LAUSO.
I lift my gaze unto the noblest partThat can be fancied by the loving thought,Where I behold the worth, admire the artThat hath the loftiest mind to rapture brought;But if ye fain would learn what was the partThat my free neck within its fierce yoke caught,That made me captive, claims me as its prize,Mine eyes it is, Silena, and thine eyes.Thine eyes it is, from whose clear light I gainThe light that unto Heaven guideth me,Of the celestial light a token plain,Light that abhorreth all obscurity;It makes the fire, the yoke, and e'en the chain,That burns me, burdens, and afflicts, to beRelief and comfort to the soul, a HeavenUnto the life the soul hath to thee given.Oh eyes divine! my soul's joy and delight,The end and mark to which my wishes go,Eyes, that, if I see aught, have given me sight,Eyes that have made the murky day to glow;My anguish and my gladness in your lightLove set; in you I contemplate and knowThe bitter, sweet, and yet the truthful storyOf certain hell, of my uncertain glory.In darkness blind I walked, when I no moreWas guided by your light, oh eyes so fair!No more I saw the heavens, but wandered o'erThe world, 'midst thorns and brambles everywhere;But at the very moment when the powerOf your bright clustered rays my soul laid bare,And touched it to the quick, I saw quite plainThe path that leads to bliss, open and plain.Ye, ye, it is, and shall be, cloudless eyes,That do and can uplift me thus to claimAmongst the little number of the wise,As best I can, a high renownèd name;This ye can do, if ye my enemiesRemain no longer, nor account it shameSometimes a glance to cast me, for in this—Glancing and glances—lies a lover's bliss.If this be true, Silena, none hath been,Nor is, nor will be, who with constancyCan or will love thee, as I love my queen,However Love his aid, and fortune, be;I have deserved this glory—to be seenBy thee—for my unbroken loyalty.'Tis folly, though, to think that one can winThat which one scarce can contemplate therein.
I lift my gaze unto the noblest partThat can be fancied by the loving thought,Where I behold the worth, admire the artThat hath the loftiest mind to rapture brought;But if ye fain would learn what was the partThat my free neck within its fierce yoke caught,That made me captive, claims me as its prize,Mine eyes it is, Silena, and thine eyes.Thine eyes it is, from whose clear light I gainThe light that unto Heaven guideth me,Of the celestial light a token plain,Light that abhorreth all obscurity;It makes the fire, the yoke, and e'en the chain,That burns me, burdens, and afflicts, to beRelief and comfort to the soul, a HeavenUnto the life the soul hath to thee given.Oh eyes divine! my soul's joy and delight,The end and mark to which my wishes go,Eyes, that, if I see aught, have given me sight,Eyes that have made the murky day to glow;My anguish and my gladness in your lightLove set; in you I contemplate and knowThe bitter, sweet, and yet the truthful storyOf certain hell, of my uncertain glory.In darkness blind I walked, when I no moreWas guided by your light, oh eyes so fair!No more I saw the heavens, but wandered o'erThe world, 'midst thorns and brambles everywhere;But at the very moment when the powerOf your bright clustered rays my soul laid bare,And touched it to the quick, I saw quite plainThe path that leads to bliss, open and plain.Ye, ye, it is, and shall be, cloudless eyes,That do and can uplift me thus to claimAmongst the little number of the wise,As best I can, a high renownèd name;This ye can do, if ye my enemiesRemain no longer, nor account it shameSometimes a glance to cast me, for in this—Glancing and glances—lies a lover's bliss.If this be true, Silena, none hath been,Nor is, nor will be, who with constancyCan or will love thee, as I love my queen,However Love his aid, and fortune, be;I have deserved this glory—to be seenBy thee—for my unbroken loyalty.'Tis folly, though, to think that one can winThat which one scarce can contemplate therein.
I lift my gaze unto the noblest partThat can be fancied by the loving thought,Where I behold the worth, admire the artThat hath the loftiest mind to rapture brought;But if ye fain would learn what was the partThat my free neck within its fierce yoke caught,That made me captive, claims me as its prize,Mine eyes it is, Silena, and thine eyes.
Thine eyes it is, from whose clear light I gainThe light that unto Heaven guideth me,Of the celestial light a token plain,Light that abhorreth all obscurity;It makes the fire, the yoke, and e'en the chain,That burns me, burdens, and afflicts, to beRelief and comfort to the soul, a HeavenUnto the life the soul hath to thee given.
Oh eyes divine! my soul's joy and delight,The end and mark to which my wishes go,Eyes, that, if I see aught, have given me sight,Eyes that have made the murky day to glow;My anguish and my gladness in your lightLove set; in you I contemplate and knowThe bitter, sweet, and yet the truthful storyOf certain hell, of my uncertain glory.
In darkness blind I walked, when I no moreWas guided by your light, oh eyes so fair!No more I saw the heavens, but wandered o'erThe world, 'midst thorns and brambles everywhere;But at the very moment when the powerOf your bright clustered rays my soul laid bare,And touched it to the quick, I saw quite plainThe path that leads to bliss, open and plain.
Ye, ye, it is, and shall be, cloudless eyes,That do and can uplift me thus to claimAmongst the little number of the wise,As best I can, a high renownèd name;This ye can do, if ye my enemiesRemain no longer, nor account it shameSometimes a glance to cast me, for in this—Glancing and glances—lies a lover's bliss.
If this be true, Silena, none hath been,Nor is, nor will be, who with constancyCan or will love thee, as I love my queen,However Love his aid, and fortune, be;I have deserved this glory—to be seenBy thee—for my unbroken loyalty.'Tis folly, though, to think that one can winThat which one scarce can contemplate therein.
The love-sick Lauso ended his song and his journey at the same moment, and he was lovingly received by all who were with Silerio, increasing by his presence the joy all had by reason of the fair issue Silerio's troubles had had; and, as Damon was telling them to him, there appeared close to the hermitage the venerable Aurelio, who, with some of his shepherds, was bringing some dainties wherewith to regale and satisfy those who were there, as he had promised the day before he left them. Thyrsis and Damon were astonished to see him come without Elicio and Erastro, and they were more so when they came to know the cause why they had stayed behind. Aurelio approached, and his approach would have increased the more the happiness of all, if he had not said, directing his words to Timbrio:
'If you prize yourself, as it is right you should prize yourself, valiant Timbrio, as being a true friend of him who is yours, now is the time to show it, by hurrying to tend Darinto, who, no great distance from here, is so sad and afflicted and so far from accepting any consolation in the grief he suffers that some words of consolation I gave him did not suffice for him to take them as such. Elicio, Erastro, and I found him, some two hours ago in the midst of yonder mountain which reveals itself on this our right hand, his horse tied by the reins to a pine tree, and himself stretched on the ground face downwards, uttering tender and mournful sighs, and from time to time he spoke some words which were directed to curse his fortune. And atthe piteous sound of them we approached him, and by the moon's rays, though with difficulty, he was recognised by us and pressed to tell us the cause of his woe. He told it to us, and thereby we learned the little remedy he had. Nevertheless Elicio and Erastro have remained with him, and I have come to give you the news of the plight in which his thoughts hold him; and since they are so manifest to you, seek to remedy them with deeds, or hasten to console them with words.'
'Words, good Aurelio,' replied Timbrio, 'will be all I shall spend thereon, if indeed he is not willing to avail himself of the occasion to undeceive himself and to dispose his desires so that time and absence may work in him their wonted effects; but, that he may not think that I do not respond to what I owe to his friendship, tell me, Aurelio, where you left him, for I wish to go at once to see him.'
'I will go with you,' replied Aurelio, and straightway at the moment all the shepherds arose to accompany Timbrio and to learn the cause of Darinto's woe, leaving Silerio with Nisida and Blanca to the happiness of the three, which was so great that they did not succeed in uttering a word. On the way from there to where Aurelio had left Darinto, Timbrio told those who went with him the cause of Darinto's sorrow, and the little remedy that might be hoped for it, since the fair Blanca, for whom he was sorrowing, had her thoughts set on her good friend Silerio, saying to them likewise that he must needs strive with all his skill and powers that Silerio might grant what Blanca desired, and begging them all to help and favour his purpose, for, on leaving Darinto, he wished them all to ask Silerio to consent to receive Blanca as his lawful wife. The shepherds offered to do what he bade them; and during these discourses they came to where Aurelio believed Elicio, Darinto, and Erastro would be; but they did not find anyone, though they skirted and covered a great part of a small wood which was there, whereat they felt no little sorrow. But, while in it, they heard a sigh so mournful that it set them in confusion and in the desire to learn who had uttered it; but they were quickly drawn from this doubt by another which they heard no less sad than the former, and all hurrying to the spot whence the sigh came, saw not far from them at the foot of a tall walnut tree two shepherds, one seated on the green grass, and the other stretched on the ground, his head placed on the other's knees. The one seated had his head bent down, shedding tears and gazing intently on him whom he had on his knees, and, for this reason, as also because the other had lost his colour and was of pallid countenance, they were not able at once to know who he was; but when they came nearer, they knew at once that the shepherds were Elicio and Erastro, Elicio the pallid one, and Erastro the one that wept. The sad appearance of the two hapless shepherds caused great wonder and sadness in all who came there, because they were great friends of theirs, and because they did not know the cause that held them in such wise; but he that wondered most was Aurelio, because he said that he had left them so recently in Darinto's company with tokens of all pleasure and happiness, so that apparently he had not been the cause of all their misery. Erastro then seeing that the shepherds were coming to him, shook Elicio, saying to him:
'Come to yourself, hapless shepherd, arise, and seek a spot where you can by yourself bewail your misfortune, for I think to do the same until life ends.'
And saying this he took in his two hands Elicio's head and, putting it off his knees, set it on the ground, without the shepherd being able to return to consciousness; and Erastro, rising, was turning his back to go away, had not Thyrsis and Damon and the other shepherds, kept him from it. Damon went to where Elicio was, and taking him in his arms, made him come to himself. Elicio opened his eyes, and, because he knew all who were there, he took care that his tongue, moved and constrained by grief, should not say anything that might declare the cause of it: and, though this was asked of him by all the shepherds, he never gave any answer save that he knew naught of himself but that, as he was speaking with Erastro, a severe fainting fit had seized him. Erastro said the same, and for this reason the shepherds ceased to ask him further the reason of his affliction, but rather they asked him to return with them to Silerio's hermitage and to let them take him thence to the village or to his hut: but it was not possible for them to prevail with him in this beyond letting him return to the village. Seeing then that this was his desire, they did not wish to oppose it, but rather offered to go with him, but he wished no one's company, nor would he have accepted it, had not his friend Damon's persistence overcome him, and so he had to depart with him, Damon having agreed with Thyrsis to see each other that night in the village or Elicio's hut, in order to arrange to return to theirs. Aurelio and Timbrio asked Erastro for Darinto, and he told them in reply that as soon as Aurelio had left them the fainting fit had seized Elicio, and whilst he was tending to him, Darinto had departed with all haste, and they had seen him no more. Timbrio and those who came with him, seeing then that they did not find Darinto, determined to return to the hermitage and beg Silerio to accept the fair Blanca as his wife; and with this intention they all returned except Erastro, who wished to follow his friend Elicio; and so, taking leave of them, accompanied only by his rebeck, he went away by the same road Elicio had gone. The latter, having gone some distance away with his friend Damon from the rest of the company, with tears in his eyes, and with tokens of the greatest sadness, began to speak to him thus:
'I know well, discreet Damon, that you have so much experience of love's effects that you will not wonder at what I now think to tell you, for they are such that in the reckoning of my judgment I count them and hold them among the most disastrous that are found in love.'
Damon who desired nothing else than to learn the cause of his fainting and sadness, assured him that nothing would be new to him, if it touched on the evils love is wont to cause. And so Elicio with this assurance and with the assurance yet greater he had of his friendship, went on, saying:
'You already know, friend Damon, how my good fortune, for I will always give it this name of good, though it cost me life to have had it—I say then, that my good fortune willed, as all Heaven and all these banks know, that I should love—do I say love?—adore the peerless Galatea with a love as pure and true as befits her deserving. At the same time I confess to you, friend, that in all the time she has known my just desire, she has not responded to it with other tokens save those general ones which a chaste and grateful breast is wont and ought to give. And so for some years, my hope being sustained by intercourse both honourable and loving, I have lived so joyous and satisfied with my thoughts, that I judged myself the happiest shepherd that ever pastured flock, contenting myself merely with looking at Galatea and with seeing that if she did not love me, she did not loathe me, and that no other shepherd could boast that he was even looked at by her, for it was no small satisfaction of my desire to have set my thoughts on an object so secure that I had no fear of anyone else, being confirmed in this truth by the opinion which Galatea's worth inspires in me, which is such that it gives no opportunity for boldness itself to make bold with it. Against this good, which love gave me at so little a cost, against this glory enjoyed so much without harm to Galatea, against the pleasure so justly deserved by my desire, irrevocable sentence has to-day been passed, that the good should end, the glory finish, the pleasure be changed, and that finally the tragedy of my mournful life should be closed. For you must know, Damon, that this morning, as I came with Aurelio, Galatea's father, to seek you at Sileno's hermitage, he told me on the way how he had arranged to marry Galatea to a Lusitanian shepherd who pastures numerous herds on the banks of the gentle Lima. He asked me to tell him what I thought because, from the friendship he had for me, and from my understanding, he hoped to be well counselled. What I said to him in reply was that it seemed to me a hard thing to be able to bring his will to deprive itself of the sight of so fair a daughter, banishing her to such distant regions, and that if he did so, carried away and tempted by the bait of the strange shepherd's wealth, he should consider that he did not lack it so much thathe was not able to live in his village better than all in it who claimed to be rich, and that none of the best of those who dwell on the banks of the Tagus, would fail to count himself fortunate when he should win Galatea to wife. My words were not ill received by the venerable Aurelio, but at last he made up his mind, saying that the chief herdsman of all the flocks bade him do it,[116]and he it was who had arranged and settled it, and that it was impossible to withdraw. I asked him with what countenance Galatea had received the news of her banishment. He told me that she had conformed to his will and was disposing hers to do all he wished, like an obedient daughter. This I learned from Aurelio, and this, Damon, is the cause of my fainting, and will be that of my death, since at seeing Galatea in a stranger's power and a stranger to my sight, naught else can be hoped for save the end of my days.'
The love-sick Elicio ended his words and his tears began, shed in such abundance that the breast of his friend Damon, moved to compassion, could not but accompany him in them. But after a little while he began with the best reasons he could to console Elicio, but all his words stopped at being words without producing any effect. Nevertheless they agreed that Elicio should speak to Galatea and learn from her if she consented of her will to the marriage her father was arranging for her, and that, should it not be to her liking, an offer should be made to her to free her from that constraint, since help would not fail her in it. What Damon was saying seemed good to Elicio, and he determined to go to look for Galatea to declare to her his wish, and to learn the wish she held enclosed in her breast; and so, changing the road they were taking to his cabin, they journeyed towards the village, and coming to a crossway hard by where four roads divided, they saw some eight gallant shepherds approaching by one of them, all with javelins in their hands, except one of them who came mounted on a handsomemare, clad in a violet cloak, and the rest on foot, all having their faces muffled with kerchiefs. Damon and Elicio stopped till the shepherds should pass, and these passing close to them, bowed their heads and courteously saluted them, without any of them saying a word. The two were amazed to see the strange appearance of the eight, and stood still to see what road they were following; but straightway they saw they were taking the road to the village, although a different one to that by which they were going. Damon told Elicio to follow them, but he would not, saying that on that way which he wished to follow, near a spring which was not far from it, Galatea was ofttime wont to be with some shepherdesses of the village, and that it would be well to see if fortune showed herself so kind to them that they might find her there. Damon was satisfied with what Elicio wished, and so he told him to lead wherever he chose. And his lot chanced as he himself had imagined, for they had not gone far when there came to their ears the pipe of Florisa, accompanied by the fair Galatea's voice, and when this was heard by the shepherds, they were beside themselves. Then Damon knew at last how true they spoke who celebrated the graces of Galatea, who was in the company of Rosaura and Florisa and of the fair Silveria newly wed, with two other shepherdesses of the same village. And though Galatea saw the shepherds coming, she would not for that reason abandon the song she had begun, but rather seemed to give tokens that she felt pleasure at the shepherds listening to her, and they did so with all the attention possible; and what they succeeded in hearing of what the shepherdess was singing, was the following:
GALATEA.
Whither shall I turn mine eyesIn the woe that is at hand,If my troubles nearer stand,As my bliss the further flies?I am doomed to grievous painBy the grief that bids me roam:If it slays me when at home,When abroad what shall I gain?Just obedience, hard to bear!For I have the 'yes' to sayIn obedience, which some dayMy death-sentence shall declare;I am set such ills among,That as happiness 'twould beCounted, if life were to meWanting, or at least a tongue.Brief the hours, ah! brief and wearyHave the hours been of my gladnessEverlasting those of sadness,Full of dread and ever dreary;In my happy girlhood's hourI enjoyed my liberty,But, alas! now slaveryO'er my will asserts its power.Lo! the battle cruel doth prove,Which they wage against my thought,If, when they have fiercely fought,I love not, yet needs must love;Oh displeasing power of place!For, in reverence of the oldI my hands must meekly foldAnd my tender neck abase.What! have I farewell to say,See no more the golden river,Leave behind my flock for ever,And in sadness go away?Shall these trees of leafy shade,Shall these meadows broad and greenNever, nevermore, be seenBy the eyes of this sad maid?Ah! what doest thou, cruel sire?Lo! the truth is known full well,That thou from me life dost stealIn fulfilling thy desire;If there is not in my sighsPower to tell thee my distress,What my tongue cannot express,Mayst thou learn it from my eyes.Now I picture in its gloomThe sad hour when we must sever,The sweet glory, lost for ever,And the mournful, bitter, tomb;Unknown husband's joyless face,Troubles of the toilsome road,And his aged mother's mood,Peevish, for I take her place.Other troubles will begin,Countless heartaches will annoy,When I see what giveth joyTo my husband and his kin;Yet the fear I apprehendAnd my fortune pictureth,Will be ended soon by death,Which doth all our sorrows end.
Whither shall I turn mine eyesIn the woe that is at hand,If my troubles nearer stand,As my bliss the further flies?I am doomed to grievous painBy the grief that bids me roam:If it slays me when at home,When abroad what shall I gain?Just obedience, hard to bear!For I have the 'yes' to sayIn obedience, which some dayMy death-sentence shall declare;I am set such ills among,That as happiness 'twould beCounted, if life were to meWanting, or at least a tongue.Brief the hours, ah! brief and wearyHave the hours been of my gladnessEverlasting those of sadness,Full of dread and ever dreary;In my happy girlhood's hourI enjoyed my liberty,But, alas! now slaveryO'er my will asserts its power.Lo! the battle cruel doth prove,Which they wage against my thought,If, when they have fiercely fought,I love not, yet needs must love;Oh displeasing power of place!For, in reverence of the oldI my hands must meekly foldAnd my tender neck abase.What! have I farewell to say,See no more the golden river,Leave behind my flock for ever,And in sadness go away?Shall these trees of leafy shade,Shall these meadows broad and greenNever, nevermore, be seenBy the eyes of this sad maid?Ah! what doest thou, cruel sire?Lo! the truth is known full well,That thou from me life dost stealIn fulfilling thy desire;If there is not in my sighsPower to tell thee my distress,What my tongue cannot express,Mayst thou learn it from my eyes.Now I picture in its gloomThe sad hour when we must sever,The sweet glory, lost for ever,And the mournful, bitter, tomb;Unknown husband's joyless face,Troubles of the toilsome road,And his aged mother's mood,Peevish, for I take her place.Other troubles will begin,Countless heartaches will annoy,When I see what giveth joyTo my husband and his kin;Yet the fear I apprehendAnd my fortune pictureth,Will be ended soon by death,Which doth all our sorrows end.
Whither shall I turn mine eyesIn the woe that is at hand,If my troubles nearer stand,As my bliss the further flies?I am doomed to grievous painBy the grief that bids me roam:If it slays me when at home,When abroad what shall I gain?
Just obedience, hard to bear!For I have the 'yes' to sayIn obedience, which some dayMy death-sentence shall declare;I am set such ills among,That as happiness 'twould beCounted, if life were to meWanting, or at least a tongue.
Brief the hours, ah! brief and wearyHave the hours been of my gladnessEverlasting those of sadness,Full of dread and ever dreary;In my happy girlhood's hourI enjoyed my liberty,But, alas! now slaveryO'er my will asserts its power.
Lo! the battle cruel doth prove,Which they wage against my thought,If, when they have fiercely fought,I love not, yet needs must love;Oh displeasing power of place!For, in reverence of the oldI my hands must meekly foldAnd my tender neck abase.
What! have I farewell to say,See no more the golden river,Leave behind my flock for ever,And in sadness go away?Shall these trees of leafy shade,Shall these meadows broad and greenNever, nevermore, be seenBy the eyes of this sad maid?
Ah! what doest thou, cruel sire?Lo! the truth is known full well,That thou from me life dost stealIn fulfilling thy desire;If there is not in my sighsPower to tell thee my distress,What my tongue cannot express,Mayst thou learn it from my eyes.
Now I picture in its gloomThe sad hour when we must sever,The sweet glory, lost for ever,And the mournful, bitter, tomb;Unknown husband's joyless face,Troubles of the toilsome road,And his aged mother's mood,Peevish, for I take her place.
Other troubles will begin,Countless heartaches will annoy,When I see what giveth joyTo my husband and his kin;Yet the fear I apprehendAnd my fortune pictureth,Will be ended soon by death,Which doth all our sorrows end.
Galatea sang no more, for the tears she was shedding hindered her voice, and even the satisfaction in all those who had been listening to her, for they straightway knew clearly what they were dimly imagining concerning Galatea's marriage with the Lusitanian shepherd, and how much it was being brought about against her will. But he whom her tears and sighs moved most to pity was Elicio, for he would have given his life to remedy them, had their remedy depended thereon; but making use of his discretion, his face dissembling the grief his soul was feeling, he and Damon went up to where the shepherdesses were, whom they courteously greeted, and with no less courtesy were received by them. Galatea straightway asked Damon for her father, and he replied to her that he was staying in Silerio's hermitage, in the company of Timbrio and Nisida, and of all the other shepherds who accompanied Timbrio, and he likewise gave her an account of the recognition of Silerio and Timbrio, and of the loves of Darinto and Blanca, Nisida's sister, with all the details Timbrio had related of what had happened to him in the course of his love, whereon Galatea said:
'Happy Timbrio and happy Nisida, since the unrest suffered until now has ended in such felicity, wherewith you will set in oblivion the past disasters! nay, it will serve to increase your glory, since it is a saying that the memory of past calamities adds to the happiness that comes from present joys. But woe for the hapless soul, that sees itself brought to the pass of recalling lost bliss, and with fear of the ill that is to come; without seeing nor finding remedy, nor any means to check the misfortune which is threatening it, since griefs distress the more the more they are feared!'
'You speak truth, fair Galatea,' said Damon, 'for there is no doubt that the sudden and unexpected grief that comes, does not distress so much, though it alarms, as that which threatens during long lapse of time, and closes up all the ways of remedy. But nevertheless I say, Galatea, that Heaven does not send evils so much without alloy, as to take away their remedy altogether, especially when it lets us see them coming first, for it seems that then it wishes to give an opportunity for the working of our reason, in order that it may exercise and busy itself in tempering or turning aside the misfortunes about to come, and often it contents itself with distressing us by merely keeping our minds busied with some specious fear without the accomplishment of the dreaded evil being reached; and though it should be reached, so long as life does not end, no one should despair of the remedy for any evil he may suffer.'
'I do not doubt of this,' replied Galatea, 'if the evils which are dreaded or suffered were so slight, as to leave free and unimpeded the working of our intellect; but you know well,Damon, that when the evil is such that this name can be given to it, the first thing it does is to cloud our perception, and to destroy the powers of our free will, our vigour decaying in such a way that it can scarce lift itself, though hope urge it the more.'
'I do not know, Galatea,' answered Damon, 'how in your green years can be contained such experience of evils, if it is not that you wish us to understand that your great discretion extends to speaking from intuitive knowledge of things, for you have no information concerning them in any other way.'
'Would to Heaven, discreet Damon,' replied Galatea, 'that I were not able to contradict you in what you say, since thereby I would gain two things: to retain the good opinion you have of me, and not to feel the pain which causes me to speak with so much experience of it.'
Up to this point Elicio had kept silence; but being unable any longer to endure seeing Galatea give tokens of the bitter grief she was suffering, he said to her:
'If you think perchance, peerless Galatea, that the woe that threatens you can by any chance be remedied, by what you owe to the good-will to serve you which you have known in me, I beg you to declare it to me; and if you should not wish this so as to comply with what you owe to obedience to your father, give me at least leave to oppose anyone who should wish to carry away from us from these banks the treasure of your beauty, which has been nurtured thereon. And do not think, shepherdess, that I presume so much on myself, as alone to make bold to fulfil with deeds what I now offer you in words, for though the love I bear you gives me spirit for a greater enterprise, I distrust my fortune, and so I must needs place it in the hands of reason, and in those of all the shepherds that pasture their flocks on these banks of Tagus, who will not be willing to suffer that the sun that illumines them, the discretion that makes them marvel, the beauty that incites them and inspires them to a thousand honourable rivalries should be snatched and taken away from before their eyes. Wherefore, fair Galatea, on the faith of the reason I have expressed, and of that which I have for adoring you, I make you this offer, which must needs constrain you to disclose your wish to me, in order that I may not fall into the error of going against it in anything; but considering that your matchless goodness and modesty must needs move you to respond rather to your father's desire than to your own, I do not wish, shepherdess, that you should tell it me, but to undertake to do what shall seem good to me, with the purpose of looking after your honour, with the care with which you yourself have always looked after it.'
Galatea was going to reply to Elicio and to thank him for his kind desire; but she was prevented by the sudden coming ofthe eight masked shepherds whom Damon and Elicio had seen passing toward the village a little while before. All came to where the shepherdesses were, and without speaking a word, six of them rushed with incredible speed to close with Damon and Elicio, holding them in so strong a clutch that they could in no way release themselves. In the meanwhile the other two (one of whom was the one who came on horseback) went to where Rosaura was, shrieking by reason of the violence that was being done to Damon and Elicio; but, without any defence availing her, one of the shepherds took her in his arms, and placed her on the mare, and in the arms of the one who was mounted. He, removing his mask, turned to the shepherds and shepherdesses, saying:
'Do not wonder, good friends, at the wrong which seemingly has here been done you, for the power of love and this lady's ingratitude have been the cause of it. I pray you to forgive me, since it is no longer in my control; and if the famous Grisaldo comes through these parts (as I believe he soon will come), you will tell him that Artandro is carrying off Rosaura, because he could not endure to be mocked by her, and that, if love and this wrong should move him to wish for vengeance, he already knows that Aragón is my country, and the place where I live.'
Rosaura was in a swoon on the saddle-bow, and the other shepherds would not let Elicio or Damon go, until Artandro bade them let them go; and when they saw themselves free, they drew their knives with valiant spirit and rushed upon the seven shepherds, who all together held the javelins they were carrying at their breasts, telling them to stop, since they saw how little they could achieve in the enterprise they were undertaking.
'Still less can Artandro achieve,' Elicio said in reply to them, 'in having wrought such treason.'
'Call it not treason,' answered one of the others, 'for this lady has given her word to be Artandro's wife, and now, to comply with the fickle mood of woman, she has withdrawn it, and yielded herself to Grisaldo, a wrong so manifest and such that it could not be dissembled from our master Artandro. Therefore calm yourselves, shepherds, and think better of us than hitherto, since to serve our master in so just a cause excuses us.'
And without saying more, they turned their backs, still mistrusting the evil looks Elicio and Damon wore, who were in such a rage at not being able to undo that violent act, and at finding themselves incapacitated from avenging what was being done to them, that they knew neither what to say nor what to do. But the sufferings Galatea and Florisa endured at seeing Rosaura carried away in that manner, were such that they moved Elicio to set his life in the manifest peril of losing it; for, drawinghis sling—and Damon doing the same—he went at full speed in pursuit of Artandro, and with much spirit and skill they began from a distance to throw such large stones at them that they made them halt and turn to set themselves on the defensive. But nevertheless it could not but have gone ill with the two bold shepherds, had not Artandro bidden his men to go forward and leave them, as they did, until they entered a dense little thicket which was on one side of the road, and, with the protection of the trees the slings and stones of the angry shepherds had little effect. Nevertheless they would have followed them, had they not seen Galatea and Florisa and the other two shepherdesses coming with all haste to where they were, and for this reason they stopped, violently restraining the rage that spurred them on, and the desired vengeance they meditated; and as they went forward to receive Galatea, she said to them:
'Temper your wrath, gallant shepherds, since with the advantage of our enemies your diligence cannot vie, though it has been such as the valour of your souls has shown to us.'
'The sight of your discontent, Galatea,' said Elicio, 'would, I believed, have given such violent energy to mine, that those discourteous shepherds would not have boasted of the violence they have done us; but in my fortune is involved not having any luck in anything I desire.'
'The loving desire Artandro feels' said Galatea, 'it was which moved him to such discourtesy, and so he is in my eyes excused in part.'
And straightway she related to them in full detail the story of Rosaura, and how she was waiting for Grisaldo to receive him as husband, which might have come to Artandro's knowledge, and that jealous rage might have moved him to do as they had seen.
'If it is as you say, discreet Galatea,' said Damon, 'I fear that from Grisaldo's neglect, and Artandro's boldness, and Rosaura's fickle mood, some grief and strife must needs arise.'
'That might be,' replied Galatea, 'should Artandro dwell in Castile; but if he withdraws to Aragón, which is his country, Grisaldo will be left with only the desire for vengeance.'
'Is there no one to inform him of this wrong?' said Elicio.
'Yes,' replied Florisa, 'for I pledge myself that before night approaches, he shall have knowledge of it.'
'If that were so,' replied Damon, 'he would be able to recover his beloved before they reached Aragón; for a loving breast is not wont to be slothful.'
'I do not think that Grisaldo's will be so,' said Florisa, 'and, that time and opportunity to show it may not fail him, I pray you, Galatea, let us return to the village, for I wish to send to inform Grisaldo of his misfortune.'
'Be it done as you bid, friend,' replied Galatea, 'for I shall give you a shepherd to take the news.'
And with this they were about to take leave of Damon and Elicio, had not these persisted in their wish to go with them. And as they were journeying to the village, they heard on their right hand the pipe, straightway recognised by all, of Erastro, who was coming in pursuit of his friend Elicio. They stopped to listen to it, and heard him singing thus, as he came, with tokens of tender grief:
ERASTRO.
By rugged paths my fancy's doubtful endI follow, to attain it ever trying,And in night's gloom and chilly darkness lying,The forces of my life I ever spend.To leave the narrow way, I do not lendA thought, although I see that I am dying,For, on the faith of my true faith relying,'Gainst greater fear I would myself defend.My faith the beacon is that doth declareSafe haven to my storm, and doth revealUnto my voyage promise of success,Although the means uncertain may appear,Although my star's bright radiance Love conceal,Although the heavens assail me and distress.
By rugged paths my fancy's doubtful endI follow, to attain it ever trying,And in night's gloom and chilly darkness lying,The forces of my life I ever spend.To leave the narrow way, I do not lendA thought, although I see that I am dying,For, on the faith of my true faith relying,'Gainst greater fear I would myself defend.My faith the beacon is that doth declareSafe haven to my storm, and doth revealUnto my voyage promise of success,Although the means uncertain may appear,Although my star's bright radiance Love conceal,Although the heavens assail me and distress.
By rugged paths my fancy's doubtful endI follow, to attain it ever trying,And in night's gloom and chilly darkness lying,The forces of my life I ever spend.
To leave the narrow way, I do not lendA thought, although I see that I am dying,For, on the faith of my true faith relying,'Gainst greater fear I would myself defend.
My faith the beacon is that doth declareSafe haven to my storm, and doth revealUnto my voyage promise of success,
Although the means uncertain may appear,Although my star's bright radiance Love conceal,Although the heavens assail me and distress.
With a deep sigh the hapless shepherd ended his loving song, and, believing that no one heard him, loosed his voice in words such as these:
'Oh Love, whose mighty power, though exercising no constraint upon my soul, brought it to pass that I should have power to keep my thoughts busied so well, seeing that thou hast done me so much good, seek not now to show thyself doing me the ill wherewith thou threatenest me! for thy mood is more changeable than that of fickle fortune. Behold, Lord, how obedient I have been to thy laws, how ready to follow thy behests, and how subservient I have kept my will to thine! Reward me for this obedience by doing what is to thee of such import to do; suffer not these banks of ours to be bereft of that beauty which set beauty and bestowed beauty on their fresh and tiny grasses, on their lowly plants, and lofty trees; consent not, Lord, that from the clear Tagus be taken away the treasure that enriches it, and from which it has more fame than from the golden sands it nurtures in its bosom; take not away from the shepherds of these meadows the light of their eyes, the glory of their thoughts, and the noble incentive that spurred them on to a thousand noble and virtuous enterprises; consider well that, if thou dost consent that Galatea should be taken from this to foreign lands, thou despoilest thyself of the dominion thou hast on these banks, since thou dost exercise it through Galatea alone; and if she is wanting, count it assured that thou wilt not be known in all these meadows; for all, asmany as dwell therein, will refuse thee obedience and will not aid thee with the wonted tribute; mark that what I beg of thee is so conformable and near to reason, that thou wouldst wholly depart from it, if thou didst not grant me my request. For what law ordains, or what reason consents that the beauty we have nurtured, the discretion that had its beginning in these our woods and villages, the grace granted by Heaven's especial gift to our country, now that we were hoping to cull the honourable fruit of so much wealth and riches, must needs be taken to foreign realms to be possessed and dealt with by strange and unknown hands? May piteous Heaven seek not to work us a harm so noteworthy! Oh green meadows, that rejoiced at her sight, oh sweet-smelling flowers, that, touched by her feet, were full of a greater fragrance, oh plants, oh trees of this delightful wood! make all of you in the best form you can, though it be not granted to your nature, some kind of lamentation to move Heaven to grant me what I beg!'
The love-sick shepherd said this, shedding the while such tears that Galatea could not dissemble hers, nor yet any of those who were with her, making all so noteworthy a lamentation, as if then weeping at the rites of his death. Erastro came up to them at this point and was received by them with pleasing courtesy. And, as he saw Galatea with tokens of having accompanied him in his tears, without taking his eyes from her, he stood looking intently on her for a space, at the end of which he said:
'Now I know of a truth, Galatea, that no one of mankind escapes the blows of fickle fortune, since I see that you who, I thought, were to be by special privilege free from them, are assailed and harassed by them with greater force. Hence I am sure that Heaven has sought by a single blow to grieve all who know you, and all who have any knowledge of your worth; but nevertheless I cherish the hope that its cruelty is not to extend so far as to carry further the affliction it has begun, coming as it does so much to the hurt of your happiness.'
'Nay, for this same reason,' replied Galatea, 'I am less sure of my misfortune, since I was never unfortunate in what I desired; but, as it does not befit the modesty on which I pride myself, to reveal so clearly how the obedience I owe to my parents draws me after it by the hair, I pray you, Erastro, not to give me cause to renew my grief, and that naught may be treated of either by you or by anyone else that may awaken in me before the time the memory of the distress I fear. And together with this I also pray you, shepherds, to suffer me to go on to the village in order that Grisaldo, being informed, may have time to take satisfaction for the wrong Artandro has done him.'
Erastro was ignorant of Artandro's affair; but the shepherdess Florisa in a few words told him it all; whereat Erastro wondered, thinking that Artandro's valour could scarce be small, since it was set on so difficult a task. The shepherds were on the very point of doing what Galatea bade them, had they not discovered at that moment all the company of gentlemen, shepherds and ladies who were the night before in Silerio's hermitage. They were coming with tokens of the greatest joy to the village, bringing with them Silerio in a different garb and mind from that he had had hitherto, for he had already abandoned that of a hermit, changing it for that of a joyous bridegroom, as he already was the fair Blanca's to the equal joy and satisfaction of both, and of his good friends Timbrio and Nisida who persuaded him to it, giving an end by that marriage to all his miseries, and peace and quiet to the thoughts that distressed him for Nisida's sake. And so, with the rejoicing such an issue caused in them, they were all coming giving tokens thereof with agreeable music, and discreet and loving songs, which they ceased when they saw Galatea and the rest who were with her, receiving one another with much pleasure and courtesy, Galatea congratulating Silerio on what had happened to him, and Blanca on her betrothal, and the same was done by the shepherds, Damon, Elicio, and Erastro, who were warmly attached to Silerio. As soon as the congratulations and courtesies between them ceased, they agreed to pursue their way to the village, and to lighten it, Thyrsis asked Timbrio to finish the sonnet he had begun to repeat when he was recognised by Silerio. And Timbrio, not refusing to do so, to the sound of the jealous Orfenio's flute, with an exquisite and sweet voice sang it and finished it. It was as follows:
TIMBRIO.
My hope is builded on so sure a baseThat, though the fiercer blow the ruthless wind,It cannot shake the bonds that firmly bind,Such faith, such strength, such courage it displays.Far, far am I from finding any placeFor change within my firm and loving mind,For sooner life doth in my anguish findIts end draw nigh, than confidence decays.For, if amidst Love's conflict waverethThe love-sick breast, no sweet nor peaceful homeTo win from the same Love it meriteth.Though Scylla threaten and Charybdis foam,My breast the while, exultant in its faith,Braveth the sea, and claims from Love its doom.
My hope is builded on so sure a baseThat, though the fiercer blow the ruthless wind,It cannot shake the bonds that firmly bind,Such faith, such strength, such courage it displays.Far, far am I from finding any placeFor change within my firm and loving mind,For sooner life doth in my anguish findIts end draw nigh, than confidence decays.For, if amidst Love's conflict waverethThe love-sick breast, no sweet nor peaceful homeTo win from the same Love it meriteth.Though Scylla threaten and Charybdis foam,My breast the while, exultant in its faith,Braveth the sea, and claims from Love its doom.
My hope is builded on so sure a baseThat, though the fiercer blow the ruthless wind,It cannot shake the bonds that firmly bind,Such faith, such strength, such courage it displays.
Far, far am I from finding any placeFor change within my firm and loving mind,For sooner life doth in my anguish findIts end draw nigh, than confidence decays.
For, if amidst Love's conflict waverethThe love-sick breast, no sweet nor peaceful homeTo win from the same Love it meriteth.
Though Scylla threaten and Charybdis foam,My breast the while, exultant in its faith,Braveth the sea, and claims from Love its doom.
Timbrio's sonnet seemed good to the shepherds, and no less the grace with which he had sung it; and it was such that they begged him to repeat something else. But he excused himself by telling his friend Silerio to answer for him in that affair, as he had always done in others more dangerous. Silerio could notfail to do what his friend bade him, and so, in the joy of seeing himself in such a happy state, he sang what follows to the sound of that same flute of Orfenio's:
SILERIO.
To Heaven I give my thanks, since I have passedSafe through the perils of this doubtful sea,And to this haven of tranquillity,Although I knew not whither, I am cast.Now let the sails of care be furled at last,Let the poor gaping ship repairèd be,Let each fulfil the vows which erstwhile heWith stricken face made to the angry blast.I kiss the earth, and Heaven I adore,My fortune fair and joyous I embrace,Happy I call my fatal destiny.Now I my hapless neck rejoicing placeIn the new peerless gentle chain once more,With purpose new and loving constancy.
To Heaven I give my thanks, since I have passedSafe through the perils of this doubtful sea,And to this haven of tranquillity,Although I knew not whither, I am cast.Now let the sails of care be furled at last,Let the poor gaping ship repairèd be,Let each fulfil the vows which erstwhile heWith stricken face made to the angry blast.I kiss the earth, and Heaven I adore,My fortune fair and joyous I embrace,Happy I call my fatal destiny.Now I my hapless neck rejoicing placeIn the new peerless gentle chain once more,With purpose new and loving constancy.
To Heaven I give my thanks, since I have passedSafe through the perils of this doubtful sea,And to this haven of tranquillity,Although I knew not whither, I am cast.
Now let the sails of care be furled at last,Let the poor gaping ship repairèd be,Let each fulfil the vows which erstwhile heWith stricken face made to the angry blast.
I kiss the earth, and Heaven I adore,My fortune fair and joyous I embrace,Happy I call my fatal destiny.
Now I my hapless neck rejoicing placeIn the new peerless gentle chain once more,With purpose new and loving constancy.
Silerio ended, and begged Nisida to be kind enough to gladden those fields with her song, and she, looking at her beloved Timbrio, with her eyes asked leave of him to fulfil what Silerio was asking of her, and as he gave it her with a look too, she, without waiting further, with much charm and grace, when the sound of Orfenio's flute ceased, to that of Orompo's pipe sang this sonnet:
NISIDA.
Against his view am I, whoso doth swearThat never did Love's happiness attainUnto the height attained by his cruel pain,Though fortune wait on bliss with tenderest care.I know what bliss is, what misfortune drear,And what they do I know full well; 'tis plainThat bliss the more builds up the thought again,The more Love's sorrow doth its strength impair.I saw myself by bitter death embraced,When I was ill-informed by tidings ill;To the rude corsairs I became a prey.Cruel was the anguish, bitter was the tasteOf sorrow, yet I know and prove that stillGreater the joy is of this glad to-day.
Against his view am I, whoso doth swearThat never did Love's happiness attainUnto the height attained by his cruel pain,Though fortune wait on bliss with tenderest care.I know what bliss is, what misfortune drear,And what they do I know full well; 'tis plainThat bliss the more builds up the thought again,The more Love's sorrow doth its strength impair.I saw myself by bitter death embraced,When I was ill-informed by tidings ill;To the rude corsairs I became a prey.Cruel was the anguish, bitter was the tasteOf sorrow, yet I know and prove that stillGreater the joy is of this glad to-day.
Against his view am I, whoso doth swearThat never did Love's happiness attainUnto the height attained by his cruel pain,Though fortune wait on bliss with tenderest care.
I know what bliss is, what misfortune drear,And what they do I know full well; 'tis plainThat bliss the more builds up the thought again,The more Love's sorrow doth its strength impair.
I saw myself by bitter death embraced,When I was ill-informed by tidings ill;To the rude corsairs I became a prey.
Cruel was the anguish, bitter was the tasteOf sorrow, yet I know and prove that stillGreater the joy is of this glad to-day.
Galatea and Florisa were filled with wonder at the exquisite voice of the fair Nisida, who, as it seemed to her that Timbrio and those of his party had for the time taken the lead in singing, did not wish her sister to be without doing it; and so, without much pressing, with no less grace than Nisida, beckoning to Orfenio to play his flute, to its sound she sang in this wise:
BLANCA.
Just as if I in sandy Libya wereOr in far frozen Scythia, I beheldMyself at times by glowing fire assailedThat never cools, at times by chilly fear.But hope, that makes our sorrow disappear,Although such different semblances it bore,Kept my life safe, well-guarded by its power,When it was strong, when it was weak and drear,Spent was the fury of the winter's chill,And, though the fire of Love its power retained,Yet the spring came which I had longed to see.Now in one happy moment I have gainedThe sweet fruit long desirèd by my willWith bounteous tokens of sincerity.
Just as if I in sandy Libya wereOr in far frozen Scythia, I beheldMyself at times by glowing fire assailedThat never cools, at times by chilly fear.But hope, that makes our sorrow disappear,Although such different semblances it bore,Kept my life safe, well-guarded by its power,When it was strong, when it was weak and drear,Spent was the fury of the winter's chill,And, though the fire of Love its power retained,Yet the spring came which I had longed to see.Now in one happy moment I have gainedThe sweet fruit long desirèd by my willWith bounteous tokens of sincerity.
Just as if I in sandy Libya wereOr in far frozen Scythia, I beheldMyself at times by glowing fire assailedThat never cools, at times by chilly fear.
But hope, that makes our sorrow disappear,Although such different semblances it bore,Kept my life safe, well-guarded by its power,When it was strong, when it was weak and drear,
Spent was the fury of the winter's chill,And, though the fire of Love its power retained,Yet the spring came which I had longed to see.
Now in one happy moment I have gainedThe sweet fruit long desirèd by my willWith bounteous tokens of sincerity.
Blanca's voice and what she sang pleased the shepherds no less than all the others they had heard. And when they were about to give proof that all the skill was not contained in the gentlemen of the court, and when Orompo, Crisio, Orfenio, and Marsilio, moved almost by one and the same thought, began to tune their instruments, they were forced to turn their heads by a noise they perceived behind them, which was caused by a shepherd who was furiously rushing through the thickets of the green wood. He was recognised by all as the love-sick Lauso, whereat Thyrsis marvelled, for the night before he had taken leave of him, saying that he was going on a business, to finish which meant to finish his grief, and to begin his pleasure; and without saying more to him had gone away with another shepherd his friend, nor did he know what could have happened to him now that he was journeying with so much haste. What Thyrsis said moved Damon to seek to call Lauso, and so he called to him to come; but seeing that he did not hear him, and that he was already with great haste disappearing behind a hill, he went forward with all speed, and from the top of another hill, called him again with louder cries. Lauso hearing them, and knowing who called him, could not but turn, and on coming up to Damon embraced him with tokens of strange content, and so great that the proof he gave of being happy made Damon marvel; and so he said to him:
'What is it, friend Lauso? Have you by chance attained the goal of your desires, or have they since yesterday conformed with it in such a way that you are finding with ease what you purpose?'
'Much greater is the good I have, Damon, true friend,' replied Lauso; 'since the cause which to others is wont to be one of despair and death has proved to me hope and life, and this cause has been owing to a disdain and undeceiving,accompanied by a prudish grace, which I have seen in my shepherdess, for it has restored me to my first condition. Now, now, shepherd, my wearied neck does not feel the weighty yoke of love, now the lofty fabric of thought that made me giddy has vanished in my mind; now I shall return to the lost converse of my friends, now the green grass, and sweet-smelling flowers of these peaceful fields will seem to me what they are, now my sighs will have truce, my tears a ford, and my turmoils repose. Consider, therefore, Damon, if this is sufficient cause for me to show myself happy and rejoicing.'
'Yes it is, Lauso,' replied Damon, 'but I fear that happiness so suddenly born cannot be lasting, and I have already experienced that every freedom that is begotten of disdain vanishes like smoke, and straightway the loving purpose turns again with greater haste to follow its purposings. Wherefore, friend Lauso, may it please Heaven that your content may be more secure than I fancy, and that you may enjoy for a long time the freedom you proclaim, for I would rejoice not only because of what I owe to our friendship, but also because I should see an unwonted miracle in the desires of love.'
'Howsoever this may be, Damon,' replied Lauso, 'I now feel myself free, and lord of my will, and that yours may satisfy itself that what I say is true, consider what you wish me to do in proof of it. Do you wish me to go away? Do you wish me to visit no more the hut where you think the cause of my past pains and present joys can be? I will do anything to satisfy you.'
'The important point is that you, Lauso, should be satisfied,' replied Damon, 'and I shall see that you are, if I see you six days hence in this same frame of mind; and for the nonce I seek naught else from you, save that you leave the road you were taking and come with me to where all those shepherds and ladies are waiting for us, and that you celebrate the joy you feel by entertaining us with your song whilst we go to the village.'
Lauso was pleased to do what Damon bade him, and so he turned back with him at the time when Thyrsis was beckoning to Damon to return; and when it came to pass that he and Lauso came up, without wasting words of courtesy Lauso said:
'I do not come, sirs, for less than festivity and pleasure; therefore if you would have any in listening to me, let Marsilio sound his pipe, and prepare yourselves to hear what I never thought my tongue would have cause to utter, nor yet my thought to imagine.'
All the shepherds replied together that it would be a great joy to them to hear him. And straightway Marsilio, moved by the desire he had to listen to him, played his pipe, to the sound of which Lauso began to sing in this wise: