Theocritus Part 18

IDYLL XXVI.

The Baccha.n.a.ls.

Agave of the vermeil-tinted cheek And Ino and Autonoa marshalled erst Three bands of revellers under one hill-peak.

They plucked the wild-oak's matted foliage first, Lush ivy then, and creeping asphodel; And reared therewith twelve shrines amid the untrodden fell:

To Semele three, to Dionysus nine.

Next, from a vase drew offerings subtly wrought, And prayed and placed them on each fresh green shrine; So by the G.o.d, who loved such tribute, taught.

Perched on the sheer cliff, Pentheus could espy All, in a mastick h.o.a.r ensconced that grew thereby.

Autonoa marked him, and with, frightful cries Flew to make havoc of those mysteries weird That must not be profaned by vulgar eyes.

Her frenzy frenzied all. Then Pentheus feared And fled: and in his wake those damsels three, Each with her trailing robe up-gathered to the knee.

"What will ye, dames," quoth Pentheus. "Thou shalt guess At what we mean, untold," Autonoa said.

Agave moaned--so moans a lioness Over her young one--as she clutched his head: While Ino on the carca.s.s fairly laid Her heel, and wrenched away shoulder and shoulder-blade.

Autonoa's turn came next: and what remained Of flesh their damsels did among them share, And back to Thebes they came all carnage-stained, And planted not a king but aching there.

Warned by this tale, let no man dare defy Great Bacchus; lest a death more awful he should die,

And when he counts nine years or scarcely ten, Rush to his ruin. May I pa.s.s my days Uprightly, and be loved of upright men!

And take this motto, all who covet praise: ('Twas aegis-bearing Zeus that spake it first:) 'The G.o.dly seed fares well: the wicked's is accurst.'

Now bless ye Bacchus, whom on mountain snows, Prisoned in his thigh till then, the Almighty laid.

And bless ye fairfaced Semele, and those Her sisters, hymned of many a hero-maid, Who wrought, by Bacchus fired, a deed which none May gainsay--who shall blame that which a G.o.d hath done?

IDYLL XXVII.

A Countryman's Wooing.

_DAPHNIS. A MAIDEN_.

THE MAIDEN.

How fell sage Helen? through a swain like thee.

DAPHNIS.

Nay the true Helen's just now kissing me.

THE MAIDEN.

Satyr, ne'er boast: 'what's idler than a kiss?'

DAPHNIS.

Yet in such pleasant idling there is bliss.

THE MAIDEN.

I'll wash my mouth: where go thy kisses then?

DAPHNIS.

Wash, and return it--to be kissed again.

THE MAIDEN.

Go kiss your oxen, and not unwed maids.

DAPHNIS.

Ne'er boast; for beauty is a dream that fades.

THE MAIDEN.

Past grapes are grapes: dead roses keep their smell.

DAPHNIS.

Come to yon olives: I have a tale to tell.

THE MAIDEN.

Not I: you fooled me with smooth words before.

DAPHNIS.

Come to yon elms, and hear me pipe once more.

THE MAIDEN.

Pipe to yourself: your piping makes me cry.

DAPHNIS.

A maid, and flout the Paphian? Fie, oh fie!

THE MAIDEN.

She's naught to me, if Artemis' favour last.

DAPHNIS.

Hush, ere she smite you and entrap you fast.

THE MAIDEN.

And let her smite me, trap me as she will!

DAPHNIS.

Your Artemis shall be your saviour still?

THE MAIDEN.

Unhand me! What, again? I'll tear your lip.

DAPHNIS.

Can you, could damsel e'er, give Love the slip?