a collection of literature from poets, bards, songwriters, and skalds in the SCA

Gregem meum ripae flumenis affebam, lente

Poem (Canso): 

Gregem meum ripae flumenis affebam, lente,
Prope radem collis, cum subito vidi
Pastora duo, Daphnem et Tityrum, qui sedebant
Ante epulum casei et fructoris dulcis;
Daphnis arridevit et mihi evocavit:
“Sede, amicus, sede, bibe, et nos junge,
Et nos amorum bellorum meliorem judica.”
“Quid de Damone?” rogavi, dispiceo puerum
In gramine prope aquae, arte dormit. 
“Hic furebat, cum vis Bacchi in sangue fluet,
Ut corruevit, in somno floribus basiaverunt.”
“Immo,” dico dum rideo. “De nos amorum narra,
Et de nos sponsionis, pro vere gravem rem hic est.” 
“Tityro sertum praestantem quercus obligavi
Si me vincet, pro ille arbor maxime amat.”
“Coronam laureum pro meum amicus texebo, sponte,
Si me superat, tantum nullam folium fovet.”
“Vere! Tityre, incipe, et tuae amatae canta.”
“Mea Celia mollem ac ventus vesperi haec est,
Et est suavem ac susurrus Somni intrare regnum.
Abjicet curas diei et mentem leniter sedat.”
“Mea Silvia solem vernum ipsum haec est,
Ambo facie claro et tactu callido habet;
Ridet haec, florent flores et sua volitat odor.”
“Ornara laute de materiae nobilitatis,
Amata mea ac patellae epuli auream haec est,
Et ac filum vestis civitatis lucet;
Vinum bonum est, omnes sua praesentia placet
Et haec aulam lentum efficet cum risu dulci.” 
“Amata mea hereditatis silvae habet:
Mollis roscidum gramen est, ubi reclinamus,
Hic in pastum; aquae clarae nos mundans se est,
Haec nos sanat per nos ejus excellentiae bibens.”
“Aspice propter – vides ille magnum quercum?
Amatur mei et ac ejus perstat: verendum vires
Caelum ipsum ac ingens Atlas atollent, vere;
Quercus constanter servit, sine querela ulla, 
Ut nos juberemus voluptes sacrificat.”
“Tamen verte et vide umbram jucundum lauri, 
Consecratus Phebo, per qui artifex viget.
Inclinat, demittens soli et stellis, deprimens ipsum
Adjuvare illos sedens sub suus folii.
Per suus ramos ventus aestivus est commutatus
In cantum laudis illis optans domare artes.”
“Mopse, me excusa! Sententia tua, nunc do,
Mihi haud necessarium deceit, pro concedeo
Comes meus Daphnis suam rem provabit bene
Et se mereit folii laurea aestimat magni.”


I was bringing my flock to the riverbank, slowly,
Near the foot of the hill, when suddenly I saw
Two shepherds, Daphnis and Tityrus, who were sitting
Before a feast of cheese and sweet fruit;
Daphnis smiled and called to me:
“Sit, friend, sit, eat, and join us,
And of our fine loves pass judgment on which is best.”
“What of Damon?” I asked, seeing the boy
On the grass near the water, soundly sleeping.
“He was raging, with the strength of Bacchus flowing in his blood,
When he fell, kissed by the flowers in his slumber.”
“Well,” I say, laughing. “Tell me of your loves,
And of your wager, for truly this is a weighty matter.”
“I have pledged to Tityrus an exceptional oak wreath
If he defeats me, for he loves that tree most of all.”
“A garland of laurel for my friend will I weave, freely,
If he bests me, for no leaf does he cherish so much.”
“Indeed! Tityrus, begin, and sing of your beloved.”
“My Celia is as soft as the wind in the evening,
And is as inviting as a whisper from Somnus to enter [his] realm.
She casts aside the worries of the day and gently relaxes the mind.”
“My Silvia is the very spring sun itself,
Having both a bright face and a warm touch,
[When] she laughs, the flowers bloom and send their fragrance into the breeze.”
“Richly ornamented of the stuff of nobility,
My love is golden as the platters of a feast,
And like the thread of a robe of state she shines;
She is the good wine, her presence pleases all
And she brings about a leisurely court environment with sweet laughter.”
“My love has a woodland heritage:
She is the soft, dewy grass where we rest,
Here in the pasture; she is the clear waters cleaning us,
She heals us by our drinking of her excellence.”
“Look nearby – do you see that large oak?
It is beloved of me, and like her it stands: awesome powers
Like mighty Atlas hold up heaven itself, truly;
The oak serves steadfastly, without any complaint,
So that we might enjoy the pleasures it sacrifices.”
“Yet turn and see the refreshing shade of the laurel,
Blessed by Phoebus, through whom the artist prospers.
It bends, bowing to the sun and stars, humbling itself
To aid those sitting beneath its leaves.
Through its branches the summer wind is transformed
Into a song of praise for those who wish to master the arts.”
“Mopsus, excuse me! Your judgment, I now admit,
Has become unnecessary to me, for I concede,
My companion Daphnis has proven his case well
And has earned for himself the laurel leaves he prizes.”