Galatea

by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

Of peace or fortune, happiness or health.

Already those who listened to the loveless Lenio as they went along were wondering at seeing with what meekness he was treating the things of Love, calling him a god, and of a mighty hand—a thing they had never heard him say. But having heard the verses with which he ended his song, they could not refrain from laughter, for it already seemed to them that he was getting angry as he went on, and that if he proceeded further in his song, he would deal with love as he was wont at other times; but time failed him, for the way was at an end. And so, when they had come to the temple, and the usual ceremonies had been performed therein by the priests, Daranio and Silveria remained bound in a tight and perpetual knot, not without the envy of many who saw them, nor without the grief of some who coveted Silveria's beauty. But every grief would have been surpassed by that which the hapless Mireno would have felt, had he been present at this spectacle. The wedded pair having returned from the temple with the same company that had escorted them, came to the village square, where they found the tables set, and where Daranio wished publicly to make a demonstration of his wealth, offering to all the people a liberal and sumptuous feast. The square was so covered with branches, that it seemed a lovely green forest, the branches interwoven above in such wise that the sun's keen rays in all that compass found no entry to warm the cool ground, which was covered with many sword-lilies and a great diversity of flowers. There, then, to the general content of all was celebrated the liberal banquet, to the sound of many pastoral instruments, which gave no less pleasure than is wont to be given by the bands playing in harmony usual in royal palaces; but that which most exalted the feast was to see, that, on removing the tables, they made with much speed in the same place a stage, because the four discreet and hapless shepherds, Orompo, Marsilio, Crisio, and Orfenio, so as to honour their friend Daranio's wedding, and to satisfy the desire Thyrsis and Damon had to hear them, wished there in public to recite an eclogue, which they themselves had composed on the occasion of their own griefs. All the shepherds and shepherdesses who were there being then arranged in their seats, after that Erastro's pipe, and Lenio's lyre and the other instruments made those present keep peaceful and marvellous silence, the first who showed himself in the humble theatre was the sad Orompo, clad in black skin-coat, and a crook of yellow box-wood in his hand, the end of which was an ugly figure of Death. He came crowned with leaves of mournful cypress, all emblems of grief which reigned in him by reason of the untimely death of his beloved Listea; and after he had, with sad look, turned his weeping eyes in all directions, with tokens of infinite grief and bitterness he broke the silence with words like these:

OROMPO.

Come from the depths of my grief-stricken breast,
Oh words of blood, with death commingled come,
Break open the left side that keeps you dumb,
If 'tis my sighs perchance that hold you fast.
The air impedes you, for 'tis fired at last
By the fierce poison of your utterance;
Come forth and let the breezes bear you hence,
As they have borne my bliss adown the blast.

For ye will lose but little when ye see
Yourselves lost, since your lofty theme has gone,
For whom in weighty style and perfect tone
Utterance ye gave to things of high degree.
Famed were ye once, of high renown were ye,
For sweetness, and for wittiness and gladness;
But now for bitterness, for tears and sadness,
Will ye by Heaven and earth appraisèd be.

Although ye issue trembling at my cry
With what words can ye utter what I feel,
If my fierce torment is incapable
Of being as 'tis painted vividly?
Alas, for neither means nor time have I
To express the pain and sinking at my heart;
But what my tongue doth lack to tell its smart,
My eyes by constant weeping may supply.

Oh death, who cuttest short by cruel guile
A thousand pleasant purposes of man,
And in a moment turnest hill to plain,
Making Henares equal unto Nile,
Why didst thou temper not thy cruel style,
Traitor, and why didst thou, in my despite,
Make trial on a bosom fair and white
Of thy fierce hanger's edge with fury vile?

How came it that the green and tender years
Of that fair lamb did, false one, thee displease?
Wherefore didst thou my woes by hers increase?
Why didst thou show thyself to her so fierce?
Enemy mine, friend of deceitful cares,
Goest thou from me who seek thee, and concealest
Thyself from me, while thou thyself revealest
To him who more than I thy evils fears?

On riper years thy law tyrannical
Might well its giant vigour have displayed,
Nor dealt its cruel blow against a maid,
Who hath of living had enjoyment small;
But yet thy sickle which arrangeth all—
By no prayer turned aside nor word of power—
Moweth with ruthless blade the tender flower
E'en as the knotty reed, stalwart and tall.