Galatea

by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

'Where are you going, whom do you flee, fair Galatea? If you part from us who adore you, who shall hope for your company? Ah fair foe! how heedlessly you go your way, triumphing over our affections! May Heaven destroy the warm affection I bear you, if I do not long to see you in love with some one who may value your plaints in the same degree as you value mine! Do you laugh at what I say, Galatea? Then I weep at what you do.'

Galatea could not answer Erastro, for she was going away, guiding her flock towards the stream of palms; and bowing her head from afar in token of farewell, she left them. When she saw herself alone, whilst she was making for the spot where her friend Florisa thought she would be, with the exquisite voice Heaven had pleased to give her, she went along singing this sonnet:

GALATEA.

Away with noose and frost, with dart and fire,
Whereby to strangle, freeze, or wound or burn,
Love doth essay! 'Tis vain: my soul doth yearn
For no such knot, nor doth such flame desire.
Let each bind, freeze, kill, press, consume in ire,
'Gainst any other will its anger turn,
But mine shall snow or net or arrow spurn,
To hold me in its heat let none aspire.
My chaste intent will chill the burning flame,
The knot I shall break through by force or art,
My glowing zeal will melt away the snows,
The arrow shall fall blunted by my shame,
And thus nor noose nor fire, nor frost nor dart,
Shall make me fear, safe in secure repose.

With juster cause might beasts stand still, trees move and stones unite on hearing Galatea's gentle song and sweet harmony than when to Orpheus' lute, Apollo's lyre, or Amphion's music the walls of Troy and Thebes of their own accord set themselves in the ground without any craftsman laying hand thereon, and the sisters, dark dwellers in deepest chaos, grew gentle at the exquisite voice of the unheeding lover. Galatea finished her song, and at the moment came to where Florisa was, by whom she was received with joyous mien, as being her true friend, and she to whom Galatea was wont to tell her thoughts. After the two had allowed their flocks to go at their will to graze on the green grass, they determined, invited by the clearness of the water of a stream flowing by, to wash their beauteous faces; for, to enhance their beauty, they had no need of the vain and irksome arts whereby those ladies in great cities who think themselves most beautiful, torture theirs. They remained as beautiful after washing as before, save that, through having rubbed their faces with their hands, their cheeks remained aflame and blushing-red, so that an indescribable beauty made them yet more fair, and especially Galatea. In her were seen united the three Graces whom the Greeks of old depicted naked to show (amongst other purposes) that they were mistresses of beauty. Straightway they began to gather divers flowers from the green meadow with intent to make each a garland wherewith to bind up the disordered tresses that flowed freely over their shoulders. In this task the two beauteous shepherdesses were engaged when of a sudden they saw, by the stream below, a shepherdess coming of gentle grace and bearing, whereat they wondered not a little, for it seemed to them that she was not a shepherdess of their village nor of the others near by: wherefore they looked at her with more attention and saw that she was coming gradually to where they were; and though they were quite near, she came so absorbed and lost in thought that she never saw them until they chose to show themselves. From time to time she stopped, and raising her eyes to Heaven, uttered sighs so piteous that they seemed to be torn from her innermost soul; at the same time she wrung her white hands, and tears like liquid pearls she let fall down her cheeks. From the extremes of grief the shepherdess displayed Galatea and Florisa perceived that her soul was filled with some inward grief, and to see on what her feelings were set, both hid themselves amongst some close-grown myrtles, and thence watched with curious gaze what the shepherdess was doing. She came to the brink of the stream, and with steadfast gaze stopped to watch the water running by; and letting herself fall on its bank, as one wearied, she hollowed one of her fair hands, and therein took up of the clear water, wherewith she bathed her moist eyes, saying with voice low and enfeebled:

'Ah water clear and cool, how little avails your coldness to temper the fire I feel in my soul! Vain will it be to hope from you—or indeed from all the waters the mighty ocean holds—the remedy I need; for if all were applied to the glowing passion that consumes me, you would produce the same effect as do a few drops on the glowing forge which but increase the flame the more. Ah, sad eyes, cause of my ruin! to how lofty a height did I raise you for so great a fall! Ah fortune, enemy of my repose! with what haste didst thou hurl me from the pinnacle of my joy to the abyss of misery wherein I am! Ah cruel sister! how came it that Artidoro's meek and loving presence did not appease the anger of your breast devoid of love? What words could he say to you that you should give him so harsh and cruel a reply? It seems clear, sister, that you did not esteem him as much as I; for, if it were so, you would in truth have shown as much meekness as he obedience to you.'

All that the shepherdess said she mingled with such tears, that no heart could listen to her and not be moved to compassion; and after she had calmed her sorrowing breast for a while, to the sound of the water gently flowing by, she sang with sweet and dainty voice this gloss, adapting to her purpose an ancient verse:

Hope hath fled and will not stay
One thought only brings delight:
Time that passes swift of flight
Soon my life will take away.

Two things, all the world among,
Help the lover to attain
All that doth to Love belong:
E'en desire the good to gain,
Hope that makes the coward strong.
Both within my bosom lay.
No, 'twas in my stricken soul
That they lurked to take away
My desire to reach the goal.
Hope hath fled and will not stay.

Though desire should cease to be,
What time hope is on the wane,
Yet 'tis not the same in me.
My desire doth wax amain,
Though my hope away doth flee.
'Gainst the wounds my soul that blight
I can take nor care nor thought,
Martyr to my hapless plight,
In the school where Love hath taught,
One thought only brings delight.