_Daphnis and Damoetas_, _two herdsmen of the golden age_, _meet by a
well-side_, _and sing a match_, _their topic is the Cyclops_,
_Polyphemus_, _and his love for the sea-nymph_, _Galatea_.
_The scene is in Sicily_.
* * * * *
DAMOETAS, and Daphnis the herdsman, once on a time, Aratus, led the flock
together into one place. Golden was the down on the chin of one, the
beard of the other was half-grown, and by a well-head the twain sat them
down, in the summer noon, and thus they sang. ’Twas Daphnis that began
the singing, for the challenge had come from Daphnis.
_Daphnis’s Song of the Cyclops_.
Galatea is pelting thy flock with apples, Polyphemus, she says the
goatherd is a laggard lover! And thou dost not glance at her, oh hard,
hard that thou art, but still thou sittest at thy sweet piping. Ah see,
again, she is pelting thy dog, that follows thee to watch thy sheep. He
barks, as he looks into the brine, and now the beautiful waves that
softly plash reveal him, {36} as he runs upon the shore. Take heed that
he leap not on the maiden’s limbs as she rises from the salt water, see
that he rend not her lovely body! Ah, thence again, see, she is
wantoning, light as dry thistle-down in the scorching summer weather.
She flies when thou art wooing her; when thou woo’st not she pursues
thee, she plays out all her game and leaves her king unguarded. For
truly to Love, Polyphemus, many a time doth foul seem fair!
_He ended and Damoetas touched a prelude to his sweet song_.
I saw her, by Pan, I saw her when she was pelting my flock. Nay, she
escaped not me, escaped not my one dear eye,—wherewith I shall see to my
life’s end,—let Telemus the soothsayer, that prophesies hateful things,
hateful things take home, to keep them for his children! But it is all
to torment her, that I, in my turn, give not back her glances, pretending
that I have another love. To hear this makes her jealous of me, by
Paean, and she wastes with pain, and springs madly from the sea, gazing
at my caves and at my herds. And I hiss on my dog to bark at her, for
when I loved Galatea he would whine with joy, and lay his muzzle on her
lap. Perchance when she marks how I use her she will send me many a
messenger, but on her envoys I will shut my door till she promises that
herself will make a glorious bridal-bed on this island for me. For in
truth, I am not so hideous as they say! But lately I was looking into
the sea, when all was calm; beautiful seemed my beard, beautiful my one
eye—as I count beauty—and the sea reflected the gleam of my teeth whiter
than the Parian stone. Then, all to shun the evil eye, did I spit thrice
in my breast; for this spell was taught me by the crone, Cottytaris, that
piped of yore to the reapers in Hippocoon’s field.
Then Damoetas kissed Daphnis, as he ended his song, and he gave Daphnis a
pipe, and Daphnis gave him a beautiful flute. Damoetas fluted, and
Daphnis piped, the herdsman,—and anon the calves were dancing in the soft
green grass. Neither won the victory, but both were invincible.