| ECLOGA I | ECLOGUE 1 |
| Virgil (P. Vergilius Maro) | trans. Tim Chilcott |
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MELIBOEUS / TITYRUS MELIBOEUS Tityre, te patulae recubans sub tegmine fagi silvestrem tenui Musam meditaris avena; nos patriae fines et dulcia linquimus arva: nos patriam fugimus; tu, Tityre, lentus in umbra formosam resonare doces Amaryllida silvas. TITYRUS O Meliboee, deus nobis haec otia fecit: namque erit ille mihi semper deus; illius aram saepe tener nostris ab ovilibus imbuet agnus. Ille meas errare boves, ut cernis, et ipsum ludere, quae vellem, calamo permisit agresti. MELIBOEUS Non equidem invideo; miror magis: undique totis usque adeo turbatur agris. En, ipse capellas protinus aeger ago; hanc etiam vix, Tityre, duco: hic inter densas corylos modo namque gemellos, spem gregis, ah, silice in nuda conixa reliquit. Saepe malum hoc nobis, si mens non laeva fuisset, de caelo tactas memini praedicere quercus: - Sed tamen, iste deus qui sit, da, Tityre, nobis. TITYRUS Urbem, quam dicunt Romam, Meliboee, putavi stultus ego huic nostrae similem, quo saepe solemus pastores ouvium teneros depellere fetus: sic canibus catulos similis, sic matribus haedos noram, sic parvis componere magna solebam: verum haec tantum alias inter caput extulit urbes, quantum lenta solent inter viburna cupressi. MELIBOEUS Equae tanta fuit Romam tibi causa videndi? TITYRUS Libertas; quae sera, tamen respexit inertem, candidior postquam tondenti barba cadebat; respexit tamen, et longo post tempore venit, postquam nos Amaryllis habet, Galatea reliquit: namque, fatebor enim, dum me Galatea tenebat, nec spes libertatis erat, nec cura peculi: quamuis multa meis exiret victima saeptis, pinguis et ingratae premeretur caseus urbi, non umquam gravis aere domum mihi dextra redibat. MELIBOEUS Mirabar, quid maesta deos, Amarylli, vocares, cui pendere sua patereris in arbore poma: Tityrus hinc aberat. Ipsae te, Tityre, pinus, ipsi te fontes, ipsa haec arbusta vocabant. TITYRUS Quid facerem? Neque servitio me exire licebat, nec tam praesentis alibi cognoscere divos. hic illum vidi iuvenem, Meliboee, quot annis bis senos cui nostra dies altaria fumant; hic mihi responsum primus dedit ille petenti: 'pascite, ut ante, boves, pueri, submittite tauros.' MELIBOEUS Fortunate senex, ergo tua cura manebunt, et tibi magna satis, quamvis lapis omnia nudus limosoque palus obducat pascua iunco! Non insueta grauis temptabunt pabula fetas, nec mala vicini pecoris contagia laedent. Fortunate senex, hic, inter flumina nota et fontis sacros, frigus captabis opacum! Hinc tibi, quae semper, vicino ab limite, saepes Hyblaeis apibus florem depasta salicti saepe levi somnum suadebit inire susurro; hinc alta sub rupe canet frondator ad auras; nec tamen interea raucae, tua cura, palumbes, nec gemere aeria cessabit turtur ab ulmo. TITYRUS Ante leves ergo pascentur in aequore cervi, et freta destituent nudos in litore pisces, ante peretratis amborum finibus exsul aut Ararim Parthus bibet, aut Germania Tigrim, quam nostro illius labatur pectore vultus. MELIBOEUS At nos hinc alii sitientis ibimus Afros, pars Scythiam et rapidum Cretae veniemus Oaxen, pauperis toto divisos orbe Britannos. En umquam patrias longo post tempore finis, pauperis et tuguri congestum caespite culmen, post aliquot mea regna videns, mirabor aristas? Impius haec tam culta novalia miles habebit, barbarus has segetes? En, quo discordia civis produxit miseros! His nos consevimus agros! Insere nunc, Meliboee, piros, pone ordine vitis. Ite meae, felix quondam pecus, ite capellae. Non ego vos posthac, viridi proiectus in antro, dumosa pendere procul de rupe videbo; carmina nulla canam; non, me pascente, capellae, florentem cytisum et salices carpetis amaras. TITYRUS Hic tamen haec mecum poteras requiescere noctem fronde super viridi: sunt nobis mitia poma, castaneae molles, et pressi copia lactis; et iam summa procul villarum culmina fumant, maioresque cadunt altis de montibus umbrae. |
MELIBOEUS / TITYRUS MELIBOEUS Tityrus, so there you lie beneath the spread of sheltering beech And practice country tunes upon your shepherd's pipe. But we must leave our native place, the fields so dear to us. We have to flee our homes, while you there, in the cooling shade, Teach all the woods to echo lovely Amaryllis. TITYRUS Oh Meliboeus, a god has given me this peace. And he will always be a god to me, his altar Often stained by blood of young lambs from my fold. He lets my cattle roam, as you can see, and lets Me play what tunes I like upon my country flute. MELIBOEUS I am not envious, more amazed. The countryside Is in such turmoil everywhere. I'm sick, yet have To drive my goats along; this one here can hardly move. Just now, in the hazel thicket there, she dropped twin kids - The one hope of the flock - and left them there upon bare flint. Often enough, I know, we'd been forewarned of this When lightning struck the oaks - had I not been so blind. But tell me, Tityrus, who is this god of yours? TITYRUS Foolishly, I used to think the city they call Rome Was like our market-town to which we shepherds So often used to drive along our new-weaned lambs. As puppies are similar to full-grown dogs, or kids to goats, I used to measure big things by the small. But over other cities, Rome has towered up high, As cypress trees soar way above the lowly guelder-rose. MELIBOEUS Yet what so made you want to visit Rome? TITYRUS Freedom. I had been lazy, and it beckoned to me late, After my beard had turned still whiter for the barber's cut. It beckoned me, and after many years it came about, When Galatea had abandoned me and Amaryllis had my heart. For I confess, whilst Galatea had me in her power, There was no hope of liberty or saving money. Though many a victim was taken from my folds, And rich cheese for the thankless town was pressed, My hand was never crammed with coins as I came home. MELIBOEUS I'd wondered, Amaryllis, why you called so sadly to the gods. For whose sake did you leave the apples hanging on the trees? Tityrus, you had gone. The very pine-trees, Tityrus, The very springs, the very orchards, called to you. TITYRUS What could I do? Nowhere else could I escape From slavery or find the presence of such powerful gods. There it was I saw him, Meliboeus - the young man For whom our altars burn twelve times a year. There it was he first responded to my prayers. 'Graze cattle as before, my lads; and breed your bulls.' MELIBOEUS You are a fortunate old man. This land will stay your own. It's large enough for you, although bare rock and marshes Swallow all your pastures with their mud and reeds. No foreign fodder will upset your pregnant ewes, And no disease infect them from a neighbour's flock. You are a fortunate old man. By these familiar streams And sacred springs, you'll find some cooling shade. Beside this hedge that runs along your neighbour's boundary, The Hybla bees will always feed on willow flowers And with their humming often drowse you into sleep. By that high crag, the pruner there will serenade the breeze, While all the time, the pigeons from your brood will coo away And turtledoves, in the soaring elms, will never cease to moan. TITYRUS Sooner should light-footed stags graze in the sky And ocean-tides leave fish abandoned on the shore, Sooner should exiles cross each other's boundaries And Germans drink the Tigris, or Parthians the Arar, Than that his face should vanish from my mind. MELIBOEUS Ah, but we others have to go away - to bone-dry Africa Or Scythia and to Oaxes' chalky flood, Or Britain, quite cut off from all the world. After long away, will I ever see my homeland Once again, my simple cottage with its turf-piled roof, And gaze in wonder at my realm - some ears of corn? Some godless soldier will possess this well-farmed land, A foreigner these fields of corn. Look where a civil war Has led Rome's wretched citizens; and we've sown crops for them! So graft your pear-trees, Meliboeus, set your vines in rows. Go on, my little goats. Once happy flock, go on. No more will I, stretched out in some green cave, Watch you, far off, and hanging from some thorny crag. No longer will I sing my songs, nor shepherd you, my little goats, To graze on bitter willow shoots and clover flower. TITYRUS And yet tonight, you could here rest with me, couched Upon green leaves. Ripe apples I can offer you, Soft roasted chestnuts, and a wealth of cheese. Far off, the smoke already rises from the farm-house roofs, And longer shadows fall now from the towering hills. |
Transl. copyright © Tim Chilcott 2006