BOOK VI.

Scarce had the rays of golden Phoebus begun to break through the lowest line of our horizon, when the aged and venerable Telesio made the piteous sound of his horn come to the ears of all that were in the village—a signal which moved those who heard it to leave the repose of their pastoral couches, and hasten to do what Telesio bade. But the first who led the way in this were Elicio, Aurelio, Daranio, and all the shepherds and shepherdesses who were with them, the fair Nisida and Blanca, and the happy Timbrio and Silerio not being absent, with a number of other gallant shepherds and beauteous shepherdesses, who joined them, and might reach the number of thirty. Amongst them went the peerless Galatea, new miracle of beauty, and the lately-wed Silveria, who brought with her the fair and haughty Belisa, for whom the shepherd Marsilio suffered such loving and mortal pangs. Belisa had come to visit Silveria, and to congratulate her on her newly attained estate, and she wished likewise to be present at obsequies so celebrated as she hoped those would be that shepherds so great and so famous were celebrating. All then came out together from the village, outside which they found Telesio, with many other shepherds accompanying him, all clad and adorned in such wise that they clearly showed that they had come together for a sad and mournful business. Straightway Telesio ordained, so that the solemn sacrifices might that day be performed with purer intent and thoughts more calm, that all the shepherds should come together on their side, and apart from the shepherdesses, and that the latter should do the same: whereat the smaller number were content, and the majority not very satisfied, especially the fond Marsilio, who had already seen the loveless Belisa, at sight of whom he was so beside himself and so rapt, as his friends Orompo, Crisio, and Orfenio clearly perceived, and when they saw him in such a state, they went up to him, and Orompo said to him:

'Take courage, friend Marsilio, take courage, and do not by your faint-heartedness cause the small spirit of your breast to be revealed. What if Heaven, moved to compassion of your pain, has at such a time brought the shepherdess Belisa to these banks that you may heal it?'

'Nay rather the better to end me, as I believe,' replied Marsilio, 'will she have come to this place, for this and more must needs be feared from my fortune; but I will do, Orompo, what you bid, if by chance in this hard plight reason has more power with me than my feelings.'

And therewith Marsilio became again somewhat more calm, and straightway the shepherds on one side, and the shepherdesses on another, as was ordained by Telesio, began to make their way to the valley of cypresses, all preserving a wondrous silence; until Timbrio, astonished to see the coolness and beauty of the clear Tagus by which he was going, turned to Elicio who was coming at his side, and said to him:

'The incomparable beauty of these cool banks, Elicio, causes me no small wonder; and not without reason, for when one has seen as I have the spacious banks of the renowned Betis, and those that deck and adorn the famous Ebro, and the well-known Pisuerga, and when one in foreign lands has walked by the banks of the holy Tiber, and the pleasing banks of the Po, made noted by the fall of the rash youth, and has not failed to go round the cool spots of the peaceful Sebeto, it must needs have been a great cause that should move me to wonder at seeing any others.'

'You do not go so far out of the way in what you say, as I believe, discreet Timbrio,' answered Elicio, 'as not to see with your eyes how right you are to say it; for without doubt you can believe that the pleasantness and coolness of the banks of this river excel, as is well known and recognised, all those you have named, though there should enter among them those of the distant Xanthus, and of the renowned Amphrysus, and of the loving Alpheus. For experience holds and has made certain, that almost in a straight line above the greater part of these banks appears a sky bright and shining, which with a wide sweep and with living splendour seems to invite to joy and gladness the heart that is most estranged from it; and if it is true that the stars and the sun are sustained, as some say, by the waters here below, I firmly believe that those of this river are in a large measure the cause that produces the beauty of the sky that covers it, or I shall believe that God, for the same reason that they say He dwells in Heaven, makes here His sojourn for the most part. The earth that embraces it, clad with a thousand green adornments, seems to make festival and to rejoice at possessing in itself a gift so rare and pleasing, and the golden river as though in exchange, sweetly interweaving itself in its embraces, fashions, as if with intent, a thousand windings in and out, which fill the soul of all who behold them with wondrous pleasure; whence it arises that, though the eyes turn again to behold it many a time, they do not therefore fail to find in it things to cause them new pleasure and new wonder. Turn youreyes then, valiant Timbrio, and see how much its banks are adorned by the many villages and wealthy farmhouses, which are seen built along them. Here in every season of the year is seen the smiling spring in company with fair Venus, her garments girded up and full of love, and Zephyrus accompanying her, with his mother Flora in front, scattering with bounteous hand divers fragrant flowers; and the skill of its inhabitants has wrought so much that nature, incorporated with art, is become an artist and art's equal, and from both together has been formed a third nature to which I cannot give a name. Of its cultivated gardens, compared with which the gardens of the Hesperides and of Alcinous, may keep silence, of the dense woods, of the peaceful olives, green laurels, and rounded myrtles, of its abundant pastures, joyous valleys, and covered hills, streamlets and springs which are found on this bank, do not expect me to say more, save that, if in any part of the earth the Elysian fields have a place, it is without doubt here. What shall I say of the skilful working of the lofty wheels, by the ceaseless motion of which men draw the waters from the deep river, and copiously irrigate the fields which are distant a long way? Let there be added to this that on these banks are nurtured the fairest and most discreet shepherdesses that can be found in the circle of the earth; as a proof of which, leaving aside that which experience shows us, and what you, Timbrio, do, since you have been on them and have seen, it will suffice to take as an example that shepherdess whom you see there, oh Timbrio.'

And, saying this, he pointed with his crook to Galatea; and without saying more, left Timbrio wondering to see the discretion and words with which he had praised the banks of the Tagus and Galatea's beauty. And he replied to him that nothing of what was said could be gainsaid, and in these and other things they beguiled the tedium of the road, until, coming in sight of the valley of cypresses, they saw issuing from it almost as many shepherds and shepherdesses as those who were with them. All joined together and with peaceful steps began to enter the sacred valley, the situation of which was so strange and wondrous that even in the very ones who had seen it many a time, it caused new admiration and pleasure. On one portion of the bank of the famous Tagus there rise in four different and opposite quarters four green and peaceful hills, walls and defenders as it were of a fair valley which they contain in their midst, and entrance into it is granted by four other spots. These same hills close together in such a way that they come to form four broad and peaceful roads, walled in on all sides by countless lofty cypresses, set in such order and harmony that even the very branches of each seem to grow uniformly, and none dares in the slightest to exceed or go beyond another. The space there is between cypress and cypress is closed and occupied bya thousand fragrant rose-bushes and pleasing jessamine, so close and interwoven as thorny brambles and prickly briars are wont to be in the hedges of guarded vineyards. From point to point of these peaceful openings are seen running through the short green grass clear cool streamlets of pure sweet waters, which have their birth on the slopes of the same hills. The goal and end of these roads is a wide round space formed by the declivities and cypresses, in the midst of which is placed a fountain of cunning workmanship, built of white and costly marble, made with such skill and cunning that the beauteous fountains of renowned Tibur, and the proud ones of ancient Trinacria cannot be compared to it. With the water of this wondrous fountain are moistened and sustained the cool grasses of the delightful spot, and what makes this pleasing situation the more worthy of esteem and reverence is that it is exempt from the greedy mouths of simple lambs and gentle sheep, and from any other kind of flock; for it serves alone as guardian and treasure-house of the honoured bones of any famous shepherds, who, by the general decree of all the survivors in the neighbourhood are determined and ordained to be worthy and deserving of receiving burial in this famous valley. Therefore there were seen between the many different trees that were behind the cypresses, in the space and expanse there was from them to the slopes of the hills, some tombs, made one of jasper and another of marble, on the white stones of which one read the names of those who were buried in them. But the tomb which shone most above all, and that which showed itself most to the eyes of all, was that of the famous shepherd Meliso, which, apart from the others, was seen on one side of the broad space, made of smooth black slates and of white and well-fashioned alabaster. And at the very moment the eyes of Telesio beheld it, he turned his face to all that pleasing company, and said to them with peaceful voice and piteous tones:

'There you see, gallant shepherds, discreet and fair shepherdesses, there you see, I say, the sad tomb wherein repose the honoured bones of the renowned Meliso, honour and glory of our banks. Begin then to raise to Heaven your humble hearts, and with pure purpose, copious tears and deep sighs, intone your holy hymns and devout prayers, and ask Heaven to consent to receive in its starry abode the blessed soul of the body that lies there.'

As he said this, he went up to one of the cypresses, and cutting some branches, he made from them a mournful garland wherewith he crowned his white and venerable brow, beckoning to the others to do the same. All, moved by his example, in one moment crowned themselves with the sad branches, and guided by Telesio, went up to the tomb, where the first thing Telesio did was to bend the knee and kiss the hard stone of thetomb. All did the same, and some there were who, made tender by the memory of Meliso, left the white marble they were kissing bedewed with tears. This being done, Telesio bade the sacred fire be kindled, and in a moment around the tomb were made many, though small, bonfires, in which only branches of cypress were burned; and the venerable Telesio began with solemn and peaceful steps to circle the pyre, and to cast into all the glowing fires a quantity of sacred sweet-smelling incense, uttering each time he scattered it, some short and devout prayer for the departed soul of Meliso, at the end of which he would raise his trembling voice, all the bystanders with sad and piteous tone replying thrice 'Amen, amen,' to the mournful sound of which the neighbouring hills and distant valleys re-echoed, and the branches of the tall cypresses and of the many other trees of which the valley was full, stricken by a gentle breeze that blew, made and formed a dull and saddest whisper, almost as if in token that they for their part shared the sadness of the funereal sacrifice. Thrice Telesio circled the tomb, and thrice he uttered the piteous prayers, and nine times more were heard the mournful tones of the amen which the shepherds repeated. This ceremony ended, the aged Telesio leaned against a lofty cypress which rose at the head of Meliso's tomb, and by turning his face on every side caused the bystanders to attend to what he wished to say, and straightway raising his voice as much as the great number of his years could allow, with marvellous eloquence he began to praise Meliso's virtues, the integrity of his blameless life, the loftiness of his intellect, the constancy of his soul, the graceful gravity of his discourse, and the excellence of his poetry, and above all the solicitude of his breast to keep and fulfil the holy religion he had professed, joining to these other virtues of Meliso of such a kind and so great that, though the shepherd had not been well known by all who were listening to Telesio, merely by what he was saying, they would have been inspired to love him, if he had been alive, and to reverence him after death. The old man then ended his discourse saying:

'If the lowliness of my dull understanding, famous shepherds, were to attain to where Meliso's excellences attained, and to where attains the desire I have to praise them, and if the weak and scanty strength begotten by many weary years did not cut short my voice and breath, sooner would you see this sun that illumines us bathing once and again in the mighty ocean, than I should cease from my discourse begun; but since in my withered age this is not allowed, do you supply what I lack, and show yourselves grateful to Meliso's cold ashes, praising them in death as the love constrains you that he had for you in life. And though a part of this duty touches and concerns us all in general, those whom it concerns more particularly are the famous Thyrsis and Damon, as being so well acquainted withhim, such friends, such intimates; and so I beg them, as urgently as I can, to respond to this obligation, supplying in song with voice more calm and resounding what I have failed to do by my tears with my faltering one.'

Telesio said no more, nor indeed had there been need to say it in order that the shepherds might be moved to do what he bade them, for straightway, without making any reply, Thyrsis drew forth his rebeck, and beckoned to Damon to do the same. They were accompanied straightway by Elicio and Lauso, and all the shepherds who had instruments there; and in a little while they made music so sad and pleasing, that though it delighted the ears, it moved the hearts to give forth tokens of sadness with the tears the eyes were shedding. To this was joined the sweet harmony of the little painted birds, that were flitting through the air, and some sobs that the shepherdesses, already made tender and moved by Telesio's discourse, and by what the shepherds were doing, wrung from time to time from their lovely breasts; and it was of such a kind that the sound of the sad music and that of the sad harmony of the linnets, larks, and nightingales, and the bitter sound of the deep groans joining in unison, all formed together a concert so strange and mournful, that there is no tongue that could describe it. A little while after, the other instruments ceasing, only the four of Thyrsis, Damon, Elicio, and Lauso were heard. These going up to Meliso's tomb, placed themselves on its four sides, a token from which all present understood that they were about to sing something. And so they lent them silence marvellous and subdued, and straightway the famous Thyrsis, aided by Elicio, Damon, and Lauso, began, with voice loud, sad and resounding, to sing in this wise:

THYRSIS.

Such is the cause of our grief-stricken moan,Not ours alone, but all the world's as well,Shepherds, your sad and mournful chant intone!

DAMON.

Let our sighs break the air, and let them swellE'en unto Heaven in wailings, fashionèdFrom righteous love and grief unspeakable!

ELICIO.

Mine eyes the tender dew shall ever shedOf loving tears, until the memory,Meliso, of thine exploits shall be dead.

LAUSO.

Meliso, worthy deathless history,Worthy to enjoy on holy Heaven's throneGlory and life through all eternity.

THYRSIS.

What time I raise myself to heights unknownThat I may sing his deeds as I think best,Shepherds, your sad and mournful chant intone!

DAMON.

With welling tears, Meliso, that ne'er rest,As best I can, thy friendship I reward,With pious prayers, and holy incense blest.

ELICIO.

Thy death, alas! our happiness hath marred,And hath to mourning changed our past delight,Unto a tender grief that presseth hard.

LAUSO.

Those fair and blissful days when all was bright,When the world revelled in thy presence sweet,Have been transformed to cold and wretched night.

THYRSIS.

Oh Death, that with thy violence so fleetDidst such a life to lowly earth restore,—What man will not thy diligence defeat?

DAMON.

Since thou, oh Death, didst deal that blow with power,Which brought to earth our stay 'midst fortune's stress,Ne'er is the meadow clad with grass or flower.

ELICIO.

Ever this woe remembering, I repressMy bliss, if any bliss my feeling knows,Myself I harrow with new bitterness.

LAUSO.

When is lost bliss recovered? Do not woes,E'en though we seek them not, ever assail?When amidst mortal strife find we repose?

THYRSIS.

When in the mortal fray did life prevail?And when was Time, that swiftly flies away,By harness stout withstood, or coat of mail?

DAMON.

Our life is but a dream, an idle play,A vain enchantment that doth disappear,What time it seemed the firmest in its day.

ELICIO.

A day that darkeneth in mid career,And on its track close follows gloomy night,Veiled in shadows born of chilly fear.

LAUSO.

But thou, renownèd shepherd, in a brightAnd happy hour didst from this raging seaPass to the wondrous regions of delight.

THYRSIS.

After that thou hadst heard and judged the pleaOf the great shepherd of the Spanish plainIn the Venetian[117]sheepfold righteously.

DAMON.

And after thou hadst bravely borne the pain,E'en the untimely stroke of Fortune fell,Which made Italia sad, and even Spain.

ELICIO.

After thou hadst withdrawn so long to dwell,With the nine maidens on Parnassus' crest,In solitude and calm unspeakable;

LAUSO.

Despite the clang of weapons from the EastAnd Gallic rage, thy lofty spirit layTranquil, naught moved it from its peaceful rest.

THYRSIS.

'Twas then Heaven willed, upon a mournful day,That the cold hand of wrathful death should come,And with thy life our bliss should snatch away.

DAMON.

Thy bliss was better, thou didst seek thy home,But we were left to bitterness untold,Unending and eternal was our doom.

ELICIO.

The sacred maiden choir we did beholdOf those that dwell upon Parnassus' heightRending in agony their locks of gold.

LAUSO.

The blind boy's mighty rival by thy plightWas moved to tears; then to the world belowHe showed himself a niggard of his light.

THYRSIS.

Amidst the clash of arms, the fiery glow,By reason of the wily Greek's deceit,The Teucrians sad felt not so great a woe,As those who wept, as those who did repeatMeliso's name, the shepherds, in the hourWhen of his death the tidings did them greet.

Amidst the clash of arms, the fiery glow,By reason of the wily Greek's deceit,The Teucrians sad felt not so great a woe,

As those who wept, as those who did repeatMeliso's name, the shepherds, in the hourWhen of his death the tidings did them greet.

DAMON.

Their brows with fragrant varied flowers no moreDid they adorn, with mellow voice no songSang they of love as in the days of yore.Around their brows the mournful cypress clung,And in sad oft-repeated bitter moanThey chanted lays of grief with sorrowing tongue.

Their brows with fragrant varied flowers no moreDid they adorn, with mellow voice no songSang they of love as in the days of yore.

Around their brows the mournful cypress clung,And in sad oft-repeated bitter moanThey chanted lays of grief with sorrowing tongue.

ELICIO.

Wherefore, since we to-day once more have shownThat we are mindful of our cruel wound,Shepherds, your sad and mournful chant intone!The bitter plight that fills with grief profoundOur souls, is such that adamant will beThe breast wherein no place for tears is found.

Wherefore, since we to-day once more have shownThat we are mindful of our cruel wound,Shepherds, your sad and mournful chant intone!

The bitter plight that fills with grief profoundOur souls, is such that adamant will beThe breast wherein no place for tears is found.

LAUSO.

Let countless tongues the soul of constancyExtol in song, the loyal breast he showed,Undaunted ever in adversity.Against the cruel disdain that ever glowedWithin the wrathful breast of Phyllis sweet,Firm as a rock against the sea, he stood.

Let countless tongues the soul of constancyExtol in song, the loyal breast he showed,Undaunted ever in adversity.

Against the cruel disdain that ever glowedWithin the wrathful breast of Phyllis sweet,Firm as a rock against the sea, he stood.

THYRSIS.

The verses he hath sung let all repeat,Let them, as tokens of his genius rare,In the world's memory find eternal seat.

DAMON.

Let Fame, that spreadeth tidings everywhere,Through lands that differ far from ours, his nameWith rapid steps and busy pinions bear.

ELICIO.

From his most chaste and love-enraptured flameLet the most wanton breast example take,And that which fire less perfect doth inflame.

LAUSO.

Blessèd art thou, though fortune did forsakeThee countless times, for thou dost joyous live,No shadow now doth thy contentment break.

THYRSIS.

This mortal lowliness that thou didst leaveBehind, more full of changes than the moon,Little doth weary thee, doth little grieve.

DAMON.

Humility thou changedst for the boonOf loftiness, evil for good, and deathFor life—thy fears and hopes were surely one.

ELICIO.

He who lives well, though he in semblance hathFallen, doth soar to Heaven on lofty wing,As thou, Meliso, by the flowery path.There, there, from throats immortal issuing,The voice resounds, that glory doth recite,Glory repeateth, glory sweet doth sing.There the serene fair countenance and brightWe see, and in the sight thereof beholdGlory's supreme perfection with delight.My feeble voice to praise thee waxeth bold,Yet, e'en as my desire doth greater grow,In check my fear, Meliso, doth it hold.For that which I, with mind uplifted, nowView of that hallowed mind of thine, and seeExalted far above all human show,Hath made my mind a coward utterly;I may but press my lips together, mayBut raise my brows in wondering ecstasy.

He who lives well, though he in semblance hathFallen, doth soar to Heaven on lofty wing,As thou, Meliso, by the flowery path.

There, there, from throats immortal issuing,The voice resounds, that glory doth recite,Glory repeateth, glory sweet doth sing.

There the serene fair countenance and brightWe see, and in the sight thereof beholdGlory's supreme perfection with delight.

My feeble voice to praise thee waxeth bold,Yet, e'en as my desire doth greater grow,In check my fear, Meliso, doth it hold.

For that which I, with mind uplifted, nowView of that hallowed mind of thine, and seeExalted far above all human show,

Hath made my mind a coward utterly;I may but press my lips together, mayBut raise my brows in wondering ecstasy.

LAUSO.

When thou dost go, thou fillest with dismayAll who their pleasure in thy presence sought;Evil draws nigh, for thou dost go away.

THYRSIS.

In days gone by the rustic shepherds taughtThemselves thy wisdom, in that self-same hourThey gained new understanding, wiser thought.But, ah! there came the inevitable hour,When thou departedst, and we did remain,With hearts dead, and with minds bereft of power.We celebrate this memory of pain,We who our love for thee in life have shown,E'en as in death we mourn thee once again.So to the sound of your confusèd moan,New breath the while receiving ceaselessly,Shepherds, your sad and mournful chant intone!Even as is the bitter agony,So be the welling tears, so be the sighs,Wherewith the wind is swollen that hastens by.Little I ask, little the boon I prize,But ye must feel all that my tongue to youCan now unfold with feeble, stammering cries.But Phoebus now departs, and robs of hueThe earth that doth her sable mantle don.So till the longed-for dawn shall come anew,Shepherds, no more your mournful chant intone!

In days gone by the rustic shepherds taughtThemselves thy wisdom, in that self-same hourThey gained new understanding, wiser thought.

But, ah! there came the inevitable hour,When thou departedst, and we did remain,

We celebrate this memory of pain,We who our love for thee in life have shown,E'en as in death we mourn thee once again.

So to the sound of your confusèd moan,New breath the while receiving ceaselessly,Shepherds, your sad and mournful chant intone!

Even as is the bitter agony,So be the welling tears, so be the sighs,Wherewith the wind is swollen that hastens by.

Little I ask, little the boon I prize,But ye must feel all that my tongue to youCan now unfold with feeble, stammering cries.

But Phoebus now departs, and robs of hueThe earth that doth her sable mantle don.So till the longed-for dawn shall come anew,Shepherds, no more your mournful chant intone!

Thyrsis, who had begun the sad and mournful elegy, was the one who ended it, without any of those that had listened to the lamentable song ending their tears for a good while. But at this moment the venerable Telesio said to them:

'Since we have in part, gallant and courteous shepherds, complied with the debt we owe the blessed Meliso, impose silence for the nonce on your tender tears, and give some truce to your grievous sighs, since by neither can we make good the loss we bewail; and though human sorrow cannot fail to show sorrow when ill befalls, yet it is necessary to temper the excess of its attacks with the reason that attends on the discreet. And although tears and sighs are tokens of the love cherished for him who is bewailed, the souls for which they are shed gain more profit by the pious sacrifices and devout prayers which are offered for them, than if all the ocean main were to be madetears and distil through the eyes of all the world. And for this cause and because we must give some relief to our wearied bodies, it will be well to leave what remains for us to do till the coming day, and for the present to make a call on your wallets, and comply with what nature enjoins on you.'

And in saying this, he gave orders for all the shepherdesses to abide on one side of the valley near Meliso's tomb, leaving with them six of the oldest shepherds who were there, and the rest were in another part a little way from them. And straightway with what they carried in their wallets and with the water of the clear spring they satisfied the common necessity of hunger, ending at a time when already night was clothing with one same colour all things contained beneath our horizon, and the shining moon was showing her fair and radiant face in all the fulness she has when most her ruddy brother imparts to her his rays. But a little while after, a troubled wind arising, there began to be seen some black clouds, which in a measure hid the light of the chaste goddess, making shadows on the earth; tokens from which some shepherds who were there, masters in rustic astrology, expected some coming hurricane and tempest. But all ended only in the night remaining grey and calm, and in their settling down to rest on the cool grass, yielding their eyes to sweet and peaceful slumber, as all did save some who shared as sentinels the guardianship of the shepherdesses, and save the guardian of some torches that were left blazing round Meliso's tomb. But now that calm silence prevailed through all that sacred valley, and now that slothful Morpheus had with his moist branch touched the brows and eyelids of all those present, at a time when the wandering stars had gone a good way round our pole, marking out the punctual courses of the night: at that moment from the very tomb of Meliso arose a great and wondrous fire, so bright and shining that in an instant all the dark valley was in such brightness, as if the very sun had illumined it. By which sudden marvel the shepherds who were awake near the tomb, fell astonished to the ground dazzled and blind with the light of the transparent fire, which produced a contrary effect in the others who were sleeping; for when they were stricken by its rays, heavy slumber fled from them, and they opened, though with some difficulty, their sleeping eyes, and seeing the strangeness of the light that revealed itself to them, remained confounded and amazed; and so, one standing, another reclining, another kneeling, each gazed on the bright fire with amazement and terror. Telesio seeing all this, arraying himself in a moment in the sacred vestments, accompanied by Elicio, Thyrsis, Damon, Lauso, and other spirited shepherds, gradually began to draw nigh to the fire, with the intention of seeking with some lawful and fitting exorcisms to extinguish, or to understand whence came the strange vision which showed itselfto them. But when they were drawing nigh to the glowing flames, they saw them dividing into two parts, and in their midst appearing a nymph so fair and graceful, that it set them in greater wonder than the sight of the blazing fire; she appeared clad in a rich and fine web of silver, gathered and drawn up at the waist in such wise that half of her legs revealed themselves arrayed in buskins or close-fitting foot-gear, gilded and full of countless knots of variegated ribbons. Over the silver web she wore another vestment of green and delicate silk, which, wafted from side to side by a light breeze that was gently blowing, seemed most exquisite. She wore scattered over her shoulders the longest and the ruddiest locks that human eyes ever saw, and upon them a garland made of green laurel only. Her right hand was occupied by a tall branch of the yellow palm of victory, and her left with another of the green olive of peace. And with these adornments she showed herself so fair and wonderful, that all that beheld her she kept rapt by her appearance in such wise that, casting from them their first fear, they approached with sure steps the neighbourhood of the fire, persuading themselves that from so fair a vision no harm could happen to them. And all being, as has been said, ravished to see her, the beauteous nymph opened her arms on each side, and made the divided flames divide the more and part, to give an opportunity that she might the better be seen; and straightway raising her calm countenance, with grace and strange dignity she began words such as these:

'By the results that my unexpected appearance has caused in your hearts, discreet and pleasing company, you can gather that it is not by virtue of evil spirits that this form of mine has been fashioned which presents itself here to you; for one of the means by which we recognise whether a vision be good or bad, is by the results it produces on the mind of him who beholds it. For in the case of the good, though it cause in him wonder and alarm, such wonder and alarm comes mingled with a pleasant disturbance which in a little while calms and satisfies him, contrary to what is caused by the malignant vision, which brings alarm, discontent, terror, but never assurance. Experience will make clear to you this truth when you know me, and when I tell you who I am, and the cause that has moved me to come from my distant dwelling-place to visit you. And because I do not wish to keep you in suspense with the desire you have to know who I am, know, discreet shepherds and beauteous shepherdesses, that I am one of the nine maidens, who on the lofty and sacred peaks of Parnassus have their own and famous abode. My name is Calliope, my duty and disposition it is to favour and aid the divine spirits, whose laudable practice it is to busy themselves in the marvellous and never duly lauded science of poetry. I am she who made the old blind man of Smyrna,famous only through him, win eternal fame; she who will make the Mantuan Tityrus live for all the ages to come, until time end; and she who makes the writings, as uncouth as learned, of the most ancient Ennius, to be esteemed from the past to the present age. In short, I am she who favoured Catullus, she who made Horace renowned, Propertius eternal, and I am she who with immortal fame has preserved the memory of the renowned Petrarch, and she who made the famous Dante descend to the dark circles of Hell, and ascend to the bright spheres of Heaven. I am she who aided the divine Ariosto to weave the varied and fair web he fashioned; she who in this country of yours had intimate friendship with the witty Boscan, and with the famous Garcilaso, with the learned and wise Castillejo, and the ingenious Torres Naharro, by whose intellects and by their fruits your country was enriched and I satisfied. I am she who moved the pen of the celebrated Aldana, and that which never left the side of Don Fernando de Acuña; and she who prides herself on the close friendship and converse she always had with the blessed soul of the body that lies in this tomb. The funeral rites performed by you in his honour not only have gladdened his spirit, which now paces through the eternal realm, but have so satisfied me that I have come perforce to thank you for so laudable and pious a custom as this is, which is in use among you. Therefore I promise you, with the sincerity that can be expected from my virtue, in reward for the kindness you have shown to the ashes of my dear beloved Meliso, always to bring it to pass that on your banks there may never be wanting shepherds to excel all those of the other banks in the joyous science of poetry. I will likewise always favour your counsels, and guide your understanding so that you may never give an unjust vote, when you decide who is deserving of being buried in this sacred valley; for it will not be right that an honour, so special and distinguished, and one which is only deserved by white and tuneful swans, should come to be enjoyed by black and hoarse crows. And so it seems to me that it will be right to give you some information now about some distinguished men who live in this Spain of yours, and about some in the distant Indies subject to her; and if all or any one of these should be brought by his good fortune to end the course of his days on these banks, without any doubt you can grant him burial in this famous spot. Together with this I wish to warn you not to think the first I shall name worthy of more honour than the last, for herein I do not intend to keep any order, because, though I understand the difference between the one and the other, and the others among themselves, I wish to leave the decision of it in doubt, in order that your intellects may have something to practise on in understanding the difference of theirs, of which their works will give proof. I shall go throughtheir names as they come to my memory, so that none may claim that it is a favour I have done him in having remembered him before another, for, as I tell you, discreet shepherds, I leave you to give them afterwards the place which seems to you to be due to them of right; and, in order that with less trouble and annoyance you may be attentive to my long narration, I will make it of such a kind that you may only feel displeasure at its brevity.'

The fair nymph, having said this, was silent and straightway took a harp she had beside her, which up till that time had been seen by no one, and, as she began to play it, it seemed that the sky began to brighten, and that the moon illumined the earth with new and unwonted splendour; the trees, despite a gentle breeze that was blowing, held their branches still; and the eyes of all who were there did not dare to lower their lids, in order that for the little while they lingered in raising, they might not be robbed of the glory they enjoyed in beholding the beauty of the nymph, and indeed all would have wished all their five senses to be changed into that of hearing only; with such strangeness, with such sweetness, with so great a charm did the fair muse play her harp. After she had sounded a few chords, with the most resounding voice that could be imagined, she began with verses such as these:

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