On last week's poem of the week, posters discussed the valediction to Venus and, alternatively, the "hello" to Venus, as poetic genres worthy of future exploration. March 21 being the first day of spring, it seems that optimism is called for, so this week's choice is an extract from the celebratory poem The Vigil of Venus (Pervigilium Veneris), translated by Thomas Parnell. Imagine the rich colours of a Sicilian April (even if the north wind is blowing the daffodils flat on your own patch of turf) and a walk on the wild side, a kind of Saturnalia, that continues over three delirious nights... the Latin original and a modern translation you may enjoy are here.
Thomas Parnell (1679-1718) might seem a rather unlikely celebrant of Venus, since he's generally associated with the Graveyard school, and thought to have written its first poem, A Night-Piece on Death. The Graveyard poets, precursors of the Romantics, focused on human mortality and often depicted in their work a lonely nocturnal wanderer among tombs. Having the Christian name Thomas seems to have helped: besides Parnell, there are the Thomases Percy, Warton, Chatterton and, of course, the illustrious Gray.
Parnell, a Dubliner, was a minister, essayist and wit; he knew Swift and Pope and was a member of the Scriblerians. A melancholic disposition seems to have been exacerbated by the death of his wife. Perhaps he was attracted by the lush, sensuous imagery of the Pervigilium and the heartening song of the refrain. Or perhaps the melancholy turn just before the end would have appealed to him: "How long in coming is my lovely spring?/ And when shall I, and when the Swallow, sing?"
The original Pervigilium Veneris is thought to date from the fourth century, and is attributed to Tiberianus. Tiberianus wrote a poem, Amnis Ibat, in a similar (not identical) metre, also about the natural world and the "Pleasant Place", although no goddesses appear. Both are unusual in Latin poetry in having a metrical stress pattern rather than the usual quantitative arrangement of long and short syllables.
Parnell, in the tradition of Dryden and Pope, tidies the metre into heroic couplets. As translations go, this one has its longeurs: "descending rain", "Walks that winding run within the groves", "Wand'ring in circles stood the finny crew." Parnell nods off at times, you feel. But there some happier touches, especially in the third stanza, which makes me think of Hopkins's "wildness and wet", with its mist and dewdrops, its "bright trembling Pearls" and "glossy" roses. This is where the extract starts, but if you want to read the whole of Parnell's translation, it's here.
The rhythmic excitement mounts steadily: "From Gemms, from flames, from orient Rays of Light/ The richest Lustre makes her purple bright." It reaches a crescendo, and the refrain pours fire on fire. Now, after the nuptials of Venus/Dione, it's the turn of the Nymphs. Parnell daintily versifies the passage in which Cupid pretends to be naked and unarmed, but it's worthwhile to compare the elegant and simple prose version that Walter Pater wove into his novel, Marius the Epicurean:
"Amor has put his weapons by and will keep holiday. He was bidden go without apparel that none may be wounded by his arrows. But take care! In truth, he is none the less armed than usual, though he be all unclad."
Parnell's refrain is definitely one of the triumphs of his translation. The English versions of "cras amet qui numquam amavit quique amavit cras amet" are often ungraceful: "Let him love tomorrow who has never loved, and let him who has loved love tomorrow." Parnell gives this sentence an epigrammatic quality not completely alien to the deftness of the Latin, and a rhyme that doesn't force the thought too far. It is succinct and memorable:
"Let those love now who never loved before,
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more."
From The Vigil of Venus
She paints the purple Year with vary'd show,
Tips the green gem, and makes the Blossom glow.
She makes the turgid Buds receive the Breeze,
Expand to Leaves, and shade the naked Trees.
When gath'ring damps the misty Nights diffuse,
She sprinkles all the Morn with balmy Dews;
Bright trembling Pearls depend at every spray,
And kept from falling, seem to fall away.
A glossy freshness hence the Rose receives,
And blushes sweet through all her silken leaves;
(The drops descending through the silent Night,
while Stars serenely roll their golden Light,)
Close 'till the morn, her humid Veil she holds;
Then deckt with Virgin Pomp the Flow'r unfolds.
Soon will the Morning blush: Ye Maids! Prepare,
In rosy garlands bind your flowing Hair.
'Tis Venus's Plant: The Blood fair Venus shed,
O'er the gay Beauty poured immortal Red;
From Love's soft Kiss a sweet Ambrosial Smell
Was taught for ever on the Leaves to dwell;
From Gemms, from Flames, from orient Rays of Light
The richest Lustre makes her Purple bright;
And she to morrow weds; the sporting gale
Unties her Zone, she bursts the verdant Veil;
Thro' all her sweets the riffling Lover flies,
And as he breathes, her glowing Fires arise.
Let those love now, who never loved before,
Let those who always loved, now love the more.
Now fair Dione to the Myrtle Grove
Sends her gay Nymphs, and sends her tender Love.
And shall they venture? Is it safe to go?
While Nymphs have Hearts, and Cupid wears a Bow?
Yes safely venture, 'tis his Mother's Will;
He walks unarmed and undesigning ill,
His Torch extinct, his Quiver useless hung,
His Arrows idle, and his Bow unstrung.
And yet, ye Nymphs, beware, his Eyes have Charms,
And love that's naked, still is love in Arms.
Let those love now, who never loved before,
Let those who always loved, now love the more.