Euphrosyne (1798)

 

 

Even the crests of the highest mountain, jagged and icy,

   Gloaming and purple quit, now with the sun going down.

Darkness cloaked the ravine long ago, the wanderer's climbing

   Path by the torrent, he longs soon to arrive at the hut,

Goal of his day, the quiet abode of a mountain shepherd,

   And there is heavenly sleep hurries enticing ahead,

Sleep that sweetly befriends any traveller; may it with sacred

   Poppy garland my head, blessing me also today.

But now what is this gleam from the cliff over yonder, a radiance

   Filling with delicate light vapours that lift from the foam?

Is it the sun, through secret clefts and crevices haply

   Shining? This ambient sheen scarcely belongs to the earth.

Closer it floats, the cloud, it is glowing, I gaze at the marvel;

   Rosy the light, is its ray shaped like a figure that moves?

What goddess is this who comes to me? Which of the Muses

   Might in the chasm so grim search for a trustable friend?

Beautiful goddess, make yourself known to me, do not by vanishing

   Baffle the mind you inspire, thwart all the feelings you touch.

Speak, if you may, your sacred name to a mortal being;

   If that is not to be done, rouse up my passion to feel

Which you may happen to be of Zeus's eternal daughters,

   Then may the poet in song utter your praises at once.

"Do you not know any more, good friend, who I am? This visible

     Form you adored, can it be strange to you now and so soon?

True, I belong to the earth no more, my shuddering spirit,

     Sorrowful, flew from the world's pleasure and gladness and youth;

Yet did I hope that the mind of my friend would carry my image

     Firmly imprinted, and more, make it transfigured by love.

Yes, now I see and feel from your gaze, from your tears I can tell it:

     Well he knows who she is: Euphrosyne I am.

Look you, she who has gone before must walk in the mountain

     Forest, seeking him out, faraway travelling man,

Seeking her teacher, friend, her father, again she is looking

     Back to the joys of the earth, in their provisional frame.

Let me remember when I was a child and the art of dissembling,

     Games of the ravishing Muse, these you tutored me in.

Every moment and tinier detail let me remember;

     Ah, what a pleasure we take; putting a mind to what's lost!

  Sweetness of days on earth, the airiest, all in a torrent,

     Ah, who can prize them enough, treasures that trickle away?

Small it may seem to us now, but ah, to the heart never petty;

            Love, to be sure, and art, magnify things that are small.

Do you recall the time when, there on the stage, you taught me

   Serious matters indeed, higher demands of the art?

I appeared as a boy, very winsome, and "Arthur" you called me­ –

   You were restoring, in me, life to an Englishman's play,

Threatened my eyes with fire you did, with fire, it was terrible,

   Turning away as you wept, under the spell of the scene.

Ah! and then you were kind, protecting a life full of sorrow

   Which precipitate flight finally stole from the boy.

Me, shattered, you took in your friendly arms and away and

   Then for a little I feigned death as I lay on your breast.

Finally, though, I opened my eyes and saw you, so serious,

   Rapt in thought as you gazed down at your darling-in-arms.

Childishly up I reached and kissed your hands, being thankful,

   Offered my charming mouth, chaste was the kiss we exchanged,

Then I asked you: Why so serious? If I'm a failure,

   Tell me, father, I pray, how to do better next time.

Nothing I'll grudge you, gladly rehearse for you, over and over,

   Each and every part, follow your lessons and leads.

But you held me firm in your arms and hugged me more tightly,

   And in my bosom I felt trembling the throb of my heart.

No, my charmingest child, you answered me, people tomorrow­ –

   Show to them all you have shown, just as you showed it today.

Move them all, as me you have moved, and they will respond with

   Even the driest of eyes weeping their tears of applause.

None will be struck more deeply, yet, than the friend, whom corpses

   Horrified once in the past, holding you now in his arms.

Nature, ah, how certain and grand in all things appearing:

   Heaven and Earth must obey firm and immutable laws.

One year follows another, the summer extending to springtime,

   Winter to fullness of fall, a confident helping hand.

Masses of rock stand their ground, and the waters eternal

   Gush from the cloudy cleft, foaming and thundering down.

Firs are green and unleafed bushes, even in winter,

   Tend clandestine buds, ready to sprout from their twigs.

Everything comes to be and perishes lawfully, only

   Human delectable life suffers a wavering fate.

Not to the son who is reaching the flower of youth does a father

   Nod from the brink of the grave, willing to die as he must.

It is not always the young who shut the eyes of the old folk,

   Eyes that are willing to close, frailty yielding to strength.

Fate will reverse, more often, the sequence of days, and a person

            Full of his years must lament children and grandchildren dead,

Stand like a stricken bole, the broken branches around him

            Scattered on every side, ripped by the torrents of hail.

Such were the thoughts, my beautiful child, that bore down upon me,

    When as a corpse you hung feigning a death in my arms.

But what a joy to see you again, in the glow of your girlhood,

    Creature I love very much, close to my heart and revived.

Off with you now, and be glad, little boy in disguise! For the girl will

    Grow to enrapture the world, captivating me quite!

Strive as you strove today; and, as for your natural talent,

    Climbing the ladder of life may it be modelled by art.

Be my delight for years to come, may your beautiful gift be

    Perfect before my eyes finally close on the world.­ –

Those were your words, an important moment, I'll never forget it,

    Later I grew to be me, thanks to your speech so sublime.

0 how I loved to address to people the stirring orations,

    Weighty with meaning, your words, placed on the lips of a child.

When you were watching, 0 how I grew, I was seeking you always

    Out in the public below, people entirely amazed.

Yet that is where you will be, you will stand there, and Euphrosyne,

    Never again will she step forward to brighten your glance.

You will not hear them again, the sounds of the voice of your pupil,

    Which you so early attuned, early, to passionate grief.

Others come and they go; for others will certainly please you.

    Even a talent that's great fades when a greater one comes.

But don't ever forget me. If anyone ever comes brightly

    Forward to meet you amid vague goings-on of the day,

Follows the signals you give and basks in the smile of your favour,

    Never desiring a place other than that you appoint,

Sparing herself not at all, but working, actively, gladly

    Sacrificing her all, up to the gate of the grave­ –

Friend, be mindful of me, I ask you, say, sooner or later,

    Euphrosyne again! Back to me she has come!

Much besides I would like to say; but a spirit departing

    Cannot stop as she will; strictly I'm led by a god.

Fare thee well! I am hurried away by a vague commotion.

    Listen, I have one wish: kindly grant it, my friend:

Let me not go down unmagnified into the shadows!

   Only the Muse can endow death with an inkling of life.

For there are floating, in the domain of Persephoneia,

   Multitudes without shape, shadows bereft of all name;

Whomsoever the poet will praise, though, walks with a difference,

   Has an identity, formed, joins in the heroes' choir.

Joy will be winging my step, if a song from you has announced me,

            Gracious upon me will rest, also, the goddess's gaze.

Then she'll receive me with clemency, speaking my name, and the others,

   Goddesses, close to the throne, lofty women, will wave.

That most loyal of women, Penelope, she will address me,

   Also Euadne, who clings close to the husband she loves.

Later the others will come who were sent below prematurely,

   Near me there will be girls, grieving with me for our fate.

When Antigone comes, of all the souls most like a sister,

   Also Polyxena, still dark with her death as a bride,

I shall be seeing them all as sisters, joining their number,

   For of the tragical art delicate creatures they are.

Me, too, shaped I was by a poet, and some of his poems,

   Yes, for me, will complete moments denied me in life."­

Thus did she speak and still with her sweet lips open and moving,

   Making as if to speak, only a whirring I heard.

For from the purple cloud as it floated, always in motion,

   Imperturbable strode Hermes the glorious god.

Gently he lifted his staff and pointed: billowing vapours

   Waxed more dense, and the two-swallowed up into them, gone.

Night more darkly presses around me, tumultuous waters

   Thunder now more loud, flanking the slippery path.

Stricken I am, with a sorrow unbearable, shocked with the pity,

   Weak, I lean on a rock, feeling the moss with a hand.

Misery sweeps the strings of my heart, a dark weeping

   Flows; and over the trees comes a first shimmer of dawn.

 

 

Translated by Christopher Middleton