Thus I sang, and sweetly smiling, as before, he gave me the staff, a pledge of brotherhood in the Muses. Then he bent his way to the left, and took the road to Pyxa, while I and Eucritus, with beautiful Amyntas, turned to the farm of Phrasidemus. There we reclined on deep beds of fragrant lentisk, lowly strown, and rejoicing we lay in new stript leaves of the vine. And high above our heads waved many a poplar, many an elm tree, while close at hand the sacred water from the nymphs’ own cave welled forth with murmurs musical. On shadowy boughs the burnt cicalas kept their chattering toil, far off the little owl cried in the thick thorn brake, the larks and finches were singing, the ring-dove moaned, the yellow bees were flitting about the springs. All breathed the scent of the opulent summer, of the season of fruits; pears at our feet and apples by our sides were rolling plentiful, the tender branches, with wild plums laden, were earthward bowed, and the four-year-old pitch seal was loosened from the mouth of the wine-jars. Ye nymphs of Castaly that hold the steep of Parnassus, say, was it ever a bowl like this that old Chiron set before Heracles in the rocky cave of Pholus? Was it nectar like this that beguiled the shepherd to dance and foot it about his folds, the shepherd that dwelt by Anapus, on a time, the strong Polyphemus who hurled at ships with mountains? Had these ever such a draught as ye nymphs bade flow for us by the altar of Demeter of the threshing-floor? Ah, once again may I plant the great fan on her corn-heap, while she stands smiling by, with sheaves and poppies in her hands. IDYL VIII _The scene is among the high mountain pastures of Sicily_:— ‘_On the sward_, _at the cliff top_ _Lie strewn the white flocks_;’ _and far below shines and murmurs the Sicilian sea_. _Here Daphnis and Menalcas_, _two herdsmen of the golden age_, _meet_, _while still in their earliest youth_, _and contend for the prize of pastoral_. _Their songs_, _in elegiac measure_, _are variations on the themes of love and friendship_ (_for Menalcas sings of Milon_, _Daphnis of Nais_), _and of nature_. _Daphnis is the winner_; _it is his earliest victory_, _and the prelude to his great renown among nymphs and shepherds_. _In this version the strophes are arranged as in Fritzsche’s text_. _Some critics take the poem to be a patchwork by various hands_. * * * * * AS beautiful Daphnis was following his kine, and Menalcas shepherding his flock, they met, as men tell, on the long ranges of the hills. The beards of both had still the first golden bloom, both were in their earliest youth, both were pipe-players skilled, both skilled in song. Then first Menalcas, looking at Daphnis, thus bespoke him. ‘Daphnis, thou herdsman of the lowing kine, art thou minded to sing a match with me? Methinks I shall vanquish thee, when I sing in turn, as readily as I please.’