Boethius, Consolatio 2. m 5: paradise lost.

With a friend I am reading the Works and Days by Hesiod. He is not the most optimistic writer and bewails that he did not live before in better times. Indeed the idea of a Golden Age is not uncommon in Antiquity and Hinduism has this idea too. In Jewish and Christian mythology there is the story of Paradise, but here we have only two people living. The idea of progress also existed in Antiquity – think of Protagoras and his idea of social evolution – but a decline is more common. And how many elderly people today are not complaining that in their youth everything was better? A few years to go and I too belong to them.

The theme of a Golden Age has also been treated by Roman writer like Horace, Virgil, Ovid and Tibullus and when Boethius was writing his Consolatio in prison, he  uses the material of these poets for his poem about the earlier stage of civilization. Such deliberations are a kind of yearning for better places and times. We can compare the exaltation of `primitive’ cultures by Rousseau in the late 18^th century. According to Boethius we should be glad with what nature gives us and live a life of innocence. A stoic theme rather than Christian and maybe more expressing his deepest feelings than his outward Christian beliefs. 

Boethius, Consolatio book 2, poem 5.

Meter: anapest dimeter:  u u – u u – u u – u (the first two double shorts can be replaced by a single long syllable.)

Felix nimium prior aetas,

contenta fidelibus arvis

nec inerti perdita luxu,

facili quae sera solebat

ieiunia solvere glande. 5

Non Bacchica munera norant

liquido confundere melle,

nec lucida vellera Serum

Tyrio miscere veneno.

Somnos dabat herba salubres, 10

potum quoque lubricus amnis,

umbras altissima pinus.

Nondum maris alta secabat

nec mercibus undique lectis

nova litora viderat hospes. 15

Tunc classica saeva tacebant

odiis neque fusus acerbis

cruor horrida tinxerat arva.

Quid enim furor hosticus ulla

vellet prior arma movere, 20

cum vulnera saeva viderent

nec praemia sanguinis ulla ?

Utinam modo nostra redirent

in mores tempora priscos.

Sed saevior ignibus Aetnae 25

fervens amor ardet habendi.

Heu primus quis fuit ille,

auri qui pondera tecti

gemmasque latere volentes

pretiosa pericula fodit ? 30

fidelibus arvis: with trustworthy  fields

iners inertis: making lazy

sera ieiunia:  late hunger

facili glande: easy to get nut

Bachica munera: wine

norant = noverant

liquido confundere melle: wine mixed with honey is called mulsun

vellus velleris (n.): wool. In the plural anything woven and here it means silk

Seres Serum: Western Chinese tribe known from the trade in silk

Tyrio veneno: Tyrian juice = purple

herba: grass
potus potus (m.): drink

lubricus: easily streaming

pinus (f.): pine-tree

maris alta secabat: it cleaved the height of the sea

mercibus lectis: for excellent commodities

hospes: as guest

classicum: war trumpet

acerbus: sharp, violent

fusus cruor: shed blood

tingo tinxi tinctum: to moisten

arva: a variant reading is arma and is probably to be preferred

hosticus: hostile

nec praemia sanguinis ulla: and not any gain in (the shedding) of blood

utinam modo: `I wish that but’

priscus: of former times

saevus: fierce

amor habendi: the love for possession

pondus ponderis (n.): weight

tectus: covered, hidden

gemmasque latere volentes: and gems wanting  to be hidden

pretiosa pericula: apposition `as dangerous riches’

fodio fodi fossum: to dig out, delve

W.V. Cooper : J.M. Dent and Company London 1902

THE FORMER AGE.

    Too blest the former age, their life

      Who in the fields contented led,

    And still, by luxury unspoiled,

      On frugal acorns sparely fed.

    No skill was theirs the luscious grape

      With honey's sweetness to confuse;

    Nor China's soft and sheeny silks

      T' empurple with brave Tyrian hues.

    The grass their wholesome couch, their drink

      The stream, their roof the pine's tall shade;

    Not theirs to cleave the deep, nor seek

      In strange far lands the spoils of trade.

    The trump of war was heard not yet,

      Nor soiled the fields by bloodshed's stain;

    For why should war's fierce madness arm

      When strife brought wound, but brought not gain?

    Ah! would our hearts might still return

      To following in those ancient ways.

    Alas! the greed of getting glows

      More fierce than Etna's fiery blaze.

    Woe, woe for him, whoe'er it was,

      Who first gold's hidden store revealed,

    And--perilous treasure-trove--dug out

      The gems that fain would be concealed!