Silvae II.2 (Mozley): The Villa of Pollius Felix at Surrentum

Between the walls that are known by the Sirens’ name and the cliff that is burdened by the shrine of Etruscan Minerva a lofty villa stands and gazes out upon the Dicarchean deep; there the ground is beloved of Bromius, and the grapes ripen on the high hills nor envy the Falernian wine-pressess. Hither was I glad to come after the four-yearly festival of my home,—when at last deep quiet had fallen and the dust lay white upon the course, and the athletes had turned them to Ambracian garlands,—drawn by the eloquence of gentle Pollius and bright Polla’s girlish charm to cross my native strait: though already fain to direct my steps where runs the worn and well-known track of Appia, queen of the long roads.

Yet the time I spent delighted me. The crescent waters of a tranquil bay break through the curving line of cliff on either hand. The spot is of Nature’s giving: one single beach lies between sea and hill, ending towards the land in overhanging rocks. The first charm of the place is a smoking bath-house with two cupolas, and a stream of fresh water from the land meeting the salt brine. Here would the nimble choir of Phorcus wish to bathe, and Cymodoce with dripping tresses and sea-green Galatea. Before the building the dark-blue ruler of the swelling waves keeps watch, and guards that innocent home; his shrine is it that is wet with friendly spray. Alcides protects the happy fields; in the two deities does the haven rejoice: one guards the land, the other resists the angry billows. A wondrous peace is on the sea: here the weary waves rage no more, and the furious South wind blows more mildly; here the swift hurricane is less daring, and the pools lie tranquil and undisturbed, calm as the spirit of their lord.

Thence a colonnade climbs slantwise up the cliff, vast as a city, and its long line of roof gains mastery over the rugged rocks. Where the sun once shone through clouds of dust, and the way was wild and unlovely, now it is a pleasure to go. Even such, should you scale the lofty height of Bacchic Ephyre, is the covered way that leads from Lechaeum, of Ino’s fame.

Not if Helicon were to grant me all her streams, or Pimplea quench my thirst, or the hoof of the flying steed abundantly assuage it: not if mystic Phemonoë were to unlock her pure springs or those wherein my Pollius, under the auspices of Phoebus, hath plunged his deep-immersed urn—not even so could I equal in Pierian strains the countless charms and beauties of the place. Scarcely could my eyes sustain the long array, scarce could my feet avail, while I was led from scene to scene. What a multitude of things! Shall I first admire the genius of the place or of its master? This part of the house looks eastward to Phoebus’ morning rays; that part detains him as he sets, nor allows the exhausted light to disappear, when the day is wearied out and the shadow of the dark mountain falls on the waters, and the proud mansion floats upon the glassy flood. Here the sound of the sea is in the chambers, here they know not the roaring of the waves, but prefer the silence of the land. Here are spots that Nature has favoured, here she has been outdone and given way to the settler and learnt gentleness in ways unknown before. Here, where you now see level ground, was a hill; the halls you enter were wild country; where now tall groves appear, there was once not even soil: its owner has tamed the place, and as he shaped and conquered the rocks the earth gladly gave way before him. See how the cliff learns to bear the yoke, how the dwellings force their entry and the mountain is bidden withdraw. Now let the skill of Methymne’s bard and that sole Theban lyre and the glory of the Getic quill give way before thee: thou too dost move the rocks, thee too the high woods follow.

Why should I tell of ancient forms in wax or bronze, or of aught that the colours of Apelles rejoiced to animate, or the hand of Phidias carved, though Pisa still was empty, yet wondrously withal, or what was bidden live by Myron’s art or Polycletus’ chisel, the bronzes, from the funeral fire of Corinth, more precious than gold, countenances of chieftains and prophets and sages of old time, whom it is thy care to follow, whose influence thou dost feel in all thy being, untroubled and steadfast in thy tranquil virtue, and ever lord of thy own heart? Why should I recount the numberless summits and the changing views? Each chamber has its own delight, its own particular sea, and across the expanse of Nereus each window commands a different landscape: this one beholds Inarime, from that rugged Prochyta is seen; here the squire of mighty Hector is outspread, there sea-girt Nesis breathes tainted air; yonder is Euploea, good omen for wandering barks, and Megalia flung out to repel the curving billows; and thy own Limon grieves that his lord reclines there over against him, and gazes at thy Surrentine mansion from afar. Yet one room there is, one higher than all the rest, which over a straight track of sea brings Parthenope to thy sight: here are marbles chosen from the heart of Grecian quarries; the stone of Eastern Syene, splashed with veining, and that which Phrygian axes hew in mournful Synnas o’er the fields of wailing Cybele, whereon the white expanse is bordered by a rim of purple; here too are green blocks quarried from the hill of Lycurgus at Amyclae, where the stone counterfeits the grass; here gleam the tawny rocks from Numidia, Thasian marble too and Chian, and Carystian stone that joys to behold the waves: all turn to salute the Chalcidian towers. A blessing on thy heart, that thou approvest what is Greek and hauntest Grecian land; nor let the city of Dicarchus that gave thee birth feel envy! We shall prove better owners of our poet-ward.

Why should I rehearse the wealth of the countryside, the fallows flung out into the sea and the cliffs steeped in Bacchus’ nectar? Often in autumn-time when the grapes are ripening a Nereid climbs the rocks, and under cover of the shades of night brushes the sea-water from her eyes with a leafy vine-spray, and snatches sweet clusters from the hills. Often is the vintage sprinkled by the neighbouring foam; Satyrs plunge into the water, and Pan-gods from the mountain are fain to grasp the sea-nymph as she flies naked through the waves.

Bless with prosperity, O land, thy lord and lady both, unto the years of a Nestor or a Tithonus, nor ever change thy noble servitude! Let not the Tirynthian hall and Dicarchus’ bay outdo thee as a home, nor thy lords too often gladden the wistful vineyards of Laconian Galaesus. Here where Pollius plies his Pierian craft, whether he ponders the Gargettian teacher’s counsels, or strikes my own lyre, or reunites unequal strains, or draws the threatening sword of avenging satire: the nimble Siren speeds from these rocks to sweeter lays than hers, and here Tritonia lifts her head and listens. Then the wild winds abate, the seas themselves are forbidden to rage; the dolphins emerge from the deep, and drawn to the music of his harp float gently by the cliffs.

Long mayst thou live, enriched beyond Midas’ wealth and Lydian gold, blest’ above the diadems of Euphrates and of Troy; whom neither fickle power nor the shifting mob, nor laws nor camps can vex, whose great heart, raised sublime over all desire, doth quell hope and fear, who art beyond the will of Fate and dost baffle the enmity of Fortune; thee the last day shall find, not bewildered in the maze of things, but sated with life and ready to depart. But we, a worthless folk, slaves at the beck of transient blessings and wishes ever new, are tossed from chance to chance: thou from thy mind’s high citadel dost look down upon our wanderings and laughest at human joys. There was a time when the loyalty of two lands tore thee in twain, and thou wert borne in triumph through two cities, there worshipped, as is meet, by Dicarchus’ folk, here made their own by mine, and bountiful alike to these and those, in the full fire of youth and proud of thy wandering Muse. But now are the mists dispersed, and thou dost behold the truth—others in their turn are tossed upon that sea—and thy unshaken bark has entered a peaceful haven and a quiet resting-place. Continue thus, nor ever loose thy vessel, her voyage over, to face our storms. And thou, who in wisdom dost surpass the daughters of Latium and in mind art equal to thy lord, whose spirit no cares, whose brow no menace has dismayed, but who art ever bright and happy, while joy untroubled reigns in thy countenance:—for thee no churlish money-chest keeps tight grip of hoarded wealth, no waste of greedy usury tortures thy heart, but open to all are thy riches, and thou dost enjoy them in wise restraint. No union of souls is more blest, such are the minds that Concord has taught. Learn of her in untroubled peace, ye from whose hearts the blending fires are met in a long union, and whose hallowed love keeps fast the laws of chaste affection. Go onward through the years, and outdo the centuries of old and the title-roll of ancient fame.