Consul let them be.
Now the last age by Cumae's Sibyl sung
Has come and gone, and the
majestic roll
Of circling centuries begins anew:
Justice returns,
returns old Saturn's reign,
With a new breed of men sent down from
heaven.
Only do thou, at the boy's birth in whom
The iron shall
cease, the golden race arise,
Befriend him, chaste Lucina; 'tis thine
own
Apollo reigns. And in thy consulate,
This glorious age, O
Pollio, shall begin,
And the months enter on their mighty march.
Under thy guidance, whatso tracks remain
Of our old wickedness,
once done away,
Shall free the earth from never-ceasing fear.
He
shall receive the life of gods, and see
Heroes with gods commingling,
and himself
Be seen of them, and with his father's worth
Reign o'er
a world at peace. For thee, O boy,
First shall the earth, untilled, pour
freely forth
Her childish gifts, the gadding ivy-spray
With foxglove
and Egyptian bean-flower mixed,
And laughing-eyed acanthus. Of
themselves,
Untended, will the she-goats then bring home
Their
udders swollen with milk, while flocks afield
Shall of the monstrous
lion have no fear.
Thy very cradle shall pour forth for thee
Caressing flowers. The serpent too shall die,
Die shall the treacherous
poison-plant, and far
And wide Assyrian spices spring. But soon
As
thou hast skill to read of heroes' fame,
And of thy father's deeds, and
inly learn
What virtue is, the plain by slow degrees
With waving
corn-crops shall to golden grow,
From the wild briar shall hang the
blushing grape,
And stubborn oaks sweat honey-dew. Nathless
Yet
shall there lurk within of ancient wrong
Some traces, bidding tempt
the deep with ships,
Gird towns with walls, with furrows cleave the
earth.
Therewith a second Tiphys shall there be,
Her hero-freight a
second Argo bear;
New wars too shall arise, and once again
Some
great Achilles to some Troy be sent.
Then, when the mellowing years
have made thee man,
No more shall mariner sail, nor pine-tree bark
Ply traffic on the sea, but every land
Shall all things bear alike: the
glebe no more
Shall feel the harrow's grip, nor vine the hook;
The
sturdy ploughman shall loose yoke from steer,
Nor wool with varying
colours learn to lie;
But in the meadows shall the ram himself,
Now
with soft flush of purple, now with tint
Of yellow saffron, teach his
fleece to shine.
While clothed in natural scarlet graze the lambs.
"Such still, such ages weave ye, as ye run,"
Sang to their spindles the
consenting Fates
By Destiny's unalterable decree.
Assume thy
greatness, for the time draws nigh,
Dear child of gods, great progeny
of Jove!
See how it totters- the world's orbed might,
Earth, and
wide ocean, and the vault profound,
All, see, enraptured of the
coming time!
Ah! might such length of days to me be given,
And
breath suffice me to rehearse thy deeds,
Nor Thracian Orpheus should
out-sing me then,
Nor Linus, though his mother this, and that
His
sire should aid- Orpheus Calliope,
And Linus fair Apollo. Nay,
though Pan,
With Arcady for judge, my claim contest,
With Arcady
for judge great Pan himself
Should own him foiled, and from the field
retire.
Begin to greet thy mother with a smile,
O baby-boy! ten months of
weariness
For thee she bore: O baby-boy, begin!
For him, on whom
his parents have not smiled,
Gods deem not worthy of their board or
bed.
ECLOGUE V
MENALCAS MOPSUS
MENALCAS
Why, Mopsus, being both together met,
You skilled
to breathe upon the slender reeds,
I to sing ditties, do we not sit down
Here where the elm-trees and the hazels blend?
MOPSUS
You are the elder, 'tis for me to bide
Your choice,
Menalcas, whether now we seek
Yon shade that quivers to the
changeful breeze,
Or the cave's shelter. Look you how the cave
Is
with the wild vine's clusters over-laced!
MENALCAS
None but Amyntas on these hills of ours
Can vie
with you.
MOPSUS
What if he also strive
To out-sing Phoebus?
MENALCAS
Do you first begin,
Good Mopsus, whether minded to sing aught
Of
Phyllis and her loves, or Alcon's praise,
Or to fling taunts at Codrus.
Come, begin,
While Tityrus watches o'er the grazing kids.
MOPSUS
Nay, then, I will essay what late I carved
On a green
beech-tree's rind, playing by turns,
And marking down the notes; then
afterward
Bid you Amyntas match them if he can.
MENALCAS
As limber willow to pale olive yields,
As lowly
Celtic nard to rose-buds bright,
So, to my mind, Amyntas yields to
you.
But hold awhile, for to the cave we come.
MOPSUS
"For Daphnis cruelly slain wept all the NymphsYe
hazels, bear them witness, and ye streamsWhen
she, his mother,
clasping in her arms
The hapless body of the son she bare,
To gods
and stars unpitying, poured her plaint.
Then, Daphnis, to the cooling
streams were none
That drove the pastured oxen, then no beast
Drank of the river, or would the grass-blade touch.
Nay, the wild
rocks and woods then voiced the roar
Of Afric lions mourning for thy
death.
Daphnis, 'twas thou bad'st yoke to Bacchus' car
Armenian
tigresses, lead on the pomp
Of revellers, and with tender foliage
wreathe
The bending spear-wands. As to trees the vine
Is crown of
glory, as to vines the grape,
Bulls to the herd, to fruitful fields the
corn,
So the one glory of thine own art thou.
When the Fates took

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