1A Levantine Prince with a liking for hunting,was gliding through forests of darkness unsaidbreaking his trail through the thicket sans shuntingand playing an ivory flute as he said: 2'Come, pray, let us look for, in forests unfathomed,the blood-minded beast with the silveren tooth, that in hidden hollows has customly sheddedhis spellbinding eye and his coat and his hoof…'
3'Pray, master', the bugling servants would soothe him,'that mystery boar never hitheren roams.why not ere tarry our pastime divertingthe deer, or the vixen, young hares from their homes…'
4The Prince still advanced with a glare in his eye,perusing the colors through canopies densethus leaving behind tamed deer in lairs nigh,the lynx that transfixed him still scorning and tense. 5Under the beechwood, he'd clear up the weedlings:'Behold how he swirls and thus beckons us nowthe silver-tusked boar, not remote from these partings:come – come, let us hit him with the wooden arrow!...'
6'Sir, it's the water that twirls under trees',the servant would say as he cunningly gushed.Still he argued back as he turned to him: 'Hush!'And the water would glare like the tusk of a beast.
7'Neath elms, he would hasten his scattered attendants:'Behold how he puffs, lonely scratches the dirt,'long pastures, the silver-toothed beastling, anow:Come – come, let us hit him with the iron arrow!...'
8'Sir, it's the grass rustling under the trees,the servant would say as he awlessly sneered.Still he argued back as he turned to him: 'Hush!'And the grass would then glimmer like the tusk of a beast. 9'Neath firs, he would yell, summoning to the ridges:'Behold where the silv'ren-tusked boar of the tales nowHath foundeth his rest and abode still for ages:come let us assault him with the fire arrow!...'
10'Sir, it's but the moon that shines through the trees,the servant would say as he scornfully roared.Still he argued back as he turned to him: 'Hush!'And the moon would then glare like the tusk of a beast.
11But woe! under pale canopy's daystarsas he stood in the dusk, leaning over the spring,a cyclopean boar entered, and with his tuskshe savagely dragged him through the burgundy dust.
12'What cumbersome savage dares fill me with goreimpeding the hunt of my silver-tusked boar?What stygian bird sits under the moon wailing?What withered leaf, irrepressibly ailing?
13'My Master, the boar with the silveren tooth,the very same beast dragged you under the bush.Behold how the hounds bark him off t'your behoof.'Still he argued back as he turned to him: 'Hush!' 14'Why not seize the bugle and sound it incessantwell into my death, towards canopies vile…'upon which the moon 'neath the hills slightly lessened And the bugle bayed forth – for a very brief while.
Translated by Andreea Călugăriţă
by Ştefan Augustin Doinaş (1922-2002)
