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Theocritus, Bion and Moschus rendered into English Prose

A >> Andrew Lang >> Theocritus, Bion and Moschus rendered into English Prose




With the kine went continually three hundred bulls, white-shanked,
and curved of horn,--and two hundred others, red cattle,--and all
these already were of an age to mate with the kine. Other twelve
bulls, again, besides these, went together in a herd, being sacred to
Helios. They were white as swans, and shone among all the herds of
trailing gait. And these disdaining the herds grazed still on the
rich herbage in the pastures, and they were exceeding high of heart.
And whensoever the swift wild beasts came down from the rough oakwood
to the plain, to seek the wilder cattle, afield went these bulls
first to the fight, at the smell of the savour of the beasts,
bellowing fearfully, and glancing slaughter from their brows.

Among these bulls was one pre-eminent for strength and might, and for
reckless pride, even the mighty Phaethon, that all the herdsmen still
likened to a star, because he always shone so bright when he went
among the other cattle, and was right easy to be discerned. Now when
this bull beheld the dried skin of the fierce-faced lion, he rushed
against the keen-eyed Heracles himself, to dash his head and stalwart
front against the sides of the hero. Even as he charged, the prince
forthwith grasped him with strong hand by the left horn, and bowed
his neck down to the ground, puissant as he was, and, with the weight
of his shoulder, crushed him backwards, while clear stood out the
strained muscle over the sinews on the hero's upper arm. Then
marvelled the king himself, and his son, the warlike Phyleus, and the
herdsmen that were set over the horned kine,--when they beheld the
exceeding strength of the son of Amphitryon.

Now these twain, even Phyleus and mighty Heracles, left the fat
fields there, and were making for the city. But just where they
entered on the highway, after quickly speeding over the narrow path
that stretched through the vineyard from the farmhouses, a dim path
through the green wood, thereby the dear son of Augeas bespake the
child of supreme Zeus, who was behind him, slightly turning his head
over his right shoulder,

'Stranger, long time ago I heard a tale, which, as of late I guess,
surely concerneth thee. For there came hither, in his wayfaring out
of Argos, a certain young Achaean, from Helice, by the seashore, who
verily told a tale and that among many Epeians here,--how, even in
his presence, a certain Argive slew a wild beast, a lion dread, a
curse of evil omen to the country folk. The monster had its hollow
lair by the grove of Nemean Zeus, but as for him that slew it, I know
not surely whether he was a man of sacred Argos, there, or a dweller
in Tiryns city, or in Mycenae, as he that told the tale declared. By
birth, howbeit, he said (if rightly, I recall it) that the hero was
descended from Perseus. Methinks that none of the Aegialeis had the
hardihood for this deed save thyself; nay, the hide of the beast that
covers thy sides doth clearly proclaim the mighty deed of thy hands.
But come now, hero, tell thou me first, that truly I may know,
whether my foreboding be right or wrong,--if thou art that man of
whom the Achaean from Helice spake in our hearing, and if I read thee
aright. Tell me how single-handed thou didst slay this ruinous pest,
and how it came to the well-watered ground of Nemea, for not in Apis
couldst thou find,--not though thou soughtest after it,--so great a
monster. For the country feeds no such large game, but bears, and
boars, and the pestilent race of wolves. Wherefore all were in amaze
that listened to the story, and there were some who said that the
traveller was lying, and pleasing them that stood by with the words
of an idle tongue.'

Thus Phyleus spake, and stepped out of the middle of the road, that
there might be space for both to walk abreast, and that so he might
hear the more easily the words of Heracles who now came abreast with
him, and spake thus,

'O son of Augeas, concerning that whereof thou first didst ask me,
thyself most easily hast discerned it aright. Nay then, about this
monster I will tell thee all, even how all was done,--since thou art
eager to hear,--save, indeed, as to whence he came, for, many as the
Argives be, not one can tell that clearly. Only we guess that some
one of the Immortals, in wrath for sacrifice unoffered, sent this
bane against the children of Phoroneus. For over all the men of Pisa
the lion swept, like a flood, and still ravaged insatiate, and
chiefly spoiled the Bembinaeans, that were his neighbours, and
endured things intolerable.

'Now this labour did Eurystheus enjoin on me to fulfil the first of
all, and bade me slay the dreadful monster. So I took my supple bow,
and hollow quiver full of arrows, and set forth; and in my other hand
I held my stout club, well balanced, and wrought, with unstripped
bark, from a shady wild olive-tree, that I myself had found, under
sacred Helicon, and dragged up the whole tree, with the bushy roots.
But when I came to the place whereby the lion abode, even then I
grasped my bow and slipped the string up to the curved tip, and
straightway laid thereon the bitter arrow. Then I cast my eyes on
every side, spying for the baneful monster, if perchance I might see
him, or ever he saw me. It was now midday, and nowhere might I
discern the tracks of the monster, nor hear his roaring. Nay, nor
was there one man to be seen with the cattle, and the tillage through
all the furrowed lea, of whom I might inquire, but wan fear still
held them all within the homesteads. Yet I stayed not in my going,
as I quested through the deep-wooded hill, till I beheld him, and
instantly essayed my prowess. Now early in the evening he was making
for his lair, full fed with blood and flesh, and all his bristling
mane was dashed with carnage, and his fierce face, and his breast,
and still with his tongue he kept licking his bearded chin. Then
instantly I hid me in the dark undergrowth, on the wooded hill,
awaiting his approach, and as he came nearer I smote him on the left
flank, but all in vain, for naught did the sharp arrow pierce through
his flesh, but leaped back, and fell on the green grass. Then
quickly he raised his tawny head from the ground, in amaze, glancing
all around with his eyes, and with jaws distent he showed his
ravenous teeth. Then I launched against him another shaft from the
string, in wrath that the former flew vainly from my hand, and I
smote him right in the middle of the breast, where the lung is
seated, yet not even so did the cruel arrow sink into his hide, but
fell before his feet, in vain, to no avail. Then for the third time
was I making ready to draw my bow again, in great shame and wrath,
but the furious beast glanced his eyes around, and spied me. With
his long tail he lashed his flanks, and straightway bethought him of
battle. His neck was clothed with wrath, and his tawny hair bristled
round his lowering brow, and his spine was curved like a bow, his
whole force being gathered up from under towards his flanks and
loins. And as when a wainwright, one skilled in many an art, doth
bend the saplings of seasoned fig-tree, having first tempered them in
the fire, to make tires for the axles of his chariot, and even then
the fig-tree wood is like to leap from his hands in the bending, and
springs far away at a single bound, even so the dread lion leaped on
me from afar, huddled in a heap, and keen to glut him with my flesh.
Then with one hand I thrust in front of me my arrows, and the double
folded cloak from my shoulder, and with the other raised the seasoned
club above my head, and drove at his crest, and even on the shaggy
scalp of the insatiate beast brake my grievous cudgel of wild olive-
tree. Then or ever he reached me, he fell from his flight, on to the
ground, and stood on trembling feet, with wagging head, for darkness
gathered about both his eyes, his brain being shaken in his skull
with the violence of the blow. Then when I marked how he was
distraught with the grievous torment, or ever he could turn and gain
breath again, I fell on him, and seized him by the column of his
stubborn neck. To earth I cast my bow, and woven quiver, and
strangled him with all my force, gripping him with stubborn clasp
from the rear, lest he should rend my flesh with his claws, and I
sprang on him and kept firmly treading his hind feet into the soil
with my heels, while I used his sides to guard my thighs, till I had
strained his shoulders utterly, then lifted him up, all breathless,--
and Hell took his monstrous life.

'And then at last I took thought how I should strip the rough hide
from the dead beast's limbs, a right hard labour, for it might not be
cut with steel, when I tried, nor stone, nor with aught else. {143}
Thereon one of the Immortals put into my mind the thought to cleave
the lion's hide with his own claws. With these I speedily flayed it
off, and cast it about my limbs, for my defence against the brunt of
wounding war.

'Friend, lo even thus befel the slaying of the Nemean Lion, that
aforetime had brought many a bane on flocks and men.'



IDYL XXVI



This idyl narrates the murder of Pentheus, who was torn to pieces
(after the Dionysiac Ritual) by his mother, Agave, and other Theban
women, for having watched the celebration of the mysteries of
Dionysus. It is still dangerous for an Australian native to approach
the women of the tribe while they are celebrating their savage rites.
The conservatism of Greek religion is well illustrated by
Theocritus's apology for the truly savage revenge commemorated in the
old Theban legend.

Ino, and Autonoe, and Agave of the apple cheeks,--three bands of
Maenads to the mountain-side they led, these ladies three. They
stripped the wild leaves of a rugged oak, and fresh ivy, and asphodel
of the upper earth, and in an open meadow they built twelve altars;
for Semele three, and nine for Dionysus. The mystic cakes {144} from
the mystic chest they had taken in their hands, and in silence had
laid them on the altars of new-stripped boughs; so Dionysus ever
taught the rite, and herewith was he wont to be well pleased.

Now Pentheus from a lofty cliff was watching all, deep hidden in an
ancient lentisk hush, a plant of that land. Autonoe first beheld
him, and shrieked a dreadful yell, and, rushing suddenly, with her
feet dashed all confused the mystic things of Bacchus the wild. For
these are things unbeholden of men profane. Frenzied was she, and
then forthwith the others too were frenzied. Then Pentheus fled in
fear, and they pursued after him, with raiment kirtled through the
belt above the knee.

This much said Pentheus, 'Women, what would ye?' and thus answered
Autonoe, 'That shalt thou straightway know, ere thou hast heard it.'

The mother seized her child's head, and cried loud, as is the cry of
a lioness over her cubs, while Ino, for her part, set her heel on the
body, and brake asunder the broad shoulder, shoulder-blade and all,
and in the same strain wrought Autonoe. The other women tore the
remnants piecemeal, and to Thebes they came, all bedabbled with
blood, from the mountains bearing not Pentheus but repentance. {145}

I care for none of these things, nay, nor let another take thought to
make himself the foe of Dionysus, not though one should suffer yet
greater torments than these,--being but a child of nine years old or
entering, perchance, on his tenth year. For me, may I be pure and
holy, and find favour in the eyes of the pure!

From aegis-bearing Zeus hath this augury all honour, 'to the children
of the godly the better fortune, but evil befall the offspring of the
ungodly.'

'Hail to Dionysus, whom Zeus supreme brought forth in snowy Dracanus,
when he had unburdened his mighty thigh, and hail to beautiful
Semele: and to her sisters,--Cadmeian ladies honoured of all
daughters of heroes,--who did this deed at the behest of Dionysus, a
deed not to be blamed; let no man blame the actions of the gods.'



IDYL XXVII--THE WOOING OF DAPHNIS



The authenticity of this idyl has been denied, partly because the
Daphnis of the poem is not identical in character with the Daphnis of
the first idyl. But the piece is certainly worthy of a place beside
the work of Theocritus. The dialogue is here arranged as in the text
of Fritzsche.

The Maiden. Helen the wise did Paris, another neatherd, ravish!

Daphnis. 'Tis rather this Helen that kisses her shepherd, even me!
{147}

The Maiden. Boast not, little satyr, for kisses they call an empty
favour.

Daphnis. Nay, even in empty kisses there is a sweet delight.

The Maiden. I wash my lips, I blow away from me thy kisses!

Daphnis. Dost thou wash thy lips? Then give me them again to kiss!

The Maiden. 'Tis for thee to caress thy kine, not a maiden unwed.

Daphnis. Boast not, for swiftly thy youth flits by thee, like a
dream.

The Maiden. The grapes turn to raisins, not wholly will the dry rose
perish.

Daphnis. Come hither, beneath the wild olives, that I may tell thee
a tale.

The Maiden. I will not come; ay, ere now with a sweet tale didst
thou beguile me.

Daphnis. Come hither, beneath the elms, to listen to my pipe!

The Maiden. Nay, please thyself, no woful tune delights me.

Daphnis. Ah maiden, see that thou too shun the anger of the Paphian.

The Maiden. Good-bye to the Paphian, let Artemis only be friendly!

Daphnis. Say not so, lest she smite thee, and thou fall into a trap
whence there is no escape.

The Maiden. Let her smite an she will; Artemis again would be my
defender. Lay no hand on me; nay, if thou do more, and touch me with
thy lips, I will bite thee. {148}

Daphnis. From Love thou dost not flee, whom never yet maiden fled.

The Maiden. Escape him, by Pan, I do, but thou dost ever bear his
yoke.

Daphnis. This is ever my fear lest he even give thee to a meaner
man.

The Maiden. Many have been my wooers, but none has won my heart.

Daphnis. Yea I, out of many chosen, come here thy wooer.

The Maiden. Dear love, what can I do? Marriage has much annoy.

Daphnis. Nor pain nor sorrow has marriage, but mirth and dancing.

The Maiden. Ay, but they say that women dread their lords.

Daphnis. Nay, rather they always rule them,--whom do women fear?

The Maiden. Travail I dread, and sharp is the shaft of Eilithyia.

Daphnis. But thy queen is Artemis, that lightens labour.

The Maiden. But I fear childbirth, lest, perchance, I lose my
beauty.

Daphnis. Nay, if thou bearest dear children thou wilt see the light
revive in thy sons.

The Maiden. And what wedding gift dost thou bring me if I consent?

Daphnis. My whole flock, all my groves, and all my pasture land
shall be thine.

The Maiden. Swear that thou wilt not win me, and then depart and
leave me forlorn.

Daphnis. So help me Pan I would not leave thee, didst thou even
choose to banish me!

The Maiden. Dost thou build me bowers, and a house, and folds for
flocks?

Daphnis. Yea, bowers I build thee, the flocks I tend are fair.

The Maiden. But to my grey old father, what tale, ah what, shall I
tell?

Daphnis. He will approve thy wedlock when he has heard my name.

The Maiden. Prithee, tell me that name of thine; in a name there is
often delight.

Daphnis. Daphnis am I, Lycidas is my father, and Nomaea is my
mother.

The Maiden. Thou comest of men well-born, but there I am thy match.

Daphnis. I know it, thou art of high degree, for thy father is
Menalcas. {150a}

The Maiden. Show me thy grove, wherein is thy cattle-stall.

Daphnis. See here, how they bloom, my slender cypress-trees.

The Maiden. Graze on, my goats, I go to learn the herdsman's
labours.

Daphnis. Feed fair, my bulls, while I show my woodlands to my lady!

The Maiden. What dost thou, little satyr; why dost thou touch my
breast?

Daphnis. I will show thee that these earliset apples are ripe.
{150b}

The Maiden. By Pan, I swoon; away, take back thy hand.

Daphnis. Courage, dear girl, why fearest thou me, thou art over
fearful!

The Maiden. Thou makest me lie down by the water-course, defiling my
fair raiment!

Daphnis. Nay, see, 'neath thy raiment fair I am throwing this soft
fleece.

The Maiden. Ah, ah, thou hast snatched my girdle too; why hast thou
loosed my girdle?

Daphnis. These first-fruits I offer, a gift to the Paphian.

The Maiden. Stay, wretch, hark; surely a stranger cometh; nay, I
hear a sound.

Daphnis. The cypresses do but whisper to each other of thy wedding.

The Maiden. Thou hast torn my mantle, and unclad am I.

Daphnis. Another mantle I will give thee, and an ampler far than
thine.

The Maiden. Thou dost promise all things, but soon thou wilt not
give me even a grain of salt.

Daphnis. Ah, would that I could give thee my very life.

The Maiden. Artemis, be not wrathful, thy votary breaks her vow.

Daphnis. I will slay a calf for Love, and for Aphrodite herself a
heifer.

The Maiden. A maiden I came hither, a woman shall I go homeward.

Daphnis. Nay, a wife and a mother of children shalt thou be, no more
a maiden.

So, each to each, in the joy of their young fresh limbs they were
murmuring: it was the hour of secret love. Then she arose, and
stole to herd her sheep; with shamefast eyes she went, but her heart
was comforted within her. And he went to his herds of kine,
rejoicing in his wedlock.



IDYL XXVIII



This little piece of Aeolic verse accompanied the present of a
distaff which Theocritus brought from Syracuse to Theugenis, the wife
of his friend Nicias, the physician of Miletus. On the margin of a
translation by Longepierre (the famous book-collector), Louis XIV
wrote that this idyl is a model of honourable gallantry.

O distaff, thou friend of them that spin, gift of grey-eyed Athene to
dames whose hearts are set on housewifery; come, boldly come with me
to the bright city of Neleus, where the shrine of the Cyprian is
green 'neath its roof of delicate rushes. Thither I pray that we may
win fair voyage and favourable breeze from Zeus, that so I may
gladden mine eyes with the sight of Nicias my friend, and be greeted
of him in turn;--a sacred scion is he of the sweet-voiced Graces.
And thee, distaff, thou child of fair carven ivory, I will give into
the hands of the wife of Nicias: with her shalt thou fashion many a
thing, garments for men, and much rippling raiment that women wear.
For the mothers of lambs in the meadows might twice be shorn of their
wool in the year, with her goodwill, the dainty-ankled Theugenis, so
notable is she, and cares for all things that wise matrons love.

Nay, not to houses slatternly or idle would I have given thee,
distaff, seeing that thou art a countryman of mine. For that is thy
native city which Archias out of Ephyre founded, long ago, the very
marrow of the isle of the three capes, a town of honourable men.
{153} But now shalt thou abide in the house of a wise physician, who
has learned all the spells that ward off sore maladies from men, and
thou shalt dwell in glad Miletus with the Ionian people, to this
end,--that of all the townsfolk Theugenis may have the goodliest
distaff and that thou mayst keep her ever mindful of her friend, the
lover of song.

This proverb will each man utter that looks on thee, 'Surely great
grace goes with a little gift, and all the offerings of friends are
precious.'



IDYL XXIX



This poem, like the preceding one, is written in the Aeolic dialect.
The first line is quoted from Alcaeus. The idyl is attributed to
Theocritus on the evidence of the scholiast on the Symposium of
Plato.

'Wine and truth,' dear child, says the proverb, and in wine are we,
and the truth we must tell. Yes, I will say to thee all that lies in
my soul's inmost chamber. Thou dost not care to love me with thy
whole heart! I know, for I live half my life in the sight of thy
beauty, but all the rest is ruined. When thou art kind, my day is
like the days of the Blessed, but when thou art unkind, 'tis deep in
darkness. How can it be right thus to torment thy friend? Nay, if
thou wilt listen at all, child, to me, that am thine elder, happier
thereby wilt thou be, and some day thou wilt thank me. Build one
nest in one tree, where no fierce snake can come; for now thou dost
perch on one branch to-day, and on another to-morrow, always seeking
what is new. And if a stranger see and praise thy pretty face,
instantly to him thou art more than a friend of three years'
standing, while him that loved thee first thou holdest no higher than
a friend of three days. Thou savourest, methinks, of the love of
some great one; nay, choose rather all thy life ever to keep the love
of one that is thy peer. If this thou dost thou wilt be well spoken
of by thy townsmen, and Love will never be hard to thee, Love that
lightly vanquishes the minds of men, and has wrought to tenderness my
heart that was of steel. Nay, by thy delicate mouth I approach and
beseech thee, remember that thou wert younger yesteryear, and that we
wax grey and wrinkled, or ever we can avert it; and none may
recapture his youth again, for the shoulders of youth are winged, and
we are all too slow to catch such flying pinions.

Mindful of this thou shouldst be gentler, and love me without guile
as I love thee, so that, when thou hast a manly beard, we may be such
friends as were Achilles and Patroclus!

But, if thou dost cast all I say to the winds to waft afar, and cry,
in anger, 'Why, why, dost thou torment me?' then I,--that now for thy
sake would go to fetch the golden apples, or to bring thee Cerberus,
the watcher of the dead,--would not go forth, didst thou stand at the
court-doors and call me. I should have rest from my cruel love.



FRAGMENT OF THE BERENICE.



Athenaeus (vii. 284 A) quotes this fragment, which probably was part
of a panegyric on Berenice, the mother of Ptolemy Philadelphus.

And if any man that hath his livelihood from the salt sea, and whose
nets serve him for ploughs, prays for wealth, and luck in fishing,
let him sacrifice, at midnight, to this goddess, the sacred fish that
they call 'silver white,' for that it is brightest of sheen of all,--
then let the fisher set his nets, and he shall draw them full from
the sea.



IDYL XXX--THE DEAD ADONIS



This idyl is usually printed with the poems of Theocritus, but almost
certainly is by another hand. I have therefore ventured to imitate
the metre of the original.

When Cypris saw Adonis,
In death already lying
With all his locks dishevelled,
And cheeks turned wan and ghastly,
She bade the Loves attendant
To bring the boar before her.

And lo, the winged ones, fleetly
They scoured through all the wild wood;
The wretched boar they tracked him,
And bound and doubly bound him.
One fixed on him a halter,
And dragged him on, a captive,
Another drave him onward,
And smote him with his arrows.
But terror-struck the beast came,
For much he feared Cythere.
To him spake Aphrodite, -
'Of wild beasts all the vilest,
This thigh, by thee was 't wounded?
Was 't thou that smote my lover?'
To her the beast made answer -
'I swear to thee, Cythere,
By thee, and by thy lover,
Yea, and by these my fetters,
And them that do pursue me, -
Thy lord, thy lovely lover
I never willed to wound him;
I saw him, like a statue,
And could not bide the burning,
Nay, for his thigh was naked,
And mad was I to kiss it,
And thus my tusk it harmed him.
Take these my tusks, O Cypris,
And break them, and chastise them,
For wherefore should I wear them,
These passionate defences?
If this doth not suffice thee,
Then cut my lips out also,
Why dared they try to kiss him?'

Then Cypris had compassion;
She bade the Loves attendant
To loose the bonds that bound him.
From that day her he follows,
And flees not to the wild wood
But joins the Loves, and always
He bears Love's flame unflinching.



EPIGRAMS



The Epigrams of Theocritus are, for the most part, either
inscriptions for tombs or cenotaphs, or for the pedestals of statues,
or (as the third epigram) are short occasional pieces. Several of
them are but doubtfully ascribed to the poet of the Idyls. The Greek
has little but brevity in common with the modern epigram.

I--For a rustic Altar.

These dew-drenched roses and that tufted thyme are offered to the
ladies of Helicon. And the dark-leaved laurels are thine, O Pythian
Paean, since the rock of Delphi bare this leafage to thine honour.
The altar this white-horned goat shall stain with blood, this goat
that browses on the tips of the terebinth boughs.

II--For a Herdsman's Offering.

Daphnis, the white-limbed Daphnis, that pipes on his fair flute the
pastoral strains offered to Pan these gifts,--his pierced reed-pipes,
his crook, a javelin keen, a fawn-skin, and the scrip wherein he was
wont, on a time, to carry the apples of Love.

III--For a Picture.

Thou sleepest on the leaf-strewn ground, O Daphnis, resting thy weary
limbs, and the stakes of thy nets are newly fastened on the hills.
But Pan is on thy track, and Priapus, with the golden ivy wreath
twined round his winsome head,--both are leaping at one bound into
thy cavern. Nay, flee them, flee, shake off thy slumber, shake off
the heavy sleep that is falling upon thee.

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