# Eclogues and Georgics (Mackail 1910)/Eclogue 8

Layout 2
ECLOGUE VIII.—THE SORCERESS.
Damon. Alphesiboeus.
The Muse of the shepherds Damon and Alphesiboeus, at whose strife the wondering heifer forgot the grass, at whose song the lynx stood breathless and the changed streams stilled their current, the Muse of Damon and Alphesiboeus we will tell.
Thou, my friend, whether thou climbest now great Timavus' rocks or dost skirt the coast of the Illyrian sea, ah shall ever the day come when I may tell of thy deeds? ah shall it come that I may blason over all the world thy strains that alone challenge the buskin of Sophocles? From thee I began; in thee shall I cease: take the songs that were ​essayed at thy commands, and let this ivy curl among the conqueror's laurel around thy brows.
The chill shadow of night had hardly retreated from the sky, when the dew on the tender grass is sweetest to the flock: Damon, leaning on his smooth olive-staff, thus began:
Rise, Morning Star, and herald in the gracious day, while, beguiled by Love's tyranny, I complain over Nisa the bride, and though it has availed me nothing that the gods were witnesses, yet in this utmost hour call on them as I die.
Begin with me, my flute, the verses of Maenalus.
Maenalus ever keeps his vocal forest and talking pines: ever he hears the loves of shepherds, and Pan who of yore would not let the reeds lie idle.
Begin with me, my flute, the verses of Maenalus.
Mopsus gets Nisa: what may we lovers not look for? now will gryphons couple with horses, and in following time shy fallow deer come with the hounds to drink. Mopsus, cut fresh torches: for thee the wife is led home. Scatter nuts, O bridegroom: for thee Oeta lets free the Evening Star.
Begin with me, my flute, the verses of Maenalus.
O wedded to thy mate! while thou scornest all the world, and while my pipe and while my she-goats annoy thee, and my shaggy eyebrows and untrimmed beard, nor fanciest thou that any god cares for human things.
Begin with me, my flute, the verses of Maenalus.
In our orchard-close I saw thee, a little girl with her mother—I guided you both—gathering apples ​wet with dew: the next year after eleven had just received me: I could just reach the brittle branches from the ground. As I saw, how I perished, how the fatal craze swept me away!
Begin with me, my flute, the verses of Maenalus.
Now I know what Love is: on iron flints of Tmaros or Rhodope or the utmost Garamants is he born, no child of our kin or blood.
Begin with me, my flute, the verses of Maenalus.
Fierce Love taught the mother to dabble her hands with her children's blood: cruel thou too, O mother! Crueller the mother or the boy insatiate? insatiate the boy; cruel thou too, O mother!
Begin with me, my flute, the verses of Maenalus.
Now even let the wolf flee unchased before the sheep; let gnarled oaks bear apples of gold: let the alder flower into narcissus, and rich amber ooze from tamarisk bark: yes, let screech-owls vie with swans, let Tityrus be Orpheus, Orpheus in the forest, Arion among the dolphin shoals—
Begin with me, my flute, the verses of Maenalus.
Even let mid-ocean cover all. Farewell, O woodlands! from my watchtower aloft on the hill I will plunge headlong into the waves: keep thou this my last gift as I die.
Cease, O flute, cease now the verses of Maenalus.
Thus Damon: you, maidens of Pieria, tell of Alphesiboeus' reply: we cannot all do everything.
Fetch water forth, and twine the altars here with the soft fillet, and bum resinous twigs and male frankincense, that I may try by magic rites ​to turn my lover's sense from sanity: nothing is wanting now but the songs.
Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home.
Songs have might even to draw down the moon from heaven: with songs Circe transformed the crew of Ulysses: by singing the cold snake is burst asunder in the meadows.
Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home.
Threefold first I twine about thee these diverse triple-hued threads, and thrice round these altars I draw thine image: an odd number is god's delight.
Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home.
Tie the threefold colours in three knots, Amaryllis, but tie them: and say, 'I tie Venus' bands.'
Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home.
As this clay stiffens and as this wax softens in one and the selfsame fire, so let Daphnis do for love of me. Sprinkle barley-meal, and kindle the brittle bay-twigs with bitumen. Cruel Daphnis burns me: I burn this bay at Daphnis.
Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home.
So may Daphnis love, as when the heifer, weary with seeking the steer through woodland and high grove, sinks on the green sedge by a water brook, in misery, and recks not to retire before the falling ​night: so may love hold him, nor may I care to heal.
Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home.
This dress he wore of old the traitor left me, dear pledges of himself: which now I even in the doorway, O earth, commit to thee: for these pledges Daphnis is the debt.
Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home.
These herbs, and these poisons gathered in Pontus, Moeris himself gave me; in Pontus they grow thickest. By their might I have often seen Moeris become a wolf and plunge into the forest, often seen him call up souls from their deep graves, and transplant the harvests to where they were not sown.
Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home.
Fetch ashes, Amaryllis, out of doors, and fling them across thy head into the running brook: and look not back. With these I will assail Daphnis: nothing cares he for gods, nothing for songs.
Draw from the city, my songs, draw Daphnis home.
See! the embers on the altar have caught with a flickering flame, themselves, of their own accord, while I delay to fetch them. Be it for good! something there is for sure; and Hylax barks in the doorway. May we believe? or do lovers fashion dreams of their own?
​Forbear: from the city, forbear now, my songs, Daphnis comes.