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 From the Latin of VIRGIL (Publius Vergilius Maro, 70-19 BC)


SECOND PASTORAL

 

Corydon the shepherd was gone on the handsome Alexis,

his master’s fancy, so all that he wished was denied him.

He slunk all the time in the thickly crowded beech-wood,

in the high-ridged shadows. There these were the aimless snatches

he threw at the mountains and woods in his moping passion:

‘O cruel Alexis, do you feel no grief at my song?

Do you no-how pity me? I can see that you’ll drive me to death.

Now even the cattle head for the cool of the shade,

now thickets are hiding even the dark-green lizards.

For tired reapers crushed by the sun Thestylis

minces pungent stalks of garlic and thyme.

Alone in the burning sun I scuff where you’ve trodden

with only the harsh cicada to go with my calling.

Was it not enough I took Amaryllis’s fretting,

her airs and her graces? Not enough I suffered Menalcas,

although he is dark and you yourself are so fair?

O good-looking boy, don’t over-much trust to your colour:

the white privet falls, the black whortleberry is picked.

You cannot bear me, never ask what I am, Alexis,

what’s my riches in flocks, what’s my wealth in snow-white milk:

I’ve a thousand lambs that ramble Sicilian hills,

fresh milk never fails me, neither in summer nor winter.

I call, as once on a time to shout up his herd

did Boeotian Amphion on Attica’s hill Aracynthus.

I’m not that bad-looking—I saw myself once in the water

as the sea lay quiet and windless; say I’m like Daphnis

and you wouldn’t judge far from the truth—if reflections don’t lie.

So why don’t you come with me to the wholesome country

and live under humble thatch? We could hunt the stag

and drive home the goats with a flexible marsh-mallow switch,

learning in the copse together how to sing like Pan.

It was Pan who first taught us to weld reeds together with wax;

Pan it is looks after sheep and the minders of sheep.

If you make your lip raw on the reed then you needn’t worry,

there was nothing Amyntas would shirk to acquire the art.

See here I have hemlock cut into various lengths

for a pipe: I’ve had it some time, a gift from Damoetas,

who said on this deathbed: ‘You’ll be the second this captures.’

That’s what he said, and that fool Amyntas was jealous.

And besides, in a valley by no means secure I found

two chamois, and even now they’ve the roan-marks.

Twice daily they suck the ewe dry; and these may be yours.

I’ve been badgered a long time by Thestylis, she wants them too:

and damn it, she’ll have them, since you are so wry with my gifts.

O good-looking boy, come here, for see there the Nymphs

bearing baskets of lilies; for you too the white-skinned Naiad

is picking the pallid flag and the poppy’s flower;

she’s twisting narcissi with sweet-smelling flowers of the dill,

and cassia is bound with other odoriferous herbs;

the flaming marigold sets off the reticent whortles.

Myself I shall pick you quinces with soft white bloom

together with chestnuts, which once Amaryllis would love,

and the waxen plum, this fruit shall have honour as well;

I’ll sever some laurels and the myrtles growing close by them,

since set side by side their perfumes combine so sweetly.

You bumpkin, Corydon! Alexis won’t value your gifts,

If you argue with these, Iollas his master will win him.

O where were my miserable senses? In this straying fashion
I’ve let the wind get at my flowers, the boar at my fountain.
Why shun me, Alexis? Gods too have lived in the woodlands,
And Dardanian Paris. Paris lays bournes to the stronghold
and stays within them. But I’ll love the woodland forever.
The savage she-lion harries the wolf; wolf follows the kid;

the kid itself frisks off in chase of the flowering clover;

and I follow you, Alexis: so each to his own desire.

See, the yoked oxen are dragging the ploughshares homewards

and the shadows grow twice as large in the dipping sun.
But love still burns me, for whither may love depart?
Corydon, Corydon, what madness reduces you thus?
Your vines round the elm-tree are overgrown with leaves.

Stir yourself up and go about matters of use.

Take withies or the twisty reed and weave them as baskets.
You’ll soon find another if now you’re denied by Alexis.

  

(translated by Alan Marshfield)

  

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