Note 19 — Chapter IV
Reading edition
One of the best passages of Fanshaw’s translation of the Pastor Fido, is the celebrated apostrophe to the spring—
Spring, the year’s youth, fair mother of new flowers, New leaves, new loves, drawn by the winged hours, Thou art return’d; but the felicity Thou brought’st me last is not return’d with thee. Thou art return’d; but nought returns with thee, Save my lost joy’s regretful memory. Thou art the self-same thing thou wert before, As fair and jocund: but I am no more The thing I was, so gracious in her sight, Who is heaven’s masterpiece and earth’s delight. O bitter sweets of love! far worse it is To lose than never to have tasted bliss.
O Primavera gioventu del anno, Bella madre di fiori, D’herbe novelle, e di novelli amori: Tu torni ben, ma teco, Non tornano i sereni, E fortunati dì de le mie gioie! Tu torni ben, tu torni, Ma teco altro non torna Che del perduto mio caro tesoro La rimembranza misera e dolente. Tu quella se’ tu quella, Ch’eri pur dianzi vezzosa e bella. Ma non son io già quel ch’un tempo fui, Sì caro a gli occhi altrui. O dolcezze amarissime d’amore! Quanto è più duro perdervi, che mai Non v’haver ò provate, ò possedute! Pastor Fido, act 3, sc. 1.
In those parts of the English version which are marked in Italics, there is some attempt towards a freedom of translation; but it is a freedom of which Sandys and May had long before given many happier specimens.