orpheus in the forest-glade, Arion 'mid his dolphins on the deep. 'Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays. Yea, be the whole earth to mid-ocean turned! Farewell, ye woodlands I from the tall peak Of yon aerial rock will headlong plunge Into the billows: this my latest gift, From dying lips bequeathed thee, see thou keep. Cease now, my flute, now cease Maenalian lays.' Thus Damon: but do ye, Pierian Maids- We cannot all do all things- tell me how Alphesiboeus to his strain replied. ALPHESIBOEUS 'Bring water, and with soft wool-fillet bind These altars round about, and burn thereon Rich vervain and male frankincense, that I May strive with magic spells to turn astray My lover's saner senses, whereunto There lacketh nothing save the power of song. 'Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home. Songs can the very moon draw down from heaven Circe with singing changed from human form The comrades of Ulysses, and by song Is the cold meadow-snake, asunder burst. 'Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home. These triple threads of threefold colour first I twine about thee, and three times withal Around these altars do thine image bear: Uneven numbers are the god's delight. 'Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home. Now, Amaryllis, ply in triple knots The threefold colours; ply them fast, and say This is the chain of Venus that I ply. 'Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home. As by the kindling of the self-same fire Harder this clay, this wa