by John Milton
Et tenues ponens radios gaudere videtur
Officium fieri tam breve fratris ope.
Desere, Phoebus ait, thalamos Aurora seniles;
50 Quid iuvat effoeto procubuisse toro?
Te manet Aeolides viridi venator in herba,
Surge, tuos ignes altus Hymettus habet.
Flava verecundo dea crimen in ore fatetur,
Et matutinos ocius urget equos.
55 Exuit invisam Tellus rediviva senectam,
Et cupit amplexus Phoebe subire tuos;
Et cupit, et digna est, quid enim formosius illa,
Pandit ut omniferos luxuriosa sinus,
Atque Arabum spirat messes, et ab ore venusto
60 Mitia cum Paphiis fundit amoma rosis.
Ecce coronatur sacro frons ardua luco,
Cingit ut Idaeam pinea turris Opim;
Et vario madidos intexit flore capillos,
Floribus et visa est posse placere suis.
65 Floribus effusos ut erat redimita capillos,
Taenario placuit diva Sicana deo.
Aspice Phoebe tibi faciles hortantur amores,
Mellitasque movent flamina verna preces.
Cinnamea Zephyrus leve plaudit odorifer ala,
70 Blanditiasque tibi ferre videntur aves.
Nec sine dote tuos temeraria quaerit amores
Terra, nee optatos poscit egena toros;
Alma salutiferum medicos tibi gramen in usus
Praebet, et hinc titulos adiuvat ipsa tuos.
75 Quod si te pretium, si te fulgentia tangunt
Munera (muneribus saepe coemptus Amor)
Illa tibi ostentat quascunque sub aequore vasto,
Et superiniectis montibus abdit opes.
Ah quoties cum tu clivoso fessus Olympo
80 In vespertinas praecipitaris aquas,
Cur te, inquit, cursu languentem Phoebe diurno
Hesperiis recipit caerula mater aquis?
Quid tibi cum Tethy? Quid cum Tartesside lympha?
Dia quid immundo perluis ora salo?
85 Frigora Phoebe mea melius captabis in umbra;
Huc ades, ardentes imbue rore comas.
Mollior egelida veniet tibi somnus in herba;
Hue ades, et gremio lumina pone meo.
Quaque iaces circum mulcebit lene susurrans
90 Aura per humentes corpora fusa rosas.
Nee me (crede mihi) terrent Semeleia fata,
Nee Phaetonteo fumidus axis equo;
Cum tu Phoebe tuo sapientius uteris igni,
Hue ades, et gremio lumina pone meo.
95 Sic Tellus lasciva suos suspirat amores;
Matris in exemplum caetera turba ruunt.
Nunc etenim toto currit vagus orbe Cupido,
Languentesque fovet solis ab igne faces.
Insonuere novis lethalia cornua nervis,
100 Triste micant ferro tela corusca novo.
Iamque vel invictam tentat superasse Dianam,
Quaeque sedet sacro Vesta pudica foco.
Ipsa senescentem reparat Venus annua formam,
Atque iterum tepido creditur orta mari.
105 Marmoreas iuvenes clamant Hymenaee per urbes;
Litus io Hymen, et cava saxa sonant.
Cultior ille venit tunicaque decentior apta;
Puniceum redolet vestis odora crocum.
Egrediturque frequens ad amoeni gaudia veris
110 Virgineos auro cincta puella sinus.
Votum est cuique suum, votum est tamen omnibus unum,
Ut sibi quem cupiat det Cytherea virum.
Nunc quoque septena modulatur arundine pastor,
Et sua quae iungat carmina Phyllis habet.
115 Navita nocturno placat sua sidera cantu,
Delphinasque leves ad vada summa vocat.
Iupiter ipse alto cum coniuge ludit Olympo,
Convocat et famulos ad sua festa deos.
Nunc etiam Satyri, cum sera crepuscula surgunt,
120 Pervolitant celeri florea rura choro,
Sylvanusque sua cyparissi fronde revinctus,
Semicaperque deus, semideusque caper.
Quaeque sub arboribus Dryades latuere vetustis
Per iuga, per solos expatiantur agros.
125 Per sata luxuriat fruticetaque Maenalius Pan,
Vix Cybele mater, vix sibi tuta Ceres;
Atque aliquam cupidus praedatur Oreada Faunus,
Consulit in trepidos dum sibi nympha pedes,
Iamque latet, latitansque cupit male tecta videri,
130 Et fugit, et fugiens pervelit ipsa capi.
Dii quoque non dubitant caelo praeponere silvas,
Et sua quisque sibi numina lucus habet.
Et sua quisque diu sibi numina lucus habeto,
Nec vos arborea dii precor ite domo.
135 Te referant miseris te Iupiter aurea terris
Saecla! Quid ad nimbos aspera tela redis?
Tu saltem lente rapidos age Phoebe iugales
Qua potes, et sensim tempora veris eant.
Brumaque productas tarde ferat hispida noctes,
140 Ingruat et nostro serior umbra polo.
Elegy V
At the Age of Twenty
ON THE COMING OF SPRING
Now, as spring grows warm, Time, revolving in its never-ending cycle, calls back the fresh zephyrs. Earth, revived, decks herself in her brief youth, and the soil, released from icy coldness, turns delightfully green. Am I deceived, or are my powers of song also returning, and has inspiration come to me as a gift of the spring? As a gift of the spring it has come, and again it begins to bloom (who would have thought it?) and now it demands some task for itself. The Castalian spring and the twin-peaked mountain9 hover before my eyes, and by night dreams bring Pirene10 to me. My heart burns, stirred by a secret impulse, and I am driven on by inspired frenzy and the divine sound within me. The Delian himself is coming – I see his hair garlanded with Daphne’s laurel13 – the Delian himself is coming. Now my mind is rapt to the heights of the clear, transparent sky and, free of the body, I pass through the wandering clouds. Through shadows I am borne, and through caves, the secret places of the poets, and the still more secret sanctuaries of the gods lie open before me. My spirit perceives all that is done on Olympus, and the secret things of Tartarus do not flee from my sight. What sublime song does my spirit pour forth from parted lips? What is this madness, this divine frenzy, bringing to birth? Spring, which gave me inspiration, shall be praised by the song she inspired; so shall the gifts bring profit to the giver.
Now, Philomela,25 hidden among newly-opened leaves, you begin your melodious song, while all the grove is still. I in the city, you in the forest, let us both begin together, and both together sing the coming of spring. Look! Springtime is here again! Let us sing the praises of spring, and let the Muse take up her perennial30 task. Now the sun, fleeing from the Ethiopians and Tithonus’ fields,31 turns his golden reins to northern regions. Short is night’s journey, short her dark lingering; frightful night is banished with her gloom. And now Lycaonian35 Böotes does not follow a long and weary course behind the celestial Wain, as he once did. Now even the stars are sparsely scattered throughout the heavens as they hold their accustomed vigil around the halls of Jove. For fraud, murder, and violence vanish with the night, and the gods fear no evil deed from the Giants.40 Perhaps some shepherd, reclining on a craggy summit while the dewy earth grows red beneath the first rays of the sun, says: ‘This night, Phoebus, this night you surely must have gone without a girl to delay your swift horses!’ When from on high Cynthia46 sees the Lightbringer’s chariot, she joyfully returns to her woods, takes up her quiver and, laying her pale beams aside, seems to be glad that her brother’s help has shortened her own task. ‘Aurora,’ Phoebus exclaims, ‘leave that old man’s bedchamber. What joy is it to lie in a bed of impotence?50 The hunter Aeolides51 is waiting for you on the green grass. Get up! Your flame awaits you on lofty Hymettus.’ With blushing face, the golden-haired goddess acknowledges her fault
, and urges the horses of the dawn into a gallop.
Earth, reviving, casts off her hated old age, and yearns, Phoebus, to be received in your embraces. She yearns for them, and she is worthy of them, for what is more beautiful than she when she voluptuously bares her all-sustaining breasts, breathes out Arabian spice-harvests, and pours balsam and Paphian60 roses from her lovely lips? Look, her lofty brow is crowned with a sacred grove, as Idaean Ops is garlanded with a turret of pines.62 She binds her dewy locks with many-coloured flowers and, with her flowers, seems fit to attract her lover as when the Sicanian goddess,66 her flowing hair garlanded with flowers, attracted the Taenarian god. Look, Phoebus, willing loves call to you, and spring breezes inspire honey-sweet entreaties. Fragrant Zephyrus gently fans his cinnamon-scented wings and the birds seem to offer you their blandishments. Earth is not so rash as to seek your love without offering you a dowry, and it is not as a pauper that she begs the longed-for nuptials. She bountifully provides you with health-giving herbs for medicine and so contributes to your renown. If a reward, if glittering gifts can touch your heart (love is often bought with gifts), she spreads before you all the wealth that she keeps hidden away under the vast deep and beneath the piled mountains. Ah, how often when you plunge into western waters, wearied in your descent from the steep heavens, she cries: ‘Why, Phoebus, when you are fatigued after your daily journey, should the azure mother receive you in her Hesperian waves? What have you to do with Tethys?83 What is the Tartessian flood to you? Why do you bathe your divine face in putrid brine? You will do better to seek coolness in my shade, Phoebus; come here and douse your fiery locks in dew. A sweeter sleep will come over you in the cool grass; come here and lay your glories in my lap. Around where you lie, a gently whispering breeze will caress our bodies, stretched out on dewy roses. Believe me, I am not afraid of Semele’s fate,91 or of the smoking axle of Phaethon’s chariot.92 You will use your fires more wisely, Phoebus, when you come here and lay your glories in my lap.’
Thus lascivious Earth sighs out her passionate longing, and the throng of other creatures rush to follow the Mother’s example. For wandering Cupid now runs over the whole world, and rekindles his dying torch in the sun’s fire. His lethal bow resounds with new strings, and his glittering arrows, tipped with new steel, have a threatening gleam. And now he tries to conquer even unconquerable Diana,101 and chaste Vesta,102 who sits by the sacred hearth. Venus herself restores her ageing beauty with the yearly cycle, and looks as if she has risen anew from the warm sea.104 Young men cry Hymenaee through marble cities; to Hymen106 echoes from the shore and hollow rocks. Hymen himself appears in splendid attire, becomingly dressed in the appropriate tunic; his fragrant robe exhales the scent of crimson saffron. Troops of maidens, their virgin breasts girdled with gold, come forth to enjoy the delights of spring. Each has her own prayer, but the prayers are all the same: that Cytherea112 may grant her the husband of her desire.
Now the shepherd plays on his seven-reed pipe, and Phyllis114 accompanies his music with her singing. The sailor propitiates the stars with his nightly song and summons nimble dolphins to the surface of the sea.116 Jupiter himself dallies with his wife on high Olympus and calls even the menial gods to his feast. And now, as evening twilight comes on, a troop of dancing Satyrs flits through the flowery meadows, and with them comes Sylvanus, crowned with his chaplet of cypress leaves, a god half-goat, a goat half-god.122 The Dryads who hide beneath ancient trees now wander abroad over mountains and the deserted, open country. Maenalian Pan125 runs riot over sown fields and thickets; mother Cybele and Ceres126 are hardly safe from him. Lustful Faunus127 seizes one of the Oreads, while the Nymph seeks safety on trembling feet. Now she hides, but hiding, ill-concealed, she wishes to be seen; she flees, but fleeing yearns to be caught. The gods themselves unhesitatingly prefer the woods to heaven, and each grove has its own deity.
And long may each grove have its own deity! I entreat you, gods, do not forsake your home among the trees. May the Golden Age draw you back to the wretched earth, Jupiter! Why go back to your cruel weapons in the clouds? You, Phoebus, at least drive your swift team as lazily as you can, and let springtime pass slowly. May hideous winter be slow in bringing back its prolonged nights, and may it be later in the day when darkness invades our sky.
Elegia Sexta
AD CAROLUM DIODATUM, RURI COMMORANTEM
Qui cum idibus Decemb. scripsisset, et sua carmina excusari postulasset si solito minus essent bona, quod inter lautitias quibus erat ab amicis exceptus, haud satis felicem operam Musis dare se posse affirmabat, hunc habuit responsum.
Mitto tibi sanam non pleno ventre salutem,
Qua tu distento forte carere potes.
At tua quid nostram prolectat Musa Camenam,
Nee sinit optatas posse sequi tenebras?
5 Carmine scire velis quam te redamemque colamque,
Crede mihi vix hoc carmine scire queas,
Nam neque noster amor modulis includitur arctis,
Nee venit ad claudos integer ipse pedes.
Quam bene solennes epulas, hilaremque Decembrim,
10 Festaque coelifugam quae coluere Deum,
Deliciasque refers, hiberni gaudia ruris,
Haustaque per lepidos Gallica musta focos.
Quid quereris refugam vino dapibusque poesin?
Carmen amat Bacchum, carmina Bacchus amat.
15 Nec puduit Phoebum virides gestasse corymbos,
Atque hederam lauro praeposuisse suae.
Saepius Aoniis clamavit collibus Euoe
Mista Thyoneo turba novena choro.
Naso Corallaeis mala carmina misit ab agris;
20 Non illic epulae non sata vitis erat.
Quid nisi vina, rosasque racemiferumque Lyaeum
Cantavit brevibus Teia Musa modis?
Pindaricosque inflat numeros Teumesius Euan,
Et redolet sumptum pagina quaeque merum;
25 Dum gravis everso currus crepat axe supinus,
Et volat Eleo pulvere fuscus eques.
Quadrimoque madens lyricen Romanus Iaccho
Dulce canit Glyceran, flavicomamque Chloen.
Iam quoque lauta tibi generoso mensa paratu,
30 Mentis alit vires, ingeniumque fovet.
Massica fecundam despumant pocula venam,
Fundis et ex ipso condita metra cado.
Addimus his artes, fusumque per intima Phoebum
Corda; favent uni Bacchus, Apollo, Ceres.
35 Scilicet haud mirum tarn dulcia carmina per te
Numine composito tres peperisse deos.
Nunc quoque Thressa tibi caelato barbitos auro
Insonat arguta molliter icta manu;
Auditurque chelys suspensa tapetia circum,
40 Virgineos tremula quae regat arte pedes.
Illa tuas saltern teneant spectacula Musas,
Et revocent, quantum crapula pellit iners.
Crede mihi dum psallit ebur comitataque plectrum
Implet odoratos festa chorea tholos,
45 Percipies taciturn per pectora serpere Phoebum,
Quale repentinus permeat ossa calor;
Perque puellares oculos digitumque sonantem
Irruet in totos lapsa Thalia sinus.
Namque elegia levis multorum cura deorum est,
50 Et vocat ad numeros quemlibet illa suos;
Liber adest elegis, Eratoque, Ceresque, Venusque,
Et cum purpurea matre tenellus Amor.
Talibus inde licent convivia larga poetis,
Saepius et veteri commaduisse mero.
55 At qui bella refert, et adulto sub love caelum,
Heroasque pios, semideosque duces,
Et nunc sancta canit superum consulta deorum,
Nunc latrata fero regna profunda cane,
Ille quidem parce Samii pro more magistri
60 Vivat, et innocuos praebeat herba cibos;
Stet prope fagineo pellucida lympha catillo,
Sobriaque e puro pocula fonte bibat.
Additur
huic scelerisque vacans et casta iuventus,
Et rigidi mores, et sine labe manus.
65 Qualis veste nitens sacra et lustralibus undis
Surgis ad infensos augur iture deos.
Hoc ritu vixisse ferunt post rapta sagacem
Lumina Tiresian, Ogygiumque Linon,
Et lare devoto profugum Calchanta, senemque
70 Orpheon edomitis sola per antra feris;
Sic dapis exiguus, sic rivi potor Homerus
Dulichium vexit per freta longa virum,
Et per monstrificam Perseiae Phoebados aulam,
Et vada femineis insidiosa sonis,
75 Perque tuas, rex ime, domos, ubi sanguine nigro
Dicitur umbrarum detinuisse greges.
Diis etenim sacer est vates, divumque sacerdos,
Spirat et occultum pectus, et ora Iovem.
At tu si quid agam scitabere (si modo saltem
80 Esse putas tanti noscere siquid agam)
Paciferum canimus caelesti semine regem,
Faustaque sacratis saecula pacta libris,
Vagitumque Dei, et stabulantem paupere tecto
Qui suprema suo cum patre regna colit.
85 Stelliparumque polum, modulantesque aethere turmas,
Et subito elisos ad sua fana deos.
Dona quidem dedimus Christi natalibus illa;
Illa sub auroram lux mihi prima tulit.
Te quoque pressa manent patriis meditata cicutis;
90 Tu mihi, cui recitem, iudicis instar eris.
Elegy VI
TO CHARLES DIODATI, STAYING IN THE COUNTRY
Diodati had written on 13 December and asked that his poems be excused if they were less good than usual. Owing to the lavish entertainment his friends had given him, he could not, he said, pay proper service to the Muses. This was the answer he received.
I, who have no full stomach, wish you the good health that you, with your stuffed one, might need. But why does your Muse entice my one out, and not permit her to seek the obscurity she desires? It may be that you wish to learn from a poem how much I return your love, and cherish you. Believe me, you can hardly learn that from a poem, for my love cannot be confined in close-fitting metres and is too sound to come to you on the limping feet8 of elegy.
How well you describe the seasonal feasts, the merriment of December, the festal days that do reverence to the heaven-descended God, the charms and delights of winter in the countryside, and the quaffing of French wines by the welcoming fireside. But why do you complain that poetry flees from wine and banqueting? Song loves Bacchus, and Bacchus loves song. Phoebus was not ashamed to wear green clusters and to set the ivy above his own laurel. Often the chorus of the Nine, mingled with Thyoneus’ throng,18 has raised the cry Euoe on the Aonian hills. The verses that Ovid sent from the land of the Coralli were bad because they had no banquets there, and did not cultivate the vine.20 Of what but wine, roses, and cluster-bearing Lyaeus,21 did the Teian poet22 sing in his short verses? Teumesian Euan23 inspired Pindar’s odes, and every page diffuses the fragrance of the unmixed wine he has been drinking, as the heavy chariot crashes and is thrown backwards, axle overturned, and the driver speeds on, blackened with Olympian dust. The Roman lyrist27 was drunk with four-year-old wine when he sang sweetly of Glycera and golden-haired Chloe. Now the sumptuous table with its rich fare strengthens your mind and warms your genius. Your goblets of Massic31 wine foam with abundant genius, and from the wine-jar itself you pour out the carefully stored verses. To these we may add the arts, and Apollo’s presence in your innermost heart; Bacchus, Apollo and Ceres are as one in showing favour to you. It is small wonder, to be sure, that the united divinity of three gods should have brought forth such sweet songs through you. Now the gold-chased Thracian lyre37 is also sounding for you, under the gentle touch of a skilled hand; in tapestried halls you hear the lyre that with its trembling strings directs the maidens’ dancing feet. Let these scenes, at any rate, hold your Muse’s attention, and call back whatever powers sluggish inebriation drives away. Believe me, when the ivory key43 resounds, and the dancing festive company pours into the perfumed halls, you will feel Apollo stealing silently into your heart like a sudden heat permeating the bones, and from the girls’ eyes and music-making fingers Thalia48 will flow into your whole breast.