He tended his cattle upon the picturesque Heræan mountains to the north of Ætna, and did not mix in the society of men. At the time when the beard was beginning to grow on his upper lip, the nymph Echenais became enamored of him, and enjoined him upon pain of losing his eye-sight not to approach any other female. He consented, and for some time persisted in obeying her; but at length a Sicilian princess, having intoxicated him with wine, accomplished her purpose. He shared the fate of Thamyras, the Thracian, and was thus punished for his folly[316]. He then pined away, and died of hopeless love for the nymph, whom he had offended[317]. According to Virgil (Buc. v. 56-71.) he was raised to the stars, and sacrifices were offered to him by the shepherds.
[316] Timæus, author of the Hist. of Sicily, as quoted by Parthenius, c. 29. Ælian, Var. Hist. L. x. c. 18. Diod. Sic. L. iv. c. 84. p. 283.
[317] Theocritus, Idyll i. 66-141. and vii. 72-77.
Daphnis was the frequent subject of pastoral poetry, being regarded as an ideal representation of the perfection of the shepherd’s culture and manner of life. Of this we have a proof in the epigram of Callimachus on the death of Astacides, and which concludes thus: “We (shepherds) will no longer sing of Daphnis, but of Astacides.” The poet’s design was to extol Astacides, by comparing him with Daphnis. According to Ælian (l. c.) the first bucolic poems related to the blindness of Daphnis and its cause; and the first poet, who composed verses upon this subject, was Stesichorus of Himera in Sicily. In Theocritus the allusions to the beautiful story of Daphnis are very frequent[318], and his sad fate is described at length by contending shepherds or goatherds in the First and Seventh Idylls. We shall quote only his dying words, where he calls on Pan to leave the great Mænalus and the long ridges of Lycæus, and to come to Sicily in order to receive from his own hand the syrinx, on which he had been accustomed to play.
Ἔνθ’ ᾦναξ, καὶ τάνδε φέρ’ εὐπάκτοιο μελίπνουν
Ἐκ κηρῶ σύριγγα καλὰν, περὶ χεῖλος ἑλικτάν·
Ἠ γὰρ ἐγὼν ὑπ’ ἔρωτος ἐς ἅδᾶν ἕλκομαι ἤδη.
Come, mighty king, come, Pan, and take my pipe,
Well join’d with wax and fitted to my lip;
For now ’tis useless grown, Love stops my breath,