Nature only is lovely, and nothing unnatural can ever be amiable. The
genuine expressions of truth and nature are happily calculated to
impress the heart with pleasure.
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VIRTUE REWARDED:
A Pastoral Tale:
[From the German of Gesner.]
Glicera was beautiful and poor. Scarce had she numbered sixteen springs,
when she lost the mother who had brought her up. Reduced to servitude,
she kept the flocks of Lamon, who cultivated the lands of a rich citizen
of Mitylene.
One day, her eyes flowing with tears, she went to visit her mother’s
solitary tomb. She poured upon her grave a cup of pure water, and
suspended crowns of flowers to the branches of the bushes she had
planted round it. Seated beneath the mournful shade, and drying up her
tears, she said, ‘O thou most tender of mothers, how dear to my heart is
the remembrance of thy virtues! If ever I forget the instructions thou
gavest me, with such a tranquil smile, in that fatal moment, when
inclining thy head upon my bosom, I saw thee expire; if ever I forget
them! may the propitious Gods forsake me, and may thy sacred shade
forever fly me! It is thou that hast just preserved my innocence. I come
to tell thy manes all. Wretch that I am! Is there any one on earth to
whom I dare open my heart?
‘Nicias, the Lord of this country, came hither to enjoy the pleasures of
the autumn. He saw me; he regarded me with a soft and gracious air. He
praised my flocks, and the care I took of them: he often told me that I
was genteel, and made me presents. Gods! how was I deceived! but in the
country who mistrusts? I said to myself, how kind our master is! may the
Gods reward him! all my vows shall be for him; ’tis all that I can do;
but I will forever do it. The rich are happy, and favoured by the
immortals. When bountiful, like Nicias, they deserve to be happy. This
to myself I said, and let him take my hand, and press it in his. The
other day I blushed, and dared not look up, when he put a gold ring upon
my finger. See, he said, what is engraved on this stone? A winged child,
who smiles like thee; and ’tis he that must make thee happy. As he spoke
these words, he stroaked my cheeks, that were redder than the fire. He
loves me; he has the tenderness of a father for me; how have I deserved
so much kindness from a Lord, and so rich and powerful? O, my mother,
that was all thy poor child thought. Heavens! how was I deceived! this
morning he found me in the orchard; he chuck’d me familiarly under the
chin. Come, he said, bring me some new-blown flowers to the myrtle
bower, that I may there enjoy their sweet perfumes. With haste I chose
the finest flowers; and, full of joy, I ran to the bower. Thou art, he
said, more nimble than the Zephyrs, and more beautiful than the Goddess
of flowers. Then, immortal Gods! I yet tremble at the thought; then he
catch’d me in his arms, and pressed me to his bosom, and all that love
can promise, all that is soft and seducing, flow’d from his lips.
I wept; I trembled. Unable to resist such arts, I had been forever lost.
No, thou wou’dst no longer have had a child, if thy remembrance had not
watch’d over my heart. Ah! if thy worthy mother had even seen thee
suffer such disgraceful caresses! that thought alone gave me power to
force myself from the arms of the seducer and fly.
‘Now I come; O with what comfort is it that I still dare! I come to weep
over thy grave. Alas! poor and unfortunate as I am, why did I lose thee
when so young. I droop like a flower, deprived of the support that
sustain’d its feeble stalk. This cup of pure water I pour to the honour
of thy manes. Accept this garland! receive my tears! may they penetrate
even to thy ashes! Hear, O my mother, hear; ’tis to thy dear remains,
that repose beneath those flowers, which my eyes have so often bedewed:
’tis to thy sacred shade I here renew the vows of my heart. Virtue,
innocence, and the fear of the Gods, shall make the happiness of my
days. Therefore poverty shall never disturb the serenity of my mind. May
I do nothing that thou wou’dst not have approv’d with a smile of
tenderness, and I shall surely be, as thou wast, belov’d of Gods and
men: For I shall be gentle, modest, and industrious, O my mother, by
living thus, I hope to die like thee, with smiles and tears of joy.’
Glicera, on quitting the place, felt all the powerful charms of virtue.
The gentle warmth that was diffused over her mind, sparkled in her eyes,
still wet with tears. She was beautiful as those days of spring, when
the sun shines through a transient shower.
With a mind quite tranquil, she was hastening back to her labour, when
Nicias ran to meet her. ‘O Glicera!’ he said, and tears flowed down his
cheeks, ‘I have heard thee at thy mother’s tomb. Fear nothing, virtuous
maid! I thank the immortal Gods! I thank that virtue, which hath
preserved me from the crime of seducing thy innocence. Forgive me,
chaste Glicera! forgive, nor dread in me a fresh offence. My virtue
triumphs through thine. Be wise, be virtuous, and be ever happy. That
meadow surrounded with trees, near to thy mother’s tomb, and half the
flock thou keepest, are thine.
‘May a man of equal virtue complete the happiness of thy days! weep not,
virtuous maid! but accept the present I offer thee with a sincere heart,
and suffer me from henceforth to watch over thy happiness. If thou
refusest me, a remorse for offending thy virtue will be the torment of
all my days. Forget, O vouchsafe to forget my crime, and I will revere
thee as a propitious power that hath defended me against myself.’
[[Sources:
Original: Daphne, prose, by Salomon Gessner 1730-1788.
Translations: Aminta, prose, in Gessner’s works, 1802 (different
translation than the one given here);
prose, “Nicias and Glicera”;
verse, “Daphne, or the Orphan”.]]
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