Sivut kuvina
PDF
ePub

TRANSLATIONS FROM THEOCRITUS

AMARYLLIS:

OR,

Ah, why am I from empty joys debarrid? For kisses are but empty when compar'd. I rave, and in my raging ût shall tear

THE THIRD IDYLLIUM OF THEOCRITUS, The garland, which I wove for you to wear,

PARAPHRASED.

TO Amaryllis Love compels my way,

My browzing goats upon the mountains stray:
O Tityrus, tend them well, and see them fed
In pastures fresh, and to their watering led;
And 'ware the ridgling with his budding head.
Ah, beauteous nymph! can you forget your love,
The conscious grottos, and the shady grove;
Where stretch'd at ease your tender limbs were laid,
Your nameless beauties nakedly display'd?
Then I was call'd your darling, your desire,
With kisses such as set my soul on fire:
But you are chang'd, yet I am still the same;
My heart maintains for both a double flame;
Griev'd, but unmov'd, and patient of your scorn:
So faithful I, and you so much forsworn!
I die, and death will finish all my pain;
Yet, ere I die, behold me once again:
Am I so much deform'd, so chang'd of late?
What partial judges are our love and hate!
Ten wildings have I gather'd for my dear;
How ruddy, like your lips, their streaks appear!
Far off you view'd them with a longing eye
Upon the topmost branch (the tree was high):
Yet nimbly up, from bough to bough I swerv'd,
And for to-morrow have ten more reserv'd.
Look on me kindly, and some pity show,
Or give me leave at least to look on you.
Some god transformi me by his heavenly power
Ev'n to a bee to buzz within your bower,
The winding ivy-chaplet to invade,
And folded fern that your fair forehead shade.
Now to my cost the force of Love I find;
The heavy hand it bears on human-kind.
The milk of tigers was his infant food,
Taught from his tender years the taste of blood;
His brother whelps and he ran wild about the
wood.

Ah, nymph, train'd up in his tyrannic court,
To make the sufferings of your slaves your sport!
Unheeded ruin! treacheous delight!
O polish'd hardness soften'd to the sight!
Whose radiant eyes your ebon brows adorn,
Like midnight those, and these like break of morn!
Smile once again, revive me with your charms;
And let me die contented in your arms.
I would not ask to live another day,
Might I but sweetly kiss my soul away.

Of parsly, with a wreath of ivy bound,
And border'd with a rosy edging round.
What pangs 1 feel, unpity'd and unheard!
Since I must die, why is my fate deferr'd!
I strip my body of my shepherd's frock:
Behold that dreadful downfall of a rock,
Where yon old fisher views the waves from high?
'Tis that convenient leap I mean to try.
You would be pleas'd to see me plunge to shore,
But better pleas'd if I should rise no more.
I might have read my fortune long ago,
When, seeking my success in love to know,
I try'd th' infallible prophetic way,
A poppy-leaf upon my palm to lay:

I struck, and yet no lucky crack did follow;
Yet I struck hard, and yet the leaf lay hollow:
And which was worse, if any worse could prove,
The withering leaf foreshow'd your withering love.
Yet farther (ah, how far a lover dares!)
My last recourse I had to sieve and sheers;
And told the witch Agreo my disease:
Agreo, that in harvest us'd to lease:
But harvest done, to chare-work did aspire;
Meat, drink, and two-pence, was her daily hire.
To work she went, her charms she mutter'd o'er,
And yet the resty sieve wagg'd ne'er the more;
I wept for woe, the testy beldame swore,
And, foaming with her god, foretold my fate;
That I was doom'd to love, and you to hate.
A milk-white goat for you I did provide;
Two milk-white kids ran frisking by my side,
For which the nut-brown lass, Erithasis,
Full often offer'd many a savoury kiss.
Hers they shall be, since you refuse the price:
What madman would o'erstand his market twice!
My right eye itches, some good-luck is near,
Perhaps my Amaryllis may appear;
I'll set up such a note as she shall hear.
What nymph but my melodious voice would move?
She must be flint, if she refuse my love.
Hippomenes, who ran with noble strife
To win his lady, or to lose his life,
(What shift some men will make to get a wife!)
Threw down a golden apple in her way;
For all her haste she could not choose but stay:
Renown said, "Run;" the glittering bribe cry'd,

"Hold;"

[ocr errors]

The man might have been hang'd, but for his gold. Yet some suppose 'twas Love (some few indeed) ◄ That stopt the fatal fury of her speed:

She saw, she sigh'd; her nimble feet refuse
Their wonted speed, and she took pains to lose.
A prophet some, and some a poet cry,
(No matter which, so neither of them lie)
From steepy Othrys' top to Pylus drove
His herd; and for his pains enjoy'd his love:
If such another wager should be laid,
I'll find the man, if you can find the maid.
Why name I men, when Love extended finds
His power on high, and in celestial minds;
Venus the shepherd's homely habit took,
And manag'd something else besides the crook;
Nay, when Adonis died, was heard to roar,
And never from her heart forgave the boar.
How blest was fair Endymion with his Moon,
Who sleeps on Latmos' top from night to noon!
What Jason from Medea's love possest,
You shall not hear, but know 'tis like the rest.
My aking head can scarce support the pain;
This cursed love will surely turn my brain:
Feel how it shoots, and yet you take no pity;
Nay then 'tis time to end my doleful ditty.
A clammy sweat does o'er my temples creep;
My heavy eyes are urg'd with iron sleep:
I lay me down to gasp my latest breath,
The wolves will get a breakfast by my death;
Yet scarce enough their hunger to supply,
For Love has made me carrion ere I die.

THE EPITHALAMIUM

OF

HELEN AND MENELAU S.
FROM THE EIGHTEENTH IDYLLIUM OF THEOCRITUS.

TWELVE Spartan virgins, noble, young, and fair,
With violet wreaths adorn'd their flowing hair;
And to the pompous palace did resort,
Where Menelaus kept his royal court.
There hand in hand a comely choir they led;
To sing a blessing to his nuptial bed, [bespread.
With curious needles wrought, and painted flowers
Jove's beauteous daughter now his bride must be,
And Jove himself was less a god than he :

[why,

[ocr errors]

For this their artful hands instruct the lute to
sound,
[ground.
Their feet assist their hands, and justly beat the
This was their song: "Why, happy bridegroom,
Ere yet the stars are kindled in the sky,
Ere twilight shades, or evening dews are shed,
Why dost thou steal so soon away to bed?
Has Somnus brush'd thy eye-líds with his rod,"
Or do thy legs refuse to bear their load,
With flowing bowls of a more generous god?
If gentle slumber on thy temples creep,
(But, naughty man, thou dost not mean to sleep)
Betake thee to thy bed, thou drowsy drone,
Sleep by thyself, and leave thy bride alone:
Go, leave her with her maiden mates to play,
At sports more harmless till the break of day:
Give us this evening; thou hast morn and night,
And all the year before thee, for delight.
O happy youth! to thee, among the crowd,
Of rival princes, Cupid sneez'd aloud;
And every lucky omen sent before,

To meet thee landing on the Spartan shore.
Of all our heroes thou canst boast alone,
That Jove, whene'er he thunders, calls thee son:

Betwixt two sheets thou shalt enjoy her bare,
With whom no Grecian virgin can compare;
So soft, so sweet, so balmy, and so fair.
A boy, like thee, would make a kingly line:
But oh, a girl like her must be divine.
Her equals, we, in years, but not in face,
Twelvescore viragoes of the Spartan race,
While naked to Eurota's banks we bend,
And there in manly exercise contend,
When she appears, are all eclips'd and lost,
And hide the beauties that we made our boast,
So, when the night and winter disappear,
The purple morning, rising with the year,
Salutes the spring, as her celestial eyes
Adorn the world, and brighten all the skies:
So beauteous Helen shines among the rest,
Tall, slender, straight, with all the graces blest.
As pines the mountains, or as fields the corn,
Or as Thessalian steeds the race adorn;
So rosy-colour'd Helen is the pride
Of Lacedæmon, and of Greece beside.
Like her no nymph can willing osiers bend
In basket-works, which painted streaks commend:
With Pallas in the loom she may contend.
But
none, ah! none can animate the lyre,
And the mute strings with vocal souls inspire;
Whether the learn'd Minerva be her theme,
Or chaste Diana bathing in the stream:
None can record their heavenly praise so well
As Helen, in whose eyes ten thousand Cupids
dwell,

O fair, O graceful! yet with maids enroll'd,
But whom to-morrow's Sun a matron shall be-

hold!

Yet ere to-morrow's Sun shall show his head,
The dewy paths of meadows we will tread,
For crowns and chaplets to adorn thy head.
Where all shall weep and wish for thy return,
As bleating lambs their absent mother mourn.
Our noblest maids shall to thy name bequeath
The boughs of lotos, form'd into a wreath.
This monument, thy maiden beauty's due,
High on a plane-tree shall be hung to view:
On the smooth rind the passenger shall see
Thy name engrav'd, and worship Helen's tree:
Balm, from a silver-box distill'd around,
Shall all bedew the roots, and scent the sacred
ground.

The balm, 'tis true, can aged plants prolong,
But Helen's name will keep it ever young.
Hail bride, hail bridegroom, son-in-law to Jove!
With fruitful joys Latona bless your love;
Let Venus furnish you with full desires,
Add vigour to your wills, and fuel to your fires:
Almighty Jove augment your wealthy store,
Give much to you, and to his grandsons more.
From generous loins a generous race will spring,
Each girl, like her, a queen; each boy, like you,

a king.

Now sleep, if sleep you can; but while you rest, Sleep close, with folded arms, and breast to

breast:

Rise in the morn; but oh! before you rise,
Forget not to perform your morning sacrifice.
We will be with you ere the crowing cock
Salutes the light, and struts before his feather'd
flock.

Hymen, oh Hymen, to thy triumphs run,
And view the mighty spoils thou hast in battle
won."

THE DESPAIRING LOVER. FROM THE TWENTY-THIRD IDYLLIUM OF THEOCRITUS.

WITH inauspicious love, a wretched swain Pursued the fairest nymph of all the plain; Fairest indeed, but prouder far than fair, She plung'd him hopeless in a deep despair: Her heavenly form too haughtily she priz'd, His person hated, and his gifts despis'd; Nor knew the force of Cupid's cruel darts, Nor fear'd his awful power on human hearts; But either from her hopeless lover fled, Or with disdainful glances shot him dead. No kiss, no look, to cheer the drooping boy; No word she spoke, she scorn'd ev'n to deny. But, as a hunted panther casts about [scout, Her glaring eyes and pricks her listening ears to So she, to shun his toils, her cares employ'd, And fiercely in her savage freedom joy'd. [frown, Her mouth she writh'd, her forehead taught to Her eyes to sparkle fires to love unknown: Her sallow cheeks her envious mind did shew, And every feature spoke aloud the curstness of a Yet could not he his obvious fate escape: [shrew. His love still dress'd her in a pleasing shape; And every sullen frown, and bitter scorn, But fann'd the fuel that too fast did burn. Long time, unequal to his mighty pain, He strove to curb it, but he strove in vain : At last his woes broke out, and begg'd relief With tears, the dumb petitioners of grief: With tears so tender as adorn'd his love, And any heart, but only hers, would move. Trembling before her bolted doors he stood, And there pour'd out th' unprofitable flood; Staring his eyes, and haggard was his look; Then, kissing first the threshold, thus he spoke : "Ah nymph, more cruel than of human race! Thy tigress heart belies thy angel face: Too well thou show'dst thy pedigree from stone: Thy granddame's was the first by Pyrrha thrown: Unworthy thou to be so long desir'd; But so my love, and so my fate requir'd. I beg not now (for 'tis in vain) to live; But take this gift, the last that I can give. This friendly cord shall soon decide the strife Betwixt my lingering love and loathsome life: This moment puts an end to all my pain; I shall no more despair, nor thou disdain. Farewell, ungrateful and unkind! I go Condemn'd by thee to those sad shades below. go th' extremest remedy to prove, To drink oblivion, and to drench my love: There happily to lose my long desires : But ah! what draught so deep to quench my fires? Farewell, ye never-opening gates, ye stones, And threshold guilty of my midnight moans. What I have suffer'd here, ye know too well; What I shall do, the gods and I can tell.

The rose is fragrant, but it fades in time;
The violet sweet, but quickly past the prime;
White lilies hang their heads, and soon decay,
And whiter snow in minutes melts away:
Such is your blooming youth, and withering so:
The time will come, it will, when you shall know
The rage of love; your haughty heart shall burn
In flames like mine, and meet a like return.
Obdurate as you are, oh! hear at least
My dying prayers, and grant my last request.
When first you ope your doors, and, passing by,
The sad ill-omen'd object meets your eye,
Think it not lost, a moment if you stay;
The breathless wretch, so made by you, survey:
Some cruel pleasure will from thence arise,
To view the mighty ravage of your eyes.
I wish (but oh! my wish is vain, I fear)
The kind oblation of a falling tear:
Then loose the knot, and take me from the place,
And spread your mantle o'er my grizly face;
Upon my livid lips bestow a kiss:

O envy not the dead; they feel not bliss!
Nor fear your kisses can restore my breath;
Ev'n you are not more pityless than Death.
Then for my corpse a homely grave provide,
Which love and me from public scorn may hide.
Thrice call upon my name, thrice beat your
breast,

And hail me thrice to everlasting rest:
Last let my tomb this sad inscription bear:

"A wretch whom love has kill'd lies buried here; O passengers, Aminta's eyes beware."

Thus having said, and furious with his love, He heav'd with more than human force to move A weighty stone (the labour of a team)

And rais'd from thence he reach'd the neighbouring

beam :

Around its bulk a sliding knot he throws,
And fitted to his neck the fatal noose:
Then spurning backward took a swing, till Death
Crept up, and stopt the passage of his breath.
The bounce burst ope the door; the scornful fair
Relentless look'd, and saw him beat his quivering
feet in air;

Nor wept his fate, nor cast a pitying eye,
Nor took him down, but brush'd regardless by:
And, as she past, her chance or fate was such,
Her garments touch'd the dead, polluted by the
touch:

Next to the dance, thence to the bath did move;
The bath was sacred to the god of love;
Whose injur'd image, with a wrathful eye,
Stood threatening from a pedestal on high:
Nodding a while, and watchful of his blow,
He fell; and falling crush'd th' ungrateful nymph
below:

Her gushing blood the pavement all besmear'd;
And this her last expiring voice was heard;
"Lovers farewell, revenge has reach'd my scorn;
Thus warn'd, be wise, and love for love return."

TRANSLATIONS FROM LUCRETIUS.

THE

BEGINNING OF THE FIRST BOOK

OF

LUCRETIUS.

DELIGHT of human-kinds, and gods above,

Parent of Rome, propitious queen of love,
Whose vital power, air, earth, and sea supplies;
And breeds whate'er is born beneath the rolling
skies:

For every kind, by thy prolific might,
Springs, and beholds the regions of the light.
Thee, goddess, thee the clouds and tempests fear:
And at thy pleasing presence disappear:
For thee the land in fragrant flowers is drest;
For thee the Ocean smiles, and smooths her
breast;

wavy [is blest.

And Heaven itself with more serene and purer light
For when the rising spring adorns the mead,
And a new scene of Nature stands display'd,
When teeming buds and cheerful greens appear,
And western gales unlock the lazy year;
The joyous birds thy welcome first express,
Whose native songs thy genial fire confess,
Then savage beasts bound o'er their slighted food,
Struck with thy darts, and tempt the raging flood.
All nature is thy gift; earth, air, and sea :
Of all that breathes, the various progeny,
Stung with delight, is goaded on by thee.
O'er barren mountains, o'er the flowery plain,
The leafy forest, and the liquid main,
Extends thy uncontrol'd and boundless reign.
Through all the living regions dost thou move,
And scatter'st, where thou go'st, the kindly seeds
of love.

Since then the race of every living thing
Obeys thy power; since nothing new can spring
Without thy warmth, without thy influence bear,
Or beautiful, or lovesome can appear;
Be thou my aid, my tuneful song inspire,
And kindle with thy own productive fire;
While all thy province, Nature, I survey,
And sing to Memmius an immortal lay

Of Heaven and Earth, and every where thy wondrous power display:

To Memmius under thy sweet influence born,
Whom thou with all thy gifts and graces dost adorn.
The rather then assist my Muse and me,
Infusing verses worthy him and thee. [cease,
Meantime on land and sea let barbarous discord
And lull the listening world in universal peace.
To thee mankind their soft repose must owe;
For thou alone that blessing canst bestow;

Because the brutal business of the war
Is manag'd by thy dreadful servant's care;
Who oft retires from fighting fields, to prove
The pleasing pains of thy eternal love;
And, panting on thy breast, supinely lies,
While with thy heavenly form he feeds his fa-
mish'd eyes:

Sucks in with open lips thy balmy breath,

By turns restor'd to life, and plung'd in pleasing death.

There while thy curling limbs about him move,
Involv'd and fetter'd in the links of love,
When, wishing all, he nothing can deny,
Thy charms in that auspicious moment try;
With winning eloquence our peace implore,
And quiet to the weary world restore.

THE BEGINNING OF THE SECOND BOOK OF LUCRETIUS.

'Tis pleasant, safely to behold from shore, The rolling ship, and hear the tempest roar: Not that another's pain is our delight; But pains unfelt produce the pleasing sight. 'Tis pleasant also to behold from far The moving legions mingled in the war: But much more sweet thy labouring steps to guide To virtue's heights, with wisdom' well supply'd, And all the magazines of learning fortify'd: From thence to look below on human-kind, Bewilder'd in the maze of life, and blind: To see vain fools ambitiously contend For wit and power; their last endeavours bend T'outshine each other, waste their time and health In search of honour, and pursuit of wealth. O wretched man! in what a mist of life, Enclos'd with dangers and with noisy strife, He spends his little span; and overfeeds His cramm'd desires, with more than Nature needs! For Nature wisely stints our appetite, And craves no more than undisturb'd delight: Which minds, unmix'd with cares and fears obA soul serene, a body void of pain. So little this corporeal frame requires; So bounded are our natural desires, That, wanting all, and setting pain aside, With bare privation sense is satisfy'd. If golden sconces hang not on the walls, To light the costly suppers and the balls; If the proud palace shines not with the state Of burnish'd bowls, and of reflected plate;

[tain;

If well-tun'd harps, nor the more pleasing sound
Of voices, from the vaulted roofs rebound;
Yet on the grass, beneath a poplar shade,
By the cool stream, our careless limbs are lay'd;
With cheaper pleasures innocently blest,
When the warm spring with gaudy flowers is drest.
Nor will the raging fever's fire abate,
With golden canopies and beds of state:
But the poor patient will as soon be found
On the hard mattress, or the mother ground.
Then since our bodies are not eas'd the more
By birth, or power, or Fortune's wealthy store,
"Tis plain, these useless toys of every kind
As little can relieve the labouring mind:
Unless we could suppose the dreadful sight
Of marshal'd legions moving to the fight
Could, with their sound and terrible array,
Expel our fears, and drive the thoughts of death
But, since the supposition vain appears, [away.
Since clinging cares, and trains of inbred fears,
Are not with sounds to be affrighted thence,
But in the midst of pomp pursue the prince,
Not aw'd by arms, but in the presence bold,
Without respect to purple, or to gold;
Why should not we these pageantries despise,
Whose worth but in our want of reason lies?
For life is all in wandering errours led;
And just as children are surpris'd with dread,
And tremble in the dark, so riper years
Ev'n in broad day-light are possess'd with fears;
And shake at shadows fanciful and vain,
As those which in the breasts of children reign.

These bugbears of the mind, this inward hell,
No rays of outward sunshine can dispel;
But Nature and right Reason must display
Their beams abroad, and bring the darksome soul
to day.

FROM THE FIFTH BOOK OF LUCRETIUS.

Tum porrò puer, &c.

THUS, like a sailor, by a tempest hurl'd
Ashore, the babe is shipwreck'd on the world:
Naked he lies, and ready to expire;
Helpless of all that human wants require;
Expos'd upon unhospitable earth,
From the first moment of his hapless birth.
Straight with foreboding cries he fills the room;
Too true presages of his future doom.
But flocks and herds, and every savage beast,
By more indulgent Nature are increas'd,
They want no rattles for their froward mood,
Nor nurse to reconcile them to their food,
With broken words; nor winter blasts they fear,
Nor change their habits with the changing year:
Nor, for their safety, citadels prepare,
Nor forge the wicked instruments of war:
Unlabour'd Earth her bounteous treasure grants,
And Nature's lavish hand supplies their common

wants.

TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE.

THE THIRD ODE

OF THE FIRST BOOK OP

HORACE.

As thou, to whom the Muse commends,
The best of poets and of friends,
Dost thy committed plede restore;
And land him safely on the shore;
And save the better part of me,
From perishing with him at sea.

Inscribed to the earl of Roscommon, on his in- Sure he, who first the passage try'd,

tended voyage to Ireland.

So may th' auspicious queen of love,
And the twin stars, the seed of Jove,
And he who rules the raging wind,
To thee, O sacred Ship, be kind;
And gentle breezes fill thy sails,
Supplying soft Etesian gales:

In harden'd oak his heart aid hide,
And ribs of iron arm'd his side;
Or his at least, in hollow wood
Who tempted first the briny flood:
Nor fear'd the winds contending roar,
Nor billows beatin on the shore;
Nor Hyades portending rain
Nor all the tyrants of the main,

« EdellinenJatka »