TRYGAEUS
Giver of grapes, O how shall I address you? O for a word ten thousand buckets big Wherewith to accost you: for I’ve none at hand. Good morning, Harvesthome: good morn, Mayfair.
TRYGAEUS O what a lovely charming face, Mayfair! (Kisses her.) O what a breath! how fragrant to my heart, How sweet, how soft, with perfume and inaction.
HERMES Not quite the odour of a knapsack, eh?
TRYGAEUS Faugh! that odious pouch of odious men, I hate it. It has a smell of rancid-onion-whiffs; But SHE of harvests, banquets, festivals, Flutes, thrushes, plays, the odes of Sophocles, Euripidean wordlets,
HERMES O how dare you Slander her so: I’m sure she does not like That logic-monger’s wordy disputations.
TRYGAEUS (Continuing.) The bleating lambs, the ivy-leaf, the vat, Full-bosomed matrons hurrying to the farm, The tipsy maid, the drained and emptied flask, And many another blessing.
HERMES And look there, See how the reconciled cities greet and blend In peaceful intercourse, and laugh for joy; And that, too, though their eyes are swoln and blackened,
HERMES And all cling fast to cupping instruments,
TRYGAEUS Yes, and survey the audience: by their looks You can discern their trades.
HERMES O dear! O dear! Don’t you observe the man that makes the crests Tearing his hair? and yon’s a pitchfork-seller; Fie! how he fillips the sword-cutler there.
TRYGAEUS And see how pleased that sickle-maker looks, Joking and poking the spear-burnisher.
HERMES Now then give notice: let the farmers go.
TRYGAEUS O yes! O yes! the farmers all may go Back to their homes, farm-implements and all. You can leave your darts behind you: yea, for sword and spear shall cease All things all around are teeming with the mellow gifts of Peace; Shout your Paeans, march away to labour in your fields to-day.
CHORUS Day most welcome to the farmers and to all the just and true, Now I see you I am eager once again my vines to view, And the fig-trees which I planted in my boyhood’s early prime, I would fain salute and visit after such a weary time.
TRYGAEUS First, then, comrades, to the Goddess be our grateful prayers addressed, Who has freed us from the Gorgons and the fear-inspiring crest. Next a little salt provision fit for country uses buy, Then with merry expedition homeward to the fields we’ll hie.
HERMES O Poseidon! fair their order, sweet their serried ranks to see: Right and tight, like rounded biscuits, or a thronged festivity.
TRYGAEUS Yes, by Zeus! the well-armed mattock seems to sparkle as we gaze, And the burnished pitchforks glitter in the sun’s delighted rays. Very famously with those will they clear the vineyard rows. So that I myself am eager homeward to my farm to go, Breaking up the little furrows (long-neglected) with the hoe. Think of all the thousand pleasures,
TRYGAEUS Comrades, which to Peace we owe, All the life of ease and comfort Which she gave us long ago: Figs and olives, wine and myrtles, Luscious fruits preserved and dried, Banks of fragrant violets, blowing By the crystal fountain’s side; Scenes for which our hearts are yearning, Joys that we have missed so long, —Comrades, here is Peace returning, Greet her back with dance and song!
CHORUS Welcome, welcome, best and dearest, welcome, welcome, welcome home. We have looked and longed for thee, Looking, longing, wondrously, Once again our farms to see. O the joy, the bliss, the rapture, really to behold thee come. Thou wast aye our chief enjoyment, thou wast aye our greatest gain. We who ply the farmer’s trade Used, through thy benignant aid, All the joys of life to hold. Ah! the unbought pleasures free Which we erst received of thee In the merry days of old,
CHORUS When thou wast our one salvation and our roasted barley grain. Now will all the tiny shoots, Sunny vine and fig-tree sweet, All the happy flowers and fruits, Laugh for joy thy steps to greet. Ah, but where has Peace been hiding all these long and weary hours? Hermes, teach us all the story, kindest of the heavenly Powers.
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