the beryl

The Beryl of which I sing is a precious stone,
resembling the gay green of the waters of the sea
when the stormy blasts, gently appeased,
have given place to the zephyrs on the calmed waves.
Sometimes the Beryl has a golden surface
like newly-strained liquid honey,
but its lustre is feeble if it is not bevelled,
for the blow of the tool’s edge heightens its fine lustre
which is otherwise sickly, dull, and straw-coloured,
lacking the double gleams which cutting gives to it.

The best is the sort whose tinted surface
resembles the lovely hue of fine emeralds.
Only the Indian shore sends us the Beryl,
either green or golden.
For hardenings of the liver and for eye diseases it is a sovereign remedy,
it immediately calms panting, hiccups, and belching.
It maintains the union of man and woman within the laws of marriage.
It drives away sloth and with its friendly influence humbles the pride of a cruel enemy.

Remy Belleau

the stone

Underneath every stone
there lies hidden a scorpion, dear friend.
Take care, or he will sting you.
All concealment is treachery.

Anonymous drinking songs