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To realize the precision of his strokes even then one has but to recall the couplet of the Copa which in an instant sets one upon the dusty road of an Italian July midday: Nunc cantu crebro rumpunt arbusta cicadae nunc varia in gelida sede lacerta latet.
As I passed the open doors I saw them standing round the brasero, warming themselves; for fireplaces are unknown to Andalusia, the only means of heat being the copa, a round brass dish in which is placed burning charcoal.
The Copa, "Mine Hostess," which closes the series, reminds us of Virgil in its expression, rhythm, and purity of style, but is far more lively than anything we possess of his. It is an invitation to a rustic friend to put up his beast and spend the hot hours in a leafy arbour where wine, fruits, and goodly company wait for him.
One elegiac piece, the Copa, is of admirable vivacity and grace, and the touch in it is so singularly unlike the Virgilian manner as to tempt one into the paradox of its authenticity.
One low, thatched adobe cabin, between the roadway and the canals, in Santa Anita, was covered with a mammoth blooming vine, known here as the copa de oro. Its great yellow flowers were indeed like cups of gold, inviting our attention above all the other floral emblems for which the little Indian village is famous.
Do you remember that funny nonsense verse? "I is for ichthyosaurus, Who lived when the world was all porous; But he fainted with shame When he first heard his name, And departed a long while before us." 'The Spaniards are more poetic, said Aunt Truth, 'for they call it la copa de oro, the golden cup. Oh, see them yonder! It is like the Field of the Cloth of Gold.
The poet of the Ciris, the Copa, the Dirae, and the Bucolics is never far to seek in the Aeneid. It would be a long story to trace the flowering in the Aeneid of the seedling sown in Vergil's boyhood garden-plot.
In his youth Vergil had, to be sure, avoided the extremes of photographic realism illustrated by the very curious Moretum, but he had nevertheless, in works like the Copa, the Dirae, and the eighth Eclogue, practiced the craft of the miniaturist whenever he found the minutiae aesthetically significant.
DOÑA MATILDE. ¿Pues por qué no me decías que D. Eduardo estaba ya esperándome? BRUNO. Porque ... porque ... bueno estoy yo ahora para decir el porqué de nada, y si me sangraran.... DOÑA MATILDE. En suma, ¿quieres o no quieres abrir la reja? DOÑA MATILDE. Pon luego una silla. BRUNO. Pongo una silla. DOÑA MATILDE. ¿Y está ya D. Eduardo? BRUNO. Le estoy tocando con la mano la copa del sombrero.
The aim of this custom was, according to Scaliger, to bring the diners to enjoy the sweets of life while they were able to feel enjoyment, and thus to abandon themselves to pleasure before death deprived them of everything. The verses which follow bring this out beautifully. In the Copa of Virgil we find the following: "Wine there! Wine and dice! Tomorrow's fears shall fools alone benumb!
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