de Ave Phoenice: DE AVE PHOENICE

Est locus in primo oriente remotus
     qua patet aeterni maxima porta poli
nec tantum aestivos hyemisque propinquus ad ortus
     in quo sol verno fundit ab axe diem.
illic planicies tractus diffundit apertos
     nec tumulus crescit nec cava vallis hiat
sed nostros montes: quorum iuga celsa putantur
     per bis sex ulnas eminet ille locus
hic solis nemus est: et consitus arbore multa
     lucus perpetuae frondis honore virens
cum phaetontaeis flagrasset ab ignibus axis
     ille locus flammis inviolatus erat
et cum diluvium mersisset fluctibus orbem
     deucalionaeas exuperavit aquas.
non hunc exangues morbi non aegra senectus
     nec mors crudelis nec metus asper adit
nec scelus infandum nec opum vesana cupido
     aut metus aut ardens caedis amore furor.

There is a place remote in the foremost East
     where the greatest gate of the eternal sky opens
and close not merely to the summer and winter risings
     in which the sun from his vernal axle pours the day.
there a plain spreads open stretches
     no mound rises nor yawns a hollow valley
but our mountains: whose lofty ridges are thought
     to tower that place by 12 ells
here is the grove of the Sun: and planted with many a tree
     a sacred wood green in the honor of perennial foliage
when the axle had blazed with Phaethontian fires
     that place remained unviolated by flames
and when the deluge had drowned the world with waves
     it rose above the Deucalionian waters.
no bloodless disease, no ailing old age
     nor cruel death nor harsh fear approaches it
nor unspeakable crime nor the mad lust for riches
     nor terror nor a fury burning with love of slaughter.

luctus acerbus abest et aegestas obsita pannis
     et curae in sontes et violenta fames.
Non ibi tempestas nec vis horrida venti
     nec rigido terram rore pruina tegit.
nulla super campos tendit sua vellera nubes
     nec cadit ex alto timidus humor aquae.

bitter grief is absent and poverty clad in rags
     and cares in tatters and violent hunger.
No storm there nor the dreadful force of wind
     nor does frost cover the earth with rigid dew.
no cloud stretches its fleeces over the fields
     nor falls from on high the timid moisture of water.

sed fons in medio est quem vivum nomine dicunt
     perspicuus lucens dulcibus uber aquis.
qui semel erumpens per singula tempora mensum
     duodecies undis irrigat omne nemus.
hic genus arboreum procero stipite surgens
     non lapsura solo mitia poma gerit.

but there is a spring in the middle which they call the Living by name
     clear, shining, rich with sweet waters.
which, once bursting forth through each of the month’s successive times,
     twelve times with its waves irrigates every grove.
this arboreal stock rising on a tall trunk
     bears gentle fruits that will not fall to the ground.

hoc nemus hos lucos avis incolit unica phoenix
     unica sic vivit morte refecta sua
paret et obsequitur phoebei memoranda satelles
     hoc natura parens munus habere dedit.
lutea cum primum surgens aurora rubescit
     cum primum rosea sidera luce fugat.
ter quater illa pia immergit corpus in undas
     ter quater e vivo gurgite libat aquam
tollitur ac summo consedit in arboris altae
     vertice quae totum despicit una nemus
et conversa novos Phoebi nascentis ad ortus
     expectat radios et iubar exoriens
ast ubi sol pepulit fulgentis lumina portae
     et primum emicuit luminis aura levis
incipit illa sacri modulamina fundere cantus
     et mira lucem voce ciere novam.

this wood, these groves are inhabited by a sole bird, the phoenix alone
     alone thus lives, renewed by its own death
and obeys and attends the remembered attendant of Phoebus
     such a gift Nature the parent granted it to hold.
when first the yellow Dawn grows red
     when first the rosy stars drive back their light.
twelve times that pious bird plunges its body into the waves
     twelve times it draws water from the living flood
it rises and sits upon the summit of a lofty tree
     which looks down upon the whole single wood
and, turned toward the new risings of Phoebus the newborn
     it watches for the rays and the rising beam
but when the sun has scattered the lights of the shining gate
     and the first slight breeze of light has flashed forth
that bird begins to pour forth the melodies of sacred song
     and with wondrous voice to summon a new light.

quam nec aedoniae voces nec tibia possit
     musica cyrrhaeis assimilare modis
sed neque dolor moriens imitare nosse putatur
     nec cylleneae fila canorae lyrae
postquam Phoebus equs in aperta refudit Olympi
     atque orbem totum pertulit usque
illa ter alarum alarum repetito verbere plaudit
     non errabilibus nocte cieque sonis.
atque eadem celeres etiam discriminat horas
     igniferumque caput ter venerata silet
antistes nemorum luce veneranda sacerdos
     et sola arcanis conscia Phoebe tuis
quae postquam vitae iam mille peregerit annos
     at se reddiderint tempora longa gravem.
ut reparet lassum spatiis urgentibus evum
     assueti nemoris dulce cubile fugit.

which neither the voices of the Aedonians nor the pipe can assimilate
     to Cyrrhaean music in measure;
but nor is dying sorrow thought able to imitate or to know
     nor the tuneful strings of Cyllene’s lyre,
after Phoebus, when his horses poured forth into the open of Olympus
     and bore the whole orb away to the farthest reach,
she thrice, with the beat of her wings repeated, claps her wings together
     not with errant nocturnal and blind sounds.
and likewise she marks the swift hours apart
     and thrice, revering her fire-bearing head, is silent —
the venerable overseer of the groves, a priest venerable in the light,
     and alone privy to your secret rites, O Phoebe,
who, after she shall have completed now 1,000 years of life,
     and long seasons have rendered her weighty with age,
that she might restore the weary age pressed by continual courses,
     flies to the sweet couch of the accustomed grove.

cumque renascendi studio loca sancta reliquit
     tunc petit hunc orbem mors ubi regna tenet
dirigit in Syeriam celeres longaeva volatus
     phoenicis nomen cui dedit ipsa vetus.
secretosque petit deserta per avia lucos
     hic ubi per saltus silva remota latet
tum legit aereo sublimem vertice palmam
     quae gratum phoenix ex ave nomen habet.
quam nec dente potens animal perumpere possit
     lubricus aut serpens aut avis ulla rapax.

and when, with a zeal for rebirth, she left the holy places
     then Death seeks this orb where she holds her realms
she directs her long-lived, swift flight to Syria
     to which the ancient mother herself gave the name Phoenix.
and she seeks the secluded groves through deserted ways
     there where the wood lies hidden through remote glades
then she picks a palm high with an airy summit
     which the bird grants the pleasing name Phoenix.
which no powerful beast can pierce with tooth
     neither slippery serpent nor any rapacious bird.

tum ventos claudit pendentibus Aeolus antris
     ne violent flabris aera purpurum
neu concreta notho per inania coeli.
     summoneat radios solis et obsit avi.
construit inde sibi seu nidum sive sepulcrum
     nam perit ut vivas se tamen ipsa creat
colligit hinc succos et odores divite silva
     quos legit Assyrus quos opulentus Arabs.

then Aeolus locks the winds in his pendent caves
     lest with violent breaths they ravage the purple air
     nor, congealed with the south, sweep through the voids of heaven.
     may he summon the sun’s rays and set them against the bird.
he then builds for himself either a nest or a sepulchre
     for it perishes, yet by itself brings itself back to life;
it gathers thence juices and perfumes from the rich wood
     which the Assyrian collects, which the opulent Arab chooses.

quos aut Pygmeae gentes aut India carpit
     aut molli generat terra Sabaea sinu.
cinama dehinc auramque procul spirantis amomi
     congerit et mixto balsama cum folio.
non casiae mitis non olentis vimen achanti
     nec thuris lachrymae utraque pinguis abest
his addit teneras nardi pubentis aristas
     et sociat myrrhae pascua grata nimis
protinus in strato corpus mutabile nido
     vitalique thoro membra quieta locat
oreque dehinc succos membris circumque supraque
     iniicit exequiis immoritura suis
tunc inter varios animam commendat odores
     depositi tanti nec timet ulla finem.

which either Pygmy peoples or India plucks,
     or the Sabaean land brings forth in a soft bay.
then he gathers cinnamon and the breeze of far‑breathing amomum
     and balsam mingled with leafs.
not lacking is mild cassia, nor the fragrant osier of achantus,
     nor the tears of frankincense, both rich.
to these he adds the tender ears of nard that silky‑grow,
     and joins the pastures of myrrh, exceedingly pleasing.
straightaway on a mattress, in a nest mutable,
     he lays his body and limbs upon the vital couch in quiet.
and with his beak then he pours juices about the limbs and above them
     for his own funerals, undying.
then among the manifold odors he commits his soul
     to so great a deposit, and fears no end at all.

interea corpus genitali morte peremptum
     aestuat et flammas protulit ipse calor
aereoque procul de lumine concipit ignem
     flagrat et ambustum solvitur in cinerem.
hos velut in massam cineres in morte coactos
     conflat et effectum seminis instar habet
hinc animal primum sine membris fertur oriri
     sed fertur vermis lacteus esse color
creverit immensum subito cum tempore certo
     seque qui teretis colligit in speciem.
inde reformatur qualis fuit ante figura
     et phoenix ruptis pullulat exuviis.

meanwhile the body, consumed by genital death,
     seethes and heat itself brings forth the flames
and from the aereal light at distance conceives a fire
     it burns, and burnt, is resolved into cinder.
these ashes, as if driven into a single mass in death,
     it blows together and has the likeness of a seed’s effect
thence first an animal is said to be borne without limbs
     but reported to be a milky-coloured worm
it suddenly grows immense at a fixed time
     and, polishing itself, gathers into a shape.
thence it is re‑formed into the figure it had before
     and the phoenix buds forth from its rent exuviae.

ac velut agrestes cum filo ad saxa tenentur
     mutari pennae papilione solent.
non illi cibus est nostro concessus in orbe
     nec cuiquam implumem pascere cura subest.
ambrosio libat coelesti nectare rores
     stellifero teneri qui cecidere polo.

and just as rustic birds, when held with their brood by the rocks,
     are wont to have their plumes changed into a papillon.
to him no victual is allotted in our orb
     nor does any care exist to nourish an unplumed one.
he pours ambrosial dews of celestial nectar
     which tenderly fell from the star-bearing pole.

hos legit his mediis alitur in odoribus ales
     donec maturam proferat effigiem.
ast ubi primaeva coepit florere iuventa
     evolat ad patria iam reditura domos.
ante tamen proprio quicquid de corpore restat
     ossaque vel cineres exuviasque suas.

These it gathers, a winged one nourished amid these odors
     until it brings forth a mature effigy.
but when primeval youth begins to bloom
     it flies forth to its native homes, now about to return.
yet before that, whatever of the body remains proper
     —bones or even ashes and its own exuviae.

unguine balsameoque myrrhaque et thure soluto
     condit et in formam conglobat ore pio.
quam pedibus gestans contendit solis ad ortus
     inque ara residens promit in aede sacra.
mirandam sese prestat praebetque vehenti
     tantus ibi decor est tantus abundat honor.

with ointment and balsam and myrrh and incense dissolved
     she encloses and gathers into shape with pious mouth.
whom, bearing on her feet, she hastens toward the sun’s rising
     and, sitting on the altar, offers forth in the sacred shrine.
wondrous she presents herself and grants to the bearer
     so great is the beauty there, so great does honor abound.

principio color est qualis sub sidere coeli
mitia quae croceo punica grana legunt.
qualis inest foliis quae fert agreste papaver
cum pedes vestit sole rubente polus.
hoc humeri pectusque decens velamine fulgent.

at first the color is such as under the heaven’s star
soft hues that gather saffron and Punic grains.
such as is found in the leaves borne by the wild poppy
when the sky, reddening with the sun, clothes its feet.
thus the shoulders and breast, becoming, gleam with a fair veil.

     hoc caput hoc cervix summaque terga nitent
caudaque porrigitur fulvo distincta metallo
     in cuius maculis purpura mixta rubet.
clarum inter pennas insigne desuper iris
     pingere ceu nubem desuper alta solet.
albicat insignis mixto viriditate smaragdo
     et puro cornu gemmea cuspis hiat.

     this head, this neck, and the gleaming highest back
and the tail is outstretched, variegated with a tawny metal
     in whose spots purple, mingled, glows red.
a bright iris above, an emblem among the feathers
     as if from on high it were wont to paint the cloud above.
notably it whitens, distinguished, with a green mingled like emerald
     and at the pure horn a gemlike cusp yawns.

ingentes oculos credas geminosque hiacyntos
     quorum de medio lucida flamma micat.
aequatur toto capiti radiata corona
     phoebei referens verticis alta decus.
crura tegunt squammeae flavo distincta metallo
     ast ungues roseus pingit honore color.

ingentes oculos credas geminosque hiacyntos
     quorum de medio lucida flamma micat.
a radiant crown, radiata corona, encircles the whole head,
     bearing the high ornament of Phoebus' summit.
scaly legs, squammeae, cover the shanks, marked with yellow metal,
     and a rosy hue, roseus color, paints the claws with honor.

effigies inter pavonis mixta figuram
     cernitur et mixtam phasidis inter avem
magnifice terris Arabum quae gignitur ales.
     vix aequare potest seu fera seu fit avis.
non tamen est tarda ut volucres quae corpore magno
     incessus pigros per grave pondus habent.

an effigy amid the peacock, mixed in form, is seen
     and perceived mingled with the pheasant among birds—
the magnificent bird which is born in the lands of the Arabs.
     It can scarcely be matched, whether beast or whether it be a bird.
notwithstanding it is not slow as are those fowls which with a large body
     have a lagging gait because of their heavy weight.

sed levis et velox regali plena decore
     talis in aspectu se praebet usque hominum.
convenit Aegyptus tanti ad miracula visus
     et raram volucrem turba salutat ovans.
protinus isculpunt sacrato in marmore formam
     et signant titulo remque diemque novo.

but light and swift, full of regal decorum
     such in aspect he shows himself even to men.
Egypt is meet for so great a wonder of sight
     and the throng salutes the rare winged creature exulting.
forthwith they carve the shape in consecrated marble
     and inscribe it with a title, and record the thing and the day anew.

contrahit in coetum sese genus omne volantum.
     nec praedae memor est ulla nec ulla metus
alitum stipata choro volat illa per altum
     turbaque prosequitur munere laeta pio.
sed postquam puri pervenit ad aetheris auras
     mox redit ista suis conditor ille locis.

it gathers into a company the whole genus of flying creatures.
     and it is mindful neither of any prey nor of any fear
surrounded by a chorus of birds it flies through the high air
     and the throng follows, rejoicing at the pious gift.
but after it arrives at the pure breaths of the ether
     soon that maker restores it to its own places.

a fortunatae sortis finisque volucrem
     cui de se nasci praestitit ipse deus!
femina vel mas haec seu neutrum seu sit utrumque
     felix quae Veneris foedera nulla colit
mors illi venus est, sola est in morte voluptas
     ut possit nasci appetit ante mori.
ipsa sibi proles suus est pater et suus heres
     nutrix ipsa sui semper alumna sibi
ipsa quidem sed non eadem quia et ipsa nec ipsa est
     aeternam vitam mortis adepta bono.

a fortunate lot and the end of a winged one
     to whom from himself God Himself granted to be born!
woman or man this be, or neither, or both
     happy who observes none of Venus’ bonds
death is to her Venus, alone in death is delight
     so that, that she may be born, she desires to die beforehand.
she herself is to herself offspring, her own father and her own heir
     herself the nurse of herself, always a pupil to herself
indeed she is herself yet not the same, for she herself is not herself
     having obtained eternal life by the good of death.