# Eclogues of Virgil (1908)/Eclogue 5

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ECLOGUE V.
DAPHNIS.
Menalcas.Come, Mopsus, now so happily we meet And seem so good a pair, why not remain Resting in shade of elms and hazel copse? Thou canst breathe music from thy reed, and I Can harmonize some verses to thy tune. Mopsus.Nay, thou canst claim, Menalcas, by thine age The rule o'er me; choose thou (I will obey) Whether we rest 'neath changeful shadow here Or in deep shelter stay, in yonder cave— See how 'tis garnished by the wild vine's sprays! Menalcas.I know but one whose fame can vie with thine. Mopsus.Will that one seek to rival Phœbus next? Menalcas.Well, Mopsus, for thy song! first shall it tell Of thy warm love for Phyllis—or the praise Of Alcon, or the scolding Codrus flout? Begin—while Tityrus doth tend the grazing kids. Mopsus.Nay, let me try the songs I lately wrote On a green beech bark, with the notes between. Next, thou canst call Amyntas to the strife. Menalcas.Ah, well! we all do judge thee to excel, Amyntas, as the olive stronger stands Than bending osier, or as low-grown reeds Do yield in beauty to the crimson rose. Mopsus.Enough, my friend, for we have reached the cave.
Song.
"Sore wept the Nymphs at sight of Daphnis slain. O hazel brakes and running rivers, ye Witnessed their sorrow! there whilst she embraced Her son's poor corpse, his mother called to gods And to the stars that pitied not her woe. In those sad days, Daphnis, men did neglect To drive their cattle, as was once their wont To the cool streams—so the four-footed tribe Pined, but in vain, for pasture and for drink. Daphnis, the hills and woods tell wondrous tales How Punic lions mourned at thy decease. Ofttimes, at Daphnis' bidding, men did bind Tigresses of Armenia to his car And worshippers of Bacchus proudly stepped Their tall wands twisted round with foliage soft. The glory of the vine makes fair the elm As do her grapes the vine. Bulls are the pride Of the mild lowing herds: the golden corn Adorns the smiling fields. So thou alone Didst glorify thy race—but—thou art gone! By cruel fate. Since then the land is left By Pales and Apollo, desolate. In the warm furrows, where our barley grew Now spring the barren darnel, and wild oats. Violets have let sharp thistles take their place And thorny shrubs banished Narcissus bright. Oh shepherds! Daphnis bids you strew green leaves ​As carpet o'er the ground, and shade the springs In his remembrance, then to raise a mound And at its summit, just this epitaph— "Lo, here is Daphnis! known in leafy groves As well as in the skies—my flocks were fair But I myself was fairer far than they!" Menalcas.Oh, divine poet! unto us thy song Is like sweet sleep that to the weary steals 'Mid the cool herbage—as refreshing streams To men whose throats are parched with summer heat; In voice and music, thou dost equal now Even thy master—happy youth—indeed Thou may'st be ranked with him. Yet, in my turn If thou wilt listen to a song of mine As best I may, thy Daphnis I'll exalt And raise him to the skies—he loved us too. Mopsus.No higher gift than that, could ye desire; The glorious boy was worthy of the songs; While of your verse, praise have I long since heard. Menalcas (sings)The white-robed Daphnis, now at Heaven's gate Marvels as he beholds—he sees the stars And all Earth's clouds far far beneath his feet. Now reigns gay pleasure in the woods and meads Pan and his shepherds dance with Dryads young. The gentle Daphnis loved both peace and rest. So shall the wolf cease to assault the flock, So shall no toils be set to ensnare the deer, The untilled mountains cry aloud for joy, The rocks, the groves resounding to the cry, ​He is a God, Menalcas, yes, a God! Then show thy fav'ring grace to all thine own, Daphnis! Two altars to thy honour stand As two to Phœbus—yearly shalt thou find Two bowls of frothing milk, two of rich oil, And to make glad the feast, new Chios wine, Shall be poured out—in winter by the fire; Or, if at harvest time, beneath the shade, Œgon shall sing me songs—Damœtas too. Alphesibœus, mimic frisking Fauns, This place is thine alway. When to the Nymphs We pay our vows, and when we mark our fields. While the fierce boar shall haunt the mountain tops While fishes love the floods, and bees suck thyme, Or grasshoppers sip dew, still shall endure Thy honour, Daphnis, and thy glorious name. As do the swains yearly their vows perform To Bacchus and to Ceres, so to thee Shall they be paid; and thou shalt bind them too. Mopsus.And what reward can I bestow on thee For such a song? Neither the whisp'ring wind That gathers in the South, nor breaking wave, Nor rushing waterfalls, can so delight My heart, Menalcas! Menalcas.Take this gift from me, This hemlock-pipe that taught us many tunes. Mopsus.And thou, this crook, adorned with studs of brass Antigenes begged often—but in vain— Though he deserved my love, but not as thou, Menalcas.