~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From Peruigilium Veneris, The Eve of Venus, incerti auctoris, carmen de vere, in Latin and in English, edited and translated with a Commentary, by R. W. Postgate, Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston and New York, 1924; pp. 16-20.


      This online text is made available with the permission of Professor John Raymond Postgate and his newphew, Daniel Postgate, two remarkably kind men, both as notable in their own right as their illustrious ancestor.


Cover Title, 'The PERVIGILIVM VENERIS' in a diamond shaped scroll border.


PERVIGILIVM VENERIS

[15]

T E X T     A N D   T R A N S L A T I O N


[17]

THE
EVE OF VENUS
TRANSLATED.



To-morrow love comes to the loveless, to-morrow lovers love again.

Spring now is fresh and full of singing; in spring the world was born, in spring loves join hearts, in spring the birds mate and the wood loosens her hair for her husband rain. To-morrow among the trees’ shadows the Queen of loves weaves her bowers, plaited green with myrtle shoots :  to-morrow Dione reigns from high upon her throne.

To-morrow love comes to the loveless, to-morrow lovers love again.

On that day Ocean, from blood from heaven, with a ball of sea-foam, mingling both, among green multitudes and his two-foot horses, made Dione, the daughter of the waves.

To-morrow love comes to the loveless, to-morrow lovers love again.

She herself embroiders the crimsoning year with flower-jewels, herself with the west-wind’s breath swells the growing breasts into warm flowers, herself scatters the drops of shining dew left by the air of night :  they shine out like tears, quivering with their falling weight; each drop on the verge of falling holds back its tiny bead. See, the crimson flowers have betrayed their blush :  the dew that the stars drop in the clear night frees at dawn their virgin breasts from their dripping garments. She herself has ordered that at dawn all virgin roses shall marry :  made of Venus’ blood, of the kisses of love, of jewels, of flame, and of the crimsons of the sun, to-morrow unashamed the rose will unfold to her only husband, the south wind, the crimson hidden in its bridal veil.

To-morrow love comes to the loveless, to-morrow lovers love again.

She, the goddess, has sent her nymphs into her myrtle [19] grove :  a boy goes with the girls :  yet Love surely cannot be on holiday when he is carrying his arrows. Go, nymphs, he has dropped his arms :  Love is on holiday :  he is bidden to go unarmed and bare, so that he may do no injury with bow or arrow or torch. Yet be careful, nymphs, for Love is fair; and Love is fully armed when Love is bare.

To-morrow love comes to the loveless, to-morrow lovers love again.

Venus sends you virgins as modest :  one thing we ask, maid of Delos :  let the wood be unstained by the blood of wild creatures, and have green shadows and fresh flowers. She herself would ask you, if one so chaste would listen :  she herself would have you join us, if a virgin might. For three nights of holiday you should see the dancers and their fellows pass through your woods, among wreathed flowers and myrtle arbours, with wine and bread and poetry.

All night must we watch and sing :  let Venus reign in the woods :  Diana, go.

To-morrow love comes to the loveless, to-morrow lovers love again.

The goddess has ordered her court to be heaped with Hybla’s flowers :  she herself will preside and give judgment and by her side will be the graces. Hybla, pour out all the flowers the year has brought :  wear a garment of flowers as wide as the fields of Enna. Here will come country maidens, and maidens of the mountains :  and those from woods and groves and springs. She has ordered all to come, the mother of the winged boy :  she has ordered no girl to trust even in naked Love.

To-morrow love comes to the loveless, to-morrow lovers love again.

To-morrow is the day when primeval Ether married :  to create the year’s fruits from clouds he fell in spring as rain on to the bosom of his gentle wife, Earth, and mingled in her great body gives food to all that lives. She herself the procreatress, controls veins and mind by a spirit running [21] through within, with hidden strength :  through sky and land and the sea below she has made the passage of herself through all things, on her life-giving course, and shown to the world the secret of birth.

To-morrow love comes to the loveless, to-morrow lovers love again.

She herself brought to Italy her Trojan offspring, herself married the Laurentine princess to her son, and gave a sworn virgin from the chapel to Mars :  herself made the Roman marriage with the Sabines, the source of all the Roman nation, and for posterity of their posterity she created Caesar, the descendant and equal of Romulus.

To-morrow love comes to the loveless, to-morrow lovers love again.

The fields quicken with joy, the fields feel Venus’ power, Love himself, her child, they say was born in the fields :  when the meadow was flowering she held him to her bosom, she fed him on the soft kisses of flowers.

To-morrow love comes to the loveless, to-morrow lovers love again.

See, the bulls stretch out their flanks upon the broom, each safe and bound to his mates, the sheep bleat beneath the shade, ram and ewes, the birds are singing as the goddess has ordered, and the harsh voices of the swans ring over the pools. The nightingale sings from the shadow of a poplar, and you would think her music was a love-song, and not a sister’s complaint of her savage husband.

To-morrow love comes to the loveless, to-morrow lovers love again.

She is singing, we are dumb. When will spring come to me? When shall I become like a swallow and cease my silence? I have lost the muse by silence, and the god does not heed me.

To-morrow love comes to the loveless, to-morrow lovers love again.




*   T H E   E N D.   *

[22]
[blank]
[23]







Next:

Commentary.







~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~