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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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