povirg12

from the GEORGICS - Book III, ll.1-26

YOU TOO, PALES, GREAT GODDESS ...

Virgil (Publius Vergilius Maro)

tr. Peter Fallon

Te quoque, magna Pales, et te memorande canemus
pastor ab Amphryso, vos, silvae amnesque Lycaei.
Cetera, quae vacuas tenuissent carmine mentes,
omnia iam volgata: quis aut Eurysthea durum
aut inlaudati nescit Busiridis aras?
Cui non dictus Hylas puer et Latonia Delos
Hippodameque umeroque Pelops insignis eburno,
acer equis? Temptanda via est, qua me quoque possim
tollere humo victorque virum volitare per ora.

Primus ego in patriam mecum, modo vita supersit,
Aonio rediens deducam vertice Musas;
primus Idumaeas referam tibi, Mantua, palmas,
et viridi in campo templum de marmore ponam
propter aquam. Tardis ingens ubi flexibus errat
Mincius et tenera praetexit arundine ripas.
In medio mihi Caesar erit templumque tenebit:
illi victor ego et Tyrio conspectus in ostro
centum quadriiugos agitabo ad flumina currus.
Cuncta mihi Alpheum linquens lucosque Molorchi
cursibus et crudo decernet Graecia caestu.
Ipse caput tonsae foliis ornatus olivae
dona feram. Iam nunc sollemnis ducere pompas
ad delubra iuvat caesosque videre iuvencos,
vel scaena ut versis discedat frontibus utque
purpurea intexti tollant aulaea Britanni.

............
............

You too, Pales, great goddess of the folds, and you, Apollo,

who tended flocks,

and all of you, woods and waters of Arcadia, we'll mind

forever in our songs.

They're tired themes that might have once engaged the the

lazy intellect

in Poetry - who hasn't heard of Eurystheus (who piled

hardships onto Hercules)

or of the altars established by Busiris which none could

love?

Who hasn't told the tale of Hylas (and his boy's loss at sea),
of Hippodamia and Pelops, that outstanding rider, his

shoulder reconstructed out of ivory.

What I need is to find a way I too can rise in triumph
from the earth and live on in the mouths of men.
I'll be the first, the very first, if I'm let live long enough,
to bring back to my own place from the heights of Helicon

the prize of the Muses -

I'll be the first to bring back to you, Mantua, the palms of

Idumaea,

and I'll erect a marble temple in a grassy meadow by the

waters

of the wide Mincius whose ambling course flows this way

and that,

its sides tossing their fringe of wavy rushes.
At its centre I'll place Caesar, master of the shrine,
and in his honour - the day being mine - resplendent in my

purple robes,

I'll drive five score of teams-of-four up and down along the

bank.

Because of me, all Greece will leave the Alpheus and the

cypress groves of Molorchus

to compete in running races and bruising bouts of boxing,
while I, presiding, my brow wreathed in a chaplet of clipped

olive leaves,

administer the offerings. Already I can see how pleased I'll

to front that rich procession and observe the sacrificial

slaughter of young stock;

or, when the stage is set, to see it turn and open on a change

of scene

as ornate curtains rise to reveal embroidered Britons in the

backdrop.

............
............

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