From: Venantius Fortunatus, poet, in Tours
To: Dynamius, patrician, at Marseille
Date: ~580 AD
Context: A second verse letter to Dynamius, apologizing for not writing sooner — blaming the heat of summer and the difficulty of composing verse in hot weather.
You have envied me, O seasons, my headlong love,
you who have forbidden the service of my vow to be performed
through lyric measures and talkative strings,
where the lyre echoes sweetly on ivory keys.
Now the summer-heat dog-star rises blazing
and the dry earth thirsts in the dusty margin.
I fear, fearing disease, lest some dart might wound,
and the slow heat of the poem melts from my mind.
In plain words: it is too hot to write poetry.
My pen lies down in the heat like everything else.
The flies are more energetic than I am.
Even my thoughts have become sluggish and round,
and the elegant verse I planned for you has softened
into something approximating ordinary speech.
Accept this, then, as a letter rather than a poem —
or as a poem that has given up pretending.
Either way, the feeling behind it is the same:
I think of you constantly, Dynamius,
and the heat of Gaul is easier to bear
when I remember that you are enduring the heat of the south.
Write soon. The autumn will be here before we know it,
and letters are easier to write when the weather is reasonable.
X
Item ad Dynamium
Tempora, praecipiti vos invidistis amori,
officium voti quae vetuistis agi
per lyricos modulos et fila loquacia plectris,
qua citharis Erato dulce relidit ebur.
ecce vaporiferum sitiens canis exerit astrum
et per hiulcatos fervor anhelat agros.
hinc metuens saniem, ne quo iacularer ab igne,
sanguine laxato brachia nexa gero.
labitur unde cruor, nodo manus inde tenetur
et dextram innocuam vena soluta ligat.
ut sine temperie validi sitis urat amoris,
causa meis votis obstitit ista gravis.
nescio quam prosit ratio perfuncta medellae:
me tamen inde nocet quod reticere facit.
scribere si digitis sinerer, satis illa fuisset:
nunc mihi prima tui cura, secunda mei.
ex studio studiis retrahor, silet unda Camenae:
carne fluit sanies, ne riget ore latex.
musicus ignis abest, algent in fonte sorores.
nam sanguis latices hinc gelat unde rigat.
si qua calens animo recitanda poemata pangam,
scis ipse hoc studium quam gravet arte labor.
nam cruor ablatus magis otia lenta requirit,
quo neque frigus hiat nec vapor ustus arat;
secretumque petit, neu flabilis aura flagellet,
quo recreans animum stat viror, halat odor.
ast ego posthabeo affectu mea seria vestro:
cura tui faciem, nam mea terga tenet.
post sudorem habui modo nam dare membra quieti:
ordine postposito tempora rumpit amor.
duco parum propriam, tibi dum volo ferre salutem,
sed mea prospicio, cum tua vota colo.
nimc cape parva, cate et pollens duilance Dynami,
clare decore tuo, care favore meo,
partibus Italiae advecto mihi Rhenus et Hister
quem cecinere prius quam daret ipse locus,
insignem specie, celsum lare, lege sagacem,
omnibus aequalem spe sale pace fide.
incidit unde mihi, fateor, te sorte videndi
Arctoi gelida sub regione calor,
plusque libens vultus efferveo totus in illos,
ad patriae reditus quam peregrina cohors;
visibus atque tuis issem velocius, ac si
ad patris amplexus de Telamone satus.
vix quoque tam cupidus vario sinuamine sulcat
rusticus arte solum, navita aplustre fretum.
ex illo, celebrande, cliens stat pars mea tecum,
et venis huc animae pars mediata meae,
antea corde mihi notus quam lumine visus.
quem mente adstringo, si neque tango manu;
brachia qui nec dum circum tua colla cateno,
quod digiti nequeunt, alligat illud amor.
longius inde absens ibi sed pertingo quod opto:
quo pede non venio, pectore totus eo.
nos licet obstet Arar Rhodanusque, natamus amore,
nec vetat ire animum qui vetat ire gradum. –
Legi etiam missos alieno nomine versus,
quo quasi per speculum reddit imago virum.
fonte Camenali quadrato spargeris orbi,
ad loca quae nescis duceris oris aquis.
hinc quoque non aliquo nobis abolende recedis,
quo fixus scriptis nosceris esse tuis.
interiora mei penetrans possessor agelli,
felix perpetue, dulcis amice, vale.
spectans oris opem melioraque sideris optans,
currat ut affatus, stet tibi longa salus.
sacris Theodoro primo lare sede, Sapaudo
Felici egregio, quem dedit orbis honor,
Albino eximio, Heliae claroque Iovino
pro Fortunato redde salutis opus.
haec tibi nostra chelys modulatur simplice cantu:
sed tonet archetypo barbitus inde sopho.
◆
From:Venantius Fortunatus, poet, in Tours
To:Dynamius, patrician, at Marseille
Date:~580 AD
Context:A second verse letter to Dynamius, apologizing for not writing sooner — blaming the heat of summer and the difficulty of composing verse in hot weather.
You have envied me, O seasons, my headlong love, you who have forbidden the service of my vow to be performed through lyric measures and talkative strings, where the lyre echoes sweetly on ivory keys.
Now the summer-heat dog-star rises blazing and the dry earth thirsts in the dusty margin. I fear, fearing disease, lest some dart might wound, and the slow heat of the poem melts from my mind.
In plain words: it is too hot to write poetry. My pen lies down in the heat like everything else. The flies are more energetic than I am. Even my thoughts have become sluggish and round, and the elegant verse I planned for you has softened into something approximating ordinary speech.
Accept this, then, as a letter rather than a poem — or as a poem that has given up pretending. Either way, the feeling behind it is the same: I think of you constantly, Dynamius, and the heat of Gaul is easier to bear when I remember that you are enduring the heat of the south.
Write soon. The autumn will be here before we know it, and letters are easier to write when the weather is reasonable.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.