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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=479699" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Eclogue 2: Alexis</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The shepherd Corydon with love was fired<br>For fair Alexis, his own master's joy:<br>No room for hope had he, yet, none the less,<br>The thick-leaved shadowy-soaring beech-tree grove<br>Still would he haunt, and there alone, as thus,<br>To woods and hills pour forth his artless strains.<br>'Cruel Alexis, heed you naught my songs?<br>Have you no pity? you'll drive me to my death.<br>Now even the cattle court the cooling shade<br>And the green lizard hides him in the thorn:<br>Now for tired mowers, with the fierce heat spent,<br>Pounds Thestilis her mess of savoury herbs,<br>Wild thyme and garlic. I, with none beside,<br>Save hoarse cicalas shrilling through the brake,<br>Still track your footprints 'neath the broiling sun.<br>Better have borne the petulant proud disdain<br>Of Amaryllis, or Menalcas wooed,<br>Albeit he was so dark, and you so fair!<br>Trust not too much to colour, beauteous boy;<br>White privets fall, dark hyacinths are culled.<br>You scorn me, Alexis, who or what I am<br>Care not to ask- how rich in flocks, or how<br>In snow-white milk abounding: yet for me<br>Roam on Sicilian hills a thousand lambs;<br>Summer or winter, still my milk-pails brim.<br>I sing as erst Amphion of Circe sang,<br>What time he went to call his cattle home<br>On Attic Aracynthus. Nor am I<br>So ill to look on: lately on the beach<br>I saw myself, when winds had stilled the sea,<br>And, if that mirror lie not, would not fear<br>Daphnis to challenge, though yourself were judge.<br>Ah! were you but content with me to dwell.<br>Some lowly cot in the rough fields our home,<br>Shoot down the stags, or with green osier-wand<br>Round up the straggling flock! There you with me<br>In silvan strains will learn to rival Pan.<br>Pan first with wax taught reed with reed to join;<br>For sheep alike and shepherd Pan hath care.<br>Nor with the reed's edge fear you to make rough<br>Your dainty lip; such arts as these to learn<br>What did Amyntas do?- what did he not?<br>A pipe have I, of hemlock-stalks compact<br>In lessening lengths, Damoetas' dying-gift:<br>'Mine once,' quoth he, 'now yours, as heir to own.'<br>Foolish Amyntas heard and envied me.<br>Ay, and two fawns, I risked my neck to find<br>In a steep glen, with coats white-dappled still,<br>From a sheep's udders suckled twice a day-<br>These still I keep for you; which Thestilis<br>Implores me oft to let her lead away;<br>And she shall have them, since my gifts you spurn.<br>Come hither, beauteous boy; for you the Nymphs<br>Bring baskets, see, with lilies brimmed; for you,<br>Plucking pale violets and poppy-heads,<br>Now the fair Naiad, of narcissus flower<br>And fragrant fennel, doth one posy twine-<br>With cassia then, and other scented herbs,<br>Blends them, and sets the tender hyacinth off<br>With yellow marigold. I too will pick<br>Quinces all silvered-o'er with hoary down,<br>Chestnuts, which Amaryllis wont to love,<br>And waxen plums withal: this fruit no less<br>Shall have its meed of honour; and I will pluck<br>You too, ye laurels, and you, ye myrtles, near,<br>For so your sweets ye mingle. Corydon,<br>You are a boor, nor heeds a whit your gifts<br>Alexis; no, nor would Iollas yield,<br>Should gifts decide the day. Alack! alack!<br>What misery have I brought upon my head!-<br>Loosed on the flowers Siroces to my bane,<br>And the wild boar upon my crystal springs!<br>Whom do you fly, infatuate? gods ere now,<br>And Dardan Paris, have made the woods their home.<br>Let Pallas keep the towers her hand hath built,<br>Us before all things let the woods delight.<br>The grim-eyed lioness pursues the wolf,<br>The wolf the she-goat, the she-goat herself<br>In wanton sport the flowering cytisus,<br>And Corydon Alexis, each led on<br>By their own longing. See, the ox comes home<br>With plough up-tilted, and the shadows grow<br>To twice their length with the departing sun,<br>Yet me love burns, for who can limit love?<br>Ah! Corydon, Corydon, what hath crazed your wit?<br>Your vine half-pruned hangs on the leafy elm;<br>Why haste you not to weave what need requires<br>Of pliant rush or osier? Scorned by this,<br>Elsewhere some new Alexis you will find.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Publius+Vergilius+Maro">Publius Vergilius Maro</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=479699" data-title="Eclogue 2: Alexis de Publius Vergilius Maro" data-description="The shepherd Corydon with love was fired
For fair Alexis, his own master's joy:
No room for hope had he, yet, none the less,
The thick-leaved shadowy-soaring beech-tree grove
Still would he haunt, and there alone, as thus,
To woods and hills pour ..."></div>
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