| GEORGICON - III.1-26 | AND NOW, GREAT PALES, I WILL SING OF THEE ... |
| Virgil (P. Vergilius Maro) | trans. K. R. Mackenzie |
|
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. |
And now, great Pales, I will sing of thee, The goddess of the herds, and of that god Who tended sheep along Amphrysus' banks, And of the woods and streams beloved of Pan. The themes that might have charmed an idle hour Are now all commonplace. Who does not know The tasks Eurystheus forced on Hercules? Who has not told the tale of Hylas fair, Latonian Delos, or Hippodame And ivory-shouldered Pelops and his steeds? I must essay new paths, whereby I too May rise to fame upon the lips of men. I'll be the first, if I live long enough, To bring the Muses down from Helicon To my own country, first to bring the palm Of poetry to my native Mantua. I'll raise a marble temple on the grass, Where Mincius' broad water slowly winds And covers all his banks with slender reeds. There Caesar in the midst shall have his shrine, And in his honour I, victorious, In splendid Tyrian purple clothed, will drive A hundred four-horsed chariots by the stream. For me all Greece shall quit Alpheüs' tide And leave Molorchus' forests and shall vie In races and contest with rawhide gloves. And I, my brow with olive-leaves adorned, Shall give the prizes. What a joy 'twill be To lead the solemn concourse to the shrine, And see the oxen slain in sacrifice, The shifting of the scene upon the stage, The curtains with the shapes of Britons wrought. |
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Transl. copyright © The Folio Society Ltd. 1969