Silvae II.3 (Mozley): The Tree of Atedius Melior

Enfolding with its overshadowing boughs the clear waters of my elegant Melior’s lake there stands a tree, whose trunk, curving from its base, bends down toward the mere, and then shoots up aloft straight to its summit, as though it grew a second time from the midst of the waves, and dwelt with hidden roots in the glassy stream. Why ask so slight a tale of Phoebus? Do you, O Naiads, relate the cause, and you, compliant Fauns—ye will suffice—inspire my song.

Frightened troops of Nymphs were fleeing from Pan; on he came, as though all were his quarry, yet on Pholoe alone was he bent. By copse and stream she fled, shunning now the hairy following limbs, now the wanton horns. Through Janus’ grove, scene of battles, and Cacus’ deadly haunts; through the fields of Quirinus she came running a-tiptoe and gained the Caelian wilds; there at last wearied out and fordone with fear—where to-day stands the quiet home of hospitable Melior—she gathered her saffron robe closer about her, and sank down on the edge of the snow-white bank. Swiftly follows the shepherd-god, and deems the maid his bride; already he allays the panting of his fevered breast, already he hovers lightly o’er his prey. Lo! with speedy steps Diana approaches, as she ranges the seven hills and tracks the flight of a deer on Aventine; the goddess was vexed to see it, and turning to her trusty comrades: “Shall I never keep this unseemly, wanton brood from lustful rapine? Must my chaste band of followers ever grow fewer?” So speaking she drew a short shaft from her quiver, but sped it not from the bent bow or with the wonted twang, but was content to fling it with one hand, and touched—so ’tis said—the left hand of the drowsy Naiad with the arrow-feathers. She awaking beheld at once the day and her wanton foe, and lest she should bare her snow-white limbs plunged just as she was with all her raiment into the lake, and at the bottom of the mere, believing Pan was following, she wrapped the weeds about her. What could the robber do, so suddenly baffled? Conscious of his shaggy hide, and from childhood untaught to swim, he dares not trust himself to the deep waters. Lavish complaint made he of heartless Bromius, of the jealous lake and jealous shaft; then spying a young plane tree with long stem and countless branches and summit aspiring to heaven he set it by him and heaped fresh sand about it and sprinkled it with the longed-for waters, and thus commanded it: “Live long, O tree, as the memorable token of my vow, and do thou at least stoop down and cherish the secret abode of this hard-hearted nymph, and cover her waters with thy leaves. Let her not, I pray, though she has deserved it, be scorched by the sun’s heat or lashed by cruel hail; only mind thou to bestrew the pool with thickly scattered leaves. Then will I long remember thee and the mistress of this kindly place, and guard both to a secure old age, so that the trees of Jove and Phoebus, and the twy-coloured poplar shade and my own pines may marvel at thy boughs.” So he spake; and the tree, quickened with the old passion of the god, hangs and broods over the full mere with drooping stem, and searches the waves with loving shadows, and hopes for their embrace; but the breath of the waters put it from them, and suffered not its touch. At length it struggles upward, and poised upon its base cunningly lifts its head without any knot, as though it sank with another root into the bottom of the lake. Now not even the Naiad, Phoebe’s votary, hates it, but her stream invites the boughs she banished.

Such is the gift I bring thee on thy birthday, small indeed, but destined perchance to live throughout long ages. Thou in whose tranquil breast dwells courteous dignity and gay, yet thoughtful virtue, refusest slothful ease and unjust power and overweening ambition, but takest the mid-path between duty and pleasure, thou whose loyalty is unstained, whose heart has known no storms, whose life is lived apart, yet ordered and planned for all to see, thou who readily spurnest gold, yet dost excel in setting thy wealth in array and bringing thy riches to the light: long mayst thou flourish and live on in youthfulness of mind and heart to rival Priam and Tithonus, and to surpass the years that thy mother and thy sire took with them to Elysium; this guerdon have they won for thee from the stern Sisters, they and the lofty fame of great-hearted Blaesus, which, preserved from silent oblivion by thy witness, shall flourish once again.