So kings have cause to fear Bellona’s might,
Not they whose sweat and toil their dinner gains,
Nor ever greedy soldier was enticed
By poverty, neglected and despised.
IX.
‘Or be it God’s grace that hallows and sustains
The innocent shepherd’s inoffensive lot,
Or as fierce lightning scorns the lowly plains
And vents its fury on the highest spot,
So foreign swords, disdainful of the poor,
Unsheathed alone against great kings you see;
Nor can a greedy soldiery allure
Our abject and disparaged poverty.
X.
Altrui vile e negletta, a me sì cara,
Chè non bramo tesor nè regal verga;
Nè cura o voglia ambiziosa o avara
76 Mai nel tranquillo del mio petto alberga.
Spengo la sete mia nell’acqua chiara,
Che non tem’io che di venen s’asperga:
E questa greggia e l’orticel dispensa
80 Cibi non compri alla mia parca mensa.
X
“O poverty, chief of the heavenly brood,
Dearer to me than wealth or kingly crown:
No wish for honor, thirst of others’ good,
Can move my heart, contented with mine own:
We quench our thirst with water of this flood,
Nor fear we poison should therein be thrown;
These little flocks of sheep and tender goats
Give milk for food, and wool to make us coats.
X.
‘Abject to others, but to me how dear!
Who without wealth and power contented rest;
No greedy ambition, no voracious care,
Dwells ever now within my tranquil breast.
My thirst I quench in limpid streams, which I
Dread not polluted with foul poison are;
My little garden and these flocks supply
My frugal table with unpurchased fare.
XI.
Chè poco è il desiderio, e poco è il nostro
Bisogno, onde la vita si conservi.
Son figlj miei questi ch’addíto e mostro
84 Custodi della mandra, e non ho servi.
Così men vivo in solitario chiostro,
Saltar veggendo i capri snelli e i cervi,
Ed i pesci guizzar di questo fiume,
88 E spiegar gli augelletti al ciel le piume.
XI
“We little wish, we need but little wealth,
From cold and hunger us to clothe and feed;
These are my sons, their care preserves from stealth
Their father’s flocks, nor servants more I need:
Amid these groves I walk oft for my health,
And to the fishes, birds, and beasts give heed,
How they are fed, in forest, spring and lake,
And their contentment for example take.
XI.
‘Few are our wishes, and our wants but few,
Whence life for us is easy to sustain.
These are my sons, whom I point out to you;
They tend my flocks, no servants I maintain.
Thus in secluded cloister I abide,
Watching the deer and nimble goats bound by,
The fish in this translucent river glide,
And birds unfold their plumage to the sky.
XII.
Tempo già fu, quando più l’uom vaneggia
Nell’età prima, ch’ebbi altro desio,
E disdegnai di pasturar la greggia,
92 E fuggii dal paese a me natío:
E vissi in Menfi un tempo, e nella reggia
Fra i ministri del Re fui posto anch’io:
E benchè fossi guardian degli orti,
96 Vidi, e conobbi pur le inique corti.
XII
“Time was, for each one hath his doating time,
These silver locks were golden tresses then,
That country life I hated as a crime,
And from the forest’s sweet contentment ran,
And there became the mighty caliph’s man,
and though I but a simple gardener were,
Yet could I mark abuses, see and hear.
XII.
‘Time was — when, in life’s dreamy spring-time, man
Most doting is — that other aims I had:
I sdeigned to pasture flocks and herds, and ran
From this sweet spot, where I was born and bred,
And made my way to royal Memphis, where
I ev’n found service in the imperial fort,
And tho’ mere keeper of the gardens, there
I saw and knew the vices of a court.
XIII.
E lusingato da speranza ardita,
Soffrii lunga stagion ciò che più spiace.
Ma poi ch’insieme con l’età fiorita
100 Mancò la speme, e la baldanza audace;
Piansi i riposi di quest’umil vita,
E sospirai la mia perduta pace:
E dissi: o corte, addio. Così agli amici
104 Boschi tornando, ho tratto i dì felici.
XIII
“Enticed on with hope of future gain,
I suffered long what did my soul displease;
But when my youth was spent, my hope was vain.
I felt my native strength at last decrease;
I gan my loss of lusty years complain,
And wished I had enjoyed the country’s peace;
I bade the court farewell, and with content
My latter age here have I quiet spent.”
XIII.
‘By daring hopes seductive impulse led,
I long endured that which I hated most;
But when the flowers of life’s sweet spring had fled,
My spirit bow’d — my expectations crost —
I wept the calm of this low life, and sighing
O’er my lost peace, exclaimed, O courts, farewell!
And to these woods from their false pleasures flying,
Here in contented true enjoyment dwell’
XIV.
Mentre ei così ragiona, Erminia pende
Dalla soave bocca intenta e cheta:
E quel saggio parlar, ch’al cor le scende,
108 De’ sensi in parte le procelle acqueta.
Dopo molto pensar, consiglio prende
In quella solitudine secreta
Infino a tanto almen farne soggiorno,
112 Ch’agevoli fortuna il suo ritorno.
XIV
While thus he spake, Erminia hushed and still
His wise discourses heard, with great attention,
His speeches grave those idle fancies kill
Which in her troubled soul bred such dissension;
After much thought reformed was her will,
Within those woods to dwell was her intention,
Till Fortune should occasion new afford,
To turn her home to her desired lord.
XIV.
As thus he spoke, intent Erminia hung
Upon his lips’ sweet accents, for in part
The sage discourse of his experienced tongue
Allayed the storm of her distracted heart
Whence she resolved, in her unaided strait,
In that remote seclusion to sojourn,
And stay till Fortune should facilitate
The means (the longed-for means) of her return.
XV.
Onde al buon vecchio dice: o fortunato,
Ch’un tempo conoscesti il male a prova,
Se non t’invidj il Ciel sì dolce stato,
116 Delle miserie mie pietà ti mova:
E me teco raccogli in questo grato
Albergo; ch’abitar teco mi giova.
Forse fia che ‘l mio cor, infra quest’ombre,
120 Del suo peso mortal parte disgombre.
XV
She said therefore, “O shepherd fortunate!
That troubles some didst whilom feel and prove,
Yet livest now in this contented state,
Let my mishap thy thoughts to pity move,
To entertain me as a willing mate
In shepherd’s life which I admire and love;
Within these pleasant groves perchance my heart,
Of her discomforts, may unload some part.
XV.
Whence she replied, ‘Old man, how fortunate
The ordeal of misfortune to have proved;
Ah, may Heaven grudge thee not thy happy state
If by compassion for my sorrows moved Î
Receive me then, if merciful thou art,
Nor the sweet shelter of thy roof refuse;
It may be, ‘mid these tranquil shades, my heart
Some portion of its death-like weight may lose.
XVI.
Chè se di gemme e d’or, che ‘l volgo adora
Siccome idoli suoi, tu fossi vago;
Potresti ben, tante n’ho meco ancora,
124 Renderne il tuo desio contento e pago.
Quinci versando da’ begli occhj fuora
Umor di doglia cristallino e vago,
Parte narrò di sue fortune: e intanto
128 Il pietoso pastor pianse al suo pianto.
XVI
“If gold or wealth, of most esteemed dear,
If jewels rich thou diddest hold in prize,
Such store thereof, such plenty have I here,
As to a greedy mind might well suffice:”
With that down trickled many a silver tear,
Two crystal streams fell from her watery eyes;
Part of her sad misfortunes then she told,
And wept, and with her wept that shepherd old.
XVI.
‘If gold and jewels, which the world adores
As if its god, find favour in thy sight,
Thou canst, since of them I have ample stores,
Content and glut thee to thy heart’s delight.’
To her bright eyes at this her sorrow rose,
In drops of crystal that fell trickling down;
She half revealed her fortunes. At her woes
His tears the shepherd mingled with her own,
XVII.
Poi dolce la consola, e sì l’accoglie,
Come tutt’arda di paterno zelo;
E la conduce ov’è l’antica moglie
132 Che di conforme cor gli ha data il Cielo.
La fanciulla regal di rozze spoglie
S’ammanta, e cinge al crin ruvido velo;
Ma nel moto degli occhj e delle membra
136 Non già di boschi abitatrice sembra.
XVII
With speeches kind, he gan the virgin dear
Toward his cottage gently home to guide;
His aged wife there made her homely cheer,
Yet welcomed her, and placed her by her side.
The princess donned a poor pastoral’s gear,
A kerchief coarse upon her head she tied;
But yet her gestures and her looks, I guess,
Were such as ill beseemed a shepherdess.
XVII.
And instigated by paternal zeal,
Her welcomed and consoled in her despair.
And to his wife, whom Heaven had taught to feel
For others’sorrows, led the royal fair;
Who clothed herself in peasant’s rude disguise,
And in coarse turban her gold tresses hound,
Tho’ every movement of her limbs and eyes
Her for a tenant of the woods disowned.
XVIII.
Non copre abito vil la nobil luce
E quanto è in lei d’altero e di gentile:
E fuor la regia maestà traluce
140 Per gli atti ancor dell’esercizio umíle.
Guida la greggia ai paschi, e la riduce
Con la povera verga al chiuso ovile;
E dall’irsute mamme il latte preme,
144 E in giro accolto poi lo stringe insieme.
XVIII
Not those rude garments could obscure and hide
The heavenly beauty of her angel’s face,
Nor was her princely offspring damnified
Or aught disparaged by those labors base;
Her little flocks to pasture would she guide,
And milk her goats, and in their folds them place,
Both cheese and butter could she make, and frame
Herself to please the shepherd and his dame.
XVIII.
Her noble look no garment could disguise,
Nor her refined and stately manner spoil;
Her innate dignity all recognise,
Ev’n through the movements of her lowly toil.
At morn she leads to pasture in the shaws,
At eve to fold brings back the lowing herds,
From their coarse teats the milky treasure draws,
Which, whisking round, she presses into curds.
XIX.
Sovente, allor che su gli estivi ardori
Giacean le pecorelle all’ombra assise,
Nella scorza de’ faggj e degli allori
148 Segnò l’amato nome in mille guise:
E de’ suoi strani ed infelici amori
Gli aspri successi in mille piante incise:
E in rileggendo poi le proprie note
152 Rigò di belle lagrime le gote.
XIX
But oft, when underneath the greenwood shade
Her flocks lay hid from Phoebus’ scorching rays,
Unto her knight she songs and sonnets made,
And them engraved in bark of beech and bays;
She told how Cupid did her first invade,
How conquered her, and ends with Tancred’s praise:
And when her passion’s writ she over read,
Again she mourned, again salt tears she shed.
XIX.
Oft, when the flocks lay stretched beneath the shade,
To shun the heat of the sun’s noontide flame,
On beech or laurel the enamoured maid
In countless forms inscribed the one loved name.
Thus of a thousand trees the graven barks
Her ill-starred passion’s hapless issue told;
And as each time she saw the tell-tale marks,
Down her fair cheeks the pearly tear-drops rolled.
XX.
Indi dicea piangendo: in voi serbate
Questa dolente istoria, amiche piante:
Perchè se fia ch’alle vostr’ombre grate
156 Giammai soggiorni alcun fedele amante,
Senta svegliarsi al cor dolce pietate
Delle sventure mie sì varie e tante:
E dica: ah troppo ingiusta empia mercede
160 Diè Fortuna ed Amore a sì gran fede!
XX
“You happy trees forever keep,” quoth she,
“This woful story in your tender rind,
Another day under your shade maybe
Will come to rest again some lover kind;
Who if these trophies of my griefs he see,
Shall feel dear pity pierce his gentle mind;”
With that she sighed and said, “Too late I prove
There is no troth in fortune, trust in love.
XX.
Ah, friendly trees,’ exclaimed the weeping maid,
‘Preserve this tale of one who loved too well,
That, should it hap beneath your grateful shade
Some fond and faithful swain should ever dwell,
He in his heart may feel compassion bum
At the sad record of my woes, and cry,
Alas! what cruel, what unjust return,
Gave Fate and Love to such fidelity!
XXI.
Forse avverrà, se ‘l Ciel benigno ascolta
Affettuoso alcun prego mortale,
Che venga in ques
te selve anco tal volta
164 Quegli, a cui di me forse or nulla cale:
E rivolgendo gli occhj ove sepolta
Giacerà questa spoglia inferma e frale,
Tardo premio conceda a’ miei martiri
168 Di poche lagrimette, e di sospiri.
XXI
“Yet may it be, if gracious heavens attend
The earnest suit of a distressed wight,
At my entreat they will vouchsafe to send
To these huge deserts that unthankful knight,
That when to earth the man his eyes shall bend,
And sees my grave, my tomb, and ashes light,
My woful death his stubborn heart may move,
With tears and sorrows to reward my love.
XXI.
‘It ev’n may chance, if kindly heavens attend
To mortals’ earnest and affectionate prayers,
That to this forest he at times may wend,
He who perhaps for me but little cares;
And his eyes casting on the silent tomb
Where the frail relics of Erminia lie,
May tardy tribute to her martyrdom
Pay, in one pitying tear, one passing sigh.
XXII.
Onde, se in vita il cor misero fue,
Sia lo spirito in morte almen felice:
E ‘l cener freddo delle fiamme sue
172 Goda quel ch’or godere a me non lice.
Così ragiona ai sordi tronchi, e due
Fonti di pianto da’ begli occhj elíce.
Tancredi intanto, ove fortuna il tira
176 Lunge da lei, per lei seguir, s’aggira.
XXII
“So, though my life hath most unhappy been,
At least yet shall my spirit dead be blest,
My ashes cold shall, buried on this green,
Enjoy that good this body ne’er possessed.”
Thus she complained to the senseless treen,
Floods in her eyes, and fires were in her breast;
But he for whom these streams of tears she shed,
Wandered far off, alas, as chance him led.
XXII.
‘Whence if in life my heart has wretched been,
Death may my spirit with some bliss endow,
And my cold ashes that sweet solace glean,
Which to enjoy is not permitted now.’
From her eyes’ teeming founts sad tears she shed,
As the deaf trunks thus fondly she addressed.
Meanwhile away from her by Fortune led,
Still in pursuit of her, Tancredi pressed.
Jerusalem Delivered Page 198
