Free English Translation
The Bucolic Poem on the Power of the Sign of the Cross
Carmen Bucolicum de Virtute Signi Crucis
4 chapters · ~5 min read · by Severus Sanctus Endelechius
About The Bucolic Poem on the Power of the Sign of the Cross
Severus Sanctus Endelechius, identified in the tradition as "Severus rhetor," casts this poem as a Virgilian bucolic dialogue among three herdsmen. Buculus tells Ægon how a cattle plague sweeping in from Pannonia, Illyria, and Belgica has destroyed his oxen, a cow and her calf, and his prize bull, leaving carcasses for birds and dogs across the fields. Ægon then meets Tityrus, whose herd alone stands untouched, and learns the reason: Tityrus marked his cattle's foreheads with the sign of the Cross of Christ, trusting in faith alone rather than sacrifice, and the plague fled. Persuaded, Ægon resolves to abandon the old worship and turn to Christ, urging Buculus to come with him.
By Severus Sanctus Endelechius. Collected in Patrologia Latina, Volume 19.
In this work
Ægon
Why, Buculus, wandering alone, do you groan sadly
With eyes gravely cast down?
Why do your cheeks stream with abundant tears?
Cause one who loves you to know it.
BUCULUS.
Ægon, I beg you, allow me to bury deep silence
Utterly within my sick feelings.
For he who publishes his ills opens the wound:
He closes it who presses it in silence.
ÆGON.
It is the opposite of what you say: nor do you reckon rightly:
For a burden divided becomes less heavy:
And whatever is covered up festers more fiercely.
Speech is of benefit to sorrows.
BUCULUS.
You know, Ægon, how powerful I once was in flocks:
So that the roving cattle with their whole streams
Would fill even the hollows of the valleys,
The plains and the ridges of the mountains:
Now the hope of my resource has utterly collapsed:
And that which long labor brought forth
Through all the seasons of life, has been lost in two days.
So swift is the course of evils.
This dread plague is now said to be creeping onward.
It has already grievously laid low the Pannonians, and the Illyrians too,
And the Belgians: and with impious
Course it now also seeks us.
ÆGON.
But you who were accustomed to know how to drive away
Noxious destruction with healthful juices:
Why did you not, anticipating what was to be feared,
Apply your healing hands?
BUCULUS.
No signs are accessible enough to warn of so great a fear,
But that which it seizes, the disease also overwhelms:
It does not let one languish, nor does it allow delays.
Thus death comes even before the plague.
I had put strong bodies under the wagons,
Choice oxen, with what care I could,
For whom the twin mountain's tinkling bells
Sounded in harmonious concert,
Alike in age, and alike in color of hide:
The same gentleness, the same strength was theirs,
And the same fate, for in the midst of the mound one fell,
A pair vanquished by an equal death.
I gave grain to the soil, thoroughly softened.
The clod was crumbling with abundant moisture.
The plow-handle had drawn the furrows most easily;
Nowhere had the plowshare stuck fast:
The left-hand ox suddenly slips with a lurch,
Which the second summer had seen tamed.
I leave my sorrowful yoke-fellow at once,
Fearing no further harm now,
But sooner than I can tell it death overtakes
Him who had always been sound and whole,
Then, shaking his flanks with long-drawn pants,
He laid down his vanquished head.
I am wrung, I am tormented, I mourn, I grieve.
For by your losses, no less than by my own,
My breast is worn out; but still I suppose
That your flocks are safe.
Buculus
I tend, poor wretch, toward that very point where I am more sharply weighed down.
For it would have been some small comfort of my trouble,
If a later offspring had given me back
What the present plague has snatched away.
But who would believe the truth? I saw the offspring too
Destroyed together; I saw the mother bowing down
Heavy with young, one after another, I saw two souls
Lost in a single body.
Here, refusing the spring, forgetful of the grass,
A young cow wanders on failing haunches,
Nor does she flee for long: but heavily she falls,
Limping in the fetter of death.
But on the other side, a calf who but lately
Had woven wanton paths in leaping,
As soon as he went to his mother: there at once from the diseased
Udder he drew the plague.
The mother, wounded by a mournful blow,
When she saw the eyes of her calf closed in death:
Repeating her lowing, and groaning wretchedly,
Sank down: and wished to die.
Then, as though fearing lest thirst
Should oppress her parched throat: even so as she lay
She offered her udder to the dead one.
After death, devotion still lives on.
Hence the bull, the strong man of the herd, and its father,
Of sturdy neck and towering brow,
While he, glad, delighted in himself too much,
Fell upon the grassy meadow.
As many as are the leaves that fall from the forest
Stripped bare, touched by chilling north winds,
As thick as the snows that drift down in fleecy masses,
So thick are the deaths of the cattle.
Now the whole ground is covered with corpses,
Bodies are swollen with distended bellies,
Eyes grow pale with livid clouding,
Legs stiffen with outstretched hoof.
Now around fly flocks of mournful and dreadful
Birds, and now packs of dogs
Set upon the torn entrails to feast on them.
Alas, why not upon mine as well!
Tell me, I beg, what is it, that in various ways
The sad fate of death passes over some
And afflicts others? Behold, Tityrus for you
Rejoices, his herd unscathed.
I see him himself. Come, tell me, Tityrus,
What God has snatched you away from these calamities,
So that the plague upon the herds, which has ravaged
The neighboring lands, is nothing to you?
Tityrus
The sign that they say is that of the Cross of God:
Whom alone is worshipped in the great cities,
Christ, the glory of the everlasting Godhead,
Whose only Son He is.
This sign, placed in the midst of their brows,
Was the sure salvation of all the cattle.
Thus indeed this most powerful God under this name
Was called Savior.
At once the savage plague fled the herds:
Diseases had no power. Yet if you wish
To entreat this God: it is enough to believe.
Faith of the voice alone avails.
No altar is wet with any bloodshed,
Nor is the disease of the flocks driven off by slaughter,
But the simple purification of the soul
Enjoys the desired goods.
Ægon
If you prove these things certain, Tityrus, I hesitate no longer
From devoting myself to the true religion.
I shall gladly flee the old error:
For it is deceptive, and empty.
And now my mind hastens to visit
The temples of the highest God: come now, Buculus,
Together we shall travel no long road,
And acknowledge the divinity of Christ.
And join me in your prosperous counsels:
For why should I doubt that the same sign
Would also be of benefit to man for all eternity,
By which morbid violence is conquered?
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