# Eclogues of Virgil (1908)/Eclogue 2

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ECLOGUE II.
ALEXIS.
The Shepherd Corydon felt truest love For fair Alexis, but found no return Of his fond friendship, for the youth had gained His master's favour; still the faithful swain Would tell his sorrow to the hills and woods Wand'ring beneath the beech trees' kindly shade. "Cruel Alexis, dost not love my songs? No pity hast thou? Must I now expire? Even the cattle seek the coolest shade And spiny thickets hide the lizards green. For the tired reapers, spent with ardent heat Thestylis crushes garlic, fragrant herbs And sweet wild thyme: but I, companionless, Under the blazing sun, thy footsteps track, Whilst with shrill crickets' chirp the grove resounds. Were it not better to endure the scorn Of Amaryllis, and her gloomy ire? Or dark Menalcas, dark as thou art fair? O charming boy, trust not too much thy looks. See the white privet blossom quickly shed, And the dark hyacinths, so gladly plucked. Thou dost neglect me, nor dost even stoop ​To ask who I may be, nor what my wealth In white-fleeced flocks—or in abundant milk. My thousand Iambs wander on Sicily's hills: Fresh milk I lack not all the rolling year. The airs Amphion loved, I often sing, Calling the herds together, and, indeed My looks are pleasant: lately on the shore In the still mirror of the sea I saw My image, truly now I do not fear The rivalry of Daphnis—be thou judge. Oh that thou wouldst be pleased to dwell with me In humble cot, to chase the graceful stags Or drive the kids, where the green mallows grow. Then in the woods thou mightest sing me songs To rival Pan himself. He first taught men With wax to join together several reeds. Pan guards our sheep, and faithful Shepherds too. Scorn not to put thy lips to pastoral pipes Whose art Amqutas gained with toil and pain. Damœtas, dying, gave to me his pipe Formed of seven reeds, all of unequal length— Saying, "Its second master now thou art." Foolish Amqutas envies me the gift. Besides these treasures, I possess two fawns. In a steep-sided valley they were found Already showing coats of dappled white— Twice daily do they drain a she-goat's milk These I could give thee—they were coveted By Thestylis long since—and thou dost scorn ​My gifts—so she shall have them for her own. Come hither boy; look at the Nymph's rich gifts— The baskets full of lilies, and the pale Violets that water-nymphs for thee have plucked With poppy-heads, and scented anise flowers, Narcissus too; twining them with the blooms Of Cassia, and fragrant herbs, as well— Spangling the clustered hyacinths with gold Of yellow Caltha. While for fruits, myself Will pluck for thee the downy quince, and too, The chestnuts which my Amaryllis loved. These wax-like plums shall also honoured be. To mingle all the sweets, I'll gather next The scented laurels, and the myrtles rich. Corydon, rustic boor, the gentle swain Alexis scorns thy presents—not to say That Iolas bears off the palm in gifts. Alas! alas! what madness seizes me? How I have wrecked the garden of my soul And on my fountains clear, loosed savage swine? From whom dost flee, thou madman, knowst thou not Gods dwell in woods, and Trojan Paris too. Pallas may hold the towers herself has built; For us, the woods shall be our chief delight. Wolves are pursued by lions, goats by wolves, Whilst in their turn, the goats devour the thyme. And so, Alexis, Corydon seeks thee— To please his fancy. See the evening comes— The oxen draw the ploughs, hung from the yoke, ​Their labour o'er, and now the sinking sun Lengthens the shadows—yet I still must love. And who would bound the power of faithful love? Still, I am foolish, wasting hours that should Be spent in training vines to leafy elms, Or weaving rushes soft and osiers strong Into things useful for my daily work. —Alexis scorns—I'll seek another friend.