_After some verses addressed to Diophantus_, _a friend about whom nothing
is known_, _the poet describes the toilsome life of two old fishermen_.
_One of them has dreamed of catching a golden fish_, _and has sworn_, _in
his dream_, _never again to tempt the sea_. _The other reminds him that
his oath is as empty as his vision_, _and that he must angle for common
fish_, _if he would not starve among his golden dreams_. _The idyl is_,
_unfortunately_, _corrupt beyond hope of certain correction_.
* * * * *
’TIS Poverty alone, Diophantus, that awakens the arts; Poverty, the very
teacher of labour. Nay, not even sleep is permitted, by weary cares, to
men that live by toil, and if, for a little while, one close his eyes
{105} in the night, cares throng about him, and suddenly disquiet his
slumber.
Two fishers, on a time, two old men, together lay and slept; they had
strown the dry sea-moss for a bed in their wattled cabin, and there they
lay against the leafy wall. Beside them were strewn the instruments of
their toilsome hands, the fishing-creels, the rods of reed, the hooks,
the sails bedraggled with sea-spoil, {106a} the lines, the weds, the
lobster pots woven of rushes, the seines, two oars, {106b} and an old
coble upon props. Beneath their heads was a scanty matting, their
clothes, their sailor’s caps. Here was all their toil, here all their
wealth. The threshold had never a door, nor a watch-dog; {106c} all
things, all, to them seemed superfluity, for Poverty was their sentinel.
They had no neighbour by them, but ever against their narrow cabin gently
floated up the sea.
The chariot of the moon had not yet reached the mid-point of her course,
but their familiar toil awakened the fishermen; from their eyelids they
cast out slumber, and roused their souls with speech. {106d}
_Asphalion_. They lie all, my friend, who say that the nights wane short
in summer, when Zeus brings the long days. Already have I seen ten
thousand dreams, and the dawn is not yet. Am I wrong, what ails them,
the nights are surely long?
_The Friend_. Asphalion, thou blamest the beautiful summer! It is not
that the season hath wilfully passed his natural course, but care,
breaking thy sleep, makes night seem long to thee.
_Asphalion_. Didst ever learn to interpret dreams? for good dreams have
I beheld. I would not have thee to go without thy share in my vision;
even as we go shares in the fish we catch, so share all my dreams! Sure,
thou art not to be surpassed in wisdom; and he is the best interpreter of
dreams that hath wisdom for his teacher. Moreover, we have time to idle
in, for what could a man find to do, lying on a leafy bed beside the wave
and slumbering not? Nay, the ass is among the thorns, the lantern in the
town hall, for, they say, it is always sleepless. {107}
_The Friend_. Tell me, then, the vision of the night; nay, tell all to
thy friend.
_Asphalion_. As I was sleeping late, amid the labours of the salt sea
(and truly not too full-fed, for we supped early if thou dost remember,
and did not overtax our bellies), I saw myself busy on a rock, and there
I sat and watched the fishes, and kept spinning the bait with the rods.
And one of the fish nibbled, a fat one, for in sleep dogs dream of bread,
and of fish dream I. Well, he was tightly hooked, and the blood was
running, and the rod I grasped was bent with his struggle. So with both
hands I strained, and had a sore tussle for the monster. How was I ever
to land so big a fish with hooks all too slim? Then just to remind him
he was hooked, I gently pricked him, {108a} pricked, and slackened, and,
as he did not run, I took in line. My toil was ended with the sight of
my prize; I drew up a golden fish, lo you, a fish all plated thick with
gold! Then fear took hold of me, lest he might be some fish beloved of
Posidon, or perchance some jewel of the sea-grey Amphitrite. Gently I
unhooked him, lest ever the hooks should retain some of the gold of his
mouth. Then I dragged him on shore with the ropes, {108b} and swore that
never again would I set foot on sea, but abide on land, and lord it over
the gold.
This was even what wakened me, but, for the rest, set thy mind to it, my
friend, for I am in dismay about the oath I swore.
_The Friend_. Nay, never fear, thou art no more sworn than thou hast
found the golden fish of thy vision; dreams are but lies. But if thou
wilt search these waters, wide awake, and not asleep, there is some hope
in thy slumbers; seek the fish of flesh, lest thou die of famine with all
thy dreams of gold!
IDYL XXII
THE DIOSCURI
_This is a hymn_, _in the Homeric manner_, _to Castor and Polydeuces_.
_Compare the life and truth of the descriptions of nature_, _and of the
boxing-match_, _with the frigid manner of Apollonius
Rhodius_.—Argonautica, II. I. _seq._
* * * * *
WE hymn the children twain of Leda, and of aegis-bearing Zeus,—Castor,
and Pollux, the boxer dread, when he hath harnessed his knuckles in
thongs of ox-hide. Twice hymn we, and thrice the stalwart sons of the
daughter of Thestias, the two brethren of Lacedaemon. Succourers are
they of men in the very thick of peril, and of horses maddened in the
bloody press of battle, and of ships that, defying the stars that set and
rise in heaven, have encountered the perilous breath of storms. The
winds raise huge billows about their stern, yea, or from the prow, or
even as each wind wills, and cast them into the hold of the ship, and
shatter both bulwarks, while with the sail hangs all the gear confused
and broken, and the storm-rain falls from heaven as night creeps on, and
the wide sea rings, being lashed by the gusts, and by showers of iron
hail.
Yet even so do ye draw forth the ships from the abyss, with their sailors
that looked immediately to die; and instantly the winds are still, and
there is an oily calm along the sea, and the clouds flee apart, this way
and that, also the _Bears_ appear, and in the midst, dimly seen, the
_Asses’ manger_, declaring that all is smooth for sailing.
O ye twain that aid all mortals, O beloved pair, ye knights, ye harpers,
ye wrestlers, ye minstrels, of Castor, or of Polydeuces first shall I
begin to sing? Of both of you will I make my hymn, but first will I sing
of Polydeuces.
Even already had Argo fled forth from the Clashing Rocks, and the dread
jaws of snowy Pontus, and was come to the land of the Bebryces, with her
crew, dear children of the gods. There all the heroes disembarked, down
one ladder, from both sides of the ship of Iason. When they had landed
on the deep seashore and a sea-bank sheltered from the wind, they strewed
their beds, and their hands were busy with firewood. {111}
Then Castor of the swift steeds, and swart Polydeuces, these twain went
wandering alone, apart from their fellows, and marvelling at all the
various wildwood on the mountain. Beneath a smooth cliff they found an
ever-flowing spring filled with the purest water, and the pebbles below
shone like crystal or silver from the deep. Tall fir trees grew thereby,
and white poplars, and planes, and cypresses with their lofty tufts of
leaves, and there bloomed all fragrant flowers that fill the meadows when
early summer is waning—dear work-steads of the hairy bees. But there a
monstrous man was sitting in the sun, terrible of aspect; the bruisers’
hard fists had crushed his ears, and his mighty breast and his broad back
were domed with iron flesh, like some huge statue of hammered iron. The
muscles on his brawny arms, close by the shoulder, stood out like rounded
rocks, that the winter torrent has rolled, and worn smooth, in the great
swirling stream, but about his back and neck was draped a lion’s skin,
hung by the claws. Him first accosted the champion, Polydeuces.
_Polydeuces_. Good luck to thee, stranger, whosoe’er thou art! What men
are they that possess this land?
_Amycus_. What sort of luck, when I see men that I never saw before?
_Polydeuces_. Fear not! Be sure that those thou look’st on are neither
evil, nor the children of evil men.
_Amycus_. No fear have I, and it is not for thee to teach me that
lesson.
_Polydeuces_. Art thou a savage, resenting all address, or some
vainglorious man?
_Amycus_. I am that thou see’st, and on thy land, at least, I trespass
not.
_Polydeuces_. Come, and with kindly gifts return homeward again!
_Amycus_. Gift me no gifts, none such have I ready for thee.
_Polydeuces_. Nay, wilt thou not even grant us leave to taste this
spring?
_Amycus_. That shalt thou learn when thirst has parched thy shrivelled
lips.
_Polydeuces_. Will silver buy the boon, or with what price, prithee, may
we gain thy leave?
_Amycus_. Put up thy hands and stand in single combat, man to man.
_Polydeuces_. A boxing-match, or is kicking fair, when we meet eye to
eye?
_Amycus_. Do thy best with thy fists and spare not thy skill!
_Polydeuces_. And who is the man on whom I am to lay my hands and
gloves?
_Amycus_. Thou see’st him close enough, the boxer will not prove a
maiden!
_Polydeuces_. And is the prize ready, for which we two must fight?
_Amycus_. Thy man shall I be called (shouldst thou win), or thou mine,
if I be victor.
_Polydeuces_. On such terms fight the red-crested birds of the game.
_Amycus_. Well, be we like birds or lions, we shall fight for no other
stake.
So Amycus spoke, and seized and blew his hollow shell, and speedily the
long-haired Bebryces gathered beneath the shadowy planes, at the blowing
of the shell. And in likewise did Castor, eminent in war, go forth and
summon all the heroes from the Magnesian ship. And the champions, when
they had strengthened their fists with the stout ox-skin gloves, and
bound long leathern thongs about their arms, stepped into the ring,
breathing slaughter against each other. Then had they much ado, in that
assault,—which should have the sun’s light at his back. But by thy
skill, Polydeuces, thou didst outwit the giant, and the sun’s rays fell
full on the face of Amycus. Then came he eagerly on in great wrath and
heat, making play with his fists, but the son of Tyndarus smote him on
the chin as he charged, maddening him even more, and the giant confused
the fighting, laying on with all his weight, and going in with his head
down. The Bebryces cheered their man, and on the other side the heroes
still encouraged stout Polydeuces, for they feared lest the giant’s
weight, a match for Tityus, might crush their champion in the narrow
lists. But the son of Zeus stood to him, shifting his ground again and
again, and kept smiting him, right and left, and somewhat checked the
rush of the son of Posidon, for all his monstrous strength. Then he
stood reeling like a drunken man under the blows, and spat out the red
blood, while all the heroes together raised a cheer, as they marked the
woful bruises about his mouth and jaws, and how, as his face swelled up,
his eyes were half closed. Next, the prince teased him, feinting on
every side but seeing now that the giant was all abroad, he planted his
fist just above the middle of the nose, beneath the eyebrows, and skinned
all the brow to the bone. Thus smitten, Amycus lay stretched on his
back, among the flowers and grasses. There was fierce fighting when he
arose again, and they bruised each other well, laying on with the hard
weighted gloves; but the champion of the Bebryces was always playing on
the chest, and outside the neck, while unconquered Polydeuces kept
smashing his foeman’s face with ugly blows. The giant’s flesh was
melting away in his sweat, till from a huge mass he soon became small
enough, but the limbs of the other waxed always stronger, and his colour
better, as he warmed to his work.
How then, at last, did the son of Zeus lay low the glutton? say goddess,
for thou knowest, but I, who am but the interpreter of others, will speak
all that thou wilt, and in such wise as pleases thee.
Now behold the giant was keen to do some great feat, so with his left
hand he grasped the left of Polydeuces, stooping slantwise from his
onset, while with his other hand he made his effort, and drove a huge
fist up from his right haunch. Had his blow come home, he would have
harmed the King of Amyclae, but he slipped his head out of the way, and
then with his strong hand struck Amycus on the left temple, putting his
shoulder into the blow. Quick gushed the black blood from the gaping
temple, while Polydeuces smote the giant’s mouth with his left, and the
close-set teeth rattled. And still he punished his face with
quick-repeated blows, till the cheeks were fairly pounded. Then Amycus
lay stretched all on the ground, fainting, and held out both his hands,
to show that he declined the fight, for he was near to death.
There then, despite thy victory, didst thou work him no insensate wrong,
O boxer Polydeuces, but to thee he swore a mighty oath, calling his sire
Posidon from the deep, that assuredly never again would he be violent to
strangers.
Thee have I hymned, my prince; but thee now, Castor, will I sing, O son
of Tyndarus, O lord of the swift steeds, O wielder of the spear, thou
that wearest the corselet of bronze.
Now these twain, the sons of Zeus, had seized and were bearing away the
two daughters of Lycippus, and eagerly in sooth these two other brethren
were pursuing them, the sons of Aphareus, even they that should soon have
been the bridegrooms,—Lynceus and mighty Idas. But when they were come
to the tomb of the dead Aphareus, then forth from their chariots they all
sprang together, and set upon each other, under the weight of their
spears and hollow shields. But Lynceus again spake, and shouted loud
from under his vizor:—
‘Sirs, wherefore desire ye battle, and how are ye thus violent to win the
brides of others with naked swords in your hands. To us, behold, did
Leucippus betroth these his daughters long before; to us this bridal is
by oath confirmed. And ye did not well, in that to win the wives of
others ye perverted him with gifts of oxen, and mules, and other wealth,
and so won wedlock by bribes. Lo many a time, in face of both of you, I
have spoken thus, I that am not a man of many words, saying,—“Not thus,
dear friends, does it become heroes to woo their wives, wives that
already have bridegrooms betrothed. Lo Sparta is wide, and wide is Elis,
a land of chariots and horses, and Arcadia rich in sheep, and there are
the citadels of the Achaeans, and Messenia, and Argos, and all the
sea-coast of Sisyphus. There be maidens by their parents nurtured,
maidens countless, that lack not aught in wisdom or in comeliness. Of
these ye may easily win such as ye will, for many are willing to be the
fathers-in-law of noble youths, and ye are the very choice of heroes all,
as your fathers were, and all your father’s kin, and all your blood from
of old. But, friends, let this our bridal find its due conclusion, and
for you let all of us seek out another marriage.”
‘Many such words I would speak, but the wind’s breath bare them away to
the wet wave of the sea, and no favour followed with my words. For ye
twain are hard and ruthless,—nay, but even now do ye listen, for ye are
our cousins, and kin by the father’s side. But if your heart yet lusts
for war, and with blood we must break up the kindred strife, and end the
feud, {118} then Idas and his cousin, mighty Polydeuces, shall hold their
hands and abstain from battle, but let us twain, Castor and I, the
younger born, try the ordeal of war! Let us not leave the heaviest of
grief to our fathers! Enough is one slain man from a house, but the
others will make festival for all their friends, and will be bridegrooms,
not slain men, and will wed these maidens. Lo, it is fitting with light
loss to end a great dispute.’
So he spake, and these words the gods were not to make vain. For the
elder pair laid down their harness from their shoulders on the ground,
but Lynceus stepped into the midst, swaying his mighty spear beneath the
outer rim of his shield, and even so did Castor sway his spear-points,
and the plumes were nodding above the crests of each. With the sharp
spears long they laboured and tilted at each other, if perchance they
might anywhere spy a part of the flesh unarmed. But ere either was
wounded the spear-points were broken, fast stuck in the linden shields.
Then both drew their swords from the sheaths, and again devised each the
other’s slaying, and there was no truce in the fight. Many a time did
Castor smite on broad shield and horse-hair crest, and many a time the
keen-sighted Lynceus smote upon his shield, and his blade just shore the
scarlet plume. Then, as he aimed the sharp sword at the left knee,
Castor drew back with his left foot, and hacked the fingers off the hand
of Lynceus. Then he being smitten cast away his sword, and turned
swiftly to flee to the tomb of his father, where mighty Idas lay, and
watched this strife of kinsmen. But the son of Tyndarus sped after him,
and drove the broad sword through bowels and navel, and instantly the
bronze cleft all in twain, and Lynceus bowed, and on his face he lay
fallen on the ground, and forthwith heavy sleep rushed down upon his
eyelids.
Nay, nor that other of her children did Laocoosa see, by the hearth of
his fathers, after he had fulfilled a happy marriage. For lo, Messenian
Idas did swiftly break away the standing stone from the tomb of his
father Aphareus, and now he would have smitten the slayer of his brother,
but Zeus defended him and drave the polished stone from the hands of
Idas, and utterly consumed him with a flaming thunderbolt.
Thus it is no light labour to war with the sons of Tyndarus, for a mighty
pair are they, and mighty is he that begat them.
Farewell, ye children of Leda, and all goodly renown send ye ever to our
singing. Dear are all minstrels to the sons of Tyndarus, and to Helen,
and to the other heroes that sacked Troy in aid of Menelaus.
For you, O princes, the bard of Chios wrought renown, when he sang the
city of Priam, and the ships of the Achaeans, and the Ilian war, and
Achilles, a tower of battle. And to you, in my turn, the charms of the
clear-voiced Muses, even all that they can give, and all that my house
has in store, these do I bring. The fairest meed of the gods is song.
IDYL XXIII
THE VENGEANCE OF LOVE
_A lover hangs himself at the gate of his obdurate darling who_, _in
turn_, _is slain by a statue of Love_.
_This poem is not attributed with much certainty to Theocritus_, _and is
found in but a small proportion of manuscripts_.
* * * * *
A LOVE-SICK youth pined for an unkind love, beautiful in form, but fair
no more in mood. The beloved hated the lover, and had for him no
gentleness at all, and knew not Love, how mighty a God is he, and what a
bow his hands do wield, and what bitter arrows he dealeth at the young.
Yea, in all things ever, in speech and in all approaches, was the beloved
unyielding. Never was there any assuagement of Love’s fires, never was
there a smile of the lips, nor a bright glance of the eyes, never a
blushing cheek, nor a word, nor a kiss that lightens the burden of
desire. Nay, as a beast of the wild wood hath the hunters in watchful
dread, even so did the beloved in all things regard the man, with angered
lips, and eyes that had the dreadful glance of fate, and the whole face
was answerable to this wrath, the colour fled from it, sicklied o’er with
wrathful pride. Yet even thus was the loved one beautiful, and the lover
was the more moved by this haughtiness. At length he could no more
endure so fierce a flame of the Cytherean, but drew near and wept by the
hateful dwelling, and kissed the lintel of the door, and thus he lifted
up his voice:
‘O cruel child, and hateful, thou nursling of some fierce lioness, O
child all of stone unworthy of love; I have come with these my latest
gifts to thee, even this halter of mine; for, child, I would no longer
anger thee and work thee pain. Nay, I am going where thou hast condemned
me to fare, where, as men say, is the path, and there the common remedy
of lovers, the River of Forgetfulness. Nay, but were I to take and drain
with my lips all the waters thereof, not even so shall I quench my
yearning desire. And now I bid my farewell to these gates of thine.
‘Behold I know the thing that is to be.
‘Yea, the rose is beautiful, and Time he withers it; and fair is the
violet in spring, and swiftly it waxes old; white is the lily, it fadeth
when it falleth; and snow is white, and melteth after it hath been
frozen. And the beauty of youth is fair, but lives only for a little
season.
‘That time will come when thou too shalt love, when thy heart shall burn,
and thou shalt weep salt tears.
‘But, child, do me even this last favour; when thou comest forth, and
see’st me hanging in thy gateway,—pass me not careless by, thy hapless
lover, but stand, and weep a little while; and when thou hast made this
libation of thy tears, then loose me from the rope, and cast over me some
garment from thine own limbs, and so cover me from sight; but first kiss
me for that latest time of all, and grant the dead this grace of thy
lips.
‘Fear me not, I cannot live again, no, not though thou shouldst be
reconciled to me, and kiss me. A tomb for me do thou hollow, to be the
hiding-place of my love, and if thou departest, cry thrice above me,—
_O friend_, _thou liest low_!