Spanish fiction -- Translations into English; Spanish poetry -- Translations into English
'Let us retire, then,' said the shepherdess, 'from this spot, and seek
another, where, without being seen or disturbed, I may be able to tell
you what it grieves me to have promised you, for I foresee that it will
not cost more to lose the good opinion I have gained with you, than to
reveal my thoughts to you, however late, if perhaps yours have not been
touched by the affliction I am suffering.'
Desirous that the shepherdess should fulfil her promise, straightway
the three arose, and betook themselves to a secret and retired place,
known already to Galatea and Florisa, where, beneath the pleasant shade
of some leafy myrtles, without being seen by anybody, all three could
be seated. Forthwith, with exquisite grace and charm, the strange
shepherdess began to speak in this wise:
'On the banks of the famous Henares, which ever yields fresh and
pleasant tribute to your golden Tagus, most beauteous shepherdesses,
was I born and nurtured in a station not so lowly, that I might
count myself the meanest of the village. My parents are labourers
and accustomed to field-labour, in which occupation I followed them,
leading a flock of simple sheep over the common pastures of our
village. So well did I adapt my thoughts to the condition in which
my lot had placed me, that nothing gave me more joy than to see my
flock multiply and increase, and I had no other thought save how to
gain for them the richest and most fertile pastures, the clearest
and freshest waters I could find. I had not, nor could I have, cares
beyond those that might arise from the rustic duties on which I was
engaged. The woods were my companions, in whose solitude, ofttimes
invited by the sweet birds' gentle harmony, I sent forth my voice in
a thousand simple songs, without mingling therein sighs or words that
might give any token of a love-sick breast. Ah! how often, merely to
please myself and to allow the time to pass away, did I wander from
bank to bank, from vale to vale, culling, here the white lily, there
the purple iris, here the red rose, there the fragrant pink, making
from every kind of sweet-smelling flowers a woven garland, wherewith
I adorned and bound up my hair; and then, viewing myself in the clear
and peaceful waters of some spring, I remained so joyous at having seen
myself, that I would not have changed my happiness for any other! And
how often did I make sport of some maidens, who, thinking to find in
my breast some manner of pity for the misery theirs felt, disclosed
to me, with abundance of tears and sighs, the love-secrets of their
soul! I remember now, fair shepherdesses, that one day there came to
me a girl friend of mine: throwing her arms round my neck, and joining
her face to mine, she said to me with streaming eyes: "Ah, sister
Teolinda!" (for this is the name of the hapless being before you). "I
truly believe the end of my days has come, since love has not dealt
with me as my desires deserved." Whereupon I, wondering at her display
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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