Another of these Eclogues relates the capture of Silenus, one of the old rural deities of very jovial reputation, by two young shepherds, while he lay sleeping off the effect of yesterday’s debauch. He is commonly represented--and he was rather a favourite subject with ancient artists--as a corpulent bald-headed old man, riding upon an ass, in a state of evident inebriety, carrying a capacious leather wine-bottle, and led and followed by a company of Nymphs and Bacchanals. He had the reputation, like the sea-god Proteus, of knowing the mysteries of nature and the secrets of the future; and there was a current story, upon which this Pastoral is founded, of his having been caught while asleep, like him, by some shepherds in Phrygia, and carried to King Midas, to whom, as the price of his release, he answered all questions in natural philosophy and ancient history--just as Proteus unfolded to Menelaus, under similar compulsion, the secret of his future fate. The Pastoral into which Virgil introduces this story is addressed to his friend Varus--a man evidently of high rank--and seems meant as an apology for not complying with his request to write a poem on his exploits. “I thought to sing how heroes fought and bled, But that Apollo pinched my ear, and said-- ‘Shepherds, friend Tityrus, I would have you know, Feed their sheep high, and keep their verses low.’” Then he goes on to tell his story:-- “Two shepherd-youths, the story runs, one day Came on the cave where old Silenus lay; Filled to the skin, as was his wont to be, With last night’s wine, and sound asleep was he; The garland from his head had fallen aside, And his round bottle hanging near they spied. Now was their time--both had been cheated long By the sly god with promise of a song; They tied him fast--fit bonds his garland made-- And lo! a fair accomplice comes to aid: Loveliest of Naiad-nymphs, and merriest too, Æglè[5] did what they scarce had dared to do; Just as the god unclosed his sleepy eyes, She daubed his face with blood of mulberries. He saw their joke, and laughed--’Now loose me, lad! Enough--you’ve caught me--tying is too bad. A song you want?--Here goes. For Æglè, mind, I warrant me I’ll pay her out in kind.’ So he began. The listening Fauns drew near, The beasts beat time, the stout oaks danced to hear. So joys Parnassus when Apollo sings-- So through the dancing hills the lyre of Orpheus rings.”