Theocritus. From Idyll I.

  
In addition 
            there is fashioned there 
                         an ancient fisherman 
and a rock, 
            a rugged rock, 
                         on which 
with might and main 
            the old man poises a great net 
                         for the cast 
as one who puts his whole heart into it. 
            One would say 
                         that he was fishing 
with the full strength of his limbs 
            so big do his muscles stand out 
                         about the neck.
Gray-haired though he be,
            he has the strength
                         of a young man.
Now, separated
            from the sea-broken old man
                         by a narrow interval
is a vineyard
            heavy
                         with fire-red clusters,
and on a rude wall
            sits a small boy
                         guarding them.
Round him
            two she-foxes are skulking.
                         One
goes the length of the vine-rows
            to eat the grapes
                         while the other
brings all her cunning to bear,
            by what has been set down,
                         vowing
she will never quit the lad
            until
                         she leaves him bare
and breakfastless.
            But the boy
                         is plaiting a pretty
cage of locust stalks and asphodel,
            fitting the reeds
                         and cares less for his scrip
and the vines
            than he takes delight
                         in his plaiting.
All about the cup
            is draped the mild acanthus
                         a miracle of varied work,
a thing for you to marvel at.
            I paid
                         a Caledonian ferryman
a goat and a great white
            cream-cheese
                         for the bowl.
It is still virgin to me,
            its lip has never touched mine.
                         To gain my desire,
I would gladly
            give this cup
                          if you, my friend,
will sing for me
            that delightful song.
                         I hold nothing back.
Begin, my friend,
            for you cannot,
                         you may be sure,
take your song,
            which drives all things out of mind,
                         with you to the other world.

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The copyright of this podcast recording is David Swarbrick @The Ceylon Press 2025. 

POETRY FROM THE JUNGLE GRATEFULLY ACKNOWLEDGES THE COPYRIGHT CREDIT: 
Theocritus. Edited with a translation and commentary by A. S. F. Gow. Copyright. Copyright © The Society for the Promotion of Hellenic Studies 1952.