Page:Eclogues of Virgil (1908).djvu/17

 Of god-like Alcimedon: round the edge

Clusters a vine, formed by light graver's tool,

Clothing pale ivy with its scattered fruit.

Two figures in the midst—Conon is one,

The other—who was he who with his staff

Unto the nations of the globe marked out

The various seasons—for the reaper glad,

And bending ploughman. Not yet with my lips

Have I approached them, for I laid them by.

Yes, for us also Alcimedon carved

Two goblets with the soft acanthus wreathed

Around their handles—Orpheus in the midst

In his own woods, and I have kept them safe

Untouched by any lip. This heifer—see,

Thy cups in worth will not compare with her.

Think not thou canst escape me so, this day,

When thou shalt challenge, then will I appear.

Let but one hear us—ah, Palæmon comes!

No challenge shall be thine, in future days.

No longer then delay—sing what thou canst.

No hearers do I fear, but, neighbour mine,

Palæmon, give thy utmost mind to this,

For 'tis no trifling matter. Now begin.

Sing on; whilst on the soft grass we may rest.

Now is the fairest time of all the year,

For now the fields and trees bring forth their buds

And leafy are the woods. Damœtas first—

Menalcas follow—in alternate verse,

For so the Muses love.