SILENUS and his Satyrs, having been shipwrecked on the coast of Sicily, became the slaves of the Cyclops Polypheme, and were employed by him in keeping his sheep. The following is one of their Pastoral Songs. The Cyclops of Euripides, from which this Chorus is taken, is the only extant specimen of the Satyric Drama, or Farce of the Greeks.
VAIN, my sheep, your vaunted breed,
If you know not where to feed;
Not mid those rocks are soft airs blowing,
Nor there the richest herbage growing;
Not there your bleating lambkins call,
Nor there the gurgling waters fall.
In your trench, by yonder cave,
Slake your thirst, your fleeces lave;
Or, if ye must wander still,
Seek at least the dewy hill.
Must a pebble bring you back,
Flung across your wilful track?
Hie thee, horned one, back again
To the shepherd Cyclops' den;
See, the porter stands before
His rustic master's rocky door.
Mothers, hear your sucklings bleating,
For their evening meal entreating;
Penned the live-long day they lie,
Now give them food and lullaby.
Will ye never, never learn
From the grassy mead to turn;
Never rest, when day grows dim,
In Ætna's grot each weary limb?
But where for me
The dance, the glee
Of Bacchus and his maids divine,
The timbrel's clash,
The fountain's flash,
The enlivening cups of wine?
Nyssa's hill is far away,
Here no nymphs at twilight play,
Yet still the Bacchanalian lay
I chaunt to beauty's Queen.
How oft, her witching smiles to gain,
I've sought each hallowed scene,
Where lovely played the Bacchant train,
Or swept with snowy feet the plain!
Say, Bacchus, say where thou,
Sequestered, wanderest now,
Thy golden tresses floating on the gale?
Reft of defence, if thy protection fail,
Clad in this shaggy coat,
Snatched from the grim he-goat,
Drudge of the one-eyed Cyclops, see
Forlorn thy favourite votary!
THE following Ode is supposed to be sung by a Chorus
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