Idyll 21

21. The Fishermen Poverty alone, Diophantus, rouses the arts,

she herself the teacher of toil; for evil cares

do not even let working men sleep.

And if one closes his eyes for a little of the night, the cares

that stand over him suddenly trouble his sleep.

Two old fishermen lay together,

having spread dry seaweed under their wickerwork hut,

leaning against the wall of leaves; and near them

lay the implements of their hands, the baskets,

the rods, the hooks, the weed-grown baits,

lines, weels, and labyrinths of rushes,

cords, an oar, and an old boat on its props;

beneath their heads a thin mat, and clothes upon them.

This was all the fishermen's livelihood, this their wealth.

Neither had so much as a coverlet or nets; all was superfluous,

all seemed so to them; for poverty wore them down.

No neighbor lived between them; and beside their hut,

pressed close by poverty, the sea murmured softly.

Not yet had the chariot of the Moon finished its midmost course,

when their familiar toil woke the fishermen, and from their eyelids

thrusting off sleep, they stirred speech in their minds.

Asphalion

They all lie, my friend, who said the nights

grow shorter in summer, when Zeus brings the long days.

Already I have seen ten thousand dreams, and it is not yet dawn.

Am I mistaken? What is the matter? The nights are endless.

Companion

Asphalion, do you blame the fair summer? For the season

has not of itself passed beyond its course; but care

cutting your sleep makes the night seem long to you.

Asphalion

Have you ever learned to interpret dreams? For I saw a good one.

I do not want you to have no share of my vision.

Just as with the catch, share out all the dreams between us.

For he who guesses by his wits is the best

interpreter of dreams; the teacher is the one who has sense.

Besides, we have leisure; for what could a man do

lying among leaves by the water, and not sleeping,

but like the ass among the brambles or the lamp in the town-hall;

for they say it never sleeps.

Companion

Then tell me your vision of the night,

since a man tells what he knows to his comrade.

Asphalion

As I fell asleep at evening, after my labors on the sea

(I had not eaten much, for dining early,

if you remember, we spared our bellies), I saw myself

busy upon a rock, and sitting I watched

for fish, and from my rod I shook the deceiving bait.

And one of the fat ones snapped at it; for in their sleep

every dog dreams of bread, and I of fish.

And it clung to the hook, and the blood flowed,

and with its struggling I held the rod bent,

my hands strained and curved, a hard contest,

how to land so great a fish with my weak iron.

Then, reminding it of its wound, I gently pricked it,

and having pricked I gave it line, and since it did not flee I drew it in.

So I finished the contest, and hauled up a golden fish,

all overlaid with gold; and I was afraid

it might be a fish dear to Poseidon,

or perhaps a treasure of gray-eyed Amphitrite.

And gently I loosed it from the hook,

lest the barbs should keep any gold from its mouth.

And I trusted, calling out, that it was the lovely fish,

and I swore that I would never again set foot upon the sea,

but would stay on land and be a king with my gold.

This is what woke me; and you, stranger, now lend

your judgment; for I am afraid of the oath I swore.

Companion

And you, why do you fear? You swore no oath; for you did not even find

the golden fish you saw, but the vision was no better than lies,

the empty hope of dreams. Seek the fish of flesh,

if perhaps, still drowsing, you go on hunting these vain things,

lest you die of hunger, for all your golden dreams.