Next will I discourse of Heaven’s gift, the honey 
	from the skies. On this part, too, of my task, Maecanas, look with favour. 
	The wondrous pageant of a tiny world--
	chiefs great-hearted, a whole nation’s character and tastes 
5	and tribes and battles--I will in due order to you unfold. 
	Slight is the field of toil; but not slight the glory, 
	if adverse powers leave one free, and Apollo hearkens unto prayer.
	
	 First seek a settled home for your bees, 
	whither the winds may find no access--for the winds 
10	let them not carry home their food--where no ewes 
	or sportive kids may trample the flowers, nor straying heifer 
	brush off the dew from the mead and bruise the spring blade. 
	Let the spangled lizard with his scaly back be also 
	a stranger to the rich stalls, and the bee-eater and other birds, 
15	and Procne, with breast marked by her blood-stained hands. 
	For these spread havoc far and near, and, while the bees are on the wing, 
	carry them of in their mouths, a sweet morsel for their cruel nestlings. 
	But let clear springs be near, and moss-green pools, 
	and a tiny brook stealing through the grass; 
20	and let a palm or huge wild olive shade the porch, 
	so that, when the new kings lead forth the early swarms 
	in the spring they love, and the youth revel in their freedom from the combs, 
	a bank near by may tempt them to quit the heat, 
	and a tree in their path may hold them in its sheltering leafage. 
25	In the midst of the water, whether it stand idle or flow onward, 
	cast willows athwart and huge stones, 
	that they may have many bridges whereon to halt and spread 
	their wings in the summer sun, if haply the East Wind 
	has sprinkled the loiterers or with swift gust has plunged them in the flood. 
30	All about let green cassia bloom, and wild thyme 
	with fragrance far borne, and a wealth of strong-scented savory; 
	and let violet beds drink of the trickling spring.
	
	Then, let the hive itself, whether it be sewn 
	of hollow bark, or woven of pliant osier, 
35	have its entrances narrow; for winter with its cold 
	congeals the honey, while heat thaws and makes it run. 
	Either trouble is alike to be feared for the bees; nor is it 
	with vain zeal that in their homes they smear the tiny crevices 
	with wax, fill the entrances with paste 
40	from flowers, and keep a store of glue, gathered for this very purpose, 
	more binding than lime or the pitch of Phrygian Ida. 
	Often, too, if report be true, they have made a snug home 
	in tunneled hiding places underground, and are found 
	deep in the hollows of pumice rock, or the cavern of a decayed tree. 
45	Yet keep them snug, smearing the chinks of their chambers 
	with smooth clay, and flinging thereon a few leaves. 
	And suffer no yew too near the hive, nor roast 
	the reddening crab at your hearth; and trust not a deep marsh 
	or a place where the smell of mud is strong, or where the hollow rocks 
50	ring when struck, and the echoes voice rebounds from the shock.
	
	For the rest, when the golden Sun has driven winter 
	in rout beneath the earth, and with summer light unlocked the sky, 
	straightway they range through glades and groves, 
	cull bright flowers, and lightly sip the stream’s brink. 
55	Hence it is that, glad with some strange joy, 
	they cherish nest and nestlings; hence they deftly mould 
	fresh wax and fashion the gluey honey. 
	Hence when you look up and see the host, just freed from the hive, 
	floating towards the starry sky through the clear summer air--
60	when you marvel at the dark cloud trailing down the wind--
	mark it well; they are ever in quest of sweet waters 
	and leafy coverts. Here scatter the scents I prescribe--
	bruised balm, and the honeywort’s lowly herb; 
	raise a tinkling sound, and shake the Mighty Mother’s cymbals round about. 
65	Of themselves they settle on the scented resting places; of themselves, 
	after their wont, will hide far within their cradling cells.
	
	But, if haply for battle they have gone forth--for strife 
	with terrible turmoil has often fallen on two kings; 
	and straightway you may presage from afar the fury 
70	of the crowd, and how their hearts thrill with war; 
	for the warlike ring of the hoarse clarion stirs the loiterers, 
	and a sound is heard that is like broken trumpet blasts. 
	Then, all afire, they flock together: their wings flash, 
	they sharpen their stings with their beaks and make ready their arms. 
75	Round their king, and even by his royal tent, they swarm 
	in throngs, and with loud cries challenge the foe. 
	Therefore, when they have found a clear spring day and open field, 
	they sally forth from the gates. There is a clash; in high air 
	arises a din; they are mingled and massed in one great ball, 
80	then tumble headlong: no thicker is hail from the sky, 
	not so dense is the rain of acorns from the shaken oak. 
	In the midst of the ranks the chiefs themselves, 
	with resplendent wings, have mighty souls beating in tiny breasts, 
	ever steadfast not to yield, until the victor’s heavy hand 
85	has driven these or those to turn their backs in flight. 
	These storms of passion, these savage conflicts, 
	by the tossing of a little dust will be quelled and laid to rest.
	
	But when you have called both captains back from the field, 
	give up to death the meaner of look, that he prove 
90	no wasteful burden; let the nobler reign in the palace alone. 
	The one will be aglow with rough spots of gold 
	for there are two sorts: one is better, noble of mien 
	and bright with gleaming scales; the other squalid 
	from sloth, and trailing ignobly a broad paunch. 
95	As twofold are the features of the kings, so are the bodies of the subjects. 
	For some are ugly and unsightly, as when from out of deep dust 
	comes the parched wayfarer, and spits the dirt from his dried mouth. 
	Other gleam, and flash in splendour, their bodies 
	all ablaze and flecked with equal drops of gold. 
100	This is the nobler breed; from this, in the sky’s due season, 
	you will strain sweet honey--yet not so sweet as clear, 
	and fit to subdue the harsh flavour of wine.
	
	But when the swarms flit aimlessly and sport in the air, 
	scorning their cells and leaving their hives chill, 
105	you must check their fickle spirit from such idle play. 
	No hard task is it to check them. Do you tear from the monarchs 
	their wings; while they tarry, no one will dare to go forth 
	aloft, or pluck the standards from the camp. 
	Let there by gardens fragrant with saffron flowers to invite them, 
110	and let the watchmen against thieves and birds, guardian Priapus, 
	lord of the Hellespont, protect them with his willow hook. 
	Let him to whom such care falls, himself bring thyme and laurestines 
	from the high hills, and plant them widely round their homes; 
	himself harden his hand with stern toil; himself plant 
115	in the ground fruitful slips and sprinkle kindly showers.
	
	In fact, were I not, with my task well-nigh done, 
	about to furl my sails and making haste to turn my prow to land, 
	perchance I might sing what careful tendance clothes rich gardens in flower, 
	and might sing of Paestum whose rose beds bloom twice yearly, 
120	how the endive rejoices in drinking streams, 
	the verdant banks in celery; how the cucumber, coiling through 
	the grass, swells into a paunch. Nor should I have passed 
	in silence the late-flowering narcissus, the twining tendril of the acanthus, 
	pale ivy sprays, or the shore-loving myrtle. 
125	For I call to mind how once under the towers of the Oebalian citadel, 
	where dark Galaesus waters the yellowing corn, 
	I saw an old Cilician, who occupied a few acres 
	of unclaimed land, not rich enough for ploughing, 
	nor fit for pasturage, nor suited to the vine. 
130	Even so, planting cabbages here and there among the brambles, 
	and white lilies and vervain and fine-seeded poppies, 
	in happiness he equaled the wealth of kings, and returning home 
	late at night he used to load his table with an unbought banquet. 
	First he was in the spring to gather roses, and apples in the fall; 
135	and when grim winter was still bursting rocks 
	with her frost and braking the current of rivers with ice, 
	already he was cutting soft-haired hyacinths 
	and chiding laggard summer and the loitering zephyrs. 
	Thus it was that he was still the first to be enriched with teeming bees 
140	and a plenteous swarm, and first to gather from the squeezed comb 
	the frothing honey; his limes and laurestines were ever luxuriant, 
	and all the fruits which clothed his fertile trees in their 
	early blossoming, so many they kept in the ripeness of autumn. 
	He would also plant out elms in rows, though late in season, 
145	pears when quite hard, blackthorns already hung with sloes, 
	and planes already offering to drinkers the service of their shade. 
	But all this I must pass by, constrained by narrow bounds, 
	and leave to others after me to record.
	
	Come now, the qualities which Jove himself has given bees, 
150	I will unfold--even the reward for which they followed 
	the tuneful sounds and clashing bronzes of the Curetes, 
	and fed the king of heaven within the cave of Dicte. 
	They alone have children in common, hold the dwellings 
	of their city jointly, and pass their lives under the majesty of law. 
155	They alone know a fatherland and fixed home, 
	and in summer, mindful of the winter to come, 
	spend toilsome days and garner their gains into a common store. 
	For some watch over the gatherings of food, and under fixed covenant 
	labour in the fields; some, within the confines of their homes, 
160	lay down the narcissus’ tears and gluey gum from tree bark 
	as the first foundation of the comb, then hang aloft 
	clinging wax; others lead out the full-grown young, 
	the nation’s hope; others pack purest honey, 
	and swell the cells with liquid nectar. 
165	To some it has fallen by lot to be sentries at the gates, 
	and in turn they watch the rains and clouds of heaven, 
	or take the load of incomers, or in martial array 
	drive the drones, a lazy herd, from the folds. 
	All aglow is the work, and the fragrant honey is sweet with thyme. 
170	And as, when the Cyclopes in haste forge bolts 
	from tough ore, some with oxhide bellows make the blasts 
	come and go, others dip the hissing brass in the lake, 
	while Aetna groans under the anvils laid upon her; 
	they, with mighty force, now one, now another, raise their arms 
175	in measured cadence, and turn the iron with gripping tongs--
	even so, if we may compare small things with great, 
	an inborn love of gain spurs on the Attic bees, 
	each after its own office. The aged have charge o the towns, 
	the building of the hives, the fashioning of the cunningly wrought houses. 
180	But the young betake them home in weariness, late at night, 
	their thighs freighted with thyme; far and wide they feed on arbutus, 
	on pale-green willows, on cassia and ruddy crocus, 
	on the rich linden, and the dusky hyacinth. 
	All have on season to rest from labour, all one season to toil. 
185	At dawn they pour from the gates, no loitering; again, 
	when the star of eve has warned them to withdraw from their pasture 
	in the fields, then they seek their homes, then they refresh their frames; 
	a sound is heard, as they hum about the entrances and on the thresholds. 
	Anon, when they have laid them to rest in their chambers, 
190	silence reigns into the night, and well-earned sleep seizes their weary limbs. 
	Nor yet, if rain impend, do they stray far from their stalls, 
	or trust the sky when eastern gales are near, 
	but round about, beneath the shelter of their city walls, draw water, 
	and essay short flights; and often they raise tiny stones, 
195	as unsteady barques take up ballast in a tossing sea, 
196	and with these balance themselves amid the unsubstantial clouds. 
203	Often, too, as they wander among rugged rocks they bruise 
	their wings, and freely yield their lives under their load--
205	so deep is their love of flowers and their glory in begetting honey.
	
197	You will also marvel that this custom has found favour with bees, 
	that they indulge not in conjugal embraces, nor idly unnerve 
	their bodies in love, or bring forth young with travail, 
200	but of themselves gather their children in their mouths 
	from leaves and sweet herbs, of themselves provide a new monarch 
202	and tiny burghers, and remodel their palaces and waxen realms. 
206	Therefore, though the limit of a narrow span awaits 
	the bees themselves--yet the race abides immortal, 
	for many a year stands firm the fortune of the house, 
	and grandsires’ grandsires are numbered on the roll.
	
210	Moreover, neither Egypt nor mighty Lydia, 
	nor the Parthian tribes, nor Median Hydaspes, show such homage 
	to their king. While he is safe, all are of one mind; 
	when he is lost, straightway they break their fealty, and themselves 
	pull down the honey they have reared and tear up their trellised combs. 
215	He is the guardian of their toils; to him they do reverence; 
	all stand round him in clamorous crowd, and attend him in throngs. 
	Often they lift him on their shoulders, for him expose their bodies 
	to battle, and seek amid wounds a glorious death.
	
	Let by such tokens and such instances, some have taught 
220	that the bees received a share of the divine intelligence, and a draught 
	of heavenly ether; for God, they saw, pervades all things, 
	earth and sea’s expanse and heaven’s depth; 
	from him the flocks and herds, men and beasts of every sort draw, 
	each at birth, the slender stream of life; 
225	to him all beings thereafter return, and, when unmade, are restored; 
	no place is there for death, but, still quick, they fly unto the ranks 
	of the stars, and mount to the heavens aloft.
	
	Whenever you would break into the close-packed dwelling and the honey 
	hoarded in their treasure houses, first with a draught of water sprinkle 
230	and rinse your mouth, and in your hand hold forth searching smoke. 
236	Their rage is beyond measure; when hurt, they breathe poison 
	into their bites, and fastening on the veins leave there 
238	their unseen stings and lay down their lives in the wound. 
231	Twice they gather the teeming produce; two seasons are there for the harvest--
	first, so soon as Taygete the Pleiad has shown her comely face 
	to the earth, and spurned with scornful foot the streams of Ocean, 
	and when that same star, fleeing before the sign of the water Fish, 
235	sinks sadly from heaven into the wintry waves. 
239	But if you fear a rigorous winter, and would be lenient with their future, 
240	and have pity for their crushed spirits and broken fortunes--
	yet who would hesitate to fumigate them with thyme, and cut away 
	the empty waxen cells? For often the newt, unnoticed, has nibbled 
	at the combs, the light-shunning beetles cram the chambers, 
	and the unhelpful drone seats him at another’s board. 
245	Or the fierce hornet has rushed upon their unequal forces, 
	or the moths appear, a pestilent race, or the spider, 
	hateful to Minerva, hangs in the doorway her loose-woven nets. 
	The more their hoards are drained, the more eagerly 
	will they press on to repair the ruin of their fallen race, 
250	filling up their cell galleries and weaving their granaries with flower gum.
	
	But, since to bees as well has life brought the ills 
	of man, if their bodies droop with grievous disease--
	and this you can at once discern by no uncertain signs: 
	straightway, as they sicken, their colour changes, an unsightly 
255	leanness mars their looks; forth from their doors they bear the bodies 
	of those bereft of life, and lead the mournful funeral train; 
	or else, linked foot to foot, there by the portal they hang, 
	or within locked doors they linger, all spiritless 
	with hunger and torpid with pinching cold. 
260	Then is heard a duller sound, a long-drawn buzz, 
	as at time the chill South sighs in the woods, 
	as the fretted sea whistles with its ebbing surge, 
	as seethes in close-barred furnaces the devouring flame. 
	Then would I have you burn forthwith fragrant gum, 
265	and give them honey through pipes of reed, freely 
	heartening them, and calling the weary to their familiar food. 
	It will be well, too, to blend the flavour of pounded galls, 
	and dried rose leaves, or must made rich over a strong fire, 
	or dried clusters from the Psithian vine, 
270	with Attic thyme and strong-smelling centaury. 
	A flower, too, there is in the meadows, which farmers 
	have called amellus, a plant easy for searchers to find, 
	for from a single clump it lifts a vast growth. 
	Golden is the disk, but in the petals, streaming profusely 
275	round, there is a crimson gleam amid the dark violet. 
	Often with its woven garlands have the gods’ altars been decked; 
	its flavour is bitter to the tongue; shepherds cull it in meadows 
	cropped by the flock, and by Mella’s winding streams. 
	This plant’s roots you must boil in fragrant wine, 
280	and set for food at their doors in full baskets.
	
	But if anyone’s whole stock has failed him, 
	and he knows not how to restore the race in a new line, 
	then it is also time to reveal the famed device of the Arcadian 
	master, and the mode whereby often, in the past, the putrid blood 
285	of slain bullocks has engendered bees. From its fount 
	I will unfold the whole story, tracing it back from its first source. 
	For where the favoured people of Macedonian Canopus 
	dwell by the still waters of the flooded Nile, 
	and sail in painted barges about their fields, there, 
290	where the borderland of quivered Persia presses close 
292	and the rushing river splits up into seven separate mouths 
	after sweeping all the way down from the swarthy Indians 
291	and with its black sands fertilizes verdant Egypt, 
294	there the whole region rests its sure hope of salvation upon this device.
	
295	First is chosen a place, small and straitened 
	for this very purpose. This they confine with a narrow roof 
	of tiles and close walls, and towards the four winds 
	add four windows with slanting light. 
	Then a bullock is sought, one just arching his horns on a brow 
300	of two summer’s growth. Struggle as he will, both his nostrils 
	are stopped up, and the breath of his mouth; then he is beaten to death, 
	and his flesh is pounded to a pulp through the unbroken hide. 
	As thus he lies, they leave him in his prison, 
	and strew beneath his sides broken boughs, thyme, and fresh cassia. 
305	This is done when the zephyrs begin to stir the waves, 
	before ever the meadows blush with their fresh hues, 
	before the chattering swallow hangs her nest from the rafters. 
	Meantime the moisture, warming in the softened bones, 
	ferments, and creatures of wondrous wise to view, 
310	footless at first, soon with buzzing wings as well, 
	swarm together, and more and more essay the light air, 
	until, like a shower pouring from summer clouds, 
	they burst forth, or like arrows from the string’s rebound, 
	when the light-armed Parthians enter on the opening battle.
	
315	What god, ye Muses, forged for us this device? 
	Whence did man’s strange adventuring take its rise? 
	Aristaeus the shepherd, quitting Tempe by the Peneus, 
	when--so runs the tale--his bees were lost through sickness and hunger, 
	sorrowfully stopped beside the sacred fount at the stream’s head, 
320	and with much complaint called on his mother thus: 
	“O mother, mother Cyrene, who dwell in this flood’s depths, 
	why, from the gods’ glorious line--
	if indeed, as you say, Thymbraean Apollo is my father--
	did you give me birth, to be hated of the fates? Or whither is your 
325	love for me banished? Why did you bid me hope for Heaven? 
	Lo, even this very crown of my mortal life, 
	which the skilful tending of crops and cattle had scarce wrought out 
	for me for all my endeavour--though you are my mother, I resign. 
	Come, and with your own hand tear up my fruitful woods; 
330	put hostile flame to my stalls, destroy my crops, 
	burn my seedlings, and swing the stout axe against my vines, 
	if such loathing for my honour has seized you.”
	
	But his mother heard the cry from her bower beneath 
	the river’s depths. About her the Nymphs were spinning 
335	fleeces of Miletus, dyed with rich glassy hue--
	Drymo and Xantho, Ligea and Phyllodoce, 
	their shining tresses floating over snowy necks; 
	Nesaea and Spio, Thalia and Cymodoce; 
	Cydippe and golden-haired Lycorias--a maiden one, 
340	the other having but felt the first birth-throes; 
	Clio and Beroe, her sister, daughters of Ocean both, 
	both arrayed in gold, and both in dappled hides; 
	Ephyre and Opis, and Asian Deiopea, 
	and fleet Arethusa, her arrows laid aside at last. 
345	Among these Clymene was telling of Vulcan’s 
	baffled care, of the wiles and stolen joys of Mars, 
	and from Chaos on was rehearsing the countless loves of the gods. 
	And while, charmed by the strain, they unrolled the soft coils 
	from their spindles, again the wail of Aristaeus smote upon 
350	his mother’s ear, and all upon their crystal thrones 
	were startled. Yet, first of all the sisters, Arethusa, 
	looking forth, raised her golden head above the water’s brim, 
	and cried from afar: “O sister Cyrene, not vain was your alarm 
	at this loud lament. ‘Tis even he, your own beloved, your Aristaeus, 
355	standing sadly and in tears by the waters of our father, 
	and crying out on you by name for cruelty.”
	
	To her the mother, her soul smitten with strange dread cries: 
	“O bring him, bring him to us; lawful it is for him to tread 
	the threshold divine.” And withal, she bade the deep streams 
360	part asunder far, that so the youth might enter in. And lo, 
	the wave, arched mountain-like, stood round about, 
	and, welcoming him within the vast recess ushered him beneath the stream. 
	And now, marveling at his mother’s home, a realm of waters, 
	at the lakes locked in caverns, and the echoing groves, 
365	he went on his way, and, dazed by the mighty rush of waters, 
	he gazed on all the rivers, as, each in his own place, 
	they glide under the great earth--Phasis and Lycus, 
	the fount whence deep Enipeus first breaks forth, 
	whence Father Tiber, whence the streams of Anio 
370	and rocky, roaring Hypanis, and Mysian Caïcus, 
	and Eridanus, on whose bull’s brow are two gilded horns: 
	no other stream of mightier force flows 
	through the fertile fields to join the violet sea. 
	Soon as he reached the bower with its hanging roof 
375	of stone, and Cyrene heard the tale of her son’s idle tears, 
	the sisters, in due order, pour on his hands 
	clear spring-waters, and bring smooth-shorn napkins. 
	Some load the board with the feast, and in turn set on 
	the brimming cups; the altars blaze up with Panchaean fires. 
380	Then cried his mother: “Take the goblets of Maeonian wine’; 
	pour we a libation to Ocean!” And she prayed to Ocean, 
	universal father, and the sister Nymphs, 
	who guard the hundred forests and a hundred streams. 
	Thrice with clear nectar she sprinkles the glowing hearth; 
385	thrice the flame, shooting up to the rooftop, gleamed afresh. 
	With this omen to cheer his heart, she thus her self began: 
	
	“In Neptune’s Carpathian flood there dwells a seer, 
	Proteus, of sea-green hue, who traverses the mighty main 
	in his car drawn by fishes and a team of two-footed steeds. 
390	Even now he revisits the havens of Thessaly and his native 
	Pallene. To him we Nymphs do reverence, and aged 
	Nereus himself; for the seer has knowledge of all things--
	what is, what hath been, what is in train before long to happen--
	for so has it seemed good to Neptune, whose monstrous 
395	herds and unsightly seals he pastures beneath the wave. 
	Him, my son, you must first take in fetters, that he may 
	unfold to you all the cause of the sickness, and bless the issue. 
	For without force he will give you no counsel, nor shall you 
	bend him by prayer. With stern force and fetters make fast 
400	the captive; thereon alone his wiles will shatter themselves in vain. 
	I myself, when the sun has kindled his noonday heat, 
	when the grass is athirst, and the shade is now welcome to the flock, 
	will guide you to the aged one’s retreat, whither when weary 
	he retires, so that you may assail him with ease as he lies asleep. 
405	But when you hold him in the grasp of hands and fetters, 
	then will manifold forms baffle you, and figures of wild beasts. 
	For of a sudden he will become a bristly boar, a deadly tiger, 
	a scaly serpent, or a lioness with tawny neck; 
	or he will give forth the fierce roar of flame, and thus slip 
410	from his fetters, or he will melt into fleeting water and be gone. 
	But the more he turn himself into all shapes, 
	the more, my son, should you tighten his fetters, 
	until after his last changes of body he become such as 
	you saw when he closed his eyes at the beginning of slumber.”
	
415	She spoke, and shed abroad ambrosia’s fragrant stream, 
	wherewith she steeped her son’s whole frame: and lo, 
	a sweet effluence breathed from his smoothened locks, 
	and vigour and suppleness passed into his limbs. There is a vast cavern, 
	hollowed in a mountain’s side, whither many a wave
420	 is driven by the wind, then separates into receding inlets--
	at times a haven most sure for storm-caught mariners. 
	Within, Proteus shelters himself with the barrier of a huge rock. 
	Here the Nymph stations the youth in ambush, 
	away from the light; she herself, veiled in mist, stands aloof. 
425	And now the Dog Star, fiercely parching the thirsty Indians, 
	was ablaze in heaven, and the fiery Sun had consumed 
	half his course; the grass was withering and the hollow streams, in their 
	parched throats, were scorched and baked by the rays down to the slime, 
	when Proteus came from the waves, in quest of his wonted cave. 
430	About him the watery race of the vast deep 
	gamboled, scattering afar the briny spray. 
	The seals lay them down to sleep, here and there along the shore; 
	he himself--even as at times the warder of a sheepfold on the hills, 
	when Vesper brings the steers home from pasture, 
435	and the cry of bleating lambs whets the wolf’s hunger--
	sits down on a rock in the midst and counts their number. 
	Soon as the chance came to Aristaeus, 
	he scarce suffered the aged one to settle his weary limbs, 
	before he burst upon him with a loud cry and surprised him 
440	in fetters as he lies. On his part, the seer forgets not his craft, 
	but changes himself into all wondrous shapes--
	into flame and hideous beast and flowing river. 
	But when no stratagem wins escape, vanquished 
	he returns to himself, and at last speaks with human voice: 
445	“Why, who,” he cried, “most presumptuous of youths, bade you 
	invade our home? Or what seek you hence?” But he: 
	“You know, Proteus; you know of yourself, nor may one deceive you in aught, 
	but give up your wish to deceive. Following the counsel of Heaven, 
	we are come to seek hence an oracle for our weary fortunes.” 
450	So much he spoke. On this the seer, yielding at last 
	to mighty force, rolled on him eyes ablaze with grey-green light, 
	and grimly gnashing his teeth, thus opened his lips to tell of fate’s decrees:
	
	“It is a god, no other, whose anger pursues you: 
	great is the crime you are paying for; this punishment, far less 
455	than you deserve, unhappy Orpheus arouses against you--
	did not Fate interpose--and rages implacably for the loss of his bride. 
	She, in headlong flight along the river, if only she might escape you, 
	saw not, doomed maiden, amid the deep grass 
	the monstrous serpent at her feet that guarded the banks. 
460	But her sister band of Dryads filled the mountaintops 
	with their cries; the towers of Rhodope wept, 
	and the Pangaean heights, and the martial land of Rhesus, 
	the Getae and Hebrus and Orithyia, Acte’s child. 
	But he, solacing an arching heart with music from his hollow shell, 
465	sang of you, dear wife, sang of you to himself on the lonely shore, 
	of you as day drew nigh, of you as day departed. 
	He even passed through the jaws of Taenarum, the lofty portals 
	of Dis, the grove that is murky with black terror, 
	and made his way to the land of the dead with its fearful king 
470	and hearts no human prayers can soften. 
	Stirred by his song, up from the lowest realms of Erebeus 
	came the unsubstantial shades, the phantoms of those who lie in darkness, 
	as many as the myriads of birds that shelter among the leaves 
	when evening or a wintry shower drives them from the hills--
475	women and men, and figures of great-souled heroes, 
	their life now done, boys and girls unwed, 
	and sons placed on the pyre before their fathers’ eyes. 
	But round them are the black ooze and unsightly reeds 
	of Cocytus, the unlovely mere enchaining them with its sluggish water, 
480	and Styx holding them fast within this ninefold circles. 
	Still more: the very house of Death and deepest abysses of Hell 
	were spellbound, and the Furies with livid snakes entwined 
	in their hair; Cerberus stood agape and his triple jaws forgot to bark; 
	the wind subsided, and Ixion’s wheel came to a stop.
	
485	“And now, as he retraced his steps, he had avoided all mischance, 
	and the regained Eurydice was nearing the upper world, 
	following behind--for that condition had Proserpine imposed--
	when a sudden frenzy seized Orpheus, unwary in his love, 
	a frenzy meet for pardon, did Hell know how to pardon! 
490	He halted, and on the very verge of light, unmindful, alas, and vanquished 
	in purpose, on Eurydice, now regained looked back! In that instant 
	all his toil was split like water, the ruthless tyrant’s pact was broken 
	and thrice a peal of thunder was heard amid the pools of Avernus. 
	She cried: ‘What madness, Orpheus, what dreadful madness has brought 
495	disaster alike upon you and me, pour soul? See, again the cruel Fates 
	call me back, and sleep seals my swimming eyes. 
	And now farewell! I am borne away, covered in night’s vast pall, 
	and stretching towards you strengthless hands, regained, alas! no more.’ 
	She spoke, and straightway from his sight, like smoke mingling 
500	with thin air, vanished afar and saw him not again, 
	as he vainly clutched at the shadows with so much 
	left unsaid; nor did the ferryman of Orcus 
	suffer him again to pass the barrier of the marsh. 
	What could he do? Whither turn, twice robbed of his wife? 
505	With what tears move Hell? To what deities address his prayers? 
	She indeed, already death-cold, was afloat in the Stygian barque. 
	Of him they tell that for seven whole months day after day 
	beneath a lofty crag beside lonely Strymon’s stream he wept, 
	and in the shelter of cool dales unfolded his tale, 
510	charming tigers and drawing oaks with his song: 
	even as a nightingale, mourning beneath a poplar’s shade, 
	bewails her young ones’ loss, when a heartless ploughman, 
	watching their resting place, has plucked them unfledged from the nest: 
	the mother weeps all night long, as, perched on a branch, she repeats 
515	her piteous song and fills all around with plaintive lamentation. 
	No thought of love or wedding song could bend his soul. 
	Alone he roamed the frozen North, along the icy Tanais, 
	and the fields ever wedded to Riphaean snows, 
	mourning his lost Eurydice and Pluto’s cancelled 
520	boon; till the Ciconian women, resenting such devotion, 
	in the midsts of their sacred rites and their midnight Bacchic orgies, 
	tore the youth limb from limb and flung him over the far-spread plains. 
	And even when Oeagrian Hebrus rolled in mid-current 
	that head, severed from its marble neck, the disembodied voice 
525	and the tongue, now cold for ever, called with departing breath 
	on Eurydice--ah, poor Eurydice! 
	‘Eurydice’ the banks re-echoed, all along the stream.”
	
	Thus Proteus, and at a bound plunged into the deep sea, 
	and where he plunged, whirled the water into foam beneath the eddy. 
530	Cyrene stayed, and straightway spoke to the startled youth: 
	“You may dismiss from your mind the care that troubles it. 
	This is the whole cause of the sickness, and hence it is that the Nymphs, 
	with whom she used to tread the dance in the deep groves, 
	have sent this wretched havoc on your bees. You must offer a suppliant’s gifts, 
535	sue for peace, and pay homage to the gentle maidens of the woods; 
	for they will grant pardon to prayers, and relax their wrath. 
	But first I will tell you in order the manner of your supplication. 
	Pick out four choice bulls, of surpassing form, 
	that now graze among your herds on the heights of green Lycaeus, 
540	and as many heifers of unyoked neck. 
	For these set up four altars by the stately shrines of the goddesses, 
	and drain the sacrificial blood from their throats, 
	but leave the bodies of the steers within the leafy grove. 
	Later, when the ninth Dawn displays her rising beams, 
545	you must offer to Orpheus funeral dues of Lethe’s poppies, 
	slay a black ewe, and revisit the grove. Then with Eurydice appeased 
	you should honour her with the slaying of a calf.”
	
	Tarrying not, he straightway does his mother’s bidding. 
	He comes to the shrine, raises the altars appointed, 
550	and leads there four choice bulls, of surpassing form, 
	and as many heifers of unyoked neck. 
	Later, when the ninth Dawn had ushered in her rising beams, 
	he offers to Orpheus the funeral dues, and revisits the grove. 
	But here they espy a portent, sudden and wondrous to tell--
555	throughout the paunch, amid the molten flesh of the oxen, 
	bees buzzing and swarming forth from the ruptured sides, 
	then trailing in vast clouds, till at last on a treetop 
	they stream together, and hang in clusters from the bending boughs.
	
	So much I say in addition to the care of fields, of cattle, 
560	and of trees, while great Caesar thundered in war 
	by deep Euphrates and bestowed a victor’s laws 
	on willing nations, and essayed the path to Heaven. 
	In those days I, Virgil, was nursed by sweet Parthenope, 
	and rejoiced in the arts of inglorious ease--
565	I who toyed with shepherds’ songs, and, in youth’s boldness, 
	sang of you, Tityrus, under the canopy of spreading beech.