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'Take this,' the dying shepherd said,' for none
Inherits all my skill but thou alone/
He said; Amyntas murmurs at my praise,
And with an envious eye the gift surveys.
Besides, as presents for my soul's delight
Two beauteous kids I keep, bestreak'd with white,
Nourished with care, nor purchased without pain \
An ewe's full udder twice a day they drain,
These to obtain oft Thestylis hath tried
Each winning art, while I her suit denied:
But I at last shall yield what she requests,
Since thy relentless pride my gifts detests.

Come, beauteous boy, and bless my rural boweri,
For thee the nymphs collect the choicest flowers:
Fair Naiis culls amid the blooming dale
The drooping poppy, and the violet pale,
To marygolds the hyacinth applies,
Shading the glossy with the tawny dies:
Narcissus* flower with daffodil entwined,
And Cassia's breathing sweets to these are join'd,
With every bloom that paints the vernal grove,
And all to form a garland for my love.
Myself with sweetest fruits will crown thy feast;
The luscious peach shall gratify thy taste.
And chesnut brown (once high in my regard,
For Amaryllis this to all preferr'd;
But if the blushing plum thy choice thou make,
The plum shall more be valued for thy sake).
The myrtie wreath'd with laurel shall exhale
A blended fragrance to delight thy smell.

Ah, Corydon! thou rustic,simple swain! Thyself, thy prayers, thy offers all are vain. How few, compared with rich Iolas' store, Thy boasted gifts, and all thy wealth how poor, Wreteh that I am! while thus I pine forlorn, Anu 3.11 the live-long day inactive mourn,

The boars have laid my silver fountains waste,
My flowers are fading in the southern blast,—
Fly'st thou, ah foolish boy, the lonesome grove?
Yet gods for this have left the realm above.
Paris with scorn the pomp of Troy survey'd,
And sought th' ldaean bowers and peaceful shade.
In her proud palaces let Pallas shine;
The lowly woods and rural life be mine.
The lioness all dreadful in her course
Pursues the wolf, and he with headlong force
Flies at the wanton goat, that loves to climb
The cliffs steep side, and crop the flowering thyme,
Thee Corydon pursues, O beauteous boy:
Thus each is drawn along by some peculiar joy.

Now evening soft comes on; and homeward now
From field the weary oxen bear the plough.
The setting sun now beams more mildly bright,
The shadows lengthening with the level light,
While with love's flame my restless bosom glows,
For love no interval of ease allows.
Ah, Corydoai! to weak complaints a prey!
What madness thus to waste the fleeting day!
Be roused at length; thy half pruned vines demand
The needful culture of thy curbing hand.
Haste, lingering swain, the flexile willows weave,
And with thy wonted care thy wants relieve.
Forget Alexis' unrelenting scorn,
Another love thy passion will return.



To whom belongs this flock, Damcetas, pray:
To Meliboeus?

No: the other day
The shepherd jEgon gave it me to keep.

Ah still neglected, still unhappy sheop !f
He plies Neaera with assiduous love,
And fears lest she my happier flame approve;
Meanwhile this hireling wretch (disgrace to swains!)
Defrauds his master, and purloins his gains,
Milks twice an hour, and drains the famish'd dams,
Whose empty dugs in vain attract the lambs.

Damcetas. Forbear, on men such language to bestow. Thee, stain of manhood! thee, full well I know. I know, with whom—and where—$ (their grove defiled The nymphs revenged not, but indulgent smiled) And how the goats beheld, then browsing near, The shameful sight with a lascivious leer.

* The contending shepherds, Menalcas and Damcetas, together with their umpire Palwmon, are seated on the grass, not far from s row of beech-trees. Flocks are seen feeding hard by. The time of the day seems to be noon, the season between spring and summer.

t Throughout the whole of this altercation, notwithstanding the an* toward subject, the reader will find in the original such a happy union of simplicity and for e of expression, and harmony of verse, a> U if »ain to look for in an English translation.

( The abruptness and obscuriiy of the original is here imitated.

No doubt, when Mycon's tender trees I broke,
Aud gash'd his young vines with a blunted hook.

Or when, conceal'd behind this ancient row
Of beech, you broke young Daphnis' shafts and bow,
With sharpest pangs of rancorous anguish stung
To see the gift conferr'd on one so young:
And had you not thus wreak'd your sordid spite,
Of very envy you had died outright.

Gods! what may masters dare, when such a pitch
Of impudence their thievish hirelings reach:
Did I not, wretch (deny it if you dare),
Did I not see you Damon's goat ensnare?
Lycisca bark'd; then I the felon spied,
And * Whither slinks yon sneaking thief?' I cried.
The thief discover'd straight his prey forsook,
And sculk'd amid the sedges of the brook.

That goat my pipe from Damon fairly gainM ,
A match was set, and I the prize obtain'd.
He own'd it due to my superior skill,
And yet refused his bargain to fulfil.

By your superior skill the goat was won!
Have you a jointed pipe, indecent clown!
Whose whizzing straws with hars' est discord jarrM,
As in the streets your wretched rhymes you marr'd*

Damotfas. Boasts are but vain. I'm ready, when you will, To make a solemn trial of our skill.

I stake this heifer, no ignoble prize;
Two calves from her full udder she supplies,
And twice a day her milk the pail o'erflows;
What pledge of equal worth will you expose?
Aught from the flock I dare not risk: I fear
A cruel step dame, and a sire severe,
Who of their store so strict a reckoning keep,
That twice a day they count the kids and sheep.
But since you purpose to be mad to day,
Two beecb n cups I scruple not to lay
(Whose f /superior worth yourself will own),
The labc .r'd work of famed Alcimedon.
Raised round the brims by the engraver's care
The flaunting vine unfolds its foliage fair;
Entwined the ivy's tendrils seem to grow,
Half-hid in leaves its mimic berries glow j
Two figures rise below, of curious frame,
Conon, and—what's that other sage's name,
Who with his rod described the world's vast round,
Taught when to reap, and when to till the ground?
At home I have reserved them unprofaned,
No lip has e'er their glossy polish stain'd.

Two cups for me that skilful artist made;
Their handles with acanthus are array'd;
Orpheus is in the midst, whose magic song
Leads in tumultuous dance the lofty groves along,
At home I have reserved them unprofaned,
No lip has e'er their glossy polish stain'd.
Bat my pledged heifer if aright you prize,
The cups so much extoll'd you will despise.

Menalcas. These arts, proud boaster, all are lost on me J To any terms I readily agree.

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