Listen, my beloved, while the silver morning,
like a tranquil vision,
Fills the world around us and our hearts with
peace;
Quiet is the close of Aristaeus' legend, happy is
the ending--
Listen while I tell you how he found release.
Many months he wandered far away in sadness,
desolately thinking
Only of the vanished joys he could not find;
Till the great Apollo, pitying his shepherd, loosed
him from the burden
Of a dark, reluctant, backward-looking mind.
Then he saw around him all the changeful beauty
of the changing seasons,
In the world-wide regions where his journey
lay;
Birds that sang to cheer him, flowers that bloomed
beside him, stars that shone to guide him,--
Traveller's joy was plenty all along the way!
Everywhere he journeyed strangers made him
welcome, listened while he taught them
Secret lore of field and forest he had learned:
How to train the vines and make the olives fruit-
ful; how to guard the sheepfolds;
How to stay the fever when the dog-star burned.
Friendliness and blessing followed in his foot-
steps; richer were the harvests,
Happier the dwellings, wheresoe'er he came;
Little children loved him, and he left behind him,
in the hour of parting,
Memories of kindness and a god-like name.
So he travelled onward, desolate no longer,
patient in his seeking,
Reaping all the wayside comfort of his quest;
Till at last in Thracia, high upon Mount Haemus,
far from human dwelling,
Weary Aristaeus laid him down to rest.
Then the honey-makers, clad in downy whiteness,
fluttered soft around him,
Wrapt him in a dreamful slumber pure and
deep.
This is life, beloved: first a sheltered garden,
then a troubled journey,
Joy and pain of seeking,--and at last we sleep!