_A goatherd_, _leaving his goats to feed on the hillside_, _in the charge
of Tityrus_, _approaches the cavern of Amaryllis_, _with its veil of
ferns and ivy_, _and attempts to win back the heart of the girl by song_.
_He mingles promises with harmless threats_, _and repeats_, _in exquisite
verses_, _the names of the famous lovers of old days_, _Milanion and
Endymion_. _Failing to move Amaryllis_, _the goatherd threatens to die
where he has thrown himself down_, _beneath the trees_.
* * * * *
COURTING Amaryllis with song I go, while my she-goats feed on the hill,
and Tityrus herds them. Ah, Tityrus, my dearly beloved, feed thou the
goats, and to the well-side lead them, Tityrus, and ’ware the yellow
Libyan he-goat, lest he butt thee with his horns.
Ah, lovely Amaryllis, why no more, as of old, dust thou glance through
this cavern after me, nor callest me, thy sweetheart, to thy side. Can
it be that thou hatest me? Do I seem snub-nosed, now thou hast seen me
near, maiden, and under-hung? Thou wilt make me strangle myself!
Lo, ten apples I bring thee, plucked from that very place where thou
didst bid me pluck them, and others to-morrow I will bring thee.
Ah, regard my heart’s deep sorrow! ah, would I were that humming bee, and
to thy cave might come dipping beneath the fern that hides thee, and the
ivy leaves!
Now know I Love, and a cruel God is he. Surely he sucked the lioness’s
dug, and in the wild wood his mother reared him, whose fire is scorching
me, and bites even to the bone.
Ah, lovely as thou art to look upon, ah heart of stone, ah dark-browed
maiden, embrace me, thy true goatherd, that I may kiss thee, and even in
empty kisses there is a sweet delight!
Soon wilt thou make me rend the wreath in pieces small, the wreath of
ivy, dear Amaryllis, that I keep for thee, with rose-buds twined, and
fragrant parsley. Ah me, what anguish! Wretched that I am, whither
shall I turn! Thou dust not hear my prayer!
I will cast off my coat of skins, and into yonder waves I will spring,
where the fisher Olpis watches for the tunny shoals, and even if I die
not, surely thy pleasure will have been done.
I learned the truth of old, when, amid thoughts of thee, I asked, ‘Loves
she, loves she not?’ and the poppy petal clung not, and gave no crackling
sound, but withered on my smooth forearm, even so. {21}
And she too spoke sooth, even Agroeo, she that divineth with a sieve, and
of late was binding sheaves behind the reapers, who said that I had set
all my heart on thee, but that thou didst nothing regard me.
Truly I keep for thee the white goat with the twin kids that Mermnon’s
daughter too, the brown-skinned Erithacis, prays me to give her; and give
her them I will, since thou dost flout me.
My right eyelid throbs, is it a sign that I am to see her? Here will I
lean me against this pine tree, and sing, and then perchance she will
regard me, for she is not all of adamant.
Lo, Hippomenes when he was eager to marry the famous maiden, took apples
in his hand, and so accomplished his course; and Atalanta saw, and madly
longed, and leaped into the deep waters of desire. Melampus too, the
soothsayer, brought the herd of oxen from Othrys to Pylos, and thus in
the arms of Bias was laid the lovely mother of wise Alphesiboea.
And was it not thus that Adonis, as he pastured his sheep upon the hills,
led beautiful Cytherea to such heights of frenzy, that not even in his
death doth she unclasp him from her bosom? Blessed, methinks is the lot
of him that sleeps, and tosses not, nor turns, even Endymion; and,
dearest maiden, blessed I call Iason, whom such things befell, as ye that
be profane shall never come to know.
My head aches, but thou carest not. I will sing no more, but dead will I
lie where I fall, and here may the wolves devour me.
Sweet as honey in the mouth may my death be to thee.