1Why, Mopsus, since we have met, both of us skilled, you at blowing on the light reeds, I at singing verses, do we not sit down here among the elms mixed with hazels? 4You are the elder; 4it is right for me to obey you, Menalcas, whether we go beneath the shadows that shift as the west winds stir them, or rather into the cave: see how the wild vine has dotted the cave with sparse clusters. 8In our hills Amyntas alone competes with you. 9What if he should also compete to outdo Phoebus in singing? 10Begin first, Mopsus, if you have any song of the loves of Phyllis, or praises of Alcon, or quarrels of Codrus: begin; Tityrus will watch the grazing kids.
13No, I will try these songs which I lately wrote down on the green bark of a beech, marking the tune and the words in turn; then you bid Amyntas compete. 16As far as the pliant willow yields to the pale olive, as far as the lowly Celtic nard to beds of crimson roses, so far, in my judgement, does Amyntas yield to you. 19But say no more, boy; 19we have come into the cave. 20The nymphs were weeping for Daphnis, taken by a cruel death; 21you hazels and rivers bear witness for the nymphs; 22when, clasping the pitiful body of her son, his mother calls both the gods and the stars cruel.
24In those days, Daphnis, no one drove the pastured cattle to the cool rivers; 25no four-footed beast tasted the stream or touched a blade of grass. 27Daphnis, even the Punic lions groaned over your death, so the wild mountains and the woods declare. 29Daphnis also taught men to yoke Armenian tigers to the chariot; 30Daphnis taught them to lead on the revel-bands of Bacchus, and to wreathe pliant wands with soft leaves. 32As the vine is the glory of the trees, as grapes of the vines, as bulls of the herds, as crops of rich fields, so you were the whole glory of your people. 34After the fates took you away, Pales herself and Apollo himself left the fields.
36In furrows to which we often entrusted large grains of barley, unlucky darnel and barren wild oats spring up; 38instead of the soft violet, instead of the purple narcissus, the thistle and the thorn with its sharp spikes rise up. 40Strew the ground with leaves, cover the springs with shade, shepherds: Daphnis bids such things be done for him; 42and build a mound, and over the mound set this verse: 'I AM DAPHNIS IN THE WOODS, KNOWN FROM HERE EVEN TO THE STARS, KEEPER OF A LOVELY FLOCK, LOVELIER MYSELF.' 45Your song is to us, divine poet, like sleep on the grass to the weary, like quenching one's thirst in the heat from a leaping brook of sweet water: not on the pipes only, but in voice too, you equal your master.
50Yet we in turn will sing to you these songs of ours, such as they are, and raise your Daphnis to the stars; 52Daphnis we will carry to the stars: Daphnis loved us too. 53Could anything be greater to us than such a gift? Both the boy himself was worthy to be sung, and Stimichon has long since praised those songs of yours to us. 56Radiant Daphnis marvels at the unfamiliar threshold of Olympus, and sees the clouds and stars beneath his feet. 58therefore lively delight holds the woods and all the countryside, and Pan and the shepherds and the Dryad maidens; 60neither does the wolf plot ambush for the flock, nor do any nets plot treachery for the deer: good Daphnis loves peace.
62the unshorn mountains themselves fling their voices to the stars in joy; 63now the very rocks, the very orchards ring with song: 'A god, he is a god, Menalcas.' 65O be kind and gracious to your own! 65See, four altars: look, two for you, Daphnis, two high altars for Phoebus. 67Two cups foaming with fresh milk every year, and two bowls of rich olive oil I will set up for you, and above all, gladdening the feast with plenty of wine—before the hearth if it is cold, in the shade if it is harvest—I will pour Ariusian wines, a new nectar, from goblets. 72Damoetas and Lyctian Aegon will sing for me; 73Alphesiboeus will imitate the dancing satyrs.
74These rites will always be yours, both when we pay our solemn vows to the Nymphs, and when we purify the fields. 76As long as the boar loves the mountain ridges, as long as the fish loves the rivers, as long as bees feed on thyme and cicadas on dew, your honour and name and praises will always remain; 79as to Bacchus and Ceres, so to you the farmers will make vows each year: you too will hold them to their vows. 81What gifts, what gifts can I give you in return for such a song? 82For neither the whistling of the rising south wind delights me so much, nor shores beaten by the waves, nor rivers that run down among rocky valleys.
85First I will present you with this fragile hemlock pipe: this taught me 'Corydon burned for lovely Alexis', this same one taught me 'Whose flock is this? Meliboeus'?' 88But you take this crook, which Antigenes did not get, though he often asked me for it—and he was worthy of being loved then—handsome with its even knots and bronze, Menalcas.