The chiefs were set, the soldiers crowned the field;

To these the master of the sevenfold shield

Upstarted fierce; and, kindled with disdain,

Eager to speak, unable to contain

His boiling rage, he rolled his eyes around

The shore, and Grecian gallies hauled a-ground.

Then stretching out his hands, O Jove, he cried,

Must then our cause before the fleet be tried?

And dares Ulysses for the prize contend,

In sight of what he durst not once defend;

But basely fled, that memorable day,

When I from Hector's hands redeemed the flaming prey?

So much 'tis safer at the noisy bar

With words to flourish, than engage in war.

By different methods we maintained our right,

Nor am I made to talk, nor he to fight.

In bloody fields I labour to be great;

His arms are a smooth tongue, and soft deceit.

Nor need I speak my deeds, for those you see;

The sun and day are witnesses for me.

Let him, who fights unseen, relate his own,

And vouch the silent stars, and conscious moon.

Great is the prize demanded, I confess,

But such an abject rival makes it less.

That gift, those honours, he but hoped to gain,

Can leave no room for Ajax to be vain;

Losing he wins, because his name will be

Ennobled by defeat, who durst contend with me.

Were mine own valour questioned, yet my blood

Without that plea would make my title good;

My sire was Telamon, whose arms, employed

With Hercules, these Trojan walls destroyed;

And who before, with Jason, sent from Greece,

In the first ship brought home the golden fleece:

Great Telamon from Æacus derives

His birth: (the inquisitor of guilty lives

In shades below; where Sisyphus, whose son

This thief is thought, rolls up the restless heavy stone.)

Just Æacus the king of gods above

Begot; thus Ajax is the third from Jove.

Nor should I seek advantage from my line,

Unless, Achilles, it were mixed with thine:

As next of kin Achilles' arms I claim;

This fellow would ingraft a foreign name

Upon our stock, and the Sisyphian seed

By fraud and theft asserts his father's breed.

Then must I lose these arms, because I came

To fight uncalled, a voluntary name?

Nor shunned the cause, but offered you my aid,

While he, long lurking, was to war betrayed:

Forced to the field he came, but in the rear,

And feigned distraction, to conceal his fear;

Till one more cunning caught him in the snare,

Ill for himself, and dragged him into war.

Now let a hero's arms a coward vest,

And he, who shunned all honours, gain the best;

And let me stand excluded from my right,

Robbed of my kinsman's arms, who first appeared in fight.

Better for us at home he had remained,

Had it been true the madness which he feigned,

Or so believed; the less had been our shame,

The less his counselled crime, which brands the Grecian name;

Nor Philoctetes had been left inclosed

In a bare isle, to wants and pains exposed;

Where to the rocks, with solitary groans,

His sufferings and our baseness he bemoans,

And wishes (so may heaven his wish fulfil!)

The due reward to him who caused his ill.

Now he, with us to Troy's destruction sworn,

Our brother of the war, by whom are borne

Alcides' arrows, pent in narrow bounds,

With cold and hunger pinched, and pained with wounds,

To find him food and clothing, must employ

Against the birds the shafts due to the fate of Troy.

Yet still he lives, and lives from treason free,

Because he left Ulysses' company;

Poor Palamede might wish, so void of aid,

Rather to have been left, than so to death betrayed.

The coward bore the man immortal spite,

Who shamed him out of madness into fight;

Nor daring otherwise to vent his hate,

Accused him first of treason to the state;

And then, for proof, produced the golden store

Himself had hidden in his tent before.

Thus of two champions he deprived our host,

By exile one, and one by treason lost.

Thus fights Ulysses, thus his fame extends,

A formidable man, but to his friends;

Great, for what greatness is in words and sound;

Even faithful Nestor less in both is found;

But, that he might without a rival reign,

He left his faithful Nestor on the plain;

Forsook his friend even at his utmost need,

Who, tired, and tardy with his wounded steed,

Cried out for aid, and called him by his name;

But cowardice has neither ears nor shame.

Thus fled the good old man, bereft of aid,

And, for as much as lay in him, betrayed.

That this is not a fable forged by me,

Like one of his, an Ulyssean lie,

I vouch even Diomede, who, though his friend,

Cannot that act excuse, much less defend:

He called him back aloud, and taxed his fear;

And sure enough he heard, but durst not hear.

The gods with equal eyes on mortals look;

He justly was forsaken, who forsook;

Wanted that succour he refused to lend,

Found every fellow such another friend.

No wonder if he roared, that all might hear

His elocution was increased by fear;

I heard, I ran, I found him out of breath,

Pale, trembling, and half-dead with fear of death.

Though he had judged himself by his own laws,

And stood condemned, I helped the common cause:

With my broad buckler hid him from the foe,

(Even the shield trembled as he lay below,)

And from impending fate the coward freed;

Good heaven forgive me for so bad a deed!

If still he will persist, and urge the strife,

First let him give me back his forfeit life;

Let him return to that opprobrious field,

Again creep under my protecting shield;

Let him lie wounded, let the foe be near,

And let his quivering heart confess his fear;

There put him in the very jaws of fate,

And let him plead his cause in that estate;

And yet, when snatched from death, when from below

My lifted shield I loosed, and let him go,

Good heavens, how light he rose! with what a bound

He sprung from earth, forgetful of his wound!

How fresh, how eager then his feet to ply!

Who had not strength to stand, had speed to fly!

Hector came on, and brought the gods along;

Fear seized alike the feeble and the strong;

Each Greek was an Ulysses; such a dread

The approach, and even the sound, of Hector bred;

Him, fleshed with slaughter, and with conquest crowned,

I met, and overturned him to the ground.

When after, matchless as he deemed in might,

He challenged all our host to single fight,

All eyes were fixed on me; the lots were thrown,

But for your champion I was wished alone.

Your vows were heard; we fought, and neither yield;

Yet I returned unvanquished from the field.

With Jove to friend, the insulting Trojan came,

And menaced us with force, our fleet with flame;

Was it the strength of this tongue-valiant lord,

In that black hour, that saved you from the sword?

Or was my breast exposed alone, to brave

A thousand swords, a thousand ships to save,

The hopes of your return? and can you yield,

For a saved fleet, less than a single shield?

Think it no boast, O Grecians, if I deem

These arms want Ajax, more than Ajax them;

Or, I with them an equal honour share;

They, honoured to be worn, and I, to wear.

Will he compare my courage with his slight?

As well he may compare the day with night.

Night is indeed the province of his reign; }

Yet all his dark exploits no more contain }

Than a spy taken, and a sleeper slain; }

A priest made prisoner, Pallas made a prey; }

But none of all these actions done by day; }

Nor aught of these was done, and Diomede away. }

If on such petty merits you confer

So vast a prize, let each his portion share;

Make a just dividend; and, if not all,

The greater part to Diomede will fall.

But why for Ithacus such arms as those,

Who naked, and by night, invades his foes?

The glittering helm by moonlight will proclaim

The latent robber, and prevent his game;

Nor could he hold his tottering head upright

Beneath that motion, or sustain the weight;

Nor that right arm could toss the beamy lance,

Much less the left that ampler shield advance;

Ponderous with precious weight, and rough with cost

Of the round world in rising gold embossed.

That orb would ill become his hand to wield,

And look, as for the gold he stole the shield;

Which should your error on the wretch bestow,

It would not frighten, but allure the foe.

Why asks he what avails him not in fight,

And would but cumber and retard his flight,

In which his only excellence is placed?

You give him death, that intercept his haste.

Add, that his own is yet a maiden-shield,

Nor the least dint has suffered in the field,

Guiltless of fight; mine, battered, hewed, and bored,

Worn out of service, must forsake his lord.

What farther need of words our right to scan?

My arguments are deeds, let action speak the man.

Since from a champion's arms the strife arose,

So cast the glorious prize amid the foes;

Then send us to redeem both arms and shield,

And let him wear, who wins them in the field.--

He said:--A murmur from the multitude,

Or somewhat like a stifled shout, ensued;

Till from his seat arose Laertes' son,

Looked down a while, and paused ere he begun;

Then to the expecting audience raised his look,

And not without prepared attention spoke;

Soft was his tone, and sober was his face,

Action his words, and words his action grace.

If heaven, my lords, had heard our common prayer,

These arms had caused no quarrel for an heir;

Still great Achilles had his own possessed,

And we with great Achilles had been blessed:

But since hard fate, and heaven's severe decree,

Have ravished him away from you and me,

(At this he sighed, and wiped his eyes, and drew,

Or seemed to draw, some drops of kindly dew,)

Who better can succeed Achilles lost,

Than he who gave Achilles to your host?

This only I request, that neither he

May gain, by being what he seems to be,

A stupid thing, nor I may lose the prize,

By having sense, which heaven to him denies;

Since, great or small, the talent I enjoyed

Was ever in the common cause employed:

Nor let my wit, and wonted eloquence,

Which often has been used in your defence

And in my own, this only time be brought

To bear against myself, and deemed a fault.

Make not a crime, where nature made it none;

For every man may freely use his own.

The deeds of long descended ancestors

Are but by grace of imputation ours,

Theirs in effect; but since he draws his line

From Jove, and seems to plead a right divine,

From Jove, like him, I claim my pedigree,

And am descended in the same degree.

My sire Laertes, was Arcesius' heir,

Arcesius was the son of Jupiter;

No parricide, no banished man, is known

In all my line; let him excuse his own.

Hermes ennobles too my mother's side,

By both my parents to the gods allied.

But not because that on the female part

My blood is better, dare I claim desert,

Or that my sire from parricide is free;

But judge by merit betwixt him and me.

The prize be to the best; provided yet,

That Ajax for a while his kin forget,

And his great sire, and greater uncle's name,

To fortify by them his feeble claim.

Be kindred and relation laid aside,

And honour's cause by laws of honour tried;

For, if he plead proximity of blood,

That empty title is with ease withstood.

Peleus, the hero's sire, more nigh than he,

And Pyrrhus, his undoubted progeny,

Inherit first these trophies of the field;

To Scyros, or to Phthia, send the shield:

And Teucer has an uncle's right, yet he

Waves his pretensions, nor contends with me.

Then, since the cause on pure desert is placed,

Whence shall I take my rise, what reckon last?

I not presume on every act to dwell,

But take these few, in order as they fell.

Thetis, who knew the fates, applied her care

To keep Achilles in disguise from war;

And, till the threatening influence were past,

A woman's habit on the hero cast:

All eyes were cozened by the borrowed vest,

And Ajax (never wiser than the rest)

Found no Pelides there: At length I came

With proffered wares to this pretended dame;

She, not discovered by her mien or voice,

Betrayed her manhood by her manly choice;

And, while on female toys her fellows look, }

Grasped in her warlike hand, a javelin shook; }

Whom, by this act revealed, I thus bespoke:-- }

O goddess-born! resist not heaven's decree,

The fall of Ilium is reserved for thee;--

Then seized him, and, produced in open light,

Sent blushing to the field the fatal knight.

Mine then are all his actions of the war;

Great Telephus was conquered by my spear,

And after cured; to me the Thebans owe,

Lesbos and Tenedos, their overthrow;

Scyros and Cylla; not on all to dwell,

By me Lyrnessus and strong Chrysa fell;

And, since I sent the man who Hector slew,

To me the noble Hector's death is due.

Those arms I put into his living hand;

Those arms, Pelides dead, I now demand.

When Greece was injured in the Spartan prince,

And met at Aulis to revenge the offence,

'Twas a dead calm, or adverse blasts, that reigned,

And in the port the wind-bound fleet detained:

Bad signs were seen, and oracles severe

Were daily thundered in our general's ear,

That by his daughter's blood we must appease

Diana's kindled wrath, and free the seas.

Affection, interest, fame, his heart assailed,

But soon the father o'er the king prevailed;

Bold, on himself he took the pious crime,

As angry with the gods as they with him.

No subject could sustain their sovereign's look,

Till this hard enterprize I undertook;

I only durst the imperial power controul,

And undermined the parent in his soul;

Forced him to exert the king for common good,

And pay our ransom with his daughter's blood.

Never was cause more difficult to plead,

Than where the judge against himself decreed;

Yet this I won by dint of argument. }

The wrongs his injured brother underwent, }

And his own office, shamed him to consent. }

'Twas harder yet to move the mother's mind,

And to this heavy task was I designed:

Reasons against her love I knew were vain;

I circumvented whom I could not gain.

Had Ajax been employed, our slackened sails

Had still at Aulis waited happy gales.

Arrived at Troy, your choice was fixed on me,

A fearless envoy, fit for a bold embassy.

Secure, I entered through the hostile court,

Glittering with steel, and crowded with resort:

There, in the midst of arms, I plead our cause,

Urge the foul rape, and violated laws;

Accuse the foes as authors of the strife,

Reproach the ravisher, demand the wife.

Priam, Antenor, and the wiser few,

I moved; but Paris and his lawless crew

Scarce held their hands, and lifted swords; but stood

In act to quench their impious thirst of blood.

This Menelaus knows; exposed to share

With me the rough preludium of the war.

Endless it were to tell what I have done,

In arms, or counsel, since the siege begun.

The first encounters past, the foe repelled,

They skulked within the town, we kept the field.

War seemed asleep for nine long years; at length,

Both sides resolved to push, we tried our strength.

Now what did Ajax while our arms took breath,

Versed only in the gross mechanic trade of death?

If you require my deeds, with ambushed arms

I trapped the foe, or tired with false alarms;

Secured the ships, drew lines along the plain,

The fainting cheered, chastised the rebel-train,

Provided forage, our spent arms renewed;

Employed at home, or sent abroad, the common cause pursued.

The king, deluded in a dream by Jove,

Despaired to take the town, and ordered to remove.

What subject durst arraign the power supreme,

Producing Jove to justify his dream?

Ajax might wish the soldiers to retain

From shameful flight, but wishes were in vain;

As wanting of effect had been his words,

Such as of course his thundering tongue affords.

But did this boaster threaten, did he pray, }

Or by his own example urge their stay? }

None, none of these, but ran himself away. }

I saw him run, and was ashamed to see;

Who plied his feet so fast to get aboard as he?

Then speeding through the place, I made a stand, }

And loudly cried,--O base degenerate band, }

To leave a town already in your hand! }

After so long expence of blood, for fame,

To bring home nothing but perpetual shame!--

These words, or what I have forgotten since,

For grief inspired me then with eloquence,

Reduced their minds; they leave the crowded port,

And to their late forsaken camp resort.

Dismayed the council met; this man was there,

But mute, and not recovered of his fear:

Thersites taxed the king, and loudly railed,

But his wide opening mouth with blows I sealed.

Then, rising, I excite their souls to fame,

And kindle sleeping virtue into flame.

From thence, whatever he performed in fight

Is justly mine, who drew him back from flight.

Which of the Grecian chiefs consorts with thee? }

But Diomede desires my company, }

And still communicates his praise with me. }

As guided by a god, secure he goes,

Armed with my fellowship, amid the foes;

And sure no little merit I may boast,

Whom such a man selects from such an host.

Unforced by lots, I went without affright,

To dare with him the dangers of the night;

On the same errand sent, we met the spy

Of Hector, double-tongued, and used to lie;

Him I dispatched, but not till, undermined,

I drew him first to tell what treacherous Troy designed.

My task performed, with praise I had retired,

But, not content with this, to greater praise aspired;

Invaded Rhœsus, and his Thracian crew,

And him, and his, in their own strength, I slew:

Returned a victor, all my vows complete,

With the king's chariot, in his royal seat.

Refuse me now his arms, whose fiery steeds

Were promised to the spy for his nocturnal deeds;[37]

And let dull Ajax bear away my right,

When all his days outbalance this one night.

Nor fought I darkling still; the sun beheld

With slaughtered Lycians when I strewed the field:

You saw, and counted as I passed along,

Alastor, Cromius, Ceranos the strong,

Alcander, Prytanis, and Halius,

Noemon, Charopes, and Ennomus,

Choon, Chersidamas, and five beside,

Men of obscure descent, but courage tried;

All these this hand laid breathless on the ground.

Nor want I proofs of many a manly wound;

All honest, all before; believe not me,

Words may deceive, but credit what you see.

At this he bared his breast, and showed his scars,

As of a furrowed field, well ploughed with wars;

Nor is this part unexercised, said he;

That giant bulk of his from wounds is free;

Safe in his shield he fears no foe to try,

And better manages his blood than I.

But this avails me not; our boaster strove

Not with our foes alone, but partial Jove,

To save the fleet. This I confess is true, }

Nor will I take from any man his due; }

But, thus assuming all, he robs from you. }

Some part of honour to your share will fall;

He did the best indeed, but did not all.

Patroclus in Achilles' arms, and thought

The chief he seemed, with equal ardour fought;

Preserved the fleet, repelled the raging fire,

And forced the fearful Trojans to retire.

But Ajax boasts, that he was only thought

A match for Hector, who the combat sought:

Sure he forgets the king, the chiefs, and me,

All were as eager for the fight as he;

He but the ninth, and, not by public voice,

Or ours preferred, was only fortune's choice:

They fought; nor can our hero boast the event,

For Hector from the field unwounded went.

Why am I forced to name that fatal day,

That snatched the prop and pride of Greece away?

I saw Pelides sink, with pious grief,

And ran in vain, alas! to his relief,

For the brave soul was fled; full of my friend,

I rushed amid the war, his relics to defend;

Nor ceased my toil till I redeemed the prey,

And, loaded with Achilles, marched away.

Those arms, which on these shoulders then I bore,

'Tis just you to these shoulders should restore.

You see I want not nerves, who could sustain

The ponderous ruins of so great a man;

Or if in others equal force you find,

None is endued with a more grateful mind.

Did Thetis then, ambitious in her care, }

These arms, thus laboured, for her son prepare, }

That Ajax after him the heavenly gift should wear? }

For that dull soul to stare, with stupid eyes,

On the learned unintelligible prize?

What are to him the sculptures of the shield,

Heaven's planets, earth, and ocean's watery field?

The Pleiads, Hyads; Less, and Greater Bear,

Undipped in seas; Orion's angry star;

Two differing cities, graved on either hand?

Would he wear arms he cannot understand?

Beside, what wise objections he prepares

Against my late accession to the wars!

Does not the fool perceive his argument

Is with more force against Achilles bent?

For, if dissembling be so great a crime,

The fault is common, and the same in him;

And if he taxes both of long delay,

My guilt is less, who sooner came away.

His pious mother, anxious for his life,

Detained her son; and me, my pious wife.

To them the blossoms of our youth were due;

Our riper manhood we reserved for you.

But grant me guilty, 'tis not much my care,

When with so great a man my guilt I share;

My wit to war the matchless hero brought,

But by this fool he never had been caught.

Nor need I wonder, that on me he threw

Such foul aspersions, when he spares not you:

If Palamede unjustly fell by me,

Your honour suffered in the unjust decree.

I but accused, you doomed; and yet he died,

Convinced of treason, and was fairly tried.

You heard not he was false; your eyes beheld

The traitor manifest, the bribe revealed.

That Philoctetes is on Lemnos left,

Wounded, forlorn, of human aid bereft,

Is not my crime, or not my crime alone;

Defend your justice, for the fact's your own.

'Tis true, the advice was mine; that, staying there, }

He might his weary limbs with rest repair, }

From a long voyage free, and from a longer war. }

He took the counsel, and he lives at least;

The event declares I counselled for the best;

Though faith is all in ministers of state,

For who can promise to be fortunate?

Now since his arrows are the fate of Troy,

Do not my wit, or weak address, employ;

Send Ajax there, with his persuasive sense,

To mollify the man, and draw him thence:

But Xanthus shall run backward; Ida stand

A leafless mountain; and the Grecian band

Shall fight for Troy; if, when my counsels fail,

The wit of heavy Ajax can prevail.

Hard Philoctetes, exercise thy spleen

Against thy fellows, and the king of men;

Curse my devoted head, above the rest,

And wish in arms to meet me, breast to breast;

Yet I the dangerous task will undertake,

And either die myself, or bring thee back.

Nor doubt the same success, as when, before,

The Phrygian prophet to these tents I bore,

Surprised by night, and forced him to declare

In what was placed the fortune of the war;

Heaven's dark decrees and answers to display,

And how to take the town, and where the secret lay.

Yet this I compassed, and from Troy conveyed

The fatal image of their guardian Maid.

That work was mine; for Pallas, though our friend,

Yet while she was in Troy, did Troy defend.

Now what has Ajax done, or what designed?

A noisy nothing, and an empty wind.

If he be what he promises in show,

Why was I sent, and why feared he to go?

Our boasting champion thought the task not light

To pass the guards, commit himself to night;

Not only through a hostile town to pass,

But scale, with deep ascent, the sacred place;

With wandering steps to search the citadel,

And from the priests their patroness to steal;

Then through surrounding foes to force my way,

And bear in triumph home the heavenly prey;

Which had I not, Ajax in vain had held

Before that monstrous bulk his sevenfold shield.

That night to conquer Troy I might be said,

When Troy was liable to conquest made.

Why point'st thou to my partner of the war?

Tydides had indeed a worthy share

In all my toil, and praise; but when thy might

Our ships protected, didst thou singly fight?

All joined, and thou of many wert but one;

I asked no friend, nor had, but him alone;

Who, had he not been well assured, that art

And conduct were of war the better part,

And more availed than strength, my valiant friend

Had urged a better right, than Ajax can pretend;

As good, at least, Eurypylus may claim,

And the more moderate Ajax of the name;

The Cretan king, and his brave charioteer,

And Menelaus, bold with sword and spear:

All these had been my rivals in the shield,

And yet all these to my pretensions yield.

Thy boisterous hands are then of use, when I

With this directing head those hands apply.

Brawn without brain is thine; my prudent care

Foresees, provides, administers the war:

Thy province is to fight; but when shall be

The time to fight, the king consults with me.

No drachm of judgment with thy force is joined;

Thy body is of profit, and my mind.

But, how much more the ship her safety owes

To him who steers, than him that only rows;

By how much more the captain merits praise

Than he who fights, and, fighting, but obeys;

By so much greater is my worth than thine,

Who canst but execute what I design.

What gain'st thou, brutal man, if I confess

Thy strength superior, when thy wit is less?

Mind is the man; I claim my whole desert

From the mind's vigour, and the immortal part.

But you, O Grecian chiefs, reward my care,

Be grateful to your watchman of the war;

For all my labours in so long a space,

Sure I may plead a title to your grace.

Enter the town; I then unbarred the gates,

When I removed their tutelary fates.

By all our common hopes, if hopes they be,

Which I have now reduced to certainty;

By falling Troy, by yonder tottering towers,

And by their taken gods, which now are ours;

Or, if there yet a farther task remains,

To be performed by prudence or by pains;

If yet some desperate action rests behind,

That asks high conduct, and a dauntless mind;

If aught be wanting to the Trojan doom,

Which none but I can manage and o'ercome;

Award those arms I ask, by your decree;

Or give to this what you refuse to me.

He ceased, and, ceasing, with respect he bowed,

And with his hand at once the fatal statue shewed.

Heaven, air, and ocean rung, with loud applause,

And by the general vote he gained his cause.

Thus conduct won the prize, when courage failed,

And eloquence o'er brutal force prevailed.

THE DEATH OF AJAX.

He who could often, and alone, withstand

The foe, the fire, and Jove's own partial hand,

Now cannot his unmastered grief sustain,

But yields to rage, to madness, and disdain;

Then snatching out his faulchion,--Thou, said he,

Art mine; Ulysses lays no claim to thee.

O often tried, and ever trusty sword,

Now do thy last kind office to thy lord!

'Tis Ajax who requests thy aid, to show

None but himself, himself could overthrow.--

He said, and with so good a will to die,

Did to his breast the fatal point apply,

It found his heart, a way till then unknown,

Where never weapon entered but his own;

No hands could force it thence, so fixt it stood,

'Till out it rushed, expelled by streams of spouting blood.

The fruitful blood produced a flower[38], which grew }

On a green stem, and of a purple hue; }

Like his, whom unaware Apollo slew. }

Inscribed in both, the letters are the same,

But those express the grief, and these the name.

FOOTNOTES:

[37] Dolon demanded the horses of Achilles, as his reward for

exploring the Grecian camp, but was intercepted and slain by Ulysses.

[38] The Hyacinth.

THE STORY OF ACIS, POLYPHEMUS, AND GALATEA,

FROM THE THIRTEENTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES.

Acis, the lovely youth, whose loss I mourn,

From Faunus and the nymph Symethis born,

Was both his parents' pleasure; but to me

Was all that love could make a lover be.

The gods our minds in mutual bands did join;

I was his only joy, and he was mine.

Now sixteen summers the sweet youth had seen,

And doubtful down began to shade his chin;

When Polyphemus first disturbed our joy,

And loved me fiercely, as I loved the boy.

Ask not which passion in my soul was higher,

My last aversion, or my first desire;

Nor this the greater was, nor that the less,

Both were alike, for both were in excess.

Thee, Venus, thee both heaven and earth obey;

Immense thy power, and boundless is thy sway.

The Cyclops, who defied the ætherial throne,

And thought no thunder louder than his own,

The terror of the woods, and wilder far

Than wolves in plains, or bears in forests are;

The inhuman host, who made his bloody feasts

On mangled members of his butchered guests,

Yet felt the force of love, and fierce desire,

And burnt for me, with unrelenting fire;

Forgot his caverns, and his woolly care, }

Assumed the softness of a lover's air, }

And combed, with teeth of rakes, his rugged hair. }

Now with a crooked scythe his beard he sleeks,

And mows the stubborn stubble of his cheeks;

Now in the crystal stream he looks, to try

His simagres,[39] and rolls his glaring eye.

His cruelty and thirst of blood are lost;

And ships securely sail along the coast.

The prophet Telemus (arrived by chance

Where Ætna's summits to the seas advance,

Who marked the tracks of every bird that flew,

And sure presages from their flying drew,)

Foretold the Cyclops, that Ulysses' hand

In his broad eye should thrust a flaming brand.

The giant, with a scornful grin, replied,

Vain augur, thou hast falsely prophesied:

Already Love his flaming brand has tost;

Looking on two fair eyes, my sight I lost.--

Thus, warned in vain, with stalking pace he strode,

And stamped the margin of the briny flood

With heavy steps, and, weary, sought agen

The cool retirement of his gloomy den.

A promontory, sharpening by degrees,

Ends in a wedge, and overlooks the seas;

On either side, below, the water flows:

This airy walk the giant-lover chose;

Here on the midst he sate; his flocks, unled,

Their shepherd followed, and securely fed.

A pine so burly, and of length so vast,

That sailing ships required it for a mast,

He wielded for a staff, his steps to guide;

But laid it by, his whistle while he tried.

A hundred reeds, of a prodigious growth,

Scarce made a pipe proportioned to his mouth;

Which when he gave it wind, the rocks around,

And watery plains, the dreadful hiss resound.

I heard the ruffian shepherd rudely blow,

Where, in a hollow cave, I sat below.

On Acis' bosom I my head reclined;

And still preserve the poem in my mind.

O lovely Galatea, whiter far

Than falling snows, and rising lilies are;

More flowery than the meads, as crystal bright,

Erect as alders, and of equal height;

More wanton than a kid; more sleek thy skin,

Than orient shells, that on the shores are seen;

Than apples fairer, when the boughs they lade;

Pleasing, as winter suns, or summer shade;

More grateful to the sight than goodly plains,

And softer to the touch than down of swans,

Or curds new turned; and sweeter to the taste,

Than swelling grapes, that to the vintage haste;

More clear than ice, or running streams, that stray

Through garden plots, but ah! more swift than they.

Yet, Galatea, harder to be broke }

Than bullocks, unreclaimed to bear the yoke, }

And far more stubborn than the knotted oak; }

Like sliding streams, impossible to hold,

Like them fallacious, like their fountains cold;

More warping than the willow, to decline

My warm embrace; more brittle than the vine;

Immoveable, and fixt in thy disdain;

Rough, as these rocks, and of a harder grain;

More violent than is the rising flood;

And the praised peacock is not half so proud;

Fierce as the fire, and sharp as thistles are,

And more outrageous than a mother bear;

Deaf as the billows to the vows I make,

And more revengeful than a trodden snake;

In swiftness fleeter than the flying hind,

Or driven tempests, or the driving wind.

All other faults with patience I can bear;

But swiftness is the vice I only fear.

Yet, if you knew me well, you would not shun

My love, but to my wished embraces run;

Would languish in your turn, and court my stay,

And much repent of your unwise delay.

My palace, in the living rock, is made }

By nature's hand; a spacious pleasing shade, }

Which neither heat can pierce, nor cold invade. }

My garden filled with fruits you may behold,

And grapes in clusters, imitating gold;

Some blushing bunches of a purple hue;

And these, and those, are all reserved for you.

Red strawberries in shades expecting stand,

Proud to be gathered by so white a hand.

Autumnal cornels latter fruit provide,

And plumbs, to tempt you, turn their glossy side;

Not those of common kinds, but such alone,

As in Phæacian orchards might have grown.

Nor chesnuts shall be wanting to your food,

Nor garden-fruits, nor wildings of the wood.

The laden boughs for you alone shall bear,

And yours shall be the product of the year.

The flocks you see are all my own, beside }

The rest that woods and winding vallies hide, }

And those that folded in the caves abide. }

Ask not the numbers of my growing store;

Who knows how many, knows he has no more.

Nor will I praise my cattle; trust not me,

But judge yourself, and pass your own decree.

Behold their swelling dugs; the sweepy weight

Of ewes, that sink beneath the milky freight;

In the warm folds their tender lambkins lie;

Apart from kids, that call with human cry.

New milk in nut-brown bowls is duly served

For daily drink, the rest for cheese reserved.

Nor are these household dainties all my store; }

The fields and forests will afford us more; }

The deer, the hare, the goat, the savage boar. }

All sorts of venison, and of birds the best;

A pair of turtles taken from the nest.

I walked the mountains, and two cubs[40] I found,

Whose dam had left them on the naked ground;

So like, that no distinction could be seen;

So pretty, they were presents for a queen;

And so they shall; I took them both away,

And keep, to be companions of your play.

Oh raise, fair nymph, your beauteous face above

The waves; nor scorn my presents, and my love.

Come, Galatea, come, and view my face; }

I late beheld it in the watery glass, }

And found it lovelier than I feared it was. }

Survey my towering stature, and my size:

Not Jove, the Jove you dream, that rules the skies,

Bears such a bulk, or is so largely spread.

My locks (the plenteous harvest of my head,)

Hang o'er my manly face, and dangling down,

As with a shady grove, my shoulders crown.

Nor think, because my limbs and body bear

A thick-set underwood of bristling hair,

My shape deformed; what fouler sight can be,

Than the bald branches of a leafless tree?

Foul is the steed without a flowing mane;

And birds, without their feathers, and their train:

Wool decks the sheep; and man receives a grace

From bushy limbs, and from a bearded face.

My forehead with a single eye is filled,

Round as a ball, and ample as a shield.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the radiant sun,

Is Nature's eye; and she's content with one.

Add, that my father sways your seas, and I,

Like you, am of the watry family.

I make you his, in making you my own;

You I adore, and kneel to you alone;

Jove, with his fabled thunder, I despise,

And only fear the lightning of your eyes.

Frown not, fair nymph! yet I could bear to be

Disdained, if others were disdained with me.

But to repulse the Cyclops, and prefer

The love of Acis,--heavens! I cannot bear.

But let the stripling please himself; nay more,

Please you, though that's the thing I most abhor;

The boy shall find, if e'er we cope in fight,

These giant limbs endued with giant might.

His living bowels from his belly torn,

And scattered limbs, shall on the flood be borne,

Thy flood, ungrateful nymph; and fate shall find

That way for thee and Acis to be joined.

For oh! I burn with love, and thy disdain

Augments at once my passion, and my pain.

Translated Ætna flames within my heart,

And thou, inhuman, wilt not ease my smart.--

Lamenting thus in vain, he rose, and strode

With furious paces to the neigbouring wood;

Restless his feet, distracted was his walk,

Mad were his motions, and confused his talk;

Mad as the vanquished bull, when forced to yield

His lovely mistress, and forsake the field.

Thus far unseen I saw; when, fatal chance

His looks directing, with a sudden glance,

Acis and I were to his sight betrayed;

Where, nought suspecting, we securely played.

From his wide mouth a bellowing cry he cast,--

I see, I see, but this shall be your last.--

A roar so loud made Ætna to rebound,

And all the Cyclops laboured in the sound.

Affrighted with his monstrous voice, I fled, }

And in the neighbouring ocean plunged my head. }

Poor Acis turned his back, and, Help, he cried, }

Help, Galatea! help, my parent Gods,

And take me, dying, to your deep abodes!--

The Cyclops followed; but he sent before

A rib, which from the living rock he tore;

Though but an angle reached him of the stone,

The mighty fragment was enough alone,

To crush all Acis; 'twas too late to save,

But what the fates allowed to give, I gave;

That Acis to his lineage should return,

And roll among the river Gods his urn.

Straight issued from the stone a stream of blood,

Which lost the purple, mingling with the flood;

Then like a troubled torrent it appeared;

The torrent too, in little space, was cleared;

The stone was cleft, and through the yawning chink

New reeds arose, on the new river's brink.

The rock, from out its hollow womb, disclosed

A sound like water in its course opposed:

When (wonderous to behold!) full in the flood,

Up starts a youth, and navel-high he stood.

Horns from his temples rise; and either horn

Thick wreaths of reeds (his native growth) adorn.

Were not his stature taller than before,

His bulk augmented, and his beauty more,

His colour blue, for Acis he might pass;

And Acis, changed into a stream, he was.

But, mine no more, he rolls along the plains

With rapid motion, and his name retains.

FOOTNOTES:

[39] _Simagres_, one of our author's Gallicisms, for affected

contortions of the face.

[40] The word _bear-cubs_ is wanting, to complete the sense of

Ovid:

"_Villosæ catulos ursæ_."

OF THE PYTHAGOREAN PHILOSOPHY.

FROM THE FIFTEENTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES.

_The fourteenth book concludes with the death and deification of

Romulus; the fifteenth begins with the election of Numa to the crown

of Rome. On this occasion, Ovid, following the opinion of some

authors, makes Numa the scholar of Pythagoras, and to have begun his

acquaintance with that philosopher at Crotona, a town in Italy; from

thence he makes a digression to the moral and natural philosophy of

Pythagoras; on both which our author enlarges; and which are the most

learned and beautiful parts of the Metamorphoses._

A king is sought to guide the growing state, }

One able to support the public weight, }

And fill the throne where Romulus had sate. }

Renown, which oft bespeaks the public voice,

Had recommended Numa to their choice;

A peaceful, pious prince; who, not content

To know the Sabine rites, his study bent

To cultivate his mind; to learn the laws

Of nature, and explore their hidden cause.

Urged by this care, his country he forsook,

And to Crotona thence his journey took.

Arrived, he first enquired the founder's name

Of this new colony; and whence he came.

Then thus a senior of the place replies,

Well read, and curious of antiquities.--

'Tis said, Alcides hither took his way

From Spain, and drove along his conquered prey;

Then, leaving in the fields his grazing cows,

He sought himself some hospitable house.

Good Croton entertained his godlike guest;

While he repaired his weary limbs with rest.

The hero, thence departing, blessed the place;

And here, he said, in time's revolving race,

A rising town shall take its name from thee.--

Revolving time fulfilled the prophecy;

For Myscelos, the justest man on earth,

Alemon's son, at Argos had his birth;

Him Hercules, armed with his club of oak,

O'ershadowed in a dream, and thus bespoke;

Go, leave thy native soil, and make abode }

Where Æsaris rolls down his rapid flood;-- }

He said; and sleep forsook him, and the God. }

Trembling he waked, and rose with anxious heart;

His country laws forbad him to depart,

What should he do? 'Twas death to go away,

And the God menaced if he dared to stay.

All day he doubted, and, when night came on,

Sleep, and the same forewarning dream, begun;

Once more the God stood threatening o'er his head,

With added curses if he disobeyed.

Twice warned, he studied flight; but would convey,

At once, his person and his wealth away.

Thus while he lingered, his design was heard;

A speedy process formed, and death declared.

Witness there needed none of his offence,

Against himself the wretch was evidence;

Condemned, and destitute of human aid,

To him, for whom he suffered, thus he prayed.

O Power, who hast deserved in heaven a throne,

Not given, but by thy labours made thy own,

Pity thy suppliant, and protect his cause,

Whom thou hast made obnoxious to the laws!--

A custom was of old, and still remains,

Which life or death by suffrages ordains;

White stones and black within an urn are cast,

The first absolve, but fate is in the last.

The judges to the common urn bequeath

Their votes, and drop the sable signs of death:

The box receives all black; but, poured from thence,

The stones came candid forth, the hue of innocence.

Thus Alimonides his safety won,

Preserved from death by Alcumena's son.

Then to his kinsman God his vows he pays,

And cuts with prosperous gales the Ionian seas;

He leaves Tarentum, favoured by the wind,

And Thurine bays, and Temises, behind;

Soft Sibaris, and all the capes that stand

Along the shore, he makes in sight of land;

Still doubling, and still coasting, till he found

The mouth of Æsaris, and promised ground;

Then saw where, on the margin of the flood,

The tomb that held the bones of Croton stood;

Here, by the God's command, he built and walled

The place predicted, and Crotona called.

Thus fame, from time to time, delivers down

The sure tradition of the Italian town.

Here dwelt the man divine whom Samos bore,

But now self-banished from his native shore,

Because he hated tyrants, nor could bear

The chains which none but servile souls will wear.

He, though from heaven remote, to heaven could move,

With strength of mind, and tread the abyss above;

And penetrate, with his interior light,

Those upper depths, which Nature hid from sight;

And what he had observed, and learnt from thence,

Loved in familiar language to dispense.

The crowd with silent admiration stand,

And heard him, as they heard their god's command;

While he discoursed of heaven's mysterious laws,

The world's original, and nature's cause;

And what was God, and why the fleecy snows

In silence fell, and rattling winds arose;

What shook the stedfast earth, and whence begun

The dance of planets round the radiant sun;

If thunder was the voice of angry Jove,

Or clouds, with nitre pregnant, burst above;

Of these, and things beyond the common reach,

He spoke, and charmed his audience with his speech.

He first the taste of flesh from tables drove,

And argued well, if arguments could move.--

O mortals! from your fellows' blood abstain,

Nor taint your bodies with a food profane;

While corn and pulse by nature are bestowed,

And planted orchards bend their willing load;

While laboured gardens wholsome herbs produce,

And teeming vines afford their generous juice;

Nor tardier fruits of cruder kind are lost,

But tamed with fire, or mellowed by the frost;

While kine to pails distended udders bring,

And bees their honey, redolent of spring;

While earth not only can your needs supply,

But, lavish of her store, provides for luxury;

A guiltless feast administers with ease,

And without blood is prodigal to please.

Wild beasts their maws with their slain brethren fill,

And yet not all, for some refuse to kill;

Sheep, goats, and oxen, and the nobler steed,

On browz, and corn, the flowery meadows feed.

Bears, tigers, wolves, the lion's angry brood,

Whom heaven endued with principles of blood,

He wisely sundered from the rest, to yell

In forests, and in lonely caves to dwell,

Where stronger beasts oppress the weak by might,

And all in prey and purple feasts delight.

O impious use! to Nature's laws opposed,

Where bowels are in other bowels closed;

Where, fattened by their fellows' fat, they thrive;

Maintained by murder, and by death they live.

'Tis then for nought that mother earth provides

The stores of all she shows, and all she hides,

If men with fleshly morsels must be fed,

And chew with bloody teeth the breathing bread.

What else is this but to devour our guests,

And barbarously renew Cyclopean feasts!

We, by destroying life, our life sustain,

And gorge the ungodly maw with meats obscene.

Not so the golden age, who fed on fruit,

Nor durst with bloody meals their mouths pollute.

Then birds in airy space might safely move,

And timorous hares on heaths securely rove;

Nor needed fish the guileful hooks to fear,

For all was peaceful, and that peace sincere.

Whoever was the wretch (and cursed be he!)

That envied first our food's simplicity,

The essay of bloody feasts on brutes began,

And, after, forged the sword to murder man.

Had he the sharpened steel alone employed

On beasts of prey, that other beasts destroyed,

Or men invaded with their fangs and paws,

This had been justified by Nature's laws,

And self-defence; but who did feasts begin

Of flesh, he stretched necessity to sin.

To kill man-killers man has lawful power,

But not the extended licence, to devour.

Ill habits gather by unseen degrees,

As brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas.

The sow, with her broad snout for rooting up }

The intrusted seed, was judged to spoil the crop, }

And intercept the sweating farmer's hope; }

The covetous churl, of unforgiving kind,

The offender to the bloody priest resigned:

Her hunger was no plea; for that she died.

The goat came next in order, to be tried:

The goat had cropt the tendrils of the vine; }

In vengeance laity and clergy join, }

Where one had lost his profit, one his wine. }

Here was, at least, some shadow of offence; }

The sheep was sacrificed on no pretence, }

But meek and unresisting innocence. }

A patient, useful creature, born to bear

The warm and woolly fleece, that cloathed her murderer,

And daily to give down the milk she bred,

A tribute for the grass on which she fed.

Living, both food and raiment she supplies,

And is of least advantage when she dies.

How did the toiling ox his death deserve,

A downright simple drudge, and born to serve?

O tyrant! with what justice canst thou hope

The promise of the year, a plenteous crop,

When thou destroyest thy labouring steer, who tilled,

And plowed, with pains, thy else ungrateful field?

From his yet reeking neck to draw the yoke,

(That neck with which the surly clods he broke,)

And to the hatchet yield thy husbandman,

Who finished autumn, and the spring began!

Nor this alone; but, heaven itself to bribe,

We to the gods our impious acts ascribe;

First recompense with death their creatures' toil,

Then call the blessed above to share the spoil:

The fairest victim must the powers appease;

So fatal 'tis, sometimes, too much to please!

A purple fillet his broad brows adorns,

With flowery garlands crowned, and gilded horns;

He hears the murderous prayer the priest prefers,

But understands not, 'tis his doom he hears;

Beholds the meal betwixt his temples cast,

The fruit and product of his labours past;

And in the water views, perhaps, the knife

Uplifted, to deprive him of his life;

Then, broken up alive, his entrails sees

Torn out, for priests to inspect the gods' decrees.

From whence, O mortal men, this gust of blood

Have you derived, and interdicted food?

Be taught by me this dire delight to shun,

Warned by my precepts, by my practice won;

And when you eat the well-deserving beast,

Think, on the labourer of your field you feast!

Now since the God inspires me to proceed,

Be that whate'er inspiring Power obeyed.

For I will sing of mighty mysteries, }

Of truths concealed before from human eyes, }

Dark oracles unveil, and open all the skies. }

Pleased as I am to walk along the sphere

Of shining stars, and travel with the year,

To leave the heavy earth, and scale the height

Of Atlas, who supports the heavenly weight;

To look from upper light, and thence survey

Mistaken mortals wandering from the way,

And, wanting wisdom, fearful for the state

Of future things, and trembling at their fate!

Those I would teach; and by right reason bring

To think of death, as but an idle thing.

Why thus affrighted at an empty name,

A dream of darkness, and fictitious flame?

Vain themes of wit, which but in poems pass,

And fables of a world, that never was!

What feels the body when the soul expires,

By time corrupted, or consumed by fires?

Nor dies the spirit, but new life repeats

In other forms, and only changes seats.

Even I, who these mysterious truths declare,

Was once Euphorbus in the Trojan war;

My name and lineage I remember well,

And how in fight by Sparta's king I fell.

In Argive Juno's fane I late beheld

My buckler hung on high, and owned my former shield.

Then death, so called, is but old matter dressed

In some new figure, and a varied vest;

Thus all things are but altered, nothing dies,

And here and there the unbodied spirit flies,

By time, or force, or sickness dispossest,

And lodges, where it lights, in man or beast;

Or hunts without, till ready limbs it find,

And actuates those according to their kind;

From tenement to tenement is tossed;

The soul is still the same, the figure only lost:

And as the softened wax new seals receives,

This face assumes, and that impression leaves;

Now called by one, now by another name,

The form is only changed, the wax is still the same:

So death, so called, can but the form deface; }

The immortal soul flies out in empty space, }

To seek her fortune in some other place. }

Then let not piety be put to flight,

To please the taste of glutton appetite;

But suffer inmate souls secure to dwell,

Lest from their seats your parents you expel;

With rabid hunger feed upon your kind,

Or from a beast dislodge a brother's mind.

And since, like Tiphys, parting from the shore,

In ample seas I sail, and depths untried before,

This let me further add, that nature knows

No stedfast station, but, or ebbs, or flows;

Ever in motion, she destroys her old,

And casts new figures in another mould.

Even times are in perpetual flux, and run,

Like rivers from their fountain, rolling on.

For time, no more than streams, is at a stay;

The flying hour is ever on her way;

And as the fountain still supplies her store,

The wave behind impels the wave before,

Thus in successive course the minutes run,

And urge their predecessor minutes on,

Still moving, ever new; for former things

Are set aside, like abdicated kings;

And every moment alters what is done,

And innovates some act till then unknown.

Darkness, we see, emerges into light,

And shining suns descend to sable night;

Even heaven itself receives another die,

When wearied animals in slumbers lie

Of midnight ease; another, when the gray

Of morn preludes the splendour of the day.

The disk of Phœbus, when he climbs on high,

Appears at first but as a bloodshot eye;

And when his chariot downward drives to bed,

His ball is with the same suffusion red;

But, mounted high in his meridian race,

All bright he shines, and with a better face;

For there, pure particles of æther flow,

Far from the infection of the world below.

Nor equal light the unequal moon adorns,

Or in her wexing, or her waning horns;

For, every day she wanes, her face is less,

But, gathering into globe, she fattens at increase.

Perceiv'st thou not the process of the year, }

How the four seasons in four forms appear, }

Resembling human life in every shape they wear? }

Spring first, like infancy, shoots out her head, }

With milky juice requiring to be fed; }

Helpless, though fresh, and wanting to be led. }

The green stem grows in stature and in size,

But only feeds with hope the farmer's eyes;

Then laughs the childish year, with flowerets crowned,

And lavishly perfumes the fields around;

But no substantial nourishment receives,

Infirm the stalks, unsolid are the leaves.

Proceeding onward whence the year began,

The Summer grows adult, and ripens into man.

This season, as in men, is most replete

With kindly moisture, and prolific heat.

Autumn succeeds, a sober tepid age,

Not froze with fear, nor boiling into rage;

More than mature, and tending to decay,

When our brown locks repine to mix with odious grey.

Last, Winter creeps along with tardy pace;

Sour is his front, and furrowed is his face.

His scalp if not dishonoured quite of hair,

The ragged fleece is thin, and thin is worse than bare.

Even our own bodies daily change receive;

Some part of what was theirs before they leave,

Nor are to-day what yesterday they were;

Nor the whole same to-morrow will appear.

Time was, when we were sowed, and just began,

From some few fruitful drops, the promise of a man;

Then Nature's hand (fermented as it was)

Moulded to shape the soft, coagulated mass;

And when the little man was fully formed,

The breathless embryo with a spirit warmed;

But when the mother's throes begin to come,

The creature, pent within the narrow room,

Breaks his blind prison, pushing to repair

His stifled breath, and draw the living air;

Cast on the margin of the world he lies,

A helpless babe, but by instinct he cries.

He next essays to walk, but, downward pressed,

On four feet imitates his brother beast:

By slow degrees he gathers from the ground

His legs, and to the rolling chair is bound;

Then walks alone: a horseman now become,

He rides a stick, and travels round the room:

In time he vaunts among his youthful peers,

Strong-boned, and strung with nerves, in pride of years:

He runs with mettle his first merry stage, }

Maintains the next, abated of his rage, }

But manages his strength, and spares his age. }

Heavy the third, and stiff, he sinks apace,

And, though 'tis down-hill all, but creeps along the race.

Now sapless on the verge of death he stands,

Contemplating his former feet, and hands;

And, Milo-like, his slackened sinews sees, }

And withered arms, once fit to cope with Hercules, }

Unable now to shake, much less to tear, the trees. }

So Helen wept, when her too faithful glass

Reflected to her eyes the ruins of her face;

Wondering what charms her ravishers could spy,

To force her twice, or even but once enjoy!

Thy teeth, devouring time, thine, envious age,

On things below still exercise your rage;

With venomed grinders you corrupt your meat,

And then, at lingering meals, the morsels eat.

Nor those, which elements we call, abide,

Nor to this figure, nor to that, are tied;

For this eternal world is said of old

But four prolific principles to hold,

Four different bodies; two to heaven ascend,

And other two down to the centre tend.

Fire, first, with wings expanded mounts on high,

Pure, void of weight, and dwells in upper sky;

Then Air, because unclogged in empty space,

Flies after fire, and claims the second place;

But weighty Water, as her nature guides,

Lies on the lap of Earth; and mother Earth subsides.

All things are mixt with these, which all contain,

And into these are all resolved again.

Earth rarifies to dew; expanded more,

The subtle dew in air begins to soar,

Spreads as she flies, and, weary of her name,

Extenuates still, and changes into flame;

Thus having by degrees perfection won,

Restless, they soon untwist the web they spun;

And fire begins to lose her radiant hue,

Mixed with gross air, and air descends to dew;

And dew, condensing, does her form forego,

And sinks, a heavy lump of earth, below.

Thus are their figures never at a stand,

But changed by Nature's innovating hand;

All things are altered, nothing is destroyed,

The shifted scene for some new show employed.

Then, to be born, is to begin to be

Some other thing we were not formerly;

And what we call to die, is not to appear,

Or be the thing that formerly we were.

Those very elements, which we partake

Alive, when dead, some other bodies make;

Translated grow, have sense, or can discourse;

But death on deathless substance has no force.

That forms are changed I grant, that nothing can

Continue in the figure it began:

The golden age to silver was debased;

To copper that; our metal came at last.

The face of places, and their forms, decay,

And that is solid earth, that once was sea;

Seas, in their turn, retreating from the shore,

Make solid land what ocean was before;

And far from strands are shells of fishes found,

And rusty anchors fixed on mountain ground;

And what were fields before, now washed and worn

By falling floods from high, to valleys turn,

And, crumbling still, descend to level lands;

And lakes, and trembling bogs, are barren sands;

And the parched desert floats in streams unknown,

Wondering to drink of waters not her own.

Here nature living fountains opes; and there

Seals up the wombs where living fountains were;

Or earthquakes stop their ancient course, and bring

Diverted streams to feed a distant spring.

So Lycus, swallowed up, is seen no more,

But, far from thence, knocks out another door.

Thus Erasinus dives; and blind in earth

Runs on, and gropes his way to second birth,

Starts up in Argos meads, and shakes his locks

Around the fields, and fattens all the flocks.

So Mysus by another way is led,

And, grown a river, now disdains his head;

Forgets his humble birth, his name forsakes,

And the proud title of Caicus takes.

Large Amenane, impure with yellow sands,

Runs rapid often, and as often stands;

And here he threats the drunken fields to drown,

And there his dugs deny to give their liquor down.

Anigros once did wholesome draughts afford,

But now his deadly waters are abhorred;

Since, hurt by Hercules, as fame resounds,

The Centaur[41] in his current washed his wounds.

The streams of Hypanis are sweet no more,

But, brackish, lose their taste they had before.

Antissa, Pharos, Tyre, in seas were pent,

Once isles, but now increase the continent;

While the Leucadian coast, main-land before,

By rushing seas is severed from the shore.

So Zancle to the Italian earth was tied,

And men once walked where ships at anchor ride;

Till Neptune overlooked the narrow way,

And in disdain poured in the conquering sea.

Two cities that adorned the Achaian ground, }

Buris and Helice, no more are found, }

But, whelmed beneath a lake, are sunk and drowned; }

And boatmen through the crystal water show,

To wondering passengers, the walls below.

Near Træzen stands a hill, exposed in air

To winter winds, of leafy shadows bare:

This once was level ground; but (strange to tell)

The included vapours, that in caverns dwell

Labouring with cholic pangs, and close confined,

In vain sought issue from the rumbling wind;

Yet still they heaved for vent, and, heaving still,

Enlarged the concave, and shot up the hill;

As breath extends a bladder, or the skins

Of goats are blown to inclose the hoarded wines.

The mountain yet retains a mountain's face,

And gathered rubbish heals the hollow space.

Of many wonders, which I heard or knew,

Retrenching most, I will relate but few.

What, are not springs with qualities opposed

Endued at seasons, and at seasons lost?

Thrice in a day, thine, Ammon, change their form,

Cold at high noon, at morn and evening warm;

Thine, Athaman, will kindle wood, if thrown

On the piled earth, and in the waning moon.

The Thracians have a stream, if any try

The taste, his hardened bowels petrify;

Whate'er it touches it converts to stones,

And makes a marble pavement where it runs.

Grathis, and Sibaris her sister flood,

That slide through our Calabrian neighbour wood,

With gold and amber die the shining hair,

And thither youth resort; for who would not be fair?

But stranger virtues yet in streams we find;

Some change not only bodies, but the mind.

Who has not heard of Salmacis obscene,

Whose waters into women soften men?

Of Æthiopian lakes, which turn the brain

To madness, or in heavy sleep constrain?

Clytorean streams the love of wine expel,

(Such is the virtue of the abstemious well,)

Whether the colder nymph, that rules the flood,

Extinguishes, and baulks the drunken God;

Or that Melampus (so have some assured)

When the mad Prœtides with charms he cured,

And powerful herbs, both charms and simples cast

Into the sober spring, where still their virtues last.

Unlike effects Lyncestis will produce;

Who drinks his waters, though with moderate use,

Reels as with wine, and sees with double sight,

His heels too heavy, and his head too light.

Ladon, once Pheneos, an Arcadian stream,

(Ambiguous in the effects, as in the name,)

By day is wholesome beverage; but is thought

By night infected, and a deadly draught.

Thus running rivers, and the standing lake,

Now of these virtues, now of those partake.

Time was (and all things time and fate obey)

When fast Ortygia floated on the sea;

Such were Cyanean isles, when Typhis steered

Betwixt their straits, and their collision feared;

They swam where now they sit; and, firmly joined,

Secure of rooting up, resist the wind.

Nor Ætna, vomiting sulphureous fire,

Will ever belch; for sulphur will expire,

The veins exhausted of the liquid store;

Time was she cast no flames; in time will cast no more.

For, whether earth's an animal, and air

Imbibes, her lungs with coolness to repair,

And what she sucks remits, she still requires

Inlets for air, and outlets for her fires;

When tortured with convulsive fits she shakes,

That motion chokes the vent, till other vent she makes;

Or when the winds in hollow caves are closed,

And subtile spirits find that way opposed,

They toss up flints in air; the flints that hide

The seeds of fire, thus tossed in air, collide,

Kindling the sulphur, till, the fuel spent,

The cave is cooled, and the fierce winds relent.

Or whether sulphur, catching fire, feeds on

Its unctuous parts, till, all the matter gone,

The flames no more ascend; for earth supplies

The fat that feeds them; and when earth denies

That food, by length of time consumed, the fire,

Famished for want of fuel, must expire.

A race of men there are, as fame has told,

Who, shivering, suffer Hyperborean cold,

Till, nine times bathing in Minerva's lake,

Soft feathers to defend their naked sides they take.

'Tis said, the Scythian wives (believe who will)

Transform themselves to birds by magic skill;

Smeared over with an oil of wonderous might,

That adds new pinions to their airy flight.

But this by sure experiment we know,

That living creatures from corruption grow:

Hide in a hollow pit a slaughtered steer,

Bees from his putrid bowels will appear;

Who, like their parents, haunt the fields, and bring

Their honey-harvest home, and hope another spring.

The warlike steed is multiplied, we find,

To wasps and hornets of the warrior kind.

Cut from a crab his crooked claws, and hide

The rest in earth, a scorpion thence will glide,

And shoot his sting; his tail, in circles tossed,

Refers[42] the limbs his backward father lost;

And worms, that stretch on leaves their filmy loom,

Crawl from their bags, and butterflies become.

Even slime begets the frogs' loquacious race;

Short of their feet at first, in little space

With arms and legs endued, long leaps they take,

Raised on their hinder part, and swim the lake,

And waves repel: for nature gives their kind,

To that intent, a length of legs behind.

The cubs of bears a living lump appear,

When whelped, and no determined figure wear.

Their mother licks them into shape, and gives

As much of form, as she herself receives.

The grubs from their sexangular abode

Crawl out unfinished, like the maggots' brood,

Trunks without limbs; till time at leisure brings

The thighs they wanted, and their tardy wings.

The bird who draws the car of Juno, vain

Of her crowned head, and of her starry train;

And he that bears the artillery of Jove,

The strong-pounced eagle, and the billing dove,

And all the feathered kind;--who could suppose }

(But that from sight, the surest sense, he knows) }

They from the included yolk, not ambient white, arose? }

There are who think the marrow of a man,

Which in the spine, while he was living, ran;

When dead, the pith corrupted, will become

A snake, and hiss within the hollow tomb.

All these receive their birth from other things,

But from himself the phœnix only springs:

Self-born, begotten by the parent flame

In which he burned, another and the same:

Who not by corn or herbs his life sustains,

But the sweet essence of Amomum drains;

And watches the rich gums Arabia bears,

While yet in tender dew they drop their tears.

He, (his five centuries of life fulfilled)

His nest on oaken boughs begins to build,

Or trembling tops of palm: and first he draws

The plan with his broad bill, and crooked claws,

Nature's artificers; on this the pile

Is formed, and rises round; then with the spoil

Of Casia, Cynamon, and stems of Nard,

(For softness strewed beneath,) his funeral bed is reared,

Funeral and bridal both; and all around

The borders with corruptless myrrh are crowned:

On this incumbent, till ætherial flame

First catches, then consumes, the costly frame;

Consumes him too, as on the pile he lies;

He lived on odours, and in odours dies.

An infant-phœnix from the former springs,

His father's heir, and from his tender wings

Shakes off his parent dust; his method he pursues,

And the same lease of life on the same terms renews.

When, grown to manhood, he begins his reign,

And with stiff pinions can his flight sustain,

He lightens of its load the tree that bore

His father's royal sepulchre before,

And his own cradle; this with pious care

Placed on his back, he cuts the buxom air,

Seeks the sun's city, and his sacred church,

And decently lays down his burden in the porch.

A wonder more amazing would we find?

The Hyæna shews it, of a double kind,

Varying the sexes in alternate years,

In one begets, and in another bears.

The thin cameleon, fed with air, receives

The colour of the thing to which he cleaves.

India, when conquered, on the conquering God

For planted vines the sharp-eyed lynx bestowed,

Whose urine, shed before it touches earth,

Congeals in air, and gives to gems their birth.

So coral, soft and white in ocean's bed,

Comes hardened up in air, and glows with red.

All changing species should my song recite,

Before I ceased, would change the day to night.

Nations and empires flourish and decay,

By turns command, and in their turns obey;

Time softens hardy people, time again

Hardens to war a soft, unwarlike train.

Thus Troy for ten long years her foes withstood,

And daily bleeding bore the expence of blood;

Now for thick streets it shows an empty space, }

Or only filled with tombs of her own perished race; }

Herself becomes the sepulchre of what she was. }

Mycene, Sparta, Thebes of mighty fame,

Are vanished out of substance into name,

And Dardan Rome, that just begins to rise

On Tiber's banks, in time shall mate the skies;

Widening her bounds, and working on her way,

Even now she meditates imperial sway:

Yet this is change, but she by changing thrives,

Like moons new born, and in her cradle strives

To fill her infant-horns; an hour shall come,

When the round world shall be contained in Rome.

For thus old saws foretel, and Helenus

Anchises' drooping son enlivened thus,

When Ilium now was in a sinking state,

And he was doubtful of his future fate.

O goddess born, with thy hard fortune strive,

Troy never can be lost, and thou alive;

Thy passage thou shalt free through fire and sword,

And Troy in foreign lands shall be restored.

In happier fields a rising town I see, }

Greater than what e'er was, or is, or e'er shall be; }

And heaven yet owes the world a race derived from thee. }

Sages and chiefs, of other lineage born,

The city shall extend, extended shall adorn;

But from Iulus he must draw his birth,

By whom thy Rome shall rule the conquered earth;

Whom heaven will lend mankind on earth to reign,

And late require the precious pledge again.--

This Helenus to great Æneas told,

Which I retain, e'er since in other mould

My soul was clothed; and now rejoice to view

My country walls rebuilt, and Troy revived anew;

Raised by the fall; decreed by loss to gain;

Enslaved but to be free, and conquered but to reign.

'Tis time my hard-mouthed coursers to controul,

Apt to run riot, and transgress the goal,

And therefore I conclude: whatever lies

In earth, or flits in air, or fills the skies,

All suffer change; and we, that are of soul

And body mixed, are members of the whole.

Then when our sires, or grandsires, shall forsake

The forms of men, and brutal figures take,

Thus housed, securely let their spirits rest,

Nor violate thy father in the beast,

Thy friend, thy brother, any of thy kin;

If none of these, yet there's a man within.

O spare to make a Thyestean meal,

To inclose his body, and his soul expel.

Ill customs by degrees to habits rise,

Ill habits soon become exalted vice:

What more advance can mortals make in sin,

So near perfection, who with blood begin?

Deaf to the calf that lies beneath the knife,

Looks up, and from her butcher begs her life;

Deaf to the harmless kid, that, ere he dies, }

All methods to procure thy mercy tries, }

And imitates in vain thy children's cries. }

Where will he stop, who feeds with household bread,

Then eats the poultry, which before he fed?

Let plough thy steers; that, when they lose their breath,

To nature, not to thee, they may impute their death.

Let goats for food their loaded udders lend,

And sheep from winter-cold thy sides defend;

But neither springes, nets, nor snares employ,

And be no more ingenious to destroy.

Free as in air, let birds on earth remain,

Nor let insidious glue their wings constrain;

Nor opening hounds the trembling stag affright,

Nor purple feathers intercept his flight;

Nor hooks concealed in baits for fish prepare,

Nor lines to heave them twinkling up in air.

Take not away the life you cannot give;

For all things have an equal right to live.

Kill noxious creatures, where 'tis sin to save;

This only just prerogative we have:

But nourish life with vegetable food,

And shun the sacrilegious taste of blood.--

These precepts by the Samian sage were taught,

Which godlike Numa to the Sabines brought,

And thence transferred to Rome, by gift his own;

A willing people, and an offered throne.

O happy monarch, sent by heaven to bless

A savage nation with soft arts of peace;

To teach religion, rapine to restrain,

Give laws to lust, and sacrifice ordain:

Himself a saint, a goddess was his bride,

And all the muses o'er his acts preside.

FOOTNOTES:

[41] Nessus, mortally wounded by Hercules with a poisoned

arrow.

[42] A latinism, for restores, or presents anew.

TRANSLATIONS

FROM

OVID'S ART OF LOVE.

THE

FIRST BOOK

OF

OVID'S ART OF LOVE.

In Cupid's school whoe'er would take degree,

Must learn his rudiments, by reading me.

Seamen with sailing arts their vessels move;

Art guides the chariot, art instructs to love.

Of ships and chariots others know the rule;

But I am master in Love's mighty school.

Cupid indeed is obstinate and wild,

A stubborn god, but yet the god's a child;

Easy to govern in his tender age,

Like fierce Achilles in his pupillage:

That hero, born for conquest, trembling stood

Before the Centaur, and received the rod.

As Chiron mollified his cruel mind

With art, and taught his warlike hands to wind

The silver strings of his melodious lyre,

So Love's fair goddess does my soul inspire,

To teach her softer arts, to sooth the mind,

And smooth the rugged breasts of human kind.

Yet Cupid and Achilles, each with scorn

And rage were filled, and both were goddess-born.

The bull, reclaimed and yoked, the burden draws;

The horse receives the bitt within his jaws;

And stubborn Love shall bend beneath my sway,

Though struggling oft he strives to disobey.

He shakes his torch, he wounds me with his darts;

But vain his force, and vainer are his arts.

The more he burns my soul, or wounds my sight,

The more he teaches to revenge the spite.

I boast no aid the Delphian god affords,

Nor auspice from the flight of chattering birds;

Nor Clio, nor her sisters, have I seen,

As Hesiod saw them on the shady green:

Experience makes my work; a truth so tried

You may believe, and Venus be my guide.

Far hence, ye vestals, be, who bind your hair;

And wives, who gowns below your ancles wear.

I sing the brothels loose and unconfined, }

The unpunishable pleasures of the kind; }

Which all alike, for love, or money, find. }

You, who in Cupid's rolls inscribe your name,

First seek an object worthy of your flame;

Then strive, with art, your lady's mind to gain;

And, last, provide your love may long remain.

On these three precepts all my works shall move;

These are the rules and principles of love.

Before your youth with marriage is opprest,

Make choice of one who suits your humour best;

And such a damsel drops not from the sky,

She must be sought for with a curious eye.

The wary angler, in the winding brook,

Knows what the fish, and where to bait his hook.

The fowler and the huntsman know by name

The certain haunts and harbour of their game.

So must the lover beat the likeliest grounds;

The assembly where his quarry most abounds.

Nor shall my novice wander far astray;

These rules shall put him in the ready way.

Thou shalt not sail around the continent,

As far as Perseus, or as Paris went;

For Rome alone affords thee such a store,

As all the world can hardly show thee more:

The face of heaven with fewer stars is crowned,

Than beauties in the Roman sphere are found.

Whether thy love is bent on blooming youth,

On dawning sweetness in unartful truth,

Or courts the juicy joys of riper growth;

Here may'st thou find thy full desires in both.

Or if autumnal beauties please thy sight,

(An age that knows to give, and take delight,)

Millions of matrons of the graver sort,

In common prudence, will not baulk the sport.

In summer heats thou need'st but only go

To Pompey's cool and shady portico;

Or Concord's fane; or that proud edifice,

Whose turrets near the bawdy suburb rise;

Or to that other portico, where stands

The cruel father urging his commands,

And fifty daughters wait the time of rest,

To plunge their poniards in the bridegroom's breast;

Or Venus' temple, where, on annual nights,

They mourn Adonis with Assyrian rites.

Nor shun the Jewish walk, where the foul drove,

On Sabbaths, rest from every thing but love:

Nor Isis' temple; for that sacred whore

Makes others what to Jove she was before.

And if the hall itself be not belied,

Even there the cause of love is often tried;

Near it at least, or in the palace-yard,

From whence the noisy combatants are heard.

The crafty counsellors, in formal gown,

There gain another's cause, but lose their own.

There eloquence is nonplust in the suit,

And lawyers, who had words at will, are mute.

Venus, from her adjoining temple, smiles,

To see them caught in their litigious wiles.

Grave senators lead home the youthful dame,

Returning clients, when they patrons came.

But, above all, the play-house is the place;

There's choice of quarry in that narrow chace.

There take thy stand, and, sharply looking out, }

Soon may'st thou find a mistress in the rout, }

For length of time, or for a single bout. }

The theatres are berries for the fair,

Like ants on mole-hills thither they repair;

Like bees to hives, so numerously they throng,

It may be said, they to that place belong.

Thither they swarm, who have the public voice;

There choose, if plenty not distracts thy choice.

To see, and to be seen, in heaps they run;

Some to undo, and some to be undone.

From Romulus the rise of plays began,

To his new subjects a commodious man;

Who, his unmarried soldiers to supply,

Took care the commonwealth should multiply;

Providing Sabine women for his braves,

Like a true king, to get a race of slaves.

His play-house not of Parian marble made,

Nor was it spread with purple sails for shade;

The stage with rushes, or with leaves, they strewed,

No scenes in prospect, no machining god.

On rows of homely turf they sat to see,

Crowned with the wreaths of every common tree.

There, while they sat in rustic majesty,

Each lover had his mistress in his eye;

And whom he saw most suiting to his mind,

For joys of matrimonial rape designed.

Scarce could they wait the plaudit in their haste;

But, ere the dances and the song were past,

The monarch gave the signal from his throne,

And, rising, bade his merry men fall on.

The martial crew, like soldiers ready prest,

Just at the word, (the word too was, "The best,")

With joyful cries each other animate;

Some choose, and some at hazard seize their mate.

As doves from eagles, or from wolves the lambs,

So from their lawless lovers fly the dames.

Their fear was one, but not one face of fear; }

Some rend the lovely tresses of their hair; }

Some shriek, and some are struck with dumb despair. }

Her absent mother one invokes in vain; }

One stands amazed, not daring to complain; }

The nimbler trust their feet, the slow remain. }

But nought availing, all are captives led,

Trembling and blushing, to the genial bed.

She who too long resisted, or denied, }

The lusty lover made by force a bride; }

And, with superior strength, compelled her to his side. }

Then soothed her thus:--My soul's far better part,

Cease weeping, nor afflict thy tender heart;

For what thy father to thy mother was,

That faith to thee, that solemn vow I pass.--

Thus Romulus became so popular;

This was the way to thrive in peace and war.

To pay his army, and fresh whores to bring,--

Who would not fight for such a gracious king?

Thus love in theatres did first improve,

And theatres are still the scenes of love.

Nor shun the chariot's, and the courser's race;

The circus is no inconvenient place.

No need is there of talking on the hand;

Nor nods, nor signs, which lovers understand:

But boldly next the fair your seat provide;

Close as you can to hers, and side by side.

Pleased or unpleased, no matter, crowding sit;

For so the laws of public shows permit.

Then find occasion to begin discourse;

Inquire, whose chariot this, and whose that horse?

To whatsoever side she is inclined,

Suit all your inclinations to her mind;

Like what she likes; from thence your court begin;

And whom she favours, wish that he may win.

But when the statues of the deities, }

In chariots rolled, appear before the prize; }

When Venus comes, with deep devotion rise. }

If dust be on her lap, or grains of sand,

Brush both away with your officious hand;

If none be there, yet brush that nothing thence,

And still to touch her lap make some pretence.

Touch any thing of hers; and if her train }

Sweep on the ground, let it not sweep in vain, }

But gently take it up, and wipe it clean; }

And while you wipe it, with observing eyes,

Who knows but you may see her naked thighs!

Observe, who sits behind her; and beware,

Lest his encroaching knee should press the fair.

Light service takes light minds; for some can tell

Of favours won, by laying cushions well:

By fanning faces, some their fortune meet;

And some by laying footstools for their feet.

These overtures of love the circus gives;

Nor at the sword-play less the lover thrives;

For there the son of Venus fights his prize,

And deepest wounds are oft received from eyes.

One, while the crowd their acclamations make,

Or while he bets, and puts his ring to stake,

Is struck from far, and feels the flying dart,

And of the spectacle is made a part.

Cæsar would represent a naval fight,

For his own honour, and for Rome's delight;

From either sea the youths and maidens come,

And all the world was then contained in Rome.

In this vast concourse, in this choice of game,

What Roman heart but felt a foreign flame?

Once more our prince prepares to make us glad;

And the remaining East to Rome will add.

Rejoice, ye Roman soldiers, in your urns; }

Your ensigns from the Parthians shall return, }

And the slain Crassi shall no longer mourn. }

A youth is sent those trophies to demand,

And bears his father's thunder in his hand;

Doubt not the imperial boy in wars unseen,

In childhood all of Cæsar's race are men;

Celestial seeds shoot out before their day,

Prevent their years, and brook no dull delay:

Thus infant Hercules the snakes did press,

And in his cradle did his sire confess;

Bacchus, a boy, yet like a hero fought,

And early spoils from conquered India brought.

Thus you your father's troops shall lead to fight,

And thus shall vanquish in your father's right.

These rudiments you to your lineage owe;

Born to encrease your titles, as you grow.

Brethren you had, revenge your brethren slain;

You have a father, and his rights maintain;

Armed by your country's parent, and your own,

Redeem your country, and restore his throne.

Your enemies assert an impious cause;

You fight both for divine and human laws.

Already in their cause they are o'ercome;

Subject them too, by force of arms, to Rome.

Great father Mars with greater Cæsar join, }

To give a prosperous omen to your line; }

One of you is, and one shall be divine. }

I prophesy you shall, you shall o'ercome;

My verse shall bring you back in triumph home.

Speak in my verse, exhort to loud alarms;

O were my numbers equal to your arms!

Then would I sing the Parthians overthrow;

Their shot averse sent from a flying bow:

The Parthians, who already flying fight,

Already give an omen of their flight.

O when will come the day, by heaven designed,

When thou, the best and fairest of mankind,

Drawn by white horses shalt in triumph ride,

With conquered slaves attending on thy side;

Slaves, that no longer can be safe in flight; }

O glorious object, O surprising sight, }

O day of public joy, too good to end in night! }

On such a day, if thou, and, next to thee,

Some beauty sits, the spectacle to see;

If she inquire the names of conquered kings,

Of mountains, rivers, and their hidden springs,

Answer to all thou knowest; and, if need be,

Of things unknown seem to speak knowingly.

This is Euphrates, crowned with reeds; and there

Flows the swift Tigris with his sea-green hair.

Invent new names of things unknown before;

Call this Armenia, that the Caspian shore;

Call this a Mede, and that a Parthian youth;

Talk probably, no matter for the truth.

In feasts, as at our shows, new means abound;

More pleasure there than that of wine is found.

The Paphian goddess there her ambush lays;

And Love betwixt the horns of Bacchus plays;

Desires increase at every swelling draught;

Brisk vapours add new vigour to the thought.

There Cupid's purple wings no flight afford,

But, wet with wine, he flutters on the board;

He shakes his pinions, but he cannot move;

Fixed he remains, and turns a maudlin love.

Wine warms the blood, and makes the spirits flow;

Care flies, and wrinkles from the forehead go;

Exalts the poor, invigorates the weak;

Gives mirth and laughter, and a rosy cheek.

Bold truths it speaks, and, spoken, dares maintain,

And brings our old simplicity again.

Love sparkles in the cup, and fills it higher;

Wine feeds the flames, and fuel adds to fire.

But choose no mistress in thy drunken fit;

Wine gilds too much their beauties and their wit.

Nor trust thy judgment when the tapers dance;

But sober, and by day, thy suit advance.

By day-light Paris judged the beauteous three,

And for the fairest did the prize decree.

Night is a cheat, and all deformities

Are hid, or lessened, in her dark disguise.

The sun's fair light each error will confess,

In face, in shape, in jewels, and in dress.

Why name I every place where youths abound?

'Tis loss of time, and a too fruitful ground.

The Baian baths, where ships at anchor ride,

And wholesome streams from sulphur fountains glide;

Where wounded youths are by experience taught,

The waters are less healthful than they thought;

Or Dian's fane, which near the suburb lies,

Where priests, for their promotion, fight a prize.

That maiden goddess is Love's mortal foe,

And much from her his subjects undergo.

Thus far the sportful Muse, with myrtle bound,

Has sung where lovely lasses may be found.

Now let me sing, how she, who wounds your mind,

With art, may be to cure your wounds inclined.

Young nobles, to my laws attention lend;

And all you, vulgar of my school, attend.

First then believe, all women may be won;

Attempt with confidence, the work is done.

The grashopper shall first forbear to sing

In summer season, or the birds in spring,

Than women can resist your flattering skill;

Even she will yield, who swears she never will.

To secret pleasure both the sexes move;

But women most, who most dissemble love.

'Twere best for us, if they would first declare,

Avow their passion, and submit to prayer.

The cow, by lowing, tells the bull her flame;

The neighing mare invites her stallion to the game.

Man is more temperate in his lust than they,

And more than women can his passion sway.

Biblis, we know, did first her love declare,

And had recourse to death in her despair.

Her brother she, her father Myrrha sought,

And loved, but loved not as a daughter ought.

Now from a tree she stills her odorous tears,

Which yet the name of her who shed them bears.

In Ida's shady vale a bull appeared,

White as the snow, the fairest of the herd;

A beauty-spot of black there only rose, }

Betwixt his equal horns and ample brows; }

The love and wish of all the Cretan cows. }

The queen beheld him as his head he reared,

And envied every leap he gave the herd;

A secret fire she nourished in her breast,

And hated every heifer he caressed.

A story known, and known for true, I tell;

Nor Crete, though lying, can the truth conceal.

She cut him grass; (so much can Love command,)

She stroked, she fed him with her royal hand;

Was pleased in pastures with the herd to roam;

And Minos by the bull was overcome.

Cease, queen, with gems t'adorn thy beauteous brows;

The monarch of thy heart no jewel knows.

Nor in thy glass compose thy looks and eyes;

Secure from all thy charms thy lover lies:

Yet trust thy mirror, when it tells thee true;

Thou art no heifer to allure his view.

Soon would'st thou quit thy royal diadem

To thy fair rivals, to be horned like them.

If Minos please, no lover seek to find;

If not, at least seek one of human kind.

The wretched queen the Cretan court forsakes;

In woods and wilds her habitation makes:

She curses every beauteous cow she sees;

Ah, why dost thou my lord and master please!

And think'st, ungrateful creature as thou art,

With frisking awkwardly, to gain his heart!

She said, and straight commands, with frowning look,

To put her, undeserving, to the yoke;

Or feigns some holy rites of sacrifice,

And sees her rival's death with joyful eyes:

Then, when the bloody priest has done his part,

Pleased, in her hand she holds the beating heart;

Nor from a scornful taunt can scarce refrain;

Go, fool, and strive to please my love again.

Now she would be Europa, Io now;

(One bore a bull, and one was made a cow.)

Yet she at last her brutal bliss obtained,

And in a wooden cow the bull sustained;

Filled with his seed, accomplished her desire,

Till by his form the son betrayed the sire.[43]

If Atreus' wife to incest had not run,

(But, ah, how hard it is to love but one!)

His coursers Phœbus had not driven away,

To shun that sight, and interrupt the day.

Thy daughter, Nisus,[44] pulled thy purple hair,

And barking sea-dogs yet her bowels tear.

At sea and land Atrides saved his life,

Yet fell a prey to his adulterous wife.

Who knows not what revenge Medea sought,

When the slain offspring bore the father's fault?

Thus Phœnix did a woman's love bewail;

And thus Hippolytus by Phædra fell.

These crimes revengeful matrons did commit;

Hotter their lust, and sharper is their wit.

Doubt not from them an easy victory;

Scarce of a thousand dames will one deny.

All women are content that men should woo;

She who complains, and she who will not do.

Rest then secure, whate'er thy luck may prove,

Not to be hated for declaring love.

And yet how canst thou miss, since womankind

Is frail and vain, and still to change inclined?

Old husbands and stale gallants they despise;

And more another's, than their own, they prize.

A larger crop adorns our neighbour's field;

More milk his kine from swelling udders yield.

First gain the maid; by her thou shalt be sure

A free access and easy to procure:

Who knows what to her office does belong,

Is in the secret, and can hold her tongue,

Bribe her with gifts, with promises, and prayers;

For her good word goes far in love-affairs.

The time and fit occasion leave to her,

When she most aptly can thy suit prefer.

The time for maids to fire their lady's blood,

Is, when they find her in a merry mood.

When all things at her wish and pleasure move,

Her heart is open then, and free to love;

Then mirth and wantonness to lust betray,

And smooth the passage to the lover's way.

Troy stood the siege, when filled with anxious care;

One merry fit concluded all the war.

If some fair rival vex her jealous mind,

Offer thy service to revenge in kind.

Instruct the damsel, while she combs her hair,

To raise the choler of that injured fair;

And, sighing, make her mistress understand,

She has the means of vengeance in her hand:

Then, naming thee, thy humble suit prefer,

And swear thou languishest and diest for her.

Then let her lose no time, but push at all;

For women soon are raised, and soon they fall.

Give their first fury leisure to relent,

They melt like ice, and suddenly repent.

To enjoy the maid, will that thy suit advance?

'Tis a hard question, and a doubtful chance.

One maid, corrupted, bawds the better for't;

Another for herself would keep the sport.

Thy business may be furthered or delayed;

But, by my counsel, let alone the maid;

Even though she should consent to do the feat,

The profit's little, and the danger great.

I will not lead thee through a rugged road,

But, where the way lies open, safe, and broad.

Yet if thou find'st her very much thy friend,

And her good face her diligence commend,

Let the fair mistress have thy first embrace,

And let the maid come after in her place.

But this I will advise, and mark my words;

For 'tis the best advice my skill affords:

If needs thou with the damsel wilt begin,

Before the attempt is made, make sure to win;

For then the secret better will be kept,

And she can tell no tales when once she's dipt.

'Tis for the fowler's interest to beware,

The bird entangled should not 'scape the snare.

The fish, once pricked, avoids the bearded hook,

And spoils the sport of all the neighbouring brook.

But if the wench be thine, she makes thy way, }

And, for thy sake, her mistress will betray; }

Tell all she knows, and all she hears her say. }

Keep well the counsel of thy faithful spy;

So shalt thou learn whene'er she treads awry.

All things the stations of their seasons keep,

And certain times there are to sow and reap.

Ploughmen and sailors for the season stay, }

One to plough land, and one to plough the sea; }

So should the lover wait the lucky day. }

Then stop thy suit, it hurts not thy design;

But think, another hour she may be thine.

And when she celebrates her birth at home, }

Or when she views the public shows of Rome, }

Know, all thy visits then are troublesome. }

Defer thy work, and put not then to sea,

For that's a boding and a stormy day.

Else take thy time, and, when thou canst, begin;

To break a Jewish Sabbath, think no sin:

Nor even on superstitious days abstain;

Not when the Romans were at Allia slain.

Ill omens in her frowns are understood;

When she's in humour, every day is good.

But than her birth day seldom comes a worse, }

When bribes and presents must be sent of course; }

And that's a bloody day, that costs thy purse. }

Be staunch, yet parsimony will be vain;

The craving sex will still the lover drain.

No skill can shift them off, nor art remove;

They will be begging, when they know we love.

The merchant comes upon the appointed day,

Who shall before thy face his wares display;

To choose for her she craves thy kind advice;

Then begs again, to bargain for the price:

But when she has her purchase in her eye,

She hugs thee close, and kisses thee to buy:--

'Tis what I want, and 'tis a pen'orth too;

In many years I will not trouble you.--

If you complain you have no ready coin;

No matter, 'tis but writing of a line,

A little bill, not to be paid at sight;

Now curse the time when thou wert taught to write!

She keeps her birth-day; you must send the chear;

And she'll be born a hundred times a year.

With daily lies she dribs thee into cost;

That ear-ring dropt a stone, that ring is lost.

They often borrow what they never pay,

Whate'er you lend her, think it thrown away.

Had I ten mouths and tongues to tell each art,

All would be wearied ere I told a part.

By letters, not by words, thy love begin;

And ford the dangerous passage with thy pen.

If to her heart thou aim'st to find the way,

Extremely flatter, and extremely pray.

Priam by prayers did Hector's body gain;

Nor is an angry God invoked in vain.

With promised gifts her easy mind bewitch;

For e'en the poor in promise may be rich.

Vain hopes awhile her appetite will stay,

'Tis a deceitful, but commodious way.

Who gives is mad; but make her still believe

'Twill come, and that's the cheapest way to give.

E'en barren lands fair promises afford;

But the lean harvest cheats the starving lord.

Buy not thy first enjoyment, lest it prove

Of bad example to thy future love:

But get it gratis, and she'll give thee more,

For fear of losing what she gave before.

The losing gamester shakes the box in vain,

And bleeds, and loses on, in hopes to gain.

Write then, and in thy letter, as I said,

Let her with mighty promises be fed.

Cydippe by a letter was betrayed,

Writ on an apple to the unwary maid.

She read herself into a marriage-vow;

(And every cheat in love the gods allow.)

Learn eloquence, ye noble youth of Rome;

It will not only at the bar o'ercome:

Sweet words the people and the senate move;

But the chief end of eloquence is love.

But in thy letter hide thy moving arts;

Affect not to be thought a man of parts.

None but vain fools to simple women preach;

A learned letter oft has made a breach.

In a familiar style your thoughts convey,

And write such things as present you would say;

Such words as from the heart may seem to move;

'Tis wit enough, to make her think you love.

If sealed she sends it back, and will not read,

Yet hope, in time, the business may succeed.

In time the steer will to the yoke submit;

In time the restive horse will bear the bitt;

Even the hard plough-share use will wear away,

And stubborn steel in length of time decay.

Water is soft, and marble hard; and yet

We see soft water through hard marble eat.

Though late, yet Troy at length in flames expired;

And ten years more Penelope had tired.

Perhaps thy lines unanswered she retained;

No matter, there's a point already gained;

For she, who reads, in time will answer too:

Things must be left by just degrees to grow.

Perhaps she writes, but answers with disdain,

And sharply bids you not to write again:

What she requires, she fears you should accord;

The jilt would not be taken at her word.

Mean time, if she be carried in her chair,

Approach, but do not seem to know she's there.

Speak softly, to delude the standers by;

Or, if aloud, then speak ambiguously.

If sauntering in the portico she walk,

Move slowly too, for that's a time for talk;

And sometimes follow, sometimes be her guide,

But, when the crowd permits, go side by side.

Nor in the play-house let her sit alone;

For she's the play-house, and the play, in one.

There thou may'st ogle, or by signs advance

Thy suit, and seem to touch her hand by chance.

Admire the dancer who her liking gains,

And pity in the play the lover's pains:

For her sweet sake the loss of time despise;

Sit while she sits, and when she rises, rise.

But dress not like a fop, nor curl your hair,

Nor with a pumice make your body bare;

Leave those effeminate and useless toys

To eunuchs, who can give no solid joys.

Neglect becomes a man; thus Theseus found;

Uncurled, uncombed, the nymph his wishes crowned.

The rough Hippolytus was Phædra's care;

And Venus thought the rude Adonis fair.

Be not too finical; but yet be clean,

And wear well-fashioned clothes, like other men.

Let not your teeth be yellow, or be foul,

Nor in wide shoes your feet too loosely roll;

Of a black muzzle, and long beard, beware,

And let a skilful barber cut your hair;

Your nails be picked from filth, and even pared,

Nor let your nasty nostrils bud with beard;

Cure your unsavoury breath, gargle your throat,

And free your armpits from the ram and goat:

Dress not, in short, too little or too much;

And be not wholly French, nor wholly Dutch.

Now Bacchus calls me to his jolly rites;

Who would not follow, when a God invites?

He helps the poet, and his pen inspires,

Kind and indulgent to his former fires.

Fair Ariadne wandered on the shore,

Forsaken now, and Theseus loved no more:

Loose was her gown, dishevelled was her hair,

Her bosom naked, and her feet were bare;

Exclaiming, on the water's brink she stood;

Her briny tears augment the briny flood.

She shrieked, and wept, and both became her face;

No posture could that heavenly form disgrace.

She beat her breast: The traitor's gone, said she;

What shall become of poor forsaken me?

What shall become----she had not time for more,

The sounding cymbals rattled on the shore.

She swoons for fear, she falls upon the ground;

No vital heat was in her body found.

The Mimallonian dames about her stood,

And scudding satyrs ran before their God.

Silenus on his ass did next appear,

And held upon the mane; (the God was clear)

The drunken sire pursues, the dames retire;

Sometimes the drunken dames pursue the drunken sire.

At last he topples over on the plain;

The satyrs laugh, and bid him rise again.

And now the God of Wine came driving on,

High on his chariot by swift tygers drawn.

Her colour, voice, and sense, forsook the fair; }

Thrice did her trembling feet for flight prepare, }

And thrice, affrighted, did her flight forbear. }

She shook, like leaves of corn when tempests blow,

Or slender reeds that in the marshes grow.

To whom the God:--Compose thy fearful mind;

In me a truer husband thou shalt find.

With heaven I will endow thee, and thy star }

Shall with propitious light be seen afar, }

And guide on seas the doubtful mariner. }

He said, and from his chariot leaping light,

Lest the grim tygers should the nymph affright,

His brawny arms around her waist he threw;

(For Gods, whate'er they will, with ease can do;)

And swiftly bore her thence: the attending throng

Shout at the sight, and sing the nuptial song.

Now in full bowls her sorrow she may steep;

The bridegroom's liquor lays the bride asleep.

But thou, when flowing cups in triumph ride,

And the loved nymph is seated by thy side,

Invoke the God, and all the mighty Powers,

That wine may not defraud thy genial hours.

Then in ambiguous words thy suit prefer,

Which she may know were all addrest to her.

In liquid purple letters write her name,

Which she may read, and, reading, find the flame.

Then may your eyes confess your mutual fires;

(For eyes have tongues, and glances tell desires;)

Whene'er she drinks, be first to take the cup,

And, where she laid her lips, the blessing sup.

When she to carving does her hand advance,

Put out thy own, and touch it as by chance.

Thy service even her husband must attend:

(A husband is a most convenient friend.)

Seat the fool cuckold in the highest place,

And with thy garland his dull temples grace.

Whether below or equal in degree, }

Let him be lord of all the company, }

And what he says, be seconded by thee. }

'Tis common to deceive through friendship's name;

But, common though it be, 'tis still to blame:

Thus factors frequently their trust betray,

And to themselves their masters' gains convey.

Drink to a certain pitch, and then give o'er;

Thy tongue and feet may stumble, drinking more.

Of drunken quarrels in her sight beware;

Pot-valour only serves to fright the fair.

Eurytion justly fell, by wine opprest,

For his rude riot at a wedding-feast.

Sing, if you have a voice; and show your parts

In dancing, if endued with dancing arts.

Do any thing within your power to please;

Nay, even affect a seeming drunkenness:

Clip every word; and if by chance you speak

Too home, or if too broad a jest you break,

In your excuse the company will join,

And lay the fault upon the force of wine.

True drunkenness is subject to offend;

But when 'tis feigned, 'tis oft a lover's friend.

Then safely you may praise her beauteous face,

And call him happy, who is in her grace.

Her husband thinks himself the man designed;

But curse the cuckold in your secret mind.

When all are risen, and prepare to go,

Mix with the crowd, and tread upon her toe.

This is the proper time to make thy court;

For now she's in the vein, and fit for sport.

Lay bashfulness, that rustic virtue, by;

To manly confidence thy thoughts apply.

On fortune's foretop timely fix thy hold;

Now speak and speed, for Venus loves the bold.

No rules of rhetoric here I need afford; }

Only begin, and trust the following word; }

It will be witty of its own accord. }

Act well the lover; let thy speech abound

In dying words, that represent thy wound;

Distrust not her belief; she will be moved;

All women think they merit to be loved.

Sometimes a man begins to love in jest,

And, after, feels the torment he profest,

For your own sakes be pitiful, ye fair;

For a feigned passion may a true prepare.

By flatteries we prevail on womankind;

As hollow banks by streams are undermined.

Tell her, her face is fair, her eyes are sweet;

Her taper fingers praise, and little feet.

Such praises even the chaste are pleased to hear;

Both maids and matrons hold their beauty dear.

Once naked Pallas with Jove's queen appeared,

And still they grieve that Venus was preferred.

Praise the proud peacock, and he spreads his train;

Be silent, and he pulls it in again.

Pleased is the courser in his rapid race;

Applaud his running, and he mends his pace.

But largely promise, and devoutly swear;

And, if need be, call every God to hear.

Jove sits above, forgiving with a smile

The perjuries that easy maids beguile.

He swore to Juno by the Stygian lake; }

Forsworn, he dares not an example make, }

Or punish falsehood, for his own dear sake. }

'Tis for our interest that the gods should be; }

Let us believe them; I believe, they see, }

And both reward, and punish equally. }

Not that they live above like lazy drones,

Or kings below, supine upon their thrones.

Lead then your lives as present in their sight; }

Be just in dealings, and defend the right; }

By fraud betray not, nor oppress by might. }

But 'tis a venial sin to cheat the fair;

All men have liberty of conscience there.

On cheating nymphs a cheat is well designed;

'Tis a profane and a deceitful kind.

'Tis said, that Egypt for nine years was dry,

Nor Nile did floods, nor heaven did rain supply.

A foreigner at length informed the king,

That slaughtered guests would kindly moisture bring.

The king replied:--On thee the lot shall fall;

Be thou my guest, the sacrifice for all.

Thus Phaleris Perillus taught to low,

And made him season first the brazen cow.[45]

A rightful doom, the laws of nature cry,

'Tis, the artificers of death should die:

Thus, justly women suffer by deceit;

Their practice authorizes us to cheat.

Beg her, with tears, thy warm desires to grant;

For tears will pierce a heart of adamant.

If tears will not be squeezed, then rub your eye,

Or 'noint the lids, and seem at least to cry.

Kiss, if you can; resistance if she make,

And will not give you kisses, let her take.

Fie, fie, you naughty man, are words of course;

She struggles but to be subdued by force.

Kiss only soft, I charge you, and beware,

With your hard bristles not to brush the fair.

He who has gained a kiss, and gains no more,

Deserves to lose the bliss he got before.

If once she kiss, her meaning is exprest;

There wants but little pushing for the rest;

Which if thou dost not gain, by strength or art, }

The name of clown then suits with thy desert; }

'Tis downright dulness, and a shameful part. }

Perhaps, she calls it force; but, if she 'scape,

She will not thank you for the omitted rape.

The sex is cunning to conceal their fires;

They would be forced e'en to their own desires.

They seem to accuse you, with a downcast sight,

But in their souls confess you did them right.

Who might be forced, and yet untouched depart,

Thank with their tongues, but curse you with their heart.

Fair Phœbe and her sister did prefer

To their dull mates the noble ravisher.

What Deidamia did, in days of yore,

The tale is old, but worth the reading o'er.

When Venus had the golden apple gained,

And the just judge fair Helen had

obtained; When she with triumph was at Troy received,

The Trojans joyful, while the Grecians grieved;

They vowed revenge of violated laws,

And Greece was arming in the cuckold's cause:

Achilles, by his mother warned from war,

Disguised his sex, and lurked among the fair.

What means Æacides to spin and sow? }

With spear and sword in field thy valour show; }

And, leaving this, the nobler Pallas know. }

Why dost thou in that hand the distaff wield,

Which is more worthy to sustain the shield?

Or with that other draw the woolly twine,

The same the fates for Hector's thread assign?

Brandish thy faulchion in thy powerful hand,

Which can alone the ponderous lance command.

In the same room by chance the royal maid }

Was lodged, and, by his seeming sex betrayed, }

Close to her side the youthful hero laid. }

I know not how his courtship he began;

But, to her cost, she found it was a man.

'Tis thought she struggled; but withal 'tis thought,

Her wish was to be conquered when she fought.

For when disclosed, and hastening to the field,

He laid his distaff down, and took the shield;

With tears her humble suit she did prefer,

And thought to stay the grateful[46] ravisher.

She sighs, she sobs, she begs him not to part;

And now 'tis nature, what before was art.

She strives by force her lover to detain,

And wishes to be ravished once again.

This is the sex; they will not first begin,

But, when compelled, are pleased to suffer sin.

Is there, who thinks that women first should woo?

Lay by thy self-conceit, thou foolish beau!

Begin, and save their modesty the shame;

'Tis well for thee, if they receive thy flame.

'Tis decent for a man to speak his mind;

They but expect the occasion to be kind.

Ask, that thou may'st enjoy; she waits for this;

And on thy first advance depends thy bliss:

Even Jove himself was forced to sue for love;

None of the nymphs did first solicit Jove.

But if you find your prayers increase her pride,

Strike sail awhile, and wait another tide.

They fly when we pursue; but make delay,

And, when they see you slacken, they will stay.

Sometimes it profits to conceal your end;

Name not yourself her lover, but her friend.

How many skittish girls have thus been caught!

He proved a lover, who a friend was thought.

Sailors by sun and wind are swarthy made;

A tanned complexion best becomes their trade:

'Tis a disgrace to ploughmen to be fair;

Bluff cheeks they have, and weather-beaten hair:

The ambitious youth, who seeks an olive crown,

Is sun-burnt with his daily toil, and brown;

But if the lover hopes to be in grace,

Wan be his looks, and meagre be his face.

That colour from the fair compassion draws;

She thinks you sick, and thinks herself the cause.

Orion wandered in the woods for love; }

His paleness did the nymphs to pity move; }

His ghastly visage argued hidden love. }

Nor fail a night-cap, in full health, to wear;

Neglect thy dress, and discompose thy hair.

All things are decent, that in love avail;

Read long by night, and study to be pale;

Forsake your food, refuse your needful rest,

Be miserable, that you may be blest.

Shall I complain, or shall I warn you most? }

Faith, truth, and friendship in the world are lost; }

A little and an empty name they boast. }

Trust not thy friend, much less thy mistress praise;

If he believe, thou may'st a rival raise.

'Tis true, Patroclus, by no lust misled,

Sought not to stain his dear companion's bed;

Nor Pylades Hermione embraced;

Even Phædra to Pirithous still was chaste.

But hope not thou, in this vile age, to find

Those rare examples of a faithful mind;

The sea shall sooner with sweet honey flow,

Or from the furzes pears and apples grow.

We sin with gust, we love by fraud to gain,

And find a pleasure in our fellow's pain.

From rival foes you may the fair defend;

But, would you ward the blow, beware your friend:

Beware your brother, and your next of kin;

But from your bosom-friend your care begin.

Here I had ended, but experience finds,

That sundry women are of sundry minds,

With various crotchets filled, and hard to please;

They therefore must be caught by various ways.

All things are not produced in any soil;

This ground for wine is proper, that for oil.

So 'tis in men, but more in womankind; }

Different in face, in manners, and in mind; }

But wise men shift their sails with every wind. }

As changeful Proteus varied oft his shape,

And did in sundry forms and figures 'scape;

A running stream, a standing tree became,

A roaring lion, or a bleating lamb.

Some fish with harpoons, some with darts are struck,

Some drawn with nets, some hang upon the hook;

So turn thyself; and, imitating them,

Try several tricks, and change thy stratagem.

One rule will not for different ages hold;

The jades grow cunning, as they grow more old.

Then talk not bawdy to the bashful maid;

Broad words will make her innocence afraid:

Nor to an ignorant girl of learning speak;

She thinks you conjure, when you talk in Greek.

And hence 'tis often seen, the simple shun

The learned, and into vile embraces run.

Part of my task is done, and part to do;

But here 'tis time to rest myself and you.

FOOTNOTES:

[43] The Minotaur.

[44] Scylla.

[45] The famous brazen bull of Phalaris is here, _rythmi

gratia_, converted into a cow. The story of his inclosing Perillus, the

inventor, in the engine which he had contrived, is well-known.

[46] Grateful is here used for pleasing.

FROM OVID'S AMOURS.