A Golden AgeBucolica, Ecl.IV.Pollio vv. 1-63
Bucolica, Ecl.IV.Pollio vv. 1-63
Muses of Sicily, if I rehearseOur peasants’ pleasures, toils, in Latin verse,I owe your idylls that my heart beats trueTo the kind honest lot that once I knew;And frames visions I have seen,Still, in woods and pastures green.Nature, changed, lives. Ages-leaves in a blast—Flutter away, in dreams, all dead and past;—Fleeting, alike ease that pays righteous toll,And triumphs won from agonies of soul.For when Fancy plays at ThoughtIn Dreamland, Time, Space are nought.Slumber I, or wake? Is it that the longIron Age dies, as in the Sibyl’s song?Does Justice return? Saturn wear his crown?From high Heaven does a God-child come down?Does Pollio’s ConsulateThe Golden Age reinstate?Reconciler of old friends! Yours the careTo efface bloodstains of the past, prepareFor the advent of a Peace-maker, healAches—foreboding fresh horrors—that we feel.He comes! be a path paved, meetTo be trod by Holy feet!A noble task to clear and keep a spaceWhere you shall model a heroic raceOn yourself—fit, if few, companions madeFor their future Chief, nor without the aidOf Gods visible, as heIn his Paradise shall be.In the womb now! and in their charge the Birth,Sun’s, Moon’s, of the most precious Thing on Earth!Not for ten full months must the Babe see light!Keep watch and ward, Day’s Lord, Lady of Night!Be Peace throughout! hold your breath,Thunders above, fires beneath!Born! you lie, Babe, lapped in the calm, warm air;Earth laughs with blissfulness to see you there.Goats fain would suckle you; while you are near,They feel they have nought from wild beasts to fear.Snakes die; nightshade bids its rootNurture no fair traitor fruit.Touch the ground; flowers of all hues will spring;Of sweetest scent, and with no thorns to sting;Such as the common wayside thickets know,Or nowhere but in palace gardens blow.Ivy, Assyrian nardSue alike for your regard;And grateful you for each; the mean, the rareTo your frank childishness as welcome are.Tossing your naked limbs on the glad sodYou know not you will be—perhaps are—a God!Yea, Child, who, than you all love,More Divine in Heav’n above!Ev’n when babyhood becomes boyhood, stillNature spreads her bounty in sheer good-will.Honey from the sturdy oak, like dew, drips;Briers press purple grapes on thirsting lips;And from unploughed fields are borneYellow sheaves of beardless corn.But stifle human wants with plenty, lustOf unneighbourliness creeps from the dust.Merchants here and there about ocean roam,Snatching subsistence given free at home;Robbers build forts whence to spoil;Shares rend the protesting soil.Germs, mixed—crude, human restlessness—its needFor peril and adventure—or rank greed,That had hid underground, from shame to break“God’s Truce,” and keep the wondrous Babe awake,Had been struggling to survive;The spell is lifted; they live.A fresh Argo will seek another Fleece;Sin of a second Paris murder peace;A new Achilles set streams in wroth floodRushing to the sea red with Trojan blood.No more, Boy, know ye of itThan in brave tales poets writ.Of Earth, not of it, you move to and fro,A mystery; wherever you may go,Carrying a blessing! Your one main careTo learn what Heroes, like your Father, are;What, Virtue;—revealed to themWho prize it ere priced a gem.Then, your eyes, a boy’s, that had closed at nightOn a garden-land bathed in crimson light,Open to find yourself of man’s estate,Named Dictator of a mad world by Fate;—Grasping no steel sword in hand;With no Armies to command.My vision is blurred.As from graves, a host,Chaos, rose, went back at dawn a ghost.But mortal may not, ev’n in sleep, beholdHeaven at work Man’s being to remould.Enough to witness when EarthHas undergone its new birth;How without pruning hook, or drudging bull,The press ran wine, the granaries were full;And traders finding wares from foreign landsThey had risked life to store, left on their hands,Gave up voyaging abroad;Let alone the Ocean road.Ah! Joy, the world ’twas given me to view!All that’s fair in the Old, kind in the New!How Nature, impelled by but one desireTo grant her loved children all they require,Never tires to please them; stillPaints the lily at their will,Varies the rainbow’s order, gilds the goldOn Ebro’s banks, dyes the wool in the fold,Wooes by soft stratagems her nursling, Man,To feel motherliness in all her planOf change for him, while she showsHer own bliss in a dog-rose!Fate has decreed; the Destinies obeyEternal laws, and bid their spindles play:“March, Ages, without break!”Time presses on!You, of race Divine, Jove’s adopted Son,High honours, great tasks await;Swerve not at the call of Fate!The arched world bows; the sea’s long currents raiseGlad crests; Heaven’s blue depths chant hymns of praiseFor the good days coming. With one consentThe Universe prepares for merriment.Winter was it? Now, ’tis Spring;Hark! the woods are carolling!“May it be given me to outstay death—If I but keep so much of life as breathTo tell, my Prince, your deeds! My theme, not I,Will Orpheus and Linus in song defy,Though Muse-Mother, and God-SireStand by, and their sons inspire.Nay, I range in Arcady; and should PanGrace by a challenge on the pipe a man,I must take up the glove—the meanest clod,On equal terms competing with a God—And win! for I you acclaim;Then, what can he but the same?”A smile! and, Babe, I would that I could deemYou meant it for pleasure at my Day-dream.I know ’tis a return for those on you;And that you can ne’er repay debts thus due.Blest you so to have learned, whileIn your cradle, how to smile!Alas for the child who, by guilt, or guile,Lives disinherited of parents’ smile.For whom no fellowship of Gods or grace,From birth condemned, an outcast of his race!In your Palace, at your callShall not welcome be for all?
Muses of Sicily, if I rehearseOur peasants’ pleasures, toils, in Latin verse,I owe your idylls that my heart beats trueTo the kind honest lot that once I knew;And frames visions I have seen,Still, in woods and pastures green.Nature, changed, lives. Ages-leaves in a blast—Flutter away, in dreams, all dead and past;—Fleeting, alike ease that pays righteous toll,And triumphs won from agonies of soul.For when Fancy plays at ThoughtIn Dreamland, Time, Space are nought.Slumber I, or wake? Is it that the longIron Age dies, as in the Sibyl’s song?Does Justice return? Saturn wear his crown?From high Heaven does a God-child come down?Does Pollio’s ConsulateThe Golden Age reinstate?Reconciler of old friends! Yours the careTo efface bloodstains of the past, prepareFor the advent of a Peace-maker, healAches—foreboding fresh horrors—that we feel.He comes! be a path paved, meetTo be trod by Holy feet!A noble task to clear and keep a spaceWhere you shall model a heroic raceOn yourself—fit, if few, companions madeFor their future Chief, nor without the aidOf Gods visible, as heIn his Paradise shall be.In the womb now! and in their charge the Birth,Sun’s, Moon’s, of the most precious Thing on Earth!Not for ten full months must the Babe see light!Keep watch and ward, Day’s Lord, Lady of Night!Be Peace throughout! hold your breath,Thunders above, fires beneath!Born! you lie, Babe, lapped in the calm, warm air;Earth laughs with blissfulness to see you there.Goats fain would suckle you; while you are near,They feel they have nought from wild beasts to fear.Snakes die; nightshade bids its rootNurture no fair traitor fruit.Touch the ground; flowers of all hues will spring;Of sweetest scent, and with no thorns to sting;Such as the common wayside thickets know,Or nowhere but in palace gardens blow.Ivy, Assyrian nardSue alike for your regard;And grateful you for each; the mean, the rareTo your frank childishness as welcome are.Tossing your naked limbs on the glad sodYou know not you will be—perhaps are—a God!Yea, Child, who, than you all love,More Divine in Heav’n above!Ev’n when babyhood becomes boyhood, stillNature spreads her bounty in sheer good-will.Honey from the sturdy oak, like dew, drips;Briers press purple grapes on thirsting lips;And from unploughed fields are borneYellow sheaves of beardless corn.But stifle human wants with plenty, lustOf unneighbourliness creeps from the dust.Merchants here and there about ocean roam,Snatching subsistence given free at home;Robbers build forts whence to spoil;Shares rend the protesting soil.Germs, mixed—crude, human restlessness—its needFor peril and adventure—or rank greed,That had hid underground, from shame to break“God’s Truce,” and keep the wondrous Babe awake,Had been struggling to survive;The spell is lifted; they live.A fresh Argo will seek another Fleece;Sin of a second Paris murder peace;A new Achilles set streams in wroth floodRushing to the sea red with Trojan blood.No more, Boy, know ye of itThan in brave tales poets writ.Of Earth, not of it, you move to and fro,A mystery; wherever you may go,Carrying a blessing! Your one main careTo learn what Heroes, like your Father, are;What, Virtue;—revealed to themWho prize it ere priced a gem.Then, your eyes, a boy’s, that had closed at nightOn a garden-land bathed in crimson light,Open to find yourself of man’s estate,Named Dictator of a mad world by Fate;—Grasping no steel sword in hand;With no Armies to command.My vision is blurred.As from graves, a host,Chaos, rose, went back at dawn a ghost.But mortal may not, ev’n in sleep, beholdHeaven at work Man’s being to remould.Enough to witness when EarthHas undergone its new birth;How without pruning hook, or drudging bull,The press ran wine, the granaries were full;And traders finding wares from foreign landsThey had risked life to store, left on their hands,Gave up voyaging abroad;Let alone the Ocean road.Ah! Joy, the world ’twas given me to view!All that’s fair in the Old, kind in the New!How Nature, impelled by but one desireTo grant her loved children all they require,Never tires to please them; stillPaints the lily at their will,Varies the rainbow’s order, gilds the goldOn Ebro’s banks, dyes the wool in the fold,Wooes by soft stratagems her nursling, Man,To feel motherliness in all her planOf change for him, while she showsHer own bliss in a dog-rose!Fate has decreed; the Destinies obeyEternal laws, and bid their spindles play:“March, Ages, without break!”Time presses on!You, of race Divine, Jove’s adopted Son,High honours, great tasks await;Swerve not at the call of Fate!The arched world bows; the sea’s long currents raiseGlad crests; Heaven’s blue depths chant hymns of praiseFor the good days coming. With one consentThe Universe prepares for merriment.Winter was it? Now, ’tis Spring;Hark! the woods are carolling!“May it be given me to outstay death—If I but keep so much of life as breathTo tell, my Prince, your deeds! My theme, not I,Will Orpheus and Linus in song defy,Though Muse-Mother, and God-SireStand by, and their sons inspire.Nay, I range in Arcady; and should PanGrace by a challenge on the pipe a man,I must take up the glove—the meanest clod,On equal terms competing with a God—And win! for I you acclaim;Then, what can he but the same?”A smile! and, Babe, I would that I could deemYou meant it for pleasure at my Day-dream.I know ’tis a return for those on you;And that you can ne’er repay debts thus due.Blest you so to have learned, whileIn your cradle, how to smile!Alas for the child who, by guilt, or guile,Lives disinherited of parents’ smile.For whom no fellowship of Gods or grace,From birth condemned, an outcast of his race!In your Palace, at your callShall not welcome be for all?
Muses of Sicily, if I rehearseOur peasants’ pleasures, toils, in Latin verse,I owe your idylls that my heart beats trueTo the kind honest lot that once I knew;And frames visions I have seen,Still, in woods and pastures green.
Muses of Sicily, if I rehearse
Our peasants’ pleasures, toils, in Latin verse,
I owe your idylls that my heart beats true
To the kind honest lot that once I knew;
And frames visions I have seen,
Still, in woods and pastures green.
Nature, changed, lives. Ages-leaves in a blast—Flutter away, in dreams, all dead and past;—Fleeting, alike ease that pays righteous toll,And triumphs won from agonies of soul.For when Fancy plays at ThoughtIn Dreamland, Time, Space are nought.
Nature, changed, lives. Ages-leaves in a blast—
Flutter away, in dreams, all dead and past;—
Fleeting, alike ease that pays righteous toll,
And triumphs won from agonies of soul.
For when Fancy plays at Thought
In Dreamland, Time, Space are nought.
Slumber I, or wake? Is it that the longIron Age dies, as in the Sibyl’s song?Does Justice return? Saturn wear his crown?From high Heaven does a God-child come down?Does Pollio’s ConsulateThe Golden Age reinstate?
Slumber I, or wake? Is it that the long
Iron Age dies, as in the Sibyl’s song?
Does Justice return? Saturn wear his crown?
From high Heaven does a God-child come down?
Does Pollio’s Consulate
The Golden Age reinstate?
Reconciler of old friends! Yours the careTo efface bloodstains of the past, prepareFor the advent of a Peace-maker, healAches—foreboding fresh horrors—that we feel.He comes! be a path paved, meetTo be trod by Holy feet!
Reconciler of old friends! Yours the care
To efface bloodstains of the past, prepare
For the advent of a Peace-maker, heal
Aches—foreboding fresh horrors—that we feel.
He comes! be a path paved, meet
To be trod by Holy feet!
A noble task to clear and keep a spaceWhere you shall model a heroic raceOn yourself—fit, if few, companions madeFor their future Chief, nor without the aidOf Gods visible, as heIn his Paradise shall be.
A noble task to clear and keep a space
Where you shall model a heroic race
On yourself—fit, if few, companions made
For their future Chief, nor without the aid
Of Gods visible, as he
In his Paradise shall be.
In the womb now! and in their charge the Birth,Sun’s, Moon’s, of the most precious Thing on Earth!Not for ten full months must the Babe see light!Keep watch and ward, Day’s Lord, Lady of Night!Be Peace throughout! hold your breath,Thunders above, fires beneath!
In the womb now! and in their charge the Birth,
Sun’s, Moon’s, of the most precious Thing on Earth!
Not for ten full months must the Babe see light!
Keep watch and ward, Day’s Lord, Lady of Night!
Be Peace throughout! hold your breath,
Thunders above, fires beneath!
Born! you lie, Babe, lapped in the calm, warm air;Earth laughs with blissfulness to see you there.Goats fain would suckle you; while you are near,They feel they have nought from wild beasts to fear.Snakes die; nightshade bids its rootNurture no fair traitor fruit.
Born! you lie, Babe, lapped in the calm, warm air;
Earth laughs with blissfulness to see you there.
Goats fain would suckle you; while you are near,
They feel they have nought from wild beasts to fear.
Snakes die; nightshade bids its root
Nurture no fair traitor fruit.
Touch the ground; flowers of all hues will spring;Of sweetest scent, and with no thorns to sting;Such as the common wayside thickets know,Or nowhere but in palace gardens blow.Ivy, Assyrian nardSue alike for your regard;
Touch the ground; flowers of all hues will spring;
Of sweetest scent, and with no thorns to sting;
Such as the common wayside thickets know,
Or nowhere but in palace gardens blow.
Ivy, Assyrian nard
Sue alike for your regard;
And grateful you for each; the mean, the rareTo your frank childishness as welcome are.Tossing your naked limbs on the glad sodYou know not you will be—perhaps are—a God!Yea, Child, who, than you all love,More Divine in Heav’n above!
And grateful you for each; the mean, the rare
To your frank childishness as welcome are.
Tossing your naked limbs on the glad sod
You know not you will be—perhaps are—a God!
Yea, Child, who, than you all love,
More Divine in Heav’n above!
Ev’n when babyhood becomes boyhood, stillNature spreads her bounty in sheer good-will.Honey from the sturdy oak, like dew, drips;Briers press purple grapes on thirsting lips;And from unploughed fields are borneYellow sheaves of beardless corn.
Ev’n when babyhood becomes boyhood, still
Nature spreads her bounty in sheer good-will.
Honey from the sturdy oak, like dew, drips;
Briers press purple grapes on thirsting lips;
And from unploughed fields are borne
Yellow sheaves of beardless corn.
But stifle human wants with plenty, lustOf unneighbourliness creeps from the dust.Merchants here and there about ocean roam,Snatching subsistence given free at home;Robbers build forts whence to spoil;Shares rend the protesting soil.
But stifle human wants with plenty, lust
Of unneighbourliness creeps from the dust.
Merchants here and there about ocean roam,
Snatching subsistence given free at home;
Robbers build forts whence to spoil;
Shares rend the protesting soil.
Germs, mixed—crude, human restlessness—its needFor peril and adventure—or rank greed,That had hid underground, from shame to break“God’s Truce,” and keep the wondrous Babe awake,Had been struggling to survive;The spell is lifted; they live.
Germs, mixed—crude, human restlessness—its need
For peril and adventure—or rank greed,
That had hid underground, from shame to break
“God’s Truce,” and keep the wondrous Babe awake,
Had been struggling to survive;
The spell is lifted; they live.
A fresh Argo will seek another Fleece;Sin of a second Paris murder peace;A new Achilles set streams in wroth floodRushing to the sea red with Trojan blood.No more, Boy, know ye of itThan in brave tales poets writ.
A fresh Argo will seek another Fleece;
Sin of a second Paris murder peace;
A new Achilles set streams in wroth flood
Rushing to the sea red with Trojan blood.
No more, Boy, know ye of it
Than in brave tales poets writ.
Of Earth, not of it, you move to and fro,A mystery; wherever you may go,Carrying a blessing! Your one main careTo learn what Heroes, like your Father, are;What, Virtue;—revealed to themWho prize it ere priced a gem.
Of Earth, not of it, you move to and fro,
A mystery; wherever you may go,
Carrying a blessing! Your one main care
To learn what Heroes, like your Father, are;
What, Virtue;—revealed to them
Who prize it ere priced a gem.
Then, your eyes, a boy’s, that had closed at nightOn a garden-land bathed in crimson light,Open to find yourself of man’s estate,Named Dictator of a mad world by Fate;—Grasping no steel sword in hand;With no Armies to command.
Then, your eyes, a boy’s, that had closed at night
On a garden-land bathed in crimson light,
Open to find yourself of man’s estate,
Named Dictator of a mad world by Fate;—
Grasping no steel sword in hand;
With no Armies to command.
My vision is blurred.As from graves, a host,Chaos, rose, went back at dawn a ghost.But mortal may not, ev’n in sleep, beholdHeaven at work Man’s being to remould.Enough to witness when EarthHas undergone its new birth;
My vision is blurred.
As from graves, a host,
Chaos, rose, went back at dawn a ghost.
But mortal may not, ev’n in sleep, behold
Heaven at work Man’s being to remould.
Enough to witness when Earth
Has undergone its new birth;
How without pruning hook, or drudging bull,The press ran wine, the granaries were full;And traders finding wares from foreign landsThey had risked life to store, left on their hands,Gave up voyaging abroad;Let alone the Ocean road.
How without pruning hook, or drudging bull,
The press ran wine, the granaries were full;
And traders finding wares from foreign lands
They had risked life to store, left on their hands,
Gave up voyaging abroad;
Let alone the Ocean road.
Ah! Joy, the world ’twas given me to view!All that’s fair in the Old, kind in the New!How Nature, impelled by but one desireTo grant her loved children all they require,Never tires to please them; stillPaints the lily at their will,
Ah! Joy, the world ’twas given me to view!
All that’s fair in the Old, kind in the New!
How Nature, impelled by but one desire
To grant her loved children all they require,
Never tires to please them; still
Paints the lily at their will,
Varies the rainbow’s order, gilds the goldOn Ebro’s banks, dyes the wool in the fold,Wooes by soft stratagems her nursling, Man,To feel motherliness in all her planOf change for him, while she showsHer own bliss in a dog-rose!
Varies the rainbow’s order, gilds the gold
On Ebro’s banks, dyes the wool in the fold,
Wooes by soft stratagems her nursling, Man,
To feel motherliness in all her plan
Of change for him, while she shows
Her own bliss in a dog-rose!
Fate has decreed; the Destinies obeyEternal laws, and bid their spindles play:“March, Ages, without break!”Time presses on!You, of race Divine, Jove’s adopted Son,High honours, great tasks await;Swerve not at the call of Fate!
Fate has decreed; the Destinies obey
Eternal laws, and bid their spindles play:
“March, Ages, without break!”
Time presses on!
You, of race Divine, Jove’s adopted Son,
High honours, great tasks await;
Swerve not at the call of Fate!
The arched world bows; the sea’s long currents raiseGlad crests; Heaven’s blue depths chant hymns of praiseFor the good days coming. With one consentThe Universe prepares for merriment.Winter was it? Now, ’tis Spring;Hark! the woods are carolling!
The arched world bows; the sea’s long currents raise
Glad crests; Heaven’s blue depths chant hymns of praise
For the good days coming. With one consent
The Universe prepares for merriment.
Winter was it? Now, ’tis Spring;
Hark! the woods are carolling!
“May it be given me to outstay death—If I but keep so much of life as breathTo tell, my Prince, your deeds! My theme, not I,Will Orpheus and Linus in song defy,Though Muse-Mother, and God-SireStand by, and their sons inspire.
“May it be given me to outstay death—
If I but keep so much of life as breath
To tell, my Prince, your deeds! My theme, not I,
Will Orpheus and Linus in song defy,
Though Muse-Mother, and God-Sire
Stand by, and their sons inspire.
Nay, I range in Arcady; and should PanGrace by a challenge on the pipe a man,I must take up the glove—the meanest clod,On equal terms competing with a God—And win! for I you acclaim;Then, what can he but the same?”
Nay, I range in Arcady; and should Pan
Grace by a challenge on the pipe a man,
I must take up the glove—the meanest clod,
On equal terms competing with a God—
And win! for I you acclaim;
Then, what can he but the same?”
A smile! and, Babe, I would that I could deemYou meant it for pleasure at my Day-dream.I know ’tis a return for those on you;And that you can ne’er repay debts thus due.Blest you so to have learned, whileIn your cradle, how to smile!
A smile! and, Babe, I would that I could deem
You meant it for pleasure at my Day-dream.
I know ’tis a return for those on you;
And that you can ne’er repay debts thus due.
Blest you so to have learned, while
In your cradle, how to smile!
Alas for the child who, by guilt, or guile,Lives disinherited of parents’ smile.For whom no fellowship of Gods or grace,From birth condemned, an outcast of his race!In your Palace, at your callShall not welcome be for all?
Alas for the child who, by guilt, or guile,
Lives disinherited of parents’ smile.
For whom no fellowship of Gods or grace,
From birth condemned, an outcast of his race!
In your Palace, at your call
Shall not welcome be for all?