| GEORGICON - I.461-497 | IN FINE, WHAT EVENING BRINGS ... |
| Virgil (P. Vergilius Maro) | trans. K. R. Mackenzie |
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denique, quid Vesper serus uehat, unde serenas uentus agat nubes, quid cogitet umidus Auster, sol tibi signa dabit. solem quis dicere falsum audeat? ille etiam caecos instare tumultus saepe monet fraudemque et operta tumescere bella; ille etiam exstincto miseratus Caesare Romam, cum caput obscura nitidum ferrugine texit impiaque aeternam timuerunt saecula noctem. tempore quamquam illo tellus quoque et aequora ponti, obscenaeque canes importunaeque uolucres signa dabant. quotiens Cyclopum efferuere in agros uidimus undantem ruptis fornacibus Aetnam, flammarumque globos liquefactaque uoluere saxa! armorum sonitum toto Germania caelo audiit, insolitis tremuerunt motibus Alpes. uox quoque per lucos uulgo exaudita silentis ingens, et simulacra modis pallentia miris uisa sub obscurum noctis, pecudesque locutae (infandum!); sistunt amnes terraeque dehiscunt, et maestum inlacrimat templis ebur aeraque sudant. proluit insano contorquens uertice siluas fluuiorum rex Eridanus camposque per omnis cum stabulis armenta tulit. nec tempore eodem tristibus aut extis fibrae apparere minaces aut puteis manare cruor cessauit, et altae per noctem resonare lupis ululantibus urbes. non alias caelo ceciderunt plura sereno fulgura nec diri totiens arsere cometae. ergo inter sese paribus concurrere telis Romanas acies iterum uidere Philippi; nec fuit indignum superis bis sanguine nostro Emathiam et latos Haemi pinguescere campos. scilicet et tempus ueniet, cum finibus illis agricola incuruo terram molitus aratro exesa inueniet scabra robigine pila, aut grauibus rastris galeas pulsabit inanis grandiaque effossis mirabitur ossa sepulcris. |
In fine, what evening brings, what wind will clear The sky, and what the south wind has in store, The sun will tell. For who would dare to call The sun a liar? Often too, he warns Of risings, secret plots and threatening wars. He pitied Rome, when Caesar was snuffed out, And veiled his shining head in rust-red gloom; A godless age feared everlasting night. In that hour, too, the earth and Ocean's plains And howling dogs and inauspicious birds Gave signs. How oft we saw Mount Etna burst Her furnaces and flood the Cyclops' fields, And whirl her balls of flame and molten rocks. The skies of Germany were loud with arms, And with unwonted tremors quaked the Alps. Amid the silence of the groves men heard A mighty voice. Strange shapes of pallid ghosts Were seen by night and - fearful prodigy - Beasts spoke as men. Earth gaped and rivers stopped, The images of bronze and ivory wept. Swirling across the plains with furious flood, The river Po, the monarch of the streams, Washed woods away and cattle, byres and all. And in those days the victims' entrails showed Ill-omened veins, and blood ran in the springs; High cities rang with nightly howl of wolves. So many bolts from clear sky never fell, Nor fearful comets had so often blazed. So once again Philippi saw the clash Of Roman armies matched with Roman arms; Nor were the gods displeased that Roman blood Enriched the plains of Macedonia twice. The day will surely come when in those fields The farmer, toiling with his curving plough, Will turn up spears devoured by flaking rust, Or strike an empty helmet with his hoe, And pause to wonder at heroic bones. |
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Transl. copyright © The Folio Society Ltd. 1969