Theocritus, translated into English Verse. Theocritus
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Название: Theocritus, translated into English Verse

Автор: Theocritus

Издательство: Bookwire

Жанр: Языкознание

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isbn: 4057664120601

isbn:

СКАЧАТЬ be my thanks recorded, first to Love,

      Next to thee, maiden, who didst pluck me out,

      A half-burned helpless creature, from the flames,

      And badst me hither. It is Love that lights

      A fire more fierce than his of Lipara;

      (Bethink thee, mistress Moon, whence came my love.)

      "Scares, mischief-mad, the maiden from her bower,

      The bride from her warm couch." He spake: and I,

      A willing listener, sat, my hand in his,

      Among the cushions, and his cheek touched mine,

      Each hotter than its wont, and we discoursed

      In soft low language. Need I prate to thee,

      Sweet Moon, of all we said and all we did?

      Till yesterday he found no fault with me,

      Nor I with him. But lo, to-day there came

      Philista's mother—hers who flutes to me—

      With her Melampo's; just when up the sky

      Gallop the mares that chariot rose-limbed Dawn:

      And divers tales she brought me, with the rest

      How Delphis loved, she knew not rightly whom:

      But this she knew; that of the rich wine, aye

      He poured 'to Love;' and at the last had fled,

      To line, she deemed, the fair one's hall with flowers.

      Such was my visitor's tale, and it was true:

      For thrice, nay four times, daily he would stroll

      Hither, leave here full oft his Dorian flask:

      Now—'tis a fortnight since I saw his face.

      Doth he then treasure something sweet elsewhere?

      Am I forgot? I'll charm him now with charms.

      But let him try me more, and by the Fates

      He'll soon be knocking at the gates of hell.

      Spells of such power are in this chest of mine,

      Learned, lady, from mine host in Palestine.

      Lady, farewell: turn ocean-ward thy steeds:

      As I have purposed, so shall I fulfil.

      Farewell, thou bright-faced Moon! Ye stars, farewell,

      That wait upon the car of noiseless Night.

       Table of Contents

      The Serenade.

      I pipe to Amaryllis; while my goats,

      Tityrus their guardian, browse along the fell.

      O Tityrus, as I love thee, feed my goats:

      And lead them to the spring, and, Tityrus, 'ware

      The lifted crest of yon gray Libyan ram.

      Ah winsome Amaryllis! Why no more

      Greet'st thou thy darling, from the caverned rock

      Peeping all coyly? Think'st thou scorn of him?

      Hath a near view revealed him satyr-shaped

      Of chin and nostril? I shall hang me soon.

      See here ten apples: from thy favourite tree

      I plucked them: I shall bring ten more anon.

      Ah witness my heart-anguish! Oh were I

      A booming bee, to waft me to thy lair,

      Threading the fern and ivy in whose depths

      Thou nestlest! I have learned what Love is now:

      Fell god, he drank the lioness's milk,

      In the wild woods his mother cradled him,

      Whose fire slow-burns me, smiting to the bone.

      O thou whose glance is beauty and whose heart

      All marble: O dark-eyebrowed maiden mine!

      Cling to thy goatherd, let him kiss thy lips,

      For there is sweetness in an empty kiss.

      Thou wilt not? Piecemeal I will rend the crown,

      The ivy-crown which, dear, I guard for thee,

      Inwov'n with scented parsley and with flowers:

      Oh I am desperate—what betides me, what?—

      Still art thou deaf? I'll doff my coat of skins

      And leap into yon waves, where on the watch

      For mackerel Olpis sits: tho' I 'scape death,

      That I have all but died will pleasure thee.

      That learned I when (I murmuring 'loves she me?')

      The Love-in-absence, crushed, returned no sound,

      But shrank and shrivelled on my smooth young wrist.

      I learned it of the sieve-divining crone

      Who gleaned behind the reapers yesterday:

      'Thou'rt wrapt up all,' Agraia said, 'in her;

      She makes of none account her worshipper.'

      Lo! a white goat, and twins, I keep for thee:

      Mermnon's lass covets them: dark she is of skin:

      But yet hers be they; thou but foolest me.

      She cometh, by the quivering of mine eye.

      I'll lean against the pine-tree here and sing.

      She may look round: she is not adamant.

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