To some, solitude brings more comfort than crowds. Old wounds often ache in familiar places.
Babrius Translation
Far from men’s fields the swallow forth had flown,
When she espied amid the woodlands lone
The nightingale, sweet songstress. Her lament
Was Itys to his doom untimely sent.
Each knew the other through the mournful strain,
Flew to embrace, and in sweet talk remain.
Then said the swallow, “Dearest, liv’st thou still?
a Ne’er have I seen thee, since thy Thracian ill.
“Some cruel fate hath ever come between;
“Our virgin lives till now apart have been.
“Come to the fields: revisit homes of men:
“Come dwell with me, a comrade dear, again,
“Where thou shalt charm the swains, no savage brood
“Dwell near men’s haunts, and quit the open wood:
“One roof, one chamber, sure, can house the two,
Or dost prefer the nightly frozen dew,
“And day-god’s heat h a wild-wood life and drear?
“Come, clever songstress, to the light more near.”
To whom the sweet-voiced nightingale replied:
“Still on these lonesome ridges let me bide;
“Nor seek to part me from the mountain glen;
“I shun, since Athens, man, and haunts of men;
“To mix with them, their dwelling place to view,
“Stirs up old grief, and opens woes anew.”
Some consolation for an evil lot
Lies in wise words, in song, in crowds forgot.
But sore the pang, when, where you once were great,
Again men see you, housed in mean estate.
How do you think an AI might simplify this fable? Here is one answer, and the illustration above was made from this simplification:
The Swallow and the Nightingale
One spring, a swallow flew far into the forest and heard a sad, beautiful song. It was the nightingale, mourning her lost son, Itys.
The swallow called out joyfully, “Dear friend! You’re alive! Since the tragedy in Thrace, I haven’t seen you. Come back with me to the villages. Live among people again. Sing your lovely songs to shepherds. We can share a roof and be happy together!”
But the nightingale gently answered, “I cannot return. Since the sorrows of Athens, I avoid the sight of men. Their world reminds me too much of pain. In this quiet forest, my grief feels gentler.”
Moral:
To some, solitude brings more comfort than crowds. Old wounds often ache in familiar places.
Perry. #277