LXXXIII. To those who are unskilled in its sweet tongue, Though they should question most impetuously Its hidden soul, it gossips something wrong Some senseless and impertinent reply. But thou who art as wise as thou art strong Can compass all that thou desirest. I Present thee with this music-flowing shell, Knowing thou canst interrogate it well. LXXXIV. "And let us two henceforth together feed On this green mountain slope and pastoral plain, The herds in litigation-they will breed Quickly enough to recompense our pain, If to the bulls and cows we take good heed; And thou, though somewhat over fond of gain, Grudge me not half the profit."-Having spoke, The shell he proffered, and Apollo took. LXXXV. And gave him in return the glittering lash, And then Apollo with the plectrum strook His sweeter voice a just accordance kept. LXXXVI. The herd went wandering o'er the divine mead, Affection sweet, and then, and now, and ever, LXXXVII. To whom he gave the lyre that sweetly sounded, Which skilfully he held and played thereon. He piped the while, and far and wide rebounded The echo of his pipings; every one Of the Olympians sat with joy astounded, While he conceived another piece of fun, One of his old tricks-which the God of Day Perceiving, said :-"I fear thee, Son of May; LXXXVIII. "I fear thee and thy sly chameleon spirit, Thieves love and worship thee-it is thy merit LXXXIX. "That you That he would never steal his bow or dart, XC. "And I will give thee as a goodwill token, XCI. "For, dearest child, the divinations high Which thou requirest, 'tis unlawful ever That thou, or any other deity, Should understand-and vain were the endeavour; For they are hidden in Jove's mind, and I In trust of them, have sworn that I would never Betray the counsels of Jove's inmost will To any God-the oath was terrible. XCII. "Then, golden-wanded brother, ask me not To the unnumbered tribes of human kind. XCIII. "Him will I not deceive, but will assist; And deems their knowledge light, he shall have mist His gifts deposit. Yet, O Son of May, I have another wondrous thing to say. XCIV. "There are three Fates, three virgin Sisters, who My father cared not. Whilst they search out dooms, XCV. They, having eaten the fresh honey, grow I give; if you inquire, they will not stutter: XCVI. "Take these and the fierce oxen, Maia's childO'er many a horse and toil-enduring mule, O'er jagged-jawed lions, and the wild White-tusked boars, o'er all, by field or pool, Of cattle which the mighty Mother mild Nourishes in her bosom, thou shalt ruleThou dost alone the veil of death upliftThou givest not-yet this is a great gift." XCVII. Thus king Apollo loved the child of May In truth, and Jove covered them with love and joy. Hermes with Gods and men even from that day Mingled, and wrought the latter much annoy, And little profit, going far astray Through the dun night. Farewell, delightful Boy, Of Jove and Maia sprung,-never by me, Nor thou, nor other songs shall unremembered be. Sil. O BACCHUS, what a world of toil, both now And driving through his shield my winged spear, Is it a dream of which I speak to thee? By Jove it is not, for you have the trophies! For when I heard that Juno had devised On this wild shore, their solitary caves, And one of these, named Polypheme, has caught us To be his slaves; and so, for all delight Of Bacchic sports, sweet dance and melody, We keep this lawless giant's wandering flocks. My sons indeed, on far declivities, Young things themselves, tend on the youngling sheep, But I remain to fill the water casks, Or sweeping the hard floor, or ministering Some impious and abominable meal To the fell Cyclops. I am wearied of it! Ha! what is this? are your Sicinnian measures CHORUS OF SATYRS. STROPHE. Where has he of race divine EPODE.* An Iacchic melody To the golden Aphrodite Seeking her and her delight With the Mænads, whose white feet In these wretched goatskins clad, Sil. Be silent, sons; command the slaves to drive The gathered flocks into the rock-roofed cave. Chorus. Go! But what needs this serious haste, O father? Sil. I see a Greek ship's boat upon the coast, And thence the rowers with some general Approaching to this cave. About their necks And water-flasks. O, miserable strangers! Whence come they, that they know not what and who My master is, approaching in ill hour The inhospitable roof of Polypheme, And the Cyclopian jawbone, man-destroying? Be silent, Satyrs, while I ask and hear Whence coming, they arrive the Etnean hill. The Antistrophe is omitted. |