Nemesianus: ECLOGAE

Formosam Donacen Idas puer et puer Alcon
ardebant rudibusque annis incensus uterque
in Donaces venerem furiosa mente ruebant.
Hanc, cum vicini flores in vallibus horti
carperet et molli gremium compleret acantho
invasere simul venerisque imbutus uterque
tum primum dulci carpebant gaudia furto.
Hinc amor et pueris iam non puerilia vota
quis anni ter quinque, et mens et cura iuventae.

Boy Idas and boy Alcon burned for beautiful Donace
and in their rude years each incensed
they were rushing into Donace’s Venus with a furious mind.
Her, when she would pluck the flowers of the neighboring garden in the valleys
and would fill her lap with soft acanthus,
they assailed at once, and each imbued with Venus
then for the first time were plucking joys by sweet theft.
Hence love, and for the boys vows now no longer boyish—
for whom thrice five years, and the mind and care of youth.

Sed postquam Donacen duri clausere parentes,
quod non tam tenui filo de voce sonaret
sollicitumque foret pinguis sonus, improba cervix
suffususque rubor crebro venaeque tumentes,
tam vero ardentes flammati pectoris aestus
carminibus dulci parant relevare querela;
ambo aevo cantuque pares nec dispare forma,
ambo genas leves, intonsi crinibus ambo.
Atque haec sub platano maesti solacia casus
alternant, Idas calamis et versibus Alcon:

But after the harsh parents shut up Donace,
because she did not sound from her voice with so thin a filament
and the full (fat) tone would be a cause of solicitude, the shameless neck
and the blush suffused repeatedly, and the veins swelling,
so truly the burning heats of a flamed breast
they prepare to relieve by songs with a sweet complaint;
both equal in age and in song and not unequal in form,
both with smooth cheeks, both with untonsured locks.
And beneath a plane-tree, sorrowful, they alternate these consolations of misfortune,
Idas with reed-pipes and Alcon with verses:

IDAS

"Quae colitis silvas, Dryades, quaeque antra, Napaeae,
et quae marmoreo pede, Naides, uda secatis
litora purpureosque alitis per gramina flores,
dicite quo Donacen prato, qua forte sub umbra
inveniam, roseis stringentem lilia palmis?
Nam mihi iam trini perierunt ordine soles
ex quo consueto Donacen exspecto sub antro.
Interea, tamquam nostri solamen amoris
hoc foret aut nostros posset medicare furores,
nulla meae trinis tetigerunt gramina vaccae
luciferis, nullo libarunt amne liquores;
siccaque fetarum lambentes ubera matrum
stant vituli et teneris mugitibus aera complent.

"Ye who till the woods, Dryads, and ye who the caves, Napaeae,
and you, with marmoreal foot, Naiads, who cleave the wet
shores and nourish purple flowers through the grasses,
tell me in what meadow, beneath what chance shade
I may find Donace, plucking lilies with rosy palms?
For already three suns have perished in succession for me
since I await Donace beneath the accustomed cave.
Meanwhile, as though this were the solace of our love
or could medicate our frenzies,
none of my cows for three light-bringing dawns has touched the grasses,
nor have they tasted waters from any stream;
and the calves, licking the dry udders of their dam-mothers,
stand and with tender lowings fill the air.

Ipse ego nec iunco molli nec vimine lento
perfeci calathos cogendi lactis in usus.
Quid tibi quae nosti referam? Scis mille iuvencas
esse mihi, nosti nunquam mea mulctra vacare.

I myself neither with soft rush nor with pliant osier
have fashioned baskets for the use of curdling milk.
Why should I relate to you what you know? You know a thousand heifers are mine,
you know my milking-pails never stand empty.

Ille ego sum, Donace, cui dulcia saepe dedisti
oscula nec medios dubitasti rumpere cantus
atque inter calamos errantia labra petisti.
Heu heu! Nulla meae tangit te cura salutis?

I am that one, Donace, to whom you often gave sweet
kisses, nor did you hesitate to break off songs in mid-course
and among the reeds you sought my wandering lips.
Alas, alas! Does no care for my well-being touch you?

Pallidior buxo vilaeque simillimus erro.
Omnes ecce cibos et nostri pucula Bacchi
horreo nec placido memini concedere somno.
Te sine, vae, misero mihi lilia fusca videntur
pallentesque rosae nec dulce rubens hyacinthus,
nullos nec myrtus nec laurus spirat odores.

Paler than boxwood, and most similar to a base vagrant I wander.
Omnes—behold—I shudder at all foods and at the cups of our Bacchus,
nor do I remember to concede to placid sleep.
Without you, alas, to wretched me the lilies seem dusky,
and the roses pallid, nor is the blushing hyacinth sweet,
nor do myrtle or laurel breathe any odors.

At, si tu venias, et candida lilia fient
purpureaeque rosae et dulce rubens hyacinthus;
tunc mihi cum myrto laurus spirabit odores.
Nam dum Pallas amat turgentes unguine bacas,
dum Bacchus vites, Deo sata, poma Priapus,
pascua laeta Pales, Idas te diligit unam".
Haec Idas calamis. Tu, quae responderit Alcon
versu, Phoebe, refer: sunt aurea carmina Phoebo.

But, if you should come, the lilies too will become white, the roses purple, and the hyacinth sweetly red;
then for me the laurel with the myrtle will breathe fragrances.
For while Pallas loves berries swelling with oil,
while Bacchus the vines, god-sown, Priapus the fruits,
Pales the joyful pastures, Idas loves you alone".
These things Idas on reed-pipes. You, tell, Phoebus, what Alcon answered
in verse: there are golden songs for Phoebus.

ALCON

"O montana Pales, o pastoralis Apollo,
et nemorum Silvane potens, et nostra Dione,
quae iuga celsa tenes Erycis, cui cura iugales
concubitus hominum totis concedere saeclis,
quid merui? Cur me Donace formosa reliquit?
Munera namque dedi noster quae non dedit Idas,
vocalem longos quae ducit aedona cantus;
quae, licet interdum, contexto vimine clausa,
cum parvae patuere fores, ceu libera ferri
norit et agrestes inter volitare volucres,
scit rursus remeare domum tectumque subire
viminis et caveam totis praeponere silvis.

"O montane Pales, O pastoral Apollo,
and Silvanus of the groves, potent, and our Dione,
you who hold the lofty ridges of Eryx, to whom it is a care
to grant wedded couplings of humans through all the ages,
what have I deserved? Why has fair Donace left me?
For I gave gifts which our Idas did not give,
the vocal aedon that draws out long songs;
which, though sometimes, shut in by interwoven osier,
when the small doors have stood open, as if free to be borne
she knows and to flit among the rustic birds,
she knows again to return home and to go under the roof
of wicker and to prefer the cage to all the forests.

Praeterea tenerum leporem geminasque palumbes
nuper, quae potui silvarum praemia, misi.
Et post haec, Donace, nostros contemnis amores?
Forsitan indignum ducis quod rusticus Alcon
te peream, qui mane boves in pascua duco!

Besides, a tender hare and a pair of wood pigeons
recently, the prizes of the woods that I could, I sent.
And after these things, Donace, do you contemn our loves?
Perhaps you deem it unworthy that rustic Alcon
should perish for you, I who in the morning lead the oxen to pasture!

Di pecorum pavere greges, formosus Apollo,
Pan doctus, Fauni vates et pulcher Adonis.
Quin etiam fontis speculo me mane notavi,
nondum purpureos Phoebus cum tolleret ortus
nec tremulum liquidis lumen splenderet in undis:
quod vidi, nulla tegimur lanugine malas,
pascimus et crinem; nostro formosior Ida
dicor, et hoc ipsum mihi tu iurare solebas,
purpureas laudando genas et lactea colla
atque hilares oculos et formam puberis aevi.
Nec sumus indocti calamis: cantamus avena
qua divi cecinere prius, qua dulce locutus
Tityrus e silvis dominam pervenit in urbem.

O gods of the flocks, who shepherd the herds, fair Apollo,
Pan skilled, the vates Faunus, and handsome Adonis.
Nay, even in the mirror of a spring I marked myself at morning,
when Phoebus had not yet lifted the purple dawns,
nor was the trembling light gleaming on the limpid waves:
what I saw—our cheeks are covered by no down,
and we let the hair grow; I am said to be fairer than our Idas,
and this very thing you were wont to swear to me,
by praising the purpureous cheeks and the milky neck
and the cheerful eyes and the form of youthful age.
Nor are we unlearned in reeds: we sing on the oat-pipe
wherewith the divi sang before, wherewith, speaking sweetly,
Tityrus came from the woods into the mistress city.

Nos quoque te propter, Donace, cantabimus urbi
si modo coniferas inter viburna cupressos
atque inter pinus corylum frondescere fas est".

We too, because of you, Donace, will sing for the city
if only it be permitted for coniferous cypresses among viburnums,
and for the hazel among pines, to grow into leaf".

Sic pueri Donacen toto sub sole canebant,
frigidus e silvis donec descendere suasit
Hesperus et stabulis pastos inducere tauros.

Sthus the boys were singing Donace under the whole sun,
until chill Hesperus persuaded them to descend from the woods
and to lead the pastured bulls into the stables.