Mourn with me, you glades and Dorian water, and you rivers, weep for the lovely Bion.
§3νῦν φυτά μοι μύρεσθε, καὶ ἄλσεα νῦν γοάοισθε, §4ἄνθεα νῦν στυμνοῖσιν ἀποπνείοιτε κορύμβοις, §5νῦν ῥόδα φοινίσσεσθε τὰ πένθιμα, νῦν ἀνεμῶναι, §6νῦν ὑάκινθε λάλει τὰ σὰ γράμματα καὶ πλέον αἰαῖ §7βάμβανε τοῖς πετάλοισι· καλὸς τέθνακε μελικτάς.
Now, you plants, lament for me, and now, you groves, wail; now, you flowers, breathe out sadness from your drooping clusters; now, you roses, turn to a mournful red, and now, you anemones; now, hyacinth, whisper your letters and babble "ai ai" all the more upon your petals; the beautiful singer is dead.
§8ἄρχετε Σικελικαὶ τῶ πένθεος ἄρχετε Μοῖσαι.
Begin, Sicilian Muses, begin the mourning.
§9ἀδόνες αἱ πυκινοῖσιν ὀδυρόμεναι ποτὶ φύλλοις, §10νάμασι τοῖς Σικελοῖς ἀγγείλατε τᾶς Ἀρεθοίσας, §11ὅττι Βίων τέθνακεν ὁ βουκόλος, ὅττι σὺν αὐτῷ §12καὶ τὸ μέλος τέθνακε καὶ ὤλετο Δωρὶς ἀοιδά.
Nightingales that wail among the dense leaves, announce to the Sicilian streams of Arethusa that Bion the herdsman is dead, and that with him song too has died and the Dorian poetry has perished.
§13ἄρχετε Σικελικαὶ τῶ πένθεος ἄρχετε Μοῖσαι.
Begin, Sicilian Muses, begin the mourning.
§14Στρυμόνιοι μύρεσθε παρ’ ὕδασιν αἴλινα κύκνοι, §15καὶ γοεροῖς στομάτεσσι μελίσδετε πένθιμον ᾠδάν, §16οἵαν ὑμετέροις ποτὶ χείλεσι γῆρας ἀείδει, §17εἴπατε δ’ αὖ κούραις Οἰαγρίσιν, εἴπατε πάσαις §18Βιστονίαις Νύμφαισιν
ἀπώλετο Δώριος Ὀρφεύς.
Strymonian swans, mourn with me by the waters with your dirges, and with sorrowful mouths sing a mournful song, such as old age sings to your lips; and tell again the Oiagrian maidens, tell all the Bistonian Nymphs: the Dorian Orpheus has perished.
§19ἄρχετε Σικελικαὶ τῶ πένθεος ἄρχετε Μοῖσαι.
Begin, Sicilian Muses, begin the mourning.
§20κεῖνος ὁ ταῖς ἀγέλαισιν ἐράσμιος οὐκέτι μέλπει, §21οὐκέτ’ ἐρημαίαισιν ὑπὸ δρυσὶν ἥμενος ᾅδει, §22ἀλλὰ παρὰ Πλουτῆϊ μέλος Ληθαῖον ἀείδει.
He who was beloved by his herds no longer sings, no longer sings sitting under the lonely oaks; but by Pluto he sings a Lethean song.
§23ὤρεα δ’ ἐστὶν ἄφωνα, καὶ αἱ βόες αἱ ποτὶ ταύροις §24πλαζόμεναι γοάοντι καὶ οὐκ ἐθέλοντι νέμεσθαι.
The mountains are silent, and the cows wandering by the bulls lament and refuse to pasture.
§25ἄρχετε Σικελικαὶ τῶ πένθεος ἄρχετε Μοῖσαι.
Begin, Sicilian Muses, begin the mourning.
§26σεῖο Βίων ἔκλαυσε ταχὺν μόρον αὐτὸς Ἀπόλλων, §27καὶ Σάτυροι μύροντο μελάγχλαινοί τε Πρίηποι· §28καὶ Πᾶνες στοναχεῦντο τὸ σὸν μέλος, αἵ τε καθ’ ὕλαν §29Κρανίδες ὠδύραντο, καὶ ὕδατα δάκρυα γέντο.
For your swift fate, Bion, Apollo himself wept, and the Satyrs mourned, and the Priapi in black cloaks; and the Pans wailed for your song, and the Fountain-nymphs in the woods lamented, and the waters turned to tears.
Echo grieves among the rocks, because she is in silence and no longer imitates your lips.
σῷ δ’ ἐπ’ ὀλέθρῳ §32δένδρεα καρπὸν ἔριψε, τὰ δ’ ἄνθεα πάντ’ ἐμαράνθη.
At your destruction the trees have cast down their fruit, and all the flowers have withered.
§33μάλων οὐκ ἔρρευσε καλὸν γλάγος, οὐ μέλι σίμβλων, §34κάτθανε δ’ ἐν κηρῷ λυπεύμενον· οὐκέτι γὰρ δεῖ §35τῶ μέλιτος τῶ σῶ τεθνακότος αὐτὸ τρυγᾶσθαι.
Beautiful milk did not flow from the sheep, nor honey from the hives, but it perished in the wax, wasting away in grief; for it is no longer necessary to harvest it, now that your honey has died.
§36ἄρχετε Σικελικαὶ τῶ πένθεος ἄρχετε Μοῖσαι.
Begin, Sicilian Muses, begin the mourning.
§37οὐ τόσον εἰναλίαισι παρ’ ᾀόσι μύρατο Σειρήν, §38οὐδὲ τόσον ποκ’ ἄεισεν ἐνὶ σκοπέλοισιν Ἀηδών, §39οὐδὲ τόσον θρήνησεν ἀν’ ὤρεα μακρὰ Χελιδών, §40Ἀλκυόνος δ’ οὐ τόσσον ἐπ’ ἄλγεσιν ἴαχε Κῆϋξ, §42οὐδὲ τόσον γλαυκοῖς ἐνὶ κύμασι κηρύλος ᾆδεν, §41οὐ τόσον ἀῴοισιν ἐν ἄγκεσι παῖδα τὸν Ἀοῦς §43ἱπτάμενος περὶ σᾶμα κινύρατο Μέμνονος ὄρνις, §44ὅσσον ἀποφθιμένοιο κατωδύραντο Βίωνος.
Not so much did the Siren mourn by the sea shores, nor did the Nightingale ever sing so much among the cliffs, nor did the Swallow lament so much along the high mountains, nor did Ceyx cry out so much over the sorrows of Alcyone, nor did the cerylus sing so much among the grey waves, nor did the bird of Memnon fly around his tomb in the eastern valleys and wail so much for the son of Dawn, as they lamented for the departed Bion.
§45ἄρχετε Σικελικαὶ τῶ πένθεος ἄρχετε Μοῖσαι.
Begin, Sicilian Muses, begin the mourning.
§46ἀδονίδες πᾶσαί τε χελιδόνες, ἅς ποκ’ ἔτερπεν, §47ἃς λαλέειν ἐδίδασκε, καθεζόμεναι ποτὶ πρέμνοις §48ἀντίον ἀλλάλαισιν ἐκώκυον· αἳ δ’ ὑπεφώνευν §49ὄρνιθες λυπεῖσθ’ αἱ πενθάδες· ἀλλὰ καὶ ἡμεῖς.
All the nightingales and swallows, whom he once used to delight, whom he taught to speak, sitting on the branches wailed against one another; and the other birds answered: "Mourn, you grieving birds!" And we too do the same.
§50ἄρχετε Σικελικαὶ τῶ πένθεος ἄρχετε Μοῖσαι.
Begin, Sicilian Muses, begin the mourning.
§51τίς ποτε σᾷ σύριγγι μελίξεται ὦ τριπόθητε;
Who will ever play your pipe, O thrice-beloved?
§52τίς δ’ ἐπὶ σοῖς καλάμοις θήσει στόμα;
Who will place his mouth upon your reeds?
τίς θρασὺς οὕτως;
Who is so bold?
For your lips and your breath still breathe in them, and the echo of your song still feeds among the reeds.
§55Πανὶ φέρω τὸ μέλισμα;
Shall I carry the song to Pan?
τάχ’ ἂν καὶ κεῖνος ἐρεῖσαι §56τὸ στόμα δειμαίνοι, μὴ δεύτερα σεῖο φέρηται.
Perhaps even he would fear to set his mouth to it, lest he should win only the second prize after you.
§57ἄρχετε Σικελικαὶ τῶ πένθεος ἄρχετε Μοῖσαι.
Begin, Sicilian Muses, begin the mourning.
Galatea too weeps for your song, whom you once delighted as she sat with you by the shores of the sea.
For you did not sing like the Cyclops; from him the beautiful Galatea used to flee, but she looked upon you more sweetly than the salt water.
And now, having forgotten the wave, on the lonely sands she sits, and still shepherds your cows.
§64ἄρχετε Σικελικαὶ τῶ πένθεος ἄρχετε Μοῖσαι.
Begin, Sicilian Muses, begin the mourning.