Io's Lament
I have finally come home: home to the green banks
Where I used to play. They have not changed,
These sweet, green banks of my father's river.
The whispered song of the willow trees sings as it did before.
But the song has changed. They do not sing of my return,
They do not announce to the birds, to the fish, to my father, that I,
That Io, the fair river-daughter, have returned.
Instead, they sing of tears, and of winter, and of a daughter's death.
Why don't they recognize me? Is the memory of trees so short
That they cannot sing of the daughter's return?
The land has not changed; it is the same glade where my sisters and I
Used to play-where we'd talk to the trees, and gossip with the birds, and
Pull on the fishes' tails. The trees do not recognize me, and the birds do
not greet me.
What of the fish? I look into the water, the liquid mirror of my father's
river.
But my view is obscured by that white cow, that cow that looks up at me out
of the water!
Where has she come from? There are no men nearby, none that bring cattle
here to drink.
I cry for my homeland has forgotten me, and the cow cries with me.
I sigh, (from whence that strange mooing?) And the cow sighs too.
The land is unchanged, but I, Io the River-daughter, am she no longer.
Alas, for it is I who have changed.
The fish and the birds have joined the trees in their song:
Alas, for Io is dead! Alas, for Io is missing!
Alas, for Io is lost.
Alas, for I have changed. My father does not recognize me, and weeps for
his daughter.
My sisters marvel at the beautiful cow, for their sister Io would have
loved to see and pet her.
They add they voices to my lament, they sing with the trees, with the
birds, and with the fish,
Alas, for Io is lost.
I have finally come home: home to the green banks
Where I used to play. They have not changed,
These sweet, green banks of my father's river.
The whispered song of the willow trees sings as it did before.
But the song has changed. They do not sing of my return,
They do not announce to the birds, to the fish, to my father, that I,
That Io, the fair river-daughter, have returned.
Instead, they sing of tears, and of winter, and of a daughter's death.
Why don't they recognize me? Is the memory of trees so short
That they cannot sing of the daughter's return?
The land has not changed; it is the same glade where my sisters and I
Used to play-where we'd talk to the trees, and gossip with the birds, and
Pull on the fishes' tails. The trees do not recognize me, and the birds do
not greet me.
What of the fish? I look into the water, the liquid mirror of my father's
river.
But my view is obscured by that white cow, that cow that looks up at me out
of the water!
Where has she come from? There are no men nearby, none that bring cattle
here to drink.
I cry for my homeland has forgotten me, and the cow cries with me.
I sigh, (from whence that strange mooing?) And the cow sighs too.
The land is unchanged, but I, Io the River-daughter, am she no longer.
Alas, for it is I who have changed.
The fish and the birds have joined the trees in their song:
Alas, for Io is dead! Alas, for Io is missing!
Alas, for Io is lost.
Alas, for I have changed. My father does not recognize me, and weeps for
his daughter.
My sisters marvel at the beautiful cow, for their sister Io would have
loved to see and pet her.
They add they voices to my lament, they sing with the trees, with the
birds, and with the fish,
Alas, for Io is lost.
