| ECLOGA V | ECLOGUE 5 |
| Virgil (P. Vergilius Maro) | trans. Tim Chilcott |
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MENALCAS / MOPSUS MENALCAS Cur non Mopse, boni quoniam convenimus ambo, tu calamos inflare levis, ego dicere versus, hic corylis mixtas inter consedimus ulmos? MOPSUS Tu maior; tibi me est aequum parere, Menalca, sive sub incertas zephyris motantibus umbras. sive antro potius succedimus: aspice, ut antrum silveshis raris sparsit labrusca racemis. MENALCAS Montibus in nostris solus tibi certet Amyntas, MOPSUS Quid, si idem certet Phoebum superare caneado? MENALCAS Incipe, Mopse, prior, si quos aut Phyllidis ignes, aut Alconis habes laudes, aut iurgia Codri: incipe, pascentis servabit Tityrus haedos. MOPSUS Immo haec, in viridi nuper quae cortice fagi camina descripsi et modulans alterna notavi, experiar, tu deinde iubeto ut certet Amyntas. MENALCAS Lenta salix quantum pallenti cedit olivae, puniceis humilis quantum saliunca rosetis, iudicio nostro tantum tibi cedit Amyntas. sed tu desine plura, puer; successimus antro. MOPSUS Extinctum nymphae crudeli funere Daphnim flebant; vos coryli testes et flumina nymphis; cum complexa sui corpus miserabile nati, atque deos atque astra vocat crudelia mater. Non ulli pastos illis egere diebus frigida, Daphni, boves ad flumina: nulla neque amnem libavit quadrupes, nec graminis attigit herbam. Daphni, tuum Poenos etiam ingemuisse leones interitum montesque ferė silvaeque loquuntur. Daphnis et Armenias curru subiungere tigres instituit; Daphnis thiasos inducere Bacchi, et foliis lentas intexere mollibus hastas. Vitis ut arboribus decori est, ut vitibus uvae, ut gregibus tauri, segetes ut pinguibus arvis, tu decus omne tuis. Postquam te fata tulerunt, ipsa Pales agros atque ipse reliquit Apollo. Grandia saepe quibus mandavimus hordea sulcis, infelix lolium et steriles nascuntur avenae; pro molli viola, pro purpureo narcisso, carduus et spinis surgit paliurus acutis. Spargite humum foliis, inducite fontibus umbras, pastores, mandat fieri sibi talia Daphnis; et tumulum facite, et tumulo superaddite carmen: 'Daphnis ego in silvis hinc usque ad sidera notus Formosi pecoris custos formosior ipse.' MENALCAS Tale tuum carmen nobis, divine poeta, quale sopor fessis in gramine, quale per aestum dulcis aquae saliente sitim restinguere rivo: nec calarais solum aequiparas, sed voce magistrum. Fortunate puer, tu nunc eris alter ab illo. Nos tamen haec quocumque modo tibi nostra vicissim dicemus, Daphaimque tuum tollemus ad astra: Daphnin ad astra feremus: amavit nos quoque Daphnis. MOPSUS An quicquam nobis tali sit munere maius Et puer ipse fuit cantari dignus, et ista iam pridem Stimichon laudavit carmina nobis. MENALCAS Candidus insuetum miratur limen Olympi, sub pedibusque videt nubes et sidera Daphnis. ergo alacris silvas et cetera rura voluptas Panaque pastoresque tenet, Dryadasque paellas; nec lupus insidias pecori, nec retia cervis ulla dolum meditantur: amat bonus otia Daphnis. ipsi laetitia voces ad sidera iactant intonsi montes: ipsae iam carmina rupes, ipsa sonant arbusta: 'Deus, deus ille, Menalca.' Sis bonus o felixque tuis! En quattuor aras: ecce duas tibi, Daphni, duas altaria Phoebo. pocula bina nouo spumantia lacte quotannis, craterasque duo statuam tibi pinguis olivi, et multo in primis hilarans convivia Baccho, - ante focum, si frigus erit, si messis, in umbra, - vina novum fundam calathis Ariusia nectar, cantabunt mihi Damoetas et Lyctius Aegon; saltantis satyros imitabitur Alphesiboeus. Haec tibi semper erunt, et cum solemnia vota reddemus Nymphis, et cum lustrabimus agros. Dura iuga montis aper, fluvios dum piscis amabit, dumque thymo pascentur apes, dum rore cicadae, semper honos nomenque tuum laudesque manebunt: ut Baccho Cererique, tibi sic vota quotannis agricolae facient: damnabis tu quoque uotis. MOPSUS Quae tibi, quae tali reddam pro carmine dona? Nam neque me tantum venientis sibilus austri, nec percussa iuvant fluctu tam litora, nec quae saxosas inter decurrunt flumina valles. MENALCAS Hac te nos fragili donabimus ante cicuta: haec nos, 'Formosum Corydon ardebat Alexim,' haec eadem docuit, 'Cuium pecus, an Meliboei?' MOPSUS At tu sume pedum, quod, me cum saepe rogaret, non tulit Antigenes - et erat tum dignus amari - formosum paribus nodis atque aere, Menalca. |
MENALCAS/ MOPSUS MENALCAS Mopsus, we're two fine music-makers - you at the light reed-pipe And I at song. So as we've met, why not sit down Together here, where hazel bushes mingle with the elms? MOPSUS You're senior, Menalcas. I defer to you. Shall we stay here, where fitful breezes make uncertain Shade, or go inside this cave? Look how that woodland vine Has scattered rare grape-clusters round its mouth. MENALCAS Among these hills, only Amyntas rivals you. MOPSUS But he's the one who thinks he can outplay Phoebus. MENALCAS Well, Mopsus, you start first. 'The Loves of Phyllis', possibly, Or 'In Alcon's Praise', or 'A Quarrel with Codrus'. You start, and Tityrus will guard the grazing flock. MOPSUS I'd rather try a song I wrote the other day On green beech bark. I noted down the tune between the lines. Then you can tell Amyntas to challenge me! MENALCAS As bending willows yield before pale olive-trees, Or humble red valerian to the crimson rose, So does Amyntas in our judgment yield to you. But no more talk, my lad, We're at the cave. MOPSUS Daphnis died a cruel death. The Nymphs wept over himŽ - You streams and hazels bear witness to their tears. His mother clasped the wretched body of her son And screamed the cruelty of both the gods and stars. No-one, Daphnis, in those days would drive their oxen To the cooling stream. No animal would drink A drop, or touch a blade of grass. The wild hills, Daphnis. and the forests even say The lions of Carthage roared their grief when you were killed. Daphnis taught us how to yoke Armenian tigers To our chariots, and how to lead the Bacchic dance, And how to twine soft foliage around hard spears. As vines adorn the trees and grapes the vine, As bulls adorn their herds and crops their fertile fields, So you adorned us all. But since fate took you. The great Apollo, Pales too, have left our fields. The furrows where we've often sown fat grains of corn Spring up now with cursed darnel and barren oats. Where once soft violets and bright narcissus grew, Thistles spring up and thorns with sharpened spikes. Shepherds, scatter the ground with petals, shade your springs - Daphnis asks you do such things for him. Then build a tomb, and write upon the tomb this epitaph: 'I lived in woodlands, my fame lives in the stars. My flock was lovely; still lovelier was I.' MENALCAS My heaven-born poet! To me, your song is like sleeping On the grass when one is tired, or quenching thirst From a gentle brook of sparkling water in the heat. You are your master's equal both in piping and in voice. His one and true successor, you fortunate young man. Still, in return, as best I can, I must recite This song of mine and praise your Daphnis to the stars. Yes, I'll raise Daphnis to the stars, for Daphnis loved me too. MOPSUS Could any present please me more than that? The boy deserved our songs, and Stimichon Has long been praising yours to me. MENALCAS In radiance, Daphnis marvels at the wondrous gate of heaven, And sees the stars and clouds beneath his feet. At this, the woods and all the countryside, and Pan, The shepherds, and the Dryad nymphs, are filled with joy. No wolf lies down in ambush for the sheep; no nets Are set to snare the deer: good Daphnis loves tranquillity. For very joy, the rugged mountains hurl their voices To the stars. Even the orchards and the rocks Burst into song: 'A god, Menalcas! He is a god!' Bless us and let us prosper! Here are four altars. Two for you - look, Daphnis - and two high ones for Phoebus. And every year, I'll set for you two foaming cups Of freshest milk, and two large bowls of olive oil. Best of all to cheer the feast with flowing wine - In winter, by the fireside; at harvest, in the shade - I'll fill Our cups with nectar: choice Chian wine. Damoetas and Cretan Aegon will sing for me, Alphesiboeus imitate the leaping fauns. These rites shall be for ever yours, both when we give The Nymphs our vows, and when we bless our fields. So long as boars love mountain heights, and fish the streams, Bees feed on thyme, cicadas on the dew, Your honour, name and praises will last for evermore. Just as to Bacchus and to Ceres, farmers make their vows Each year, so now you'll make them vow to you. MOPSUS What can I give you in return for such a song? The south wind, whistling as it comes, or beaches beaten By the surf, or rivers tumbling down through rocky glens - None sounds so beautiful to me as what you've sung. MENALCAS But I'll give you a present first - this delicate reed-pipe. It taught me 'Corydon had lost his heart to beautiful Alexis', And 'Whose flock is that? Meliboeus'?' MOPSUS And you, Melancas, take this shepherd's crook, the knots Spaced evenly, the rings of brass. Antigenes, Lovable though then he was, could not take it away from me. |
Transl. copyright © Tim Chilcott 2006