" AMIDST the deepest sea juts up an isle
Upon whose rocks the breakers ever beat,
Grumbling and quarreling at his defense.
Always at war with him, the billows strike
And, as they deal their blows, ofttimes succeed
In burying his head beneath the waves;
But then again the giant frees himself
Of all the water that has flooded him,
And, as the waves draw back, he lifts his head
And breathes again. But no one shape he keeps,
Transmuting and transforming his disguise,
His clothing changing e'er to something new.
Sometimes, when Zephyr rides the sea, he decks
His lifted head with grasses green, and flowers
Like heaven's flaming stars. Again he reaps,
With freezing sword, the flowerets and grass,
So that they die as soon as they are born
When cold Boreas blows his breath on them.
" Ambiguous forest of amazing trees
Of strange varieties this rock supports.
Sterile are some and nothing ever bear,
Others delight in offering plenteous fruit;
Some never cease to be in flower, and some
Are naked quite of blooms; while some remain
Ever in leaf, some ne'er show foliage;
Some wither while the others flourish green;
If one tree raise his head, his neighbor trees
Incline to earth; and buds, that grow on some,
Are on some others blasted utterly.
Each tree there takes the form of other tree;
While stands the giant broom, the dwarf pine squats;
The laurel leaf that should be green is brown;
Barren the olive that should fecund be;
Willows, against their nature, bring forth fruit;
The elm excels the vine in bearing grapes.
There rarely chant the nightingales; but oft
The broad-faced screech owls make lament and cry,
Prophets of evil, messengers of grief.
" From different sources spring two neighbor streams,
Winter and summer flowing there, diverse
In flavor, color, form. Water from one
Is fine and pleasant, and so honeylike
That one who tastes it overdrinks himself
Yet cannot slake his thirst with all its charm;
The more he quaffs, the more he wants to drink.
None sips of it without becoming drunk,
Yet none can free himself from his desire.
The sweetness of the water so deceives
That those who try to stanch their thirst but wish
To fill themselves more full. They are so fain
That each of them becomes quite dropsical.
Most prettily this river flows along
And murmurs in a melody more sweet
Than that of timbrel or of tambourine.
Whoever sees the stream explores its course;
And many haste to enter it, but stop
Forthwith, as powerless to forge ahead.
They scarce can wet their feet, and hardly touch
The waters sweet, no matter how they try.
But if they drink not more than smallest sip
And savor its deliciousness, they plunge
All willingly within the deep profound.
Others rush headlong down to swim the stream;
They bathe themselves within its gulf, and shout
How much at ease they are; but one small wave
Carries them back till on the bank they lie,
Burning and heartsick at their ill success.
" Of the other river's nature now I'll tell.
Tenebrous are its waters sulphurous;
Like smoking chimney evilly it smells,
And scummy is its surface. It descends
Not softly but with such a hideous roar
That worse than awful thunderclap it splits,
With its reverberations, all the air.
Zephyr upon this stream, as I believe,
Ne'er blows, and ruffles not the ugly waves,
Nor moves the depths; but Boreas' doleful breath
Essays a contest, buffeting the flood,
And makes its vales and plains rise mountain high
Till wave fights wave, the river labors so.
Sighing and moaning on its bank, a crowd,
Shedding their tears, cease not a sad lament,
Dismayed that they must swim such threatening stream.
Those who wade in not more than belly deep
Are straightway swallowed up, by force o'erthrown,
Or by the fearful, hideous waves tossed back.
If many are recast upon the shore,
As many sink, quite swallowed by the flood;
And sucked down in the mud are most of these
So that no trace discloses where they went
And where they must remain forevermore.
This river twists and turns through many a gorge
Until its waters poisonous it pours
Into its sister stream, transforming quite
That one's sereneness with its filth and mud.
It spreads its pestilential waters there
And troubles the sweet stream with bitter bane.
Quickly the latter's worth is quite destroyed
And even its sweetness lost by its consort
With the great heat of its ill-smelling guest.
" The home of Fortune on a hill is set,
Not on a level but on dangerous slope;
And it seems ever just about to fall
In crumbling ruin down. No rage of wind
Or tempest that may rise can it avoid,
But feels vexatious raids of many a storm.
Rarely does Zephyr, that soft, peerless breeze,
Temper with his sweet, peaceful breath the force
Of horrible assaults by harsher winds.
One half the hall stands high; the other, low.
It seems to dangle, slipping from its base.
Man never saw a more ambiguous house.
One part has gold and silver walls that shine,
And of like precious stuff is all the roof,
Gleaming with precious stones that are so bright
And magical they seem miraculous.
The other part has hand-thick walls of mud
And roof of straw. If one part proudly rears
Its height in beauty marvelous and fine,
The other grovels, feeble and debased,
With perforations making in its walls
Five hundred thousand crevices and gaps.
In this place 'tis that Fortune makes her home,
Unstable, changeable, and vagabond.
When she desires to be esteemed, she goes
Into the golden portion of her house
And lives there like a queen in her attire,
Appareled and adorned in trailing robes
Perfumed diversely, colored with fine dyes
Most suitable for silk and woolen goods,
Prepared from seeds and herbs and other things
Wherewith are tinted all such draperies
As rich folk wear to gain themselves most praise.
Fortune in this disguise cares not a straw
For any living man, but is so proud
When she beholds her body richly clothed
That there's no pride that's parallel to hers;
For, when she sees her honors and her wealth
And her incomparable majesty,
Not thinking how affairs may after fall,
Her folly mounts so high that she believes
No man or woman living has such worth.
Then she goes wandering throughout the house
With every turning of her fickle wheel
Until she comes into the viler part,
Feeble, decrepit, and about to fall,
Where, bending low and stumbling, she proceeds
As if she could not see. At last she falls,
Despoiling both her countenance and robe.
Orphaned of all her finery, she lies
Naked and stripped; and worthless now she seems,
All her resources have so wholly failed.
When she perceives her desperate quandary,
She makes a shameful bargain with her fate
And to the bordel goes to cool her heels,
Filled with despair and sighs, in floods of tears
To weep for all the honor she has lost
And the delight she had when richly dressed.
" Since Fortune's so perverse that she upsets
Into the mire, dishonored and aggrieved,
Full many a worthy man, and sets on high
Unworthy ones, profusely granting them
Dignity, honor, power — which she withdraws
As oft — it seems she knows not her own mind.
Therefore the ancients represented her
With blindfold eyes. As sample of the pranks
Of Fortune, who debases worthy men
And ruins them, but honors evil ones,
Let me, although I've cited him before,
Remind you once again of Socrates,
The valiant man whom I have loved so much
And all whose deeds recall whose love again to me. "
Upon whose rocks the breakers ever beat,
Grumbling and quarreling at his defense.
Always at war with him, the billows strike
And, as they deal their blows, ofttimes succeed
In burying his head beneath the waves;
But then again the giant frees himself
Of all the water that has flooded him,
And, as the waves draw back, he lifts his head
And breathes again. But no one shape he keeps,
Transmuting and transforming his disguise,
His clothing changing e'er to something new.
Sometimes, when Zephyr rides the sea, he decks
His lifted head with grasses green, and flowers
Like heaven's flaming stars. Again he reaps,
With freezing sword, the flowerets and grass,
So that they die as soon as they are born
When cold Boreas blows his breath on them.
" Ambiguous forest of amazing trees
Of strange varieties this rock supports.
Sterile are some and nothing ever bear,
Others delight in offering plenteous fruit;
Some never cease to be in flower, and some
Are naked quite of blooms; while some remain
Ever in leaf, some ne'er show foliage;
Some wither while the others flourish green;
If one tree raise his head, his neighbor trees
Incline to earth; and buds, that grow on some,
Are on some others blasted utterly.
Each tree there takes the form of other tree;
While stands the giant broom, the dwarf pine squats;
The laurel leaf that should be green is brown;
Barren the olive that should fecund be;
Willows, against their nature, bring forth fruit;
The elm excels the vine in bearing grapes.
There rarely chant the nightingales; but oft
The broad-faced screech owls make lament and cry,
Prophets of evil, messengers of grief.
" From different sources spring two neighbor streams,
Winter and summer flowing there, diverse
In flavor, color, form. Water from one
Is fine and pleasant, and so honeylike
That one who tastes it overdrinks himself
Yet cannot slake his thirst with all its charm;
The more he quaffs, the more he wants to drink.
None sips of it without becoming drunk,
Yet none can free himself from his desire.
The sweetness of the water so deceives
That those who try to stanch their thirst but wish
To fill themselves more full. They are so fain
That each of them becomes quite dropsical.
Most prettily this river flows along
And murmurs in a melody more sweet
Than that of timbrel or of tambourine.
Whoever sees the stream explores its course;
And many haste to enter it, but stop
Forthwith, as powerless to forge ahead.
They scarce can wet their feet, and hardly touch
The waters sweet, no matter how they try.
But if they drink not more than smallest sip
And savor its deliciousness, they plunge
All willingly within the deep profound.
Others rush headlong down to swim the stream;
They bathe themselves within its gulf, and shout
How much at ease they are; but one small wave
Carries them back till on the bank they lie,
Burning and heartsick at their ill success.
" Of the other river's nature now I'll tell.
Tenebrous are its waters sulphurous;
Like smoking chimney evilly it smells,
And scummy is its surface. It descends
Not softly but with such a hideous roar
That worse than awful thunderclap it splits,
With its reverberations, all the air.
Zephyr upon this stream, as I believe,
Ne'er blows, and ruffles not the ugly waves,
Nor moves the depths; but Boreas' doleful breath
Essays a contest, buffeting the flood,
And makes its vales and plains rise mountain high
Till wave fights wave, the river labors so.
Sighing and moaning on its bank, a crowd,
Shedding their tears, cease not a sad lament,
Dismayed that they must swim such threatening stream.
Those who wade in not more than belly deep
Are straightway swallowed up, by force o'erthrown,
Or by the fearful, hideous waves tossed back.
If many are recast upon the shore,
As many sink, quite swallowed by the flood;
And sucked down in the mud are most of these
So that no trace discloses where they went
And where they must remain forevermore.
This river twists and turns through many a gorge
Until its waters poisonous it pours
Into its sister stream, transforming quite
That one's sereneness with its filth and mud.
It spreads its pestilential waters there
And troubles the sweet stream with bitter bane.
Quickly the latter's worth is quite destroyed
And even its sweetness lost by its consort
With the great heat of its ill-smelling guest.
" The home of Fortune on a hill is set,
Not on a level but on dangerous slope;
And it seems ever just about to fall
In crumbling ruin down. No rage of wind
Or tempest that may rise can it avoid,
But feels vexatious raids of many a storm.
Rarely does Zephyr, that soft, peerless breeze,
Temper with his sweet, peaceful breath the force
Of horrible assaults by harsher winds.
One half the hall stands high; the other, low.
It seems to dangle, slipping from its base.
Man never saw a more ambiguous house.
One part has gold and silver walls that shine,
And of like precious stuff is all the roof,
Gleaming with precious stones that are so bright
And magical they seem miraculous.
The other part has hand-thick walls of mud
And roof of straw. If one part proudly rears
Its height in beauty marvelous and fine,
The other grovels, feeble and debased,
With perforations making in its walls
Five hundred thousand crevices and gaps.
In this place 'tis that Fortune makes her home,
Unstable, changeable, and vagabond.
When she desires to be esteemed, she goes
Into the golden portion of her house
And lives there like a queen in her attire,
Appareled and adorned in trailing robes
Perfumed diversely, colored with fine dyes
Most suitable for silk and woolen goods,
Prepared from seeds and herbs and other things
Wherewith are tinted all such draperies
As rich folk wear to gain themselves most praise.
Fortune in this disguise cares not a straw
For any living man, but is so proud
When she beholds her body richly clothed
That there's no pride that's parallel to hers;
For, when she sees her honors and her wealth
And her incomparable majesty,
Not thinking how affairs may after fall,
Her folly mounts so high that she believes
No man or woman living has such worth.
Then she goes wandering throughout the house
With every turning of her fickle wheel
Until she comes into the viler part,
Feeble, decrepit, and about to fall,
Where, bending low and stumbling, she proceeds
As if she could not see. At last she falls,
Despoiling both her countenance and robe.
Orphaned of all her finery, she lies
Naked and stripped; and worthless now she seems,
All her resources have so wholly failed.
When she perceives her desperate quandary,
She makes a shameful bargain with her fate
And to the bordel goes to cool her heels,
Filled with despair and sighs, in floods of tears
To weep for all the honor she has lost
And the delight she had when richly dressed.
" Since Fortune's so perverse that she upsets
Into the mire, dishonored and aggrieved,
Full many a worthy man, and sets on high
Unworthy ones, profusely granting them
Dignity, honor, power — which she withdraws
As oft — it seems she knows not her own mind.
Therefore the ancients represented her
With blindfold eyes. As sample of the pranks
Of Fortune, who debases worthy men
And ruins them, but honors evil ones,
Let me, although I've cited him before,
Remind you once again of Socrates,
The valiant man whom I have loved so much
And all whose deeds recall whose love again to me. "