Culex (The Gnat)

We have trifled, O Octavius, while a slender Muse marked the measure, and lo! like tiny spiders, have fashioned our thin-spun task. We have trifled: to this end let our Gnat's song be sung, that in sportive mood throughout its course our argument may harmonize with epic story. A truce to thee, O Art; let Envy begone! Whoso is ready to blame our jests and Muse, shall be deemed lighter than even our Gnat in weight and name. Hereafter shall our Muse speak to thee in deeper tones, when the seasons yield me their fruits in peace, that so thou mayest find her verses polished, and worthy of thy taste.

The glory of Latona and mighty Jove, their golden offspring, even Phoebus, shall be the fount and source of our song, and he with resounding harp shall inspire, whether Arna nurture him — Arna, steeped in the Chimaera's stream of Xanthus — or the glory of Asteria, or that land where Parnassus' ridge, with broad brow, spreads his horns this way and that, and Castalia's singing waves glide in their watery course. Wherefore, come, ye sister Naiads, glory of the Pierian spring, and throng about the god in sportive dance. Thou too, holy Pales, to whom, as they appear, the blessings of husbandmen return with increase, be thine the care of him who keeps the lofty forest-homes and woodlands green; whilst thou dost tend them, freely I roam among the glades and caves.

Thou also, O Octavius revered, who by the writings thou hast earned winnest confidence, graciously attend my venture, O holy youth! For thee, indeed, my page sings not Jove's gloomy war, nor plants the lines wherewith Phlegra once bristled, the land that was sprinkled with the Giants' blood, nor drives the Lapiths upon the Centaurs' swords; the East burns not the Erichthonian towers with flames: 'tis not the piercing of Athos, not the casting of fetters upon the mighty deep, not the Hellespont, smitten with horses' hooves, what time Greece feared the Persians, as they streamed from every side, that at this late hour shall, through my book, seek fame: but 'tis her joy that her gentle songs run with slender foot, and sport, under Phoebus' guidance, as befits her strength. This she sings for thee, holy youth; for thee also may ennobling fame be zealous, shining for all time, and abiding throughout the ages; for thee also may a place be stablished in the blest abode, and as thy due may there be recorded a life preserved through happy years, shining for the joy of the good! But let me pass to my emprise.

The fiery sun had now made his way unto heaven's heights, and from gilded car was scattering his gleaming rays, and Dawn with roseate locks had routed darkness, when a shepherd drove forth his goats from their folds to the joyous pastures, and sought a lofty mountain's highest ridges, where pale grasses clothed the spreading slopes. As they roam, they hide themselves now in the woods and thickets, now in the vales, and now, wandering swiftly to and fro, they cropped the rich grasses with nibbling bite. Leaving the banks, they strayed toward rocky hollows, the o'erhanging arbute trees are shorn of their outstretching branches and the wild vines' thick shoots are greedily assailed. One, poised aloft, snatches with eager bite the tips, it may be of the pliant willow, or of fresh growing alder; this gropes amid the thickets' tender briars, while that hangs over the water of the stream, its wondrous mirror.

O the blessings of the shepherd — if one would not, with mind already schooled, disdain the poor man's ways, and in scorn of them give approval to dreams of wealth — blessings those cares know not, that rend greedy hearts within warring breasts! What though fleeces, twice dipped in Assyrian dye, be not bought for wealth of Attalus, though gleam of gold beneath the fretted ceiling of a house, and brilliancy of painting, move not a greedy soul, though flashing gems be never deemed to have aught of worth, though goblets of Alcon and reliefs of Boethus bring no joy, and the Indian Ocean's pearls be of no esteem; yet, with heart free from guile, upon the soft sward he oft outstretches his frame, while blossoming earth, painted with jewelled grasses, in sweet spring marks the fields, picked out with varied hues; and lo! as he delights in the mere's resounding reeds, and takes his ease apart from envy and deceit, and is strong in his own strength, the leafage of Tmolus and the sheen of green boughs enwraps him beneath a cloak of vines. His are pleasing goats that drip their milky dew, his the woodland and fruitful Pales, and, deep within the vales, shaded grottoes ever trickling with fresh springs.

Who in a happier age could be more blest than he who, dwelling afar, with pure soul and feelings well tested knows not the greed of wealth, and fears not grim wars or the fatal conflicts of a mighty fleet, nor yet, if so he may but adorn the gods' holy temples with gleaming spoils, or high uplifted may surpass the limits of wealth, wilfully risks his life, confronting savage foes? He reverences a god shaped by pruning-knife, not by artist's skill; he reverences the groves; for him the grasses of the field, mottled with flowers, yield Panchaean incense; his are sweet repose and unsullied pleasure, free, with simple cares. This is his goal, toward this he directs every sense; this is the thought lurking within his heart, that, content with any fare, he may be rich in repose, and in pleasant sleep may enchain his weary frame. O flocks, O Pans, O vales of Hamadryads, delightful in your springs, in whose humble worship the shepherds, vying each for himself with the bard of Ascra, spend with tranquil hearts a care-free life.

Amid such joys, while leaning on his staff the shepherd cons his sunny themes, and while, with no artful melody, on his joined reeds he attunes the wonted lay, burning Hyperion, mounting aloft, extends his rays, and, parting midway heaven's vault, there plants his light where into either Ocean he flings his ravenous flames. And now, driven by the shepherd, the straying goats were wending back to the pools of whispering water, which settled dark beneath the verdant moss. Now had the Sun ridden o'er the mid portion of his course, when the shepherd began to gather his flocks within the thick shade. Then from a distance he saw them settle in thy green grove, O Delian goddess, whither once, smitten with madness, came Cadmus' daughter, Agave, flying from Nyctelius, her cursed hands defiled with blood of slaughter — Agave, who once had revelled on the cold heights, then rested in the cave, doomed at later day for her son's death to pay penance. Here, too, Pans sporting upon the green grass, and Satyrs, and Dryad maids with the Naiad throng, once trod their dances. Not so much did Orpheus with his song stay Hebrus, lingering within his banks, or stay the woods, as much as with their dance they keep thee tarrying, O fleet goddess, gladly shedding many joys upon thy countenance — even they, to whom, of its very nature, the place with its echoing whisper gave a home, refreshing their weary forms in its sweet shade.

For first, in the sloping vale, there arose spreading planes, towering high, and among them the wicked lotus — wicked for that she seduced the comrades of the sorrowing Ithacan, while she welcomed and held them captive with undue charm. Then they, whose limbs Phaethon, hurled forth in flames from the resplendent car of the Sun's steeds, had through grief transformed, — the Heliads, their arms entwining the slender stems — from outstretched branches lavished their white veiling. Next came she, to whom, lamenting his perfidy, Demophoon left unending grief — ah! Demophoon, "perfidious" called of many, even still worthy to be called of maidens "perfidious"! Oaks attended her, chanters of the fates — oaks once given for man's sustenance before the grains of Ceres: these oaks the furrow of Triptolemus exchanged for ears of corn. Here the great glory of the Argoan ship, the lofty pine, shaggy in her stately limbs, adorns the woods, and on the skyey mountains is fain to reach the stars. Still stand the shapely black ilex, the cypress of grief, shadowy beeches, and ivies binding the poplar's arms, lest, for her brother's sake, she smite herself with blows: themselves, fast clinging, mount to the very tops, and paint their golden clusters with pale green. Hard by these was the myrtle, not unknowing of her fate of old. The birds, the while, settling on the spreading branches, sing songs resounding in varied melodies. Beneath was water trickling from cold springs, which, wending in fine rills, murmurs in its peaceful current; and where'er voice of birds strikes upon twin ears, there in querulous tone respond the frogs, whose bodies, afloat in the mire, are nurtured by its moisture. The echoing air swells the sounds, and amid the heat all nature is humming with the shrill cicadas. Here and there, round about, lay the weary goats beneath the lofty thickets, which a breath of whispering wind, gently blowing thither, essays to disturb.

Soon as by the spring amid the deep shade the shepherd sought repose with limbs outstretched, he fell upon a gentle sleep; troubled by no treachery, but lying at ease upon the grass, he had consigned his o'erpowered frame to care-free slumber. Prone upon the ground, he was enjoying to the full sweet restfulness — had not Fortune bade him draw uncertain lots!

For gliding along at his wonted time in the self-same course, a monstrous serpent, speckled and mottled in body, with intent to plunge in the mire and seek shelter from the exceeding heat, — noisome of breath, and snatching with darting tongue at all in his way — in far-circling movements was twisting his scaly coils: as on he came, he upraised his eyes in anger to survey the whole scene. Now, rolling more and more his writhing body, he uplifts his breast with gleaming flashes; on his towering neck he rears his head, and his crest rises aloft; his purple coat shines and sparkles, and his blazing eye gleams with savage look. He was surveying the ground round about, when, lying in his way, the monster espied the guardian of the flock. More fiercely he rolls his eyes and presses on in his course, and more often does he seize and crush what lies in his path, infuriate that any man had come to his waters. Nature's weapons he makes ready: he rages in mind, he hisses in wrath; his mouth resounds; his body's coils writhe in upheaving curves; all along his course trickle drops of blood; his breathing bursts his jaws.

Him, against whom all is preparing, a tiny nursling of the damp affrights in time, and warns by its sting to avoid death. For where the eyes were parted and opened their lids, there the old man's jewelled orb was smitten by the light dart Nature had furnished. Thereat, full of rage, he leaped forth, and crushed and slew the Gnat, whose breath, all dispersed, quitted his senses. Then, near at hand, as it fixed its fierce eyes upon him, he espied the serpent; and thereon with speed, dismayed and wellnigh reft of wit, he fled aback, and with his hand tore from a tree a sturdy bough. What chance gave him aid, or what spirit divine, it were hard to tell, but such as he was, he availed to worst the scaly serpent's dreadful writhing limbs, and as it

struggles and assails in hideous wise, he with frequent strokes smites its bones, where the crest fringes its temples; and in that he was dulled with the drowsiness of the sleep he had shaken off, and fear at sight of his foe had not yet benumbed his aged limbs, he did not so much confuse his mind with direful terror; but, soon as he saw the monster languish in death, he sat him down.

Now Night, arising, was urging on her steeds in the two-horse car of Erebus, and slow Vesper was advancing from golden Oeta, when the shepherd, his flock folded, wended his way in the thickening shadows, and prepared to give rest to his weary frame. Soon as gentle sleep passed o'er his body, and his listless limbs, steeped in slumber, sank to rest, there descended upon him the spectre of the Gnat, and sang him reproachful strains by reason of his sad death: "What deserts are mine?" he cries, "and to what ills am I wafted, who am called to face a bitter requital? While thy life was dearer to me than life itself, I am swept by the winds through empty space. Thou, at thine ease, in sweet repose refreshest thy limbs, thou that wast snatched from a hideous death; but my remains the Shades compel to pass o'er Lethe's waters; as Charon's spoil am I driven, and thresholds aflame with brands have I beheld: in those regions below all is ablaze. Tisiphone, her locks wreathed on every side with serpents, besets the way and brandishes before me fires and cruel scourges; behind her is Cerberus, his mouths inflamed with fearful barking, his necks bristling with twisted snakes this way and that, and his eyes flashing the fire of a blood-red light. Alas! why failed my kindness to win the service due, when even from Death's very threshold, I restored thee to the living? Where is the guerdon of kindness, where kindness' due return? Gone to an empty requital, and that old-time faith in Justice has passed from out the land. I saw the fate which threatened another; mine own I left without regard, and now am driven to a doom like unto his: punishment falls to the deserving. Let the punishment be death; only let there be a grateful heart, let an equal service be rendered!

"I take my way o'er pathless regions — pathless regions far away amid Cimmerian groves, and about me throng the woeful penalties for all misdeeds. For, fast bound with serpents, monstrous Otus sits, mournfully gazing at Ephialtes, enchained hard by, for that once they essayed to tear down heaven; and Tityus in distress, mindful, O Latona, of thy wrath (too insatiate thy wrath!) is lying there, meat for winged fowl. I fear, ah! I fear me to press nigh such mighty shades, — I, called back to the Stygian waters. With head scarce rising above the stream, stands he who betrayed the nectar-feasts of the gods, turning in all directions with fever-stricken throat. What of him, who rolls a stone up the mount afar, whom embittering pain convicts of having scorned the gods? Let me be, — me, vainly seeking repose; go, ye maidens, go ye, for whom gloomy Erinys kindled the torches: in guise of Hymen Erinys spake the boding words, and brought a marriage fraught with death. Ay, and other ranks there are, thronging line upon line: the Colchian mother, frenzied with wicked savagery, musing on distressful wounds for her affrighted children; anon, the sisters of Pandion's piteous stock, whose voice cries Itys, Itys, as, bereft of him, the Bistonian king mourns in his hoopoe shape, wafted to the winged breezes. Yea, and the quarrelling brothers of Cadmus' line cast fierce, unfriendly glances upon each other's person, and now each recoils, for his unholy band drips with a brother's blood. Alas! this anguish that shall never change!

"Or to far different sights am I hurried; famous spirits I descry afar; across Elysium's waters I must swim, and thither I am borne. In my path, Persephone urges the heroine throng to raise before them their confronting torches. Alcestis, unscathed, is free from all care, for that she stayed the cruel fate of her husband Admetus among the Chalcodonians. Lo! the Ithacan's wife, ever his glory, daughter of Icarius, deemed the glory of womankind; and, hard by, waits that arrogant throng of youthful suitors, pierced with arrows. Why, poor Eurydice, hast thou withdrawn in such sorrow? And why even now waits upon thee punishment for that backward look of Orpheus? Bold indeed was he, who thought that Cerberus was ever mild, or that the godhead of Dis could be appeased of any, and who, in his frenzy, feared not Phlegethon nor his blazing waters, nor the mournful realms of Dis, o'erlaid with gloom, the dwellings of Tartarus, buried deep, and beset with cruel night, nor the abodes of Dis, easy of entry were there not a judge — a judge, who after death passes sentence on the deeds of life. But Fortune, potent in the past, had made him bold. Ere then, swift rivers had stood still; the throng of wild beasts, following by reason of his alluring voice, had pressed close upon Orpheus; and ere then, from the green ground, the oak had moved its deepest root aloft, and of their own free will the whistling woods were snatching his songs with greedy bark. Even in their gliding course amid the stars he checked Luna's turn-yoked steeds, and at their desire, thou thyself, O maiden of the month, eager to hear the lyre, didst hold them back, deserting the night. This same lyre availed to conquer thee, O bride of Dis, and make thee of thine own will restore Eurydice, to be led away. No right over unvanquished death had the goddess, no right that would yield to prayer. Eurydice indeed, who ere this had found the Shades too stern, was marking out the path prescribed, and turned not her eyes to gaze within, nor annulled the goddess' gifts by speech. But thou cruel one, thou more cruel, Orpheus, seeking her dear kisses, didst break the commandments of the gods! Worthy of pardon was thy love; pleasing thy sin, did Hell but know: yet grievous is the remembrance.

"For you, O heroines, over against you in the house of the righteous, there waits a band of heroes. Here are the two sons of Aeacus: for Peleus and valiant Telamon rejoice, care-free through their sire's divinity — they upon whose nuptials Venus and Valour bestowed glory: captivated was the one by his bondmaid; the other was loved of a Nereid. Here, at their side, is seated a youth; with him the fame of thy lot, O second youth, allies thee unto death, for thou tellest of the Phrygian fires thrust back from the Greek ships with wild and savage valour.

"Who could not tell of the partings in such a war, which the heroes of Troy and the heroes of Greece beheld, what time the Teucrian soil streamed with plenteous blood, and Simois and the flowing Xanthus; and what time, along the Sigean shores, Hector, stern and angry captain, drove the Trojans with hostile intent against the Pelasgian ships, ready to assail with wounds and weapons, with death and flames? For, as they roamed abroad, Ida herself, queen of savage life, Ida herself, their nursing mother, furnished brands to her sons at their desire, that so the whole Rhoetean shore might be given over to ashes, as with the tear-dropping flame of pine the ships were consumed. On one side, arrayed against the foe, was the hero sprung of Telamon, offering combat from under his covering shield; and on the other was Hector, Troy's chief glory, both eager for the fray. Even as on rivers is heard a roar, when in spring-time they descend from the mountains upon the corn-fields: so from above the one hurls fires upon shields and darts, that thereby he may rob the foe of weapons of return; the other, guarding himself with his sword, presses on to ward off from the ships the assaults of Vulcan.

""At these glories the son of Aeacus was glad of countenance, and likewise the other, for that, when the Dardan fields were drenched with blood, he victoriously compassed Troy with the body of Hector. Again, they chafe bitterly, for that Paris slew the one, and the other's sturdy valour fell stricken by the Ithacan's wiles. From him the seed of Laertes keeps his countenance averted; and now, as victor over Strymonian Rhesus and over Dolon, and now, as triumphant over Pallas, rejoices, then again trembles: he, the dreaded one, shudders, now at the Cicones, and now at the Laestrygonians. Him ravenous Scylla, girt with her Molossian hounds, and the Cyclops of Aetna affright; him Zanclaean Charybdis, and the dim lakes and foul Tartarus.

"Here too beside him sits the son of Atreus, offspring of the race of Tantalus, the light of Greece, beneath whose rule Doric flame utterly laid low the Erichthonian citadels. The Greeks, alas! paid penance to thee, O Troy, for thy fall — paid it, when doomed to death in the Hellespont's waves. That force bore witness in its time to human vicissitudes, lest anyone, enriched by his own Fortune's bounty, should mount exalted above the heavens: all glory is shattered by Envy's nigh-awaiting dart. The Argive power was passing seaward, seeking its homeland, and fattened with spoils from the Erichthonian citadel. A favourable breeze attended it in peaceful course upon the deep; a Nereid was giving signals towards the main, riding, now here and now there, above the curved keels: when lo! either by fate of heaven, or through some rising star, on all sides the sky's brightness changes; all is troubled by blasts, all by whirlwinds. Now the sea's waves strive to mount to the stars, and now aloft the crashing sky threatens to seize all, both suns and stars, and dash them to earth. Here the host — but lately joyous, now afflicted — is beset by unhappy fates, and perishes upon the floods and rocks of Caphereus, or along the Euboean cliffs and broad Aegean shores, while all the prey from plundered Phrygia, drifting far and near, tossed in wreckage upon the ocean waves.

"Here abide others like unto them in valorous repute, all heroes, settled in the midst of these abodes, all whom Rome esteems as the glory of the mighty world. Here are the Fabii and the Decii, and here the brave Horatius; here Camillus, whose olden fame shall never die; and Curtius, whom once in the midst of the city's homes, willing victim of javelins, the flood swallowed up in its waters; and wise Mucius, who in his flesh endured the flames, and to whom the might of the Lydian king yielded in fear. Here is Curius, allied to glorious valour, and great Flaminius, who gave his body a victim to the flame (justly then hath he such an abode, piety's reward) and those Scipio chiefs, doomed by whose Roman triumphs the walls of Libyan Carthage are become a desolation.

"Let them live in their renown: but I am forced to pass to those shadowy pools of Dis, that are, alas! bereft of the light of Phoebus, and to suffer waste Phlegethon, whereby, O mighty Minos, thou partest the prison-house of the wicked from the abode of the righteous! So before the judge the cruel Fiends with scourges force me to plead my cause, now of death, and now of life, though thou art cause of my ill, and aidest not with thy witness, but with lightly borne cares hearest these my words, unmindful, and despite of all, when thou goest thy way, thou wilt dismiss all to the winds. I pass hence, never to return; do thou, rejoicing, haunt the spring, and green forest-groves, and pastures; and for my words, let them be swept aside by the random breezes!" He spake, and with the last accents sadly went his way.

Now when life's langour quitted that anxious shepherd, from whose breast heavy sighs resounded, and when no more could he brook the sorrow for the Gnat's death that flooded his senses, then in so far as his aged strength suffered him — wherewith, none the less, he had fought and vanquished his fierce foe — hard by the running stream that lurked beneath green leafage, he busily begins to fashion a place, marking it in circular form, and oft turning to service his iron spade, to dig up grassy sods from the green turf. And now his mindful care, pursuing the toil begun, heaped up a towering work, and with broad rampart the earthy mound grew into the circle he had traced. Round about this, mindful of constant care, he sets stones, fashioned from polished marble.

Here are to grow acanthus and the blushing rose with crimson bloom, and violets of every kind. Here are Spartan myrtle and hyacinth, and here saffron, sprung from Cilician fields, and soaring laurel, the glory of Phoebus. Here are oleander, and lilies, and rosemary, tended in familiar haunts, and the Sabine plant, which for men of old feigned rich frankincense; and marigold, and glistening ivy, with pale clusters, and bocchus, mindful of Libya's king. Here are amaranth, blooming bumastus, and ever-flowering laurustine. Yonder fails not the Narcissus, whose noble beauty kindled with Love's flame for his own limbs; and what flowers soever the spring seasons renew, with these the mound is strewn above. Then upon its face is placed an epitaph, which letters thus fashion with silent voice: "Little Gnat, to thee, so well deserving, the guardian of the flocks pays this service of death in return for the boon of life."