Happy is he, who, like the Ithacan sage
Or the brave hero of the golden fleece,
Having far travelled, finds his troubles cease,
Amidst his own, in ripe-experienced age.
When shall I turn again to life's first page?
From the world's tumult when obtain release?
And greet the village and the home of Peace
Where sweet affections quell each passion's rage?
Dearer to me that home my grandsires built,
Than Roman palaces with pillars brave,
Dearer those roofs of slate than marble gilt,
Dearer my Loire than Tiber's sacred wave,
Dearer my Lyré than the Palatine,
And oh how dear, thou climate Angevine!
Joachim du Bellay, Sonnet XXXI from Les Regrets, trans. Toru Dutt.
“Heureux qui, comme Ulysse, a fait un beau voyage,
Ou comme cestuy-là qui conquit la toison,
Et puis est retourné, plein d’usage et raison,
Vivre entre ses parents le reste de son âge!
Quand reverrai-je, hélas, de mon petit village
Fumer la cheminée, et en quelle saison
Reverrai-je le clos de ma pauvre maison,
Qui m’est une province, et beaucoup davantage?
Plus me plaît le séjour qu’ont bâti mes aïeux,
Que des palais Romains le front audacieux,
Plus que le marbre dur me plaît l’ardoise fine:
Plus mon Loir gaulois, que le Tibre latin,
Plus mon petit Liré, que le mont Palatin,
Et plus que l’air marin la doulceur angevine.”
“Happy the man* who, like Ulysses, has traveled well, or like that man who conquered the fleece, and has then returned, full of experience and wisdom, to live among his kinsfolk the rest of his life!
When, alas, will I again see smoke rising* from the chimney of my village and in what season will I see the enclosed field of my poor house, which to me is a province and much more still?
The home my ancestors built pleases me more than the grandiose facades of Roman palaces, fine slate pleases me more than hard marble,
My Gallic Loire more than the Latin Tiber, my little Liré more than the Palatine hill, and more than sea air, the sweetness of Anjou.” (trans. Richard Helgerson)
*note: cf. Patriae desiderium, lines 45-46; *note: cf. Ovid’s Ex Ponto I.3.33-34.
Foelix qui more multorum vidit et urbes
Sedibus et potuit consenuisse suis.
Ortus quaeque suos cupiunt, externa placentque
Pauca diu, repetunt et sua lustra ferae.
“Happy the man who has known the manners and the cities of many people and has been able to grow old in his own home. Everyone wishes to return to his birthplace; few foreign things please for long; and even wild beasts seek out their lair.” (Joachim du Bellay, from ‘Longing for His Fatherland (Patriae desiderium)’, lines 45-8, trans. Richard Helgerson)
non dubia est Ithaci prudentia, sed tamen optat/ fumum de patriis posse videre focis, “None doubt the Ithacan’s wisdom, but yet he prays that he may see the smoke from his native hearth.” (Ovid, from Ex Ponto I.3, trans. Arthur Leslie Wheeler, lines 33-34)
