Chapter XII: Preface: To the Translation of Ovid's Epistles.2 (7)

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._