Part 10 (1/2)

THE ”GEORGICS”

The years that followed the publication of the _Eclogues_ see, and brooding Maecenas desired to keep the poet at Rome, and as an induceardens on the Esquiline The faoing, his _Bucolics_ had been set toin the concert halls to vehement applause[1] He seeenial There is inti of his epic; and in Horace's fourth book a refurbished early poeil--apparently the poet--as the pet of the fashi+onable world But these things had no attraction for hiination, _Roma pulcherrima rerum_, but it was the invisible Rome rather than the _fumum et opes strepitumque_, it was the city of pristine ideals, of irresistible potency, of Anchises' pageant of heroes When he walked through the Foru monuments in their new marble veneer, but beyond these, in the far distant past, the straw hut of Rorove on the Capitoline where the spirit of Jove had guarded a folk of simpler piety[2] And down the centuries he beheld the heroes, the law-givers, and the rulers, who had made the Forum the court of a world-wide empire The Rome of his own day was too feverish, it soon drove hiarden villa near Naples

[Footnote 1: Tacitus, _Dialogus_, 13: Malo securuilii secessuratia caruit neque apud populuusti epistulae, testis ipse populus, qui auditis in theatro Vergilii versibus surrexit universus et forte praesenteustum]

[Footnote 2: _Aeneid_ VIII]

It ell that he possessed such a retreat during those years of petty political squabbles The capital still hummed with rumors of civil war

Antony seemed determined to sever the eastern provinces froift to Cleopatra and her children--a mad course that could only end in another world war sextus Pompey still held Sicily and the central seas, ready to betray the state at the first mis-step on Octavian's part At Roh position ere at variance with the government, quite prepared to declare for Antony or Po heir of Caesar Clearly the great epic of Rome could not have ue, and selfishness The convulsions of the dying republic, beheld day by day near at hand, could only have inspired a disgust sufficient to poison a poet's sensitive hope It was indeed fortunate that Vergil could escape all this, that he could retain through the period of transition the reatness and the faith in her destiny that he had imbibed in his youth The time came when Octavian, after Actium, reunited the Empire with a firil, aleneration, had been able to preserve

During these few years Vergil seee poee from its exclusion froned to this period A study in teives us the song of a Syrian tavern- wayfarers into her inn from the hot and dusty road The spirit is ad translation:[3]

[Footnote 3: See Kirby Flower Srammatist and, Other Essays_, Johns Hopkins Press, 1920, p 170 The attribution of the poeil by the ancients as well as by the manuscripts, and the style of its fanciful realisil's work place the poeil's Poetry_, Harvard Studies, 1919, p 174, has well su the authorshi+p of the poem]

'Twas at a smoke-stained tavern, and she, the hostess there-- A wine-flushed Syrian damsel, a turban on her hair-- Beat out a husky tempo from reeds in either hand, And danced--the dainty wanton--an Ionian saraband

”'Tis hot,” she sang, ”and dusty; nay, travelers, whither bound?

Bide here and tip a beaker--till all the world goes round; Bide here and have for asking wine-pitchers, ardens, cool coverts, leafy bowers

In our Arcadian grotto we have someone to play On Pan-pipes, shepherd fashi+on, sweet music all the day

We broached a cask but lately; our busy little streale softly near you the while you drink and dream

Chaplets of yellow violets a-plenty you shall find, And glorious criarlands intertwined; And baskets heaped with lilies the water ny were

Here's cheese new pressed in rushes for everyone who coolden plurapes withal, Dark arden wall, Brown chestnuts, ruddy apples Divinities bide here, Fair Ceres, Cupid, Bacchus, those Gods of all good cheer, Priapus too--quite harh terrible to see-- Our little hardarden with scythe of trusty tree

”Ho, friar with the donkey, turn in and be our guest!

Your donkey--Vesta's darling--is weary; let hi still renew, And cool beneath the brambles the lizard lies perdu

So test our suhts for thirsty ain

Come, handsome boy, you're weary! 'Twere best for you to twine Your heavy head with roses and rest beneath our vine, Where dainty ar the strait-laced arlands for cold ashes why should you care to save?

Or would you rather keep therave?

Nay, drink and shake the dice-box Toone!

Death plucks your sleeve and whispers: 'Live now, I come anon'”

Memories of the Neapolitan bay! The _Copa_ should be read in the arbor of an _osteria_ at Sorrento or Capri to the rhythil's tavern- and dance upon the passerby[4]