§65πάντα τοι ὦ βούτα συγκάτθανε δῶρα τὰ Μοισᾶν, §66παρθενικᾶν ἐρόεντα φιλήματα, χείλεα παίδων, §67καὶ στυμνοὶ περὶ σῶμα τεὸν κλαίουσιν Ἔρωτες.
Oh herdsman, all the gifts of the Muses have died along with you, the lovely kisses of maidens, the lips of boys, and the sorrowful Loves weep around your body.
And Cypris longs for you much more than the kiss with which she lately kissed the dying Adonis.
This is for you, O sweetest of rivers, a second grief, this, O Meles, is a new grief.
ἀπώλετο πρᾶν τοι Ὅμηρος, §72τῆνο τὸ Καλλιόπας γλυκερὸν στόμα, καί σε λέγοντι §73μύρασθαι καλὸν υἷα πολυκλαύτοισι ῥεέθροις, §74πᾶσαν δ’ ἔπλησας φωνᾶς ἅλα·
Lately Homer perished, that sweet mouth of Calliope, and they say that you mourned for your beautiful son with streams of many tears, and filled all the sea with your voice.
νῦν πάλιν ἄλλον §75υἱέα δακρύεις, καινῷ δ’ ἐπὶ πένθεϊ τάκῃ.
Now again, another son you weep for, and you pine away in a new grief.
Both were beloved by springs; the one used to drink from the Pagasean spring, and the other had the draught of Arethusa.
§78χὢ μὲν Τυνδαρέοιο καλὰν ἄεισε θύγατρα §79καὶ Θέτιδος μέγαν υἷα καὶ Ἀτρείδαν Μενέλαον· §80τῆνος δ’ οὐ πολέμους, οὐ δάκρυα, Πᾶνα δ’ ἔμελπε, §81καὶ βούτας ἐλίγαινε καὶ ἀείδων ἐνόμευε, §82καὶ σύριγγας ἔτευχε καὶ ἁδέα πόρτιν ἄμελγε, §83καὶ παίδων ἐδίδασκε φιλήματα, καὶ τὸν Ἔρωτα §84ἔτρεφεν ἐν κόλποισι καὶ ἤρεθε τὰν Ἀφροδίταν.
And the one sang of Tyndareus' beautiful daughter, and the great son of Thetis, and Menelaus, son of Atreus; but that other sang not of wars, nor of tears, but of Pan, and voiced the herdsman's song, and pastured his herd as he sang, and fashioned pipes, and milked the sweet heifer, and taught the kisses of boys, and cherished Love in his breast, and stirred the heart of Aphrodite.
§85ἄρχετε Σικελικαὶ τῶ πένθεος ἄρχετε Μοῖσαι.
Begin, Sicilian Muses, begin the mourning.
§86πᾶσα Βίων θρηνεῖ σε κλυτὰ πόλις, ἄστεα πάντα.
Every famous city, Bion, laments you, every town.
§87Ἄσκρα μὲν γοάει σε πολὺ πλέον Ἡσιόδοιο· §88Πίνδαρον οὐ ποθέοντι τόσον Βοιωτίδες ὗλαι· §89οὐ τόσον Ἀλκαίῳ περιμύρατο Λέσβος ἐραννά· §90οὐδὲ τόσον ὃν ἀοιδὸν ὀδύρατο Τήϊον ἄστυ· §91σὲ πλέον Ἀρχιλόχοιο ποθεῖ Πάρος· ἀντὶ δὲ Σαπφῶς §92εἰσέτι σεῦ τὸ μέλισμα κινύρεται ἁ Μιτυλάνα.
Ascra indeed wails for you much more than for Hesiod; the Boeotian woods do not long so much for Pindar; lovely Lesbos did not so much mourn for Alcaeus; nor did the Teian city so much lament its own singer; Paros longs for you more than for Archilochus; and instead of Sappho, Mitylene still wails for your sweet song.
§93εἶ δὲ Συρακοσίοισι Θεόκριτος· αὐτὰρ ἐγώ τοι §94Αὐσονικᾶς ὀδύνας μέλπω μέλος, οὐ ξένος ᾠδᾶς §95βουκολικᾶς, ἀλλ’ ἅντε διδάξαο σεῖο μαθητὰς §96κλαρονόμος Μοίσας τᾶς Δωρίδος, ᾇ με γεραίρων §97ἄλλοις μὲν τεὸν ὄλβον, ἐμοὶ δ’ ἀπέλειπες ἀοιδάν.
And among the Syracusans there is Theocritus; but I, for my part, sing to you a song of Ausonian grief, no stranger to the pastoral song, but heir to that which you taught your disciples, as heir to the Dorian Muse, with which you honored me, leaving your wealth to others, but to me your song.
§98ἄρχετε Σικελικαὶ τῶ πένθεος ἄρχετε Μοῖσαι.
Begin, Sicilian Muses, begin the mourning.
§99αἰαῖ ταὶ μαλάχαι μέν, ἐπὰν κατὰ κᾶπον ὄλωνται, §100ἠδὲ τὰ χλωρὰ σέλινα τό τ’ εὐθαλὲς οὖλον ἄνηθον, §101ὕστερον αὖ ζώοντι καὶ εἰς ἔτος ἄλλο φύοντι· §102ἄμμες δ’ οἱ μεγάλοι καὶ καρτεροί, οἱ σοφοὶ ἄνδρες, §103ὁππότε πρᾶτα θάνωμες, ἀνάκοοι ἐν χθονὶ κοίλᾳ §104εὕδομες εὖ μάλα μακρὸν ἀτέρμονα νήγρετον ὕπνον.
Alas, the mallows indeed, when they perish in the garden, and the green celery, and the flourishing curly dill, afterwards live again and grow into another year; but we, the great and mighty, the wise men, when once we die, unheard-of in the hollow earth, we sleep a right long, endless, sleepless sleep.
§105καὶ σὺ μὲν ὦν σιγᾷ πεπυκασμένος ἔσσεαι ἐν γᾷ, §106ταῖς Νύμφαισι δ’ ἔδοξεν ἀεὶ τὸν βάτραχον ᾅδειν.
And so you indeed will be covered in silence in the earth, but the Nymphs have seen fit that the frog should sing forever.
§107ταῖς δ’ ἐγὼ οὐ φθονέοιμι· τὸ γὰρ μέλος οὐ καλὸν ᾅδει.
But I would not envy them; for the song it sings is not beautiful.
§108ἄρχετε Σικελικαὶ τῶ πένθεος ἄρχετε Μοῖσαι.
Begin, Sicilian Muses, begin the mourning.
§109φάρμακον ἦλθε, Βίων, ποτὶ σὸν στόμα, φάρμακον ἦδες— §110τοιούτοις χείλεσσι ποτέδραμε κοὐκ ἐγλυκάνθη;
Poison came, Bion, to your mouth, you tasted poison— did it run to such lips and not grow sweet?
§111τίς δὲ βροτὸς τοσσοῦτον ἀνάμερος ὡς κεράσαι τοι §112ἢ δοῦναι καλέοντι τὸ φάρμακον; —ἔκψυγεν ᾠδά.
What mortal was so cruel as to mix for you, or to give the poison to you as you cried out?—The song was extinguished.
§113ἄρχετε Σικελικαὶ τῶ πένθεος ἄρχετε Μοῖσαι.
Begin, Sicilian Muses, begin the mourning.
§114ἀλλὰ Δίκα κίχε πάντας.
But Justice overtakes all.
ἐγὼ δ’ ἐπὶ πένθεϊ τῷδε §115δακρυχέων τεὸν οἶτον ὀδύρομαι.
And I, over this grief, weeping, lament your fate.
εἰ δυνάμαν δέ, §116ὡς Ὀρφεὺς καταβὰς ποτὶ Τάρταρον, ὥς ποκ’ Ὀδυσσεύς, §117ὡς πάρος Ἀλκείδας, κἠγὼ τάχ’ ἂν ἐς δόμον ἦνθον §118Πλουτέος, ὥς κεν ἴδοιμι, καὶ εἰ Πλουτῆι μελίσδεις, §119ὡς ἂν ἀκουσαίμαν, τί μελίσδεαι.
And if I had the power, as Orpheus went down to Tartarus, as once Odysseus, as once Alcides did, I too would quickly have gone to the house of Pluto, that I might see you, and if you sing to Pluto, that I might hear what you sing.
ἀλλ’ ἄγε Κώρᾳ §120Σικελικόν τι λίγαινε και ἁδύ τι βουκολιάζευ.
But come, before the Maiden sound some Sicilian strain and play some sweet pastoral song.
She too is Sicilian, and used to play on the Etnean shores, and she knows the Dorian song.
οὐκ ἀγέραστος §123ἐσσεῖθ’ ἁ μολπά.
Not unrewarded shall your song be.
χὠς Ὀρφέϊ πρόσθεν ἔδωκεν §124ἁδέα φορμίζοντι παλίσσυτον Εὐρυδίκειαν, §125καὶ σὲ Βίων πέμψει τοῖς ὤρεσιν.
And as once she gave back to Orpheus, as he played sweetly on his lyre, Eurydice to return with him, so she will send you, Bion, back to your mountains.
εἰ δέ τι κἠγὼν §126συρίσδων δυνάμαν, παρὰ Πλουτέϊ κ’ αὐτὸς ἄειδον.
And if I myself had any power with my piping, I myself would have sung before Pluto.