by John Milton
105 Protinus ille alium socio petit inde volatu.
Nos durum genus, et diris exercita fatis
Gens homines aliena animis, et pectore discors;
Vix sibi quisque parem de millibus invenit unum,
Aut si sors dederit tandem non aspera votis,
110 Ilium inopina dies qua non speraveris hora
Surripit, aeternum linquens in saecula damnum.
Ite domum impasti, domino iam non vacat, agni.
Heu quis me ignotas traxit vagus error in oras
Ire per aereas rupes, Alpemque nivosam!
115 Ecquid erat tanti Romam vidisse sepultam,
Quamvis ilia foret, qualem dum viseret olim,
Tityrus ipse suas et oves et rura reliquit;
Ut te tam dulci possem caruisse sodale,
Possem tot maria alta, tot interponere montes,
120 Tot silvas, tot saxa tibi, fluviosque sonantes?
Ah certe extremum licuisset tangere dextram,
Et bene compositos placide morientis ocellos,
Et dixisse vale, nostri memor ibis ad astra.
Ite domum impasti, domino iam non vacat, agni.
125 Quamquam etiam vestri nunquam meminisse pigebit
Pastores Thusci, Musis operata iuventus,
Hic charis, atque lepos; et Thuscus tu quoque Damon,
Antiqua genus unde petis Lucumonis ab urbe.
O ego quantus eram, gelidi cum stratus ad Arni
130 Murmura, populeumque nemus, qua mollior herba,
Carpere nunc violas, nunc summas carpere myrtos,
Et potui Lycidae certantem audire Menalcam.
Ipse etiam tentare ausus sum, nec puto multum
Displicui, nam sunt et apud me munera vestra
135 Fiscellae, calathique et cerea vincla cicutae;
Quin et nostra suas docuerunt nomina fagos
Et Datis, et Francinus, erant et vocibus ambo
Et studiis noti, Lydorum sanguinis ambo.
Ite domum impasti, domino iam non vacat, agni.
140 Haec mihi turn laeto dictabat roscida luna,
Dum solus teneros claudebam cratibus hoedos.
Ah quoties dixi, cum te cinis ater habebat,
Nunc canit, aut lepori nunc tendit retia Damon,
Vimina nunc texit, varios sibi quod sit in usus;
145 Et quae tum facili sperabam mente futura
Arripui voto levis, et praesentia finxi.
Heus bone numquid agis? nisi te quid forte retardat,
Imus? et arguta paulum recubamus in umbra,
Aut ad aquas Colni, aut ubi iugera Cassibelauni?
150 Tu mihi percurres medicos, tua gramina, succos,
Helleborumque, humilesque crocos, foliumque hyacinthi,
Quasque habet ista palus herbas, artesque medentum.
Ah pereant herbae, pereant artesque medentum
Gramina, postquam ipsi nil profecere magistro.
155 Ipse etiam, nam nescio quid mihi grande sonabat
Fistula, ab undecima iam lux est altera nocte,
Et turn forte novis admoram labra cicutis,
Dissiluere tamen rupta compage, nee ultra
Ferre graves potuere sonos; dubito quoque ne sim
160 Turgidulus, tamen et referam, vos cedite silvae.
Ite domum impasti, domino iam non vacat, agni.
Ipse ego Dardanias Rutupina per aequora puppes
Dicam, et Pandrasidos regnum vetus Inogeniae,
Brennumque Arviragumque duces, priscumque Belinum,
165 Et tandem Armoricos Britonum sub lege colonos;
Turn gravidam Arturo fatali fraude Iogernen,
Mendaces vultus, assumptaque Gorlois arma,
Merlini dolus. O mihi turn si vita supersit,
Tu procul annosa pendebis fistula pinu
170 Multum oblita mihi, aut patriis mutata Camenis
Brittonicum strides, quid enim? omnia non licet uni
Non sperasse uni licet omnia; mi satis ampla
Merces, et mihi grande decus (sim ignotus in aevum
Turn licet, externo penitusque inglorius orbi)
175 Si me flava comas legat Usa, et potor Alauni,
Vorticibusque frequens Abra, et nemus omne Treantae,
Et Thamesis meus ante omnes, et fusca metallis
Tamara, et extremis me discant Orcades undis.
Ite domum impasti, domino iam non vacat, agni.
180 Haec tibi servabam lenta sub cortice lauri,
Haec, et plura simul; tum quae mihi pocula Mansus,
Mansus Chalcidicae non ultima gloria ripae,
Bina dedit, mirum artis opus, mirandus et ipse,
Et circum gemino caelaverat argumento:
185 In medio rubri maris unda, et odoriferum ver,
Littora longa Arabum, et sudantes balsama silvae;
Has inter Phoenix divina avis, unica terris,
Caeruleum fulgens diversicoloribus alis,
Auroram vitreis surgentem respicit undis.
190 Parte alia polus omnipatens, et magnus Olympus,
Quis putet? hic quoque Amor, pictaeque in nube pharetrae,
Arma corusca, faces, et spicula tincta pyropo;
Nec tenues animas, pectusque ignobile vulgi
Hinc ferit, at circum flammantia lumina torquens,
195 Semper in erectum spargit sua tela per orbes
Impiger, et pronos nunquam collimat ad ictus;
Hinc mentes ardere sacrae, formaeque deorum.
Tu quoque in his, nec me fallit spes lubrica Damon,
Tu quoque in his certe es, nam quo tua dulcis abiret
200 Sanctaque simplicitas, nam quo tua candida virtus?
Nec te Lethaeo fas quaesivisse sub Orco,
Nec tibi conveniunt lacrimae, nec flebimus ultra;
Ite procul lacrimae, purum colit aethera Damon,
Aethera purus habet, pluvium pede reppulit arcum;
205 Heroumque animas inter, divosque perennes,
Aethereos haurit latices et gaudia potat
Ore sacro. Quin tu coeli post iura recepta
Dexter ades, placidusque fave quicunque vocaris,
Seu tu noster eris Damon, sive aequior audis
210 Diodotus, quo te divino nomine cuncti
Coelicolae norint, silvisque vocabere Damon.
Quod tibi purpureus pudor, et sine labe iuventus
Grata fuit, quod nulla tori libata voluptas,
En etiam tibi virginei servantur honores;
215 Ipse caput nitidum cinctus rutilante corona,
Laetaque frondentis gestans umbracula palmae
Aeternum perages immortales hymenaeos;
Cantus ubi, choreisque furit lyra mista beatis,
Festa Sionaeo bacchantur et Orgia thyrso.
Damon’s Elegy
Argument
Thyrsis and Damon, shepherds of the same neighbourhood, had from childhood pursued the same interests and been the closest friends. Thyrsis, who had gone abroad for the improvement of his mind, received news of Damon’s death. Having returned home, and found the news to be true, he bewailed himself and his loneliness in this poem. ‘Damon’ here represents Charles Diodati, who was descended on his father’s side from the Tuscan city of Lucca, but was English in all other respects. While he lived, he was a young man of outstanding talents, learning and other most illustrious virtues.
Nymphs of Himera1 (for you remember Daphnis and Hylas, and the long-lamented fate of Bion),2 sing a Sicilian song through the cities of the Thames. Tell what cries, what moans, unhappy Thyrsis4poured forth; his ceaseless laments that disturbed the caves, the rivers, the straying brooks, and the deep woods, while he mourned for Damon,7 carried off before his time. Wandering through lonely places, he filled deep night with his grief. And now the green-eared stalk had twice9 sprung up, and as many times the granaries had gathered in the yellow harvests, since Damon’s last day had carried him down to the shades – and still Thyrsis was not there; love of the sweet Muse detained that shepherd in a Tuscan city. But when h
e had filled his mind with foreign sights, and care for the flock he had left behind called him home, he sat down under his accustomed elm, and then – in that moment – then indeed the loss of his friend truly came home to him, and he tried to lighten his huge load of sorrow with these words:
‘Go home unfed, my lambs, your master has no time for you now.18 Ah me, what deities can I invoke in earth or heaven, Damon, now that they have carried you off to cruel death? Is this the way you leave me? Must your virtue vanish without a name, and be numbered among the unknown shades? But no, he23 who marshals the souls with his golden wand would not want that; he would lead you into a company that is worthy of you, and drive far off all the base rabble of the silent dead.
‘Go home unfed, my lambs, your master has no time for you now. Whatever happens, unless a wolf sees me first,27 you can be sure that you will not moulder in the grave unwept. Your fame will survive you, and long flourish among shepherds. They will rejoice to pay their vows to you, next after Daphnis,31 and to sing praises of you, next after Daphnis, so long as Pales32 and Faunus love the fields – if it means anything that you cherished ancient faith and piety, and the arts of Pallas,34 and had a poet as your friend.
‘Go home unfed, my lambs, your master has no time for you now. These rewards are certain to be yours, Damon; you will enjoy them. But what will now become of me? What faithful companion will stay by my side, as you used to do, in the bitter cold when frost covered everything, or when under the hot sun green things perished in the drought, whether our task was to go within a spear’s cast of great lions, or to chase ravenous wolves from the high sheepfolds? Who now will lull my day to rest with talk and song?
‘Go home unfed, my lambs, your master has no time for you now. To whom shall I open my heart? Who will teach me to soothe gnawing cares and beguile the long night with delightful conversation, while the ripe pear hisses before the cheerful fire, nuts crack open on the hearth, and the cruel south wind wreaks havoc outside, roaring through the crown of the elm.
‘Go home unfed, my lambs, your master has no time for you now. Or in summer, when the sun is in the mid heavens, and Pan takes his sleep, hidden under a shady oak, and the nymphs seek their familiar haunts under the water, and the shepherds seek cover, and the ploughman snores under the hedge, who then will bring back to me your charm, your laughter, your Attic wit,56 and your refined sense of humour?
‘Go home unfed, my lambs, your master has no time for you now. But now I wander alone through the fields, alone through the pastures, waiting for evening in valleys where shady branches grow thick. Overhead rain and the south-east wind sound mournfully through the troubled twilight of the windswept forest.
‘Go home unfed, my lambs, your master has no time for you now. Alas, how my once well-tilled fields are overgrown with wanton weeds; even the tall grain rots with mould! The unwedded grapes65 wither on the neglected vine, and the myrtle groves66 bring no joy; I am weary even of my sheep, and they turn to their master with mournful eyes.
‘Go home unfed, my lambs, your master has no time for you now. Tityrus69 calls me to the hazels, Alphesiboeus69 to the ash trees, Aegon70 to the willows, beautiful Amyntas70 to the rivers: “Here are cool springs, here are mossy lawns, here are soft breezes, here the wild strawberry whispers among quiet streams.” They sing to deaf ears. I reach the bushes and slip away from them.
‘Go home unfed, my lambs, your master has no time for you now. Then Mopsus75 came – by chance he had happened to see me returning – Mopsus, who was expert in the language of the birds and in the stars. “What’s the matter, Thyrsis?” he said. “What melancholy is tormenting you? You must either be pining with love or bewitched by an evil star; Saturn’s79 star has often been malignant to shepherds; his slanting leaden shaft pierces to the inmost heart.”
‘Go home unfed, my lambs, your master has no time for you now. The nymphs are astonished and cry: “What will become of you, Thyrsis? What do you want? Youth is not accustomed to have a clouded brow, wild eyes, or a stern face; youth rightly seeks dances, cheerful games, and love, always love. Twice wretched is he who loves too late.”
‘Go home unfed, my lambs, your master has no time for you now. Along came Hyas88 and Dryope, and Aegle, daughter of Baucis (an excellent musician, skilled on the harp, but spoiled through pride), along came Chloris, who lives by the Idumanian river.90 No charms, no comforting words can move me, and nothing in the present; nor is there any hope for the future.
‘Go home unfed, my lambs, your master has no time for you now. Ah me, how like one another are the young bulls frisking in the meadows, all companions together, of one mind, bound each to each by law; no one of them singles out another as a particular friend from the herd. Wolves also hunt in packs, and the shaggy wild asses mate together by turn. The same law holds for the sea; on the deserted shore Proteus99 counts his herds of seals. Even the lowest of birds, the sparrow,101 always has a mate with whom he happily flits around the stacks of grain, and returns late to his nest. If by chance death carries off his mate, whether by the kite’s hooked beak or the common labourer’s arrow, he immediately seeks another companion for his flight. But we men are a hard race, a race vexed by the cruel Fates, with minds unfriendly to one another, and hearts at discord. It is hard to find one kindred spirit among a thousand, and if destiny, at last softening to our prayers, does grant one, an unexpected day and an unlooked-for hour snatch him away, leaving a pain that lasts for ever.
‘Go home unfed, my lambs, your master has no time for you now. Alas, what desire of wandering enticed me to foreign shores, over the towering peaks of the snowy Alps? Was it so important to see buried Rome – even if it had appeared as in ancient times, when Tityrus117 left his fields and his sheep to see it – that I could allow myself to be deprived of so dear a companion, that I could put so many seas, so many mountains, so many forests, so many rocks, and so many roaring rivers between us? Ah, I might at least have held his right hand at the end and closed his eyes in peaceful death, and said: “Farewell! Remember me as you ascend to the stars.”
‘Go home unfed, my lambs, your master has no time for you now. And yet I shall never regret my memory of you, Tuscan shepherds, young men devoted to the Muses, for grace and charm are with you; and you too, Damon, were a Tuscan, tracing your descent from the ancient city of Lucca. Ah, how grand I was when I lay beside the cool, murmuring Arno,129 on the soft grass by a poplar grove, plucking now violets, now sprays of myrtle, and could listen to Menalcas and Lycidas contending in song.132 I too was bold enough to try, and I do not think I displeased you too much, for I still have your gifts, 134 rush baskets, and wicker baskets, and pipes fastened with wax; indeed, Dati and Francini,137 both renowned poets and scholars, and both of Lydian blood,138 taught their beech trees my name.
‘Go home unfed, my lambs, your master has no time for you now. When, happy and unaccompanied, I would shut the young kids in their wattled folds, the dewy moon would often tell me things. Ah, how often (when death’s black ashes already held you) would I say: “Now Damon is singing, or stretching nets for the hare; now he is weaving willow baskets for his various uses.” What my eager mind then hoped for the future, I lightly seized on with my wishes, and imagined it to be really present. “Ho there, friend, what are you doing? Shall we go – unless you have something better to do? Shall we lie for a while in the murmuring shade – either by the waters of Colne, or in the acres of Cassivelaunus?149 You can tell me all about your medicinal herbs and potions – hellebore, the humble crocus, the hyacinth leaf, all the plants of the marsh – and the arts of the physician.”152
‘Ah, let the herbs and potions perish, and the arts of the physician, since they were of no use to their master. For my part, my pipe was sounding I know not what lofty strain155 – it is now eleven nights and a day since then – and I had casually set my lips to new pipes, but they burst asunder, broken at the fastening, no longer able to bear the grand notes. I fear that I may seem conceited, but I will tell of it. Give place
, woodlands.160
‘Go home unfed, my lambs, your master has no time for you now. I would tell of Trojan ships in the Rutupian Sea,162 and of the ancient realm of Inogen, daughter of Pandrasus,163 and of the chieftains Brennus and Arviragus, and old Belinus,164 and the Armorican colonists 165 who came at length under British law; then of Igraine, pregnant with Arthur by a fatal deception – the counterfeit face and dissembled arms of Gorlois, Merlin’s trick.168 Then, my pastoral pipe, if life remains to me, you will hang on an old pine tree, far off and forgotten by me – or else, changed by my native Muses, you will sound forth a British strain, and why not? One man cannot do everything, or hope to do everything. For me it would be sufficient reward and ample honour (though I remain forever unknown and utterly inglorious throughout the rest of the world) if only fair-haired Ouse175 would read me, and he who drinks of the Alne, and Humber full of eddies, and every wood along the Trent, and before all my Thames, and the Tamar, discoloured by metallic ore, and if the Orkneys among their remote waves would learn my song.
‘Go home unfed, my lambs, your master has no time for you now. I was keeping these things for you in pliant laurel bark,180 these and more besides. I was saving the two cups that Manso181 gave me – Manso, not the least glory of the Chalcidian182 shore. They are a marvellous work of art, and he himself is a marvel. Around them runs an engraving with a double subject. In the middle are the waves of the Red Sea, the fragrant spring, the long shores of Arabia, and forests dripping with balsam; among these the phoenix,187 that divine bird, unique on earth, gleaming blue with many-coloured wings, watching Aurora rise above the glassy waves. In another part are the infinite sky and great Olympus – who would have thought it? Here too is Cupid,191 with his brightly coloured quiver in a cloud, his glittering weapons, his torches, and his arrows tipped with fiery bronze. From that height he does not strike shallow spirits and the base hearts of the rabble but, looking around him with flaming eyes, he tirelessly shoots his arrows aloft in a ceaseless shower through the heavenly spheres, and never aims a downward shot; hence he kindles holy minds and the essences of the gods.
‘You too are among them, Damon – no elusive hope deceives me – assuredly you too are among them, for where else could your sweet and holy simplicity and your radiant white virtue have gone? It would be improper to look for you in Lethean Orcus. Nothing is here for tears. I shall weep no more. Begone, my tears. Damon dwells now in the pure aether; being pure himself, the aether is where he dwells, and he spurns the rainbow with his foot. Among the souls of heroes and the everlasting gods he drinks heavenly draughts and quaffs joys with his holy lips. Now that you have received the rights of heaven, stand by my side and gently favour me, by whatever name you are called,208 whether you are my Damon, or whether you prefer to be called Diodati – the divine name210 by which the inhabitants of heaven will know you, though the woods still call you Damon.