IDYL XXI.

THE FISHERMEN.

ARGUMENT.

This Idyl represents the conversation of two fishermen. The poet makes, by way of preface, some observations on poverty. He describes the fishermen's hut. One of them requests the other to interpret a dream for him. He dreamed that he had caught a golden fish, and that he had vowed he would no longer pursue the business of a fisherman. His golden vision has vanished, but he has a superstitious fear of breaking his oath. His companion exhorts him not to think himself bound by an oath, which was no more real than the golden vision that occasioned it. This is the only piscatory eclogue remaining from antiquity.

IDYL XXI.

THE FISHERMEN.

THE nurse of industry and arts is want;
Care breaks the labourer's sleep, my Diophant!
And should sweet slumber o'er his eyelids creep,
Dark cares stand over him, and startle sleep.

Two fishers old lay in their wattled shed,
Close to the wicker on one sea-moss bed;

Near them the tools wherewith they plied their craft,
The basket, rush-trap, line, and reedy shaft,
Weed-tangled baits, a drag-net with its drops,
Hooks, cord, two oars, an old boat fixt on props.
Their rush-mat, clothes, and caps, propt either head;
These were their implements by which they fed,
And this was all their wealth. They were not richer
By so much as a pipkin or a pitcher.

All else seemed vanity: they could not mend
Their poverty which was their only friend.
They had no neighbours; but upon the shore
The sea soft murmured at their cottage door.
The chariot of the moon was midway only,
When thoughts of toil awoke those fishers lonely:
And shaking sleep off they began to sing.

ASPHALION.

The summer-nights are short, when Zeus the king
Makes the days long, some say
and lie. This night
I've seen a world of dreams, nor yet 'tis light.
What's all this? am I wrong? or say I truly?
And can we have a long, long night in July?

FRIEND.

Do

you the summer blame? The seasons change, Nor willingly transgress their wonted range.

From care, that frightens sleep, much longer seems
The weary night.

ASPHALION.

Can you interpret dreams?

I've seen a bright one, which I will declare,
That you my visions, as my toil may share.

To whom should you in mother-wit defer?
And quick wit is best dream-interpreter.
We've leisure, and to spare: what can one do,
Lying awake on leaves, as I and you,

Without a lamp? they say the town-hall ever
Has burning lights-its booty fails it never.

FRIEND.

Well let us have your vision of the night.

ASPHALION.

When yester-eve I slept, outwearied quite
With the sea-toil, not over-fed, for our
Commons, you know, were short at feeding hour,
I saw myself upon a rock, where I

Sat watching for the fish so eagerly!

And from the reed the tripping bait did shake,

Till a fat fellow took it

no mistake:

('Twas natural-like that I should dream of fish, As hounds of meat upon a greasy dish):

He hugged the hook, and then his blood did flow;

His plunges bent my reed like any bow;

I stretched both arms, and had a pretty bout,

To take with hook so weak a fish so stout.