IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I ■f-IM IIM :" IIIIIM I Z2 II 2.0 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 < 6" — ». V] \. i" /^- s»* %J i J INTRODUCTION. ' jF to print this little collection, even for private circulation, was presumptuous, some of my friends must share the blame. The translator of Latin poetry has the comfort of knowing that he is separated from his authors by no chasm of thought and sentiment, such as that which separates the translator from Homer, or even from ^schylus. The men are intellectually almost his con- temporaries. Gibbon was right in thinking that no age would have suited him better than that of the Antonines, provided he had been, as he naturally took it for granted that he would, a wealthy gentleman and a philosophic Pagan, not a slave or a Christian. He and a cultivated Roman of that day, or of Cicero's day, would have thoroughly understood each other. Their views of life would have been pretty much the same, so would their religion, so would their mythology, for the literary men of the Georgian era had [iii. j adopted the I'agan Pantheon, and Jupiter, Mars, Venus, and Diana were their divinities. ICven the conventional worship of the Roman Emperor would have had something' like a counterpart in the conventional reverence for "'great fieorge," and the political temperament of the philosophic Roman would have been in exact harmony with that of Hume anil (Jibbon. Horace Walpole might have thor- oughly enjoyed a supper with Horatins I'Maccus ; he might oven have supped well, though he would have politely passed the dormice. He and his host would have interchanged ideas with perfect ease. This was largely due of course to the direct influence of classical education on the moderns; but it was also partly due, especially in the religious sphere, to a similarity in circumstances between the two epochs. Apart, therefore, from mere difficulties of construction or allusion, the translator may be sure that he knows what his author means. Lucretius is further removed from us than the poets of the Empire in forms of thought and in language as well as in date. But he is brought wonderfully near to our age by his Atomic and Epicurean philosophy and by the sentiment connected with it. Sometimes the affinity is startling. The authors are not arranged in any particular order. Perhaps, if the truth were told it would be that the easiest are put first. It was with profound misgiving that I under- [ iv. 1. took to render such art as that of Horace, and such poetry as that of Lucretius. The translations are free, and it is hardly possible that anything but a free translation can be an ecjuivalent for the poetry of the original. A literal translation, as a rule, can only be a fetter-dance. The general thought, the tone, and choice expressions are all that a translator can usually hope to reproduce. It is hardly necessary to say anything about names so well known as these. Familiar to all who would take up anything classical are Martial, the creator of the Epigram, the mirror of the social habits of Imperial Rome, amidst whose heaps of rubbish and ordure are some better things and some pleasant pictures of Roman character and life; Lucan, through whose early death, which left his work crude as well as incomplete, we have perhaps missed a great political epic, and who, in his best passages, rivals the writer of Absalom and Achitophel ; the marvellous resur- rection of Roman poetry in Claudian ; Seneca, seeking under the Neronian Reign of Terror to make for himself an asylum of stoicism and suicide ; Catullus, with his Byronian mixture of sensibility and blackguardism ; Horace, whom, for some occult reason, one loves the better the older one grows ; Propertius, whose crabbed style and sad addiction to frigid mythology are sometimes relieved by passages of V.J wonderful tenderness and beauty; Ovid, whose marvellous facility, vivacity and — to use the word in its eighteenth cen- tury sense— wit, too often misemployed, appear in all his works, and who, though, like Pope, he had no real feeling, shows in the epistle of Dido to /Eneas that he could, like the writer of Kluisa to Abclard, get up a fine tempest of literary passion ; Tibullus, famed in his day like Shenstone and Tickell, about their fair equivalent, and the offspring of the same fashion of dallying with verse ; and most interesting of all, Lucretius, the real didactic poet, who used his poetry as " honey on the rim " of the cup out of which a generation distracted with mad ambition and civil war was to drink the medicinal draught of the Epicurean philosophy, and be at once beguiled of its woes and set free from the dark thraldom of superstition. A translator can only hope that he has not done great wrong to their shades. The Grangk, Toronto, March 2/st, iSgo. G. S. [vi.] !»' COISTTENTX Ei'ir,. X. III. V. IV. X. I. .\II. VIII. VIII. II. II. V. I. I. IV. X. MARTIAL. xIvii.-A Roman Gentlp-nan's Idea c ' .ai.piness .'"'5 Iviii.— Roman Life in the Country f^ XX.— Ihe True Business of Life xiii.— On a Friend's Wedding ,( xxiv.-On His Osvn Birthday ,j xxxix.-The Perfect Friend xxxiv.-Vicissitudes of Friendship j^ xviii.— Literary Chivalry Ixix.— The Reverse of the Last Ixviii.— A Revolt 15 XI.— The Diner-out Disappointed jg xlii.— An Exhortation to Liberality ,- Ixxxix.-On the Death of a Young and Favourite Slave .. rS xciii.-On Two Old Roman Ofificers Buried Side by Side 19 XV.— The Fleeting Joys of Life 30 viii.— The Occupation of a Roman Day 21 i.-On the Untimely Death of a Famous Chari- oteer 22 [ij PAGE Epig. III. xx.-On a Slave Who had been Branded by His Master 23 I. xiii.— On theDeath of Arria and Petus 23 VIII. XXXV., xli.— On Two Works ot Art 24 LUC AN. PiiARs. I. II. 119-182.— The Characters of Foinpey and Ca;sar 25 IX. 11. 189-213.— Cato on the Death of Poinpey 29 IX. II. 543-585— Cato at the Temple of Amnion 3r CLA UDIA /V. I-ib. I. II. 1-21.— Providence Vindicated 3^ SENECA. Thyestes II. 344-403.— The Stoic Idea ot Perfection 36 CATULLUS. Oi). XXXI.— The Traveller's Return 3g IV.— The Old Ship ^^ III.— On the Death of a Favourite Sparrow .j v.— Love and Death ., LXX. — Woman's Inconstancy , , MORA CE. Oi). I. xxxi.— The Poet's Prayer . s II. xvi.— Peace and Quiet .- III. jx.— The Reconciliation of Lovers ^g vmns PAGE Od, III. xiii.— The Spring of Bandusia 51 I. xxxviii.— Simplicity 52 III. vii.— To a Girl Whose Lover was Absent at Sea 53 in. xxi.— To a Cask of Wine 55 II. ix.— To a Friend Who had Lost His Love 56 I. xxiii.— To a Coy Girl 5S I. xi.— Ignorance of the Future is Bliss 59 II. vii.— Welcome to a Long Absent Friend 60 III. v.— The Patriot Martyr 62 II. XV,— Against the Selfish Luxury of a Degenerate Age .. 65 I' v.— To Pyrrha 66 III. xxix.— The Poet's Invitation to the Statesman 67 Epod. II. —A Rich Usurer's Dream of Rural Happiness 71 PROPERTIUS. Elf.g. V. xi.— Epitaph on a Wife 74 I. ii.— Beauty Unadorned 7g O VID. Amor. II. vi.— On the Death of a Parrot 80 III. ix.— An Elegy on the Death of Tibullus 83 Hekoid. vii. —Dido to iEneas S7 TIBULLUS. Eleg. I. i.— Farewell to Ambition 96 [3] I I LUCRETIUS. PAGE Lib. I. 11.1-40. — Opening Invocation to Venus 100 I. 11. 62-101.— A Defence of Free-Thinking 102 II. 11. 1-61. — The Consolations of Science 104 III. 11.1-30. — The Light of the Ancient World 107 III. 11. S95-1094.— Against the Fear of Death 109 [41 mm i «]»mMi»iiHMW..n, iiw »w><»>M» gAY X EA VES, MARTIAL. Epigram X. xlvii. Vitam qiice faciunt bcatiorcui. A ROMAN GENTLEMAN'S IDEA OV HAPPINESS. "IAAhat makes a happy life, dear friend, If thou would'st briefly learn, attend. An income left not earned by toil ; Some acres of a kindly soil ; The pot unfailing on the fire ; No lawsuits ; seldom town attire ; Health ; strength with grace ; a peaceful mind; Shrewdness with honesty combined ; Plain living ; equal friends and free ; Evenings of timiperate gaiety ; A wife discreet, yet blythe and bright ; Sound slumber, that lends wings to night. With all thy heart embrace thy lot, Wish not for death and fear it not. I 5 I m Epigram III. Iviii. Baiana nostri villa, Basse, Faiistini. [This piece gives a pleasant picture of Roman countr\ life, and shows that there was something left under the Empire better than the vast estates tilled by slave gan<,'s, which Pliny calls the ruin of Italy.] 'Paustinus is a man of taste ; Yet is his Baian seat no waste Of useless myrtle, barren plane, Clipped box, like many a grand domain That covers miles with empty state, But country unsophisticate. In every corner grain is crammed, Casks fragrant of old wine are jammed. Here, at the turning of the year, Vinedressers house the vintage sere. Grim bulls in grassy valleys low And the calf butts with hornless brow. Poultry of every clime and sort Ramble in dirt about the court. The screaming geese, flamingoes red. Peacocks with jewelled tail outspread. Pied partridges, pheasants that come [6] HHimipapaRQinPIRIRUIJJBMHIWWHhlWI From Colchian strand, dark magic's home, And Afric's birds of many spots. The cock amidst his harem struts While on the tower aloft doves coo And pigeons flap and turtles woo. Pigs to the good wife's apron scurry, Lambs to their milky mothers hurry. The fire, well-heaped, burns bright and hij^di, Around it crowds the nursery. No butler here from lack of toil Grows sick, no trainer wastes his oil, Lounging at ease ; but forth they fare The fish with quivering line to snare, The crafty springe for birds to set, Or catch the deer with circling net. Pleased with the garden's easy work The city hands lake spade and fork, The curly-headed striplings ask The bailiff" for a merry task Without their pedagogue's command ; E'en the sleek eunuch bears a hand. Then country callers, many a one, Troop in, and empty-handed none ; This brings a honeycomb, that a pail Of milk from green Sassinum's dale. L7J Capons or dormice plump anovher, Or kid, reft from his sliaggy motlier. Basket on arm, stout lasses come With gifts from many a thrifty home. Work over, each a willing guest, Is bidden to no niggard feast. Where all may revel at their will. And servants eat, like guests, their hll. But thou, friend Bassus, close to town, On trim starvation lookest down ; Seest laurels, laurels everywhere ; No need the thief from fruit to scare. Town bread thy vinedresser must eat ; The town sends greens, eggs, cheese and meat. Such country is — my friend must own — Not country, but town out of town. [SI mmmmmm. nppAliUIH'a»>i^ , Epigram V. xx. Si tecinii inilii, care Martialis. t THE TRUE HUSINESS OI- IJI'E COULD both thou ami I, ni)- tViiMul From care and trouble freed. Our quiet days at pleasure spend And taste of life indeed, We'd bid farewell to marble halls, The sad abodes of state, The law, with all its dismal brawls. The trappings of the great ; We'd seek the book, the cheerhil talk, At noonday in the shade. The bath, the ride, the pleasant walk In the cool colonnade. Dead to our better selves we see The golden hours take flight, Still scored against us as they flee. Then haste to live aright. iiiii! Epigram IV. xiii. Claudia, Rnfv, iiwo niibit Perif^rina Pudcnti. ON A FKIEND'S WEDDINfJ. !' '11! JUI Y Pudens shall his Claudia wed this day. / Shed, torch of Hymen, shed thy brightest ray So costly nard and cinnamon combine. So blends sweet honey with the luscious wine. So clasps the tender vine her elm, so love The lotus leaves the stream, myrtles the cove. Fair Concord, dwell for ever by that bed ; Let Venus bless the pair so meetly w'ed ; May the wife love with love that grows not cold. And never to her husband's eye seem old. LioJ tii Epigram X. xxiv. Natalcs viifii Mortice ( nlindcc. ON HIS OWN HIKTHDAV. [To explain lines three and four, it should be said that men usually sent presents to girls on he first of March, but Martial, thanks to his birthday, received presents from female as well as male friends.] TTbove all days bright is my natal inoni. / Blessed I who, March, upon thy Kalends horn, Receive from ladies presents many a one. While others get them from the men alone. Fifty and seven times at the altar now Martial has duly paid his birthday vow. Grant, if it be your pleasure, powers divine, That I to fifty-seven may add twice nine, • And thus, when life's three stages I have past Yet sound and brisk and hearty to the last, To Proserpine's domain may wend my way. I ask not Nestor for another day. nj Epigram I. xxxix. Si (jiiis trif, yaros inter uunieynndiis amicus. THE PERFECT FRIEND. Ts there a man whose friendship rare With antique friendship may compare ; In learning steeped, both old and new, Yet unpedantic, simple, true; Whose soul, ingenuous and upright, Ne'er formed a wish that shunned the light, WHiose sense is sound ? If such there be, My Decianus, thou art he. L.2 i Epigram XII. xxxiv. Tyi/{inta inihi qxiatuorqiie messes. VICISSITUDES OF FRIENDSHIP. JUI Y friend, since thou and I first met, / This is the thirty-fourth December ; Some things there are we'd fain forget, More that 'tis pleasant to remember. Let for each pain a blackball stand. For every pleasure past a white one, And thou wilt find, when all are scanned. The major part will be the bright one. He who would heartache never know. He who serene composure treasures, Must friendship's chequered bliss forego; Who has no pain has fewer pleasures. (I i I V ;l 13 I ; Epigram VIII. xviii. Si tun, Cirini, promas epigrammata vulgu. LITERARY CHIVALRY. IVEN to thti world, those epigrams of tliine, My friend Cirinius, might have rivalled mine; But thou hast such regard for friendship sliown As to prefer my glory to thy own. So, Virgil, though he might with Pindar's strain Have vied, to Horace left his own domain. To Varius so he left the Roman stage Himself the born tragedian of the age. Money or lands to give is nothing new, Tliey who make presents of renown are ftnv. ['4J Epigram VIII. Ixix. Miraris vetcres, Vncvvya, S()l(/s. THE KICVERSH: of THli LAST. \/acekra laiuls no living poet's lays, But for departed genius keeps his praise. I, alas, live, nor deem it worth my while To die, tlip . I may win Vacerra's smile. Epigram 11. Ixviii. Quod te nomine jam tuo zahito. A REVOLT. T^HiNK not I have become a boor If I " My Lord " thee now no more, My haughty friend. I've paid my fee, — All I was worth, — for liberty. Who wants what lords to servants give A lord must own, a servant live. But, my good Olus, take my word, Who needs no servant wants no lord. 115] ■th* lii ill I ,,il!i 'ill !i ! li! ■ i Ml I li'i !li Epigram II. xi. Quod frunte Selium mibila vides, Riife. THE DINER-OUT DISAPPOINTED. l^EHOLD, on Selius' brow, how dark the shade ; How late he roams beneath the colonnade ; How his grim face betrays some secret wound ; How with his nose he almost scrapes the ground ; He beats his breast, he rends his hair. What now ? Has Selius lost a friend, or brother ? No ! His brace of sons still live, long be their life ! Safe are his slaves, his chattels and his wife ; His steward's, his bailiff's books are right — what doom So dire has fallen on him ? He dines at home ! t^'] miiimmfif^HMtm*!!^i!fWm Epigram V. xlii. Cal/idus effracta nutnnios fur nuferct ana. AN EXHORTATION TO LH5KKALITV. " I ^HE crafty thief your cash-box may invade ; Your father's house in ashes may be laitl ; Your debtor may a bankrupt prove ; your field. The sower's hopes behed, no harvest yield ; Your steward be swindled by a harlot's guile ; Your merchandise become the ocean's spoil. What thou hast {.(iven to friends, and that alone. Defies misfortune, and is still thy own. 11 »7 ni i j ) - m i Epigram I. Ixxxix. Alcime, quern yapfnni domino crescentihns annh. ON THK DEATH OF A YOUNG AND FAYOUKITK SI.AVK. |EAK youth, too early lost, who now art laid Beneath the turf in green Labicum's glade, O'er thee no storied urn, no laboured bust, I rear to crumble with the crumbling dust ; But tapering box and shadowy vine shall wave. And grass, with tears bedewed, shall clothe thy grave. These gifts my sorrowing love to thee shall bring — Gifts ever fresh and deathless as the Spring. O when to me the fatal hour shall come. Mine be as lowly and as green a tomb ! I IS I Efigkam I. xciii. Fiibricio juuctn^ fido reqHiscit Aqn'nius. (;N two old ROMAN OFFICERS BCiRIFD SIi)K BY SIDE. I A pleasant trait of Roman military life.j rfguiNus here, by his Fabricius, hes, / Glad that he first was summoned to the skies : The equal honours of each martial ciiief Their tombs set forth. This record is more brief — Comrades they were in virtue to the end. And each, rare priory ! earned the name of friend. [191 '-.i'. itili ihi! i ; ! Mi w llllil tiliii^ I^PIGRAM I. XV. O inihi post nullos yuli memorandc sodales, THE FLEETING JOYS OF LIFE. tJ^RiEND of my heart — and none of all the band Has to that name older or better right : Julius, thy sixtieth winter is at hand, Far-spent is now life's day, and near the night. Delay not what thou would'st recall too late ; That which is past, that only call thine own : Cares without end and tribulations wait, Joy tarrieth not, but scarcely come, is flown. Then grasp it quickly, firmly to thy heart, — Though firmly grasped, too oft it slips away ; — To talk of living is not wisdom's part : To-morrow is too late : live thou to-day ! 20 ii :i' Epigram IV. viii. Prima salutantcs atqnc altera continet hora. THE OCCUPATION OF A ROMAN DAY. V I SITS consume the first, the second hour When th eir comes power the third, lioarse pleaders show At four to business Rome herself betakes ; At six she goes to sleep, by seven she wakes. By nine well breathed from exercise we rest, And in the banquet hall the couch is pressed. Now, when chy skill, greatest of cooks, has spread The ambrosial feast, let Martial's rhymes be read, With mighty hand while Caesar holds the bowl. When draughts of nectar have relaxed his soul. Now trifles pass. My giddy Muse would fear Jove to approach in morning mood severe. •I L-" J t'*l! II! EPIGRAiM X. 1. rrungat Idiimaas tristis Victor in fxiliinis. ON THE UNTIMELY DEATH OF A FAMOUS CHARIOTEEk. Ilili ill III Hi I I II J [It is needless to say how great a part under the Rr "naii Empire the chariot races were.] T ET Victory, sorrowing, cast her palm away. Let Favour beat her breast and wail the day, Let Honour don the mourner's dark attire, And Glory fling her wreath upon the pyre. Snatched in his prime, Scorpus, sad thought ! must go To yoke night's horses in the realm below. Swift flew the chariot, soon the goal was won, Another race thou hast too quickly run. ["] KpIGRAM III. XX. Proscriptiiiii famahis S' rvavit froiite noiatus. [On a slave who, having been branded by a cruel master, afterwards saved that master's life from massacre in conscrip- tion. A welcome tribute from the Roman Poet to humanity. 1 AA/hen scarred with cruel brand, the slave Snatched from the murderer's hanci His prescript lord, not life he gave His tvrant, but the brand. Epigram I. xiii. Casta !!iio irlaiiiiiin cum traiicret Aryia Pceto. ON THE DEATH OF AKKIA AND VAITO. [Ca^cina Paetus had been ordered by the Emperor Claudius to put an end to his life: when he hesitated, his wife, Arria, showed him the way.] " I ^HH poniard, witli her life-blood dyed. When Arria to her Partus gave. *' "Twere painless, my beloved," she cried, " If but my death thy life could save." ■23 !|i li II Epigram III. xxxv. Artis Phiduicw turenriut clarion. Epigram III. xli. Inserta fyhialw Mentoris manu luctn. OX TWO WORKS or ART. [Showing the extreme value which the Ancients set on exact imitation. T T HKSK fishes Phidias wrought : with Hfe by him They are endowed ; add water and they swim. HAT Hzard on the goblet makes thee start. Fear not ; it hves only by Mentor's art. ^Jr, ^^ [24] LUC AN. Pharsama I. 1 19-182. [The opening of the Civil War. The reference in the first line is to Julia, daughter of C^^sar and wife of For"Dey, whose death has been narrated.] L*i p:k death the bond between the leaders brukc. And called to war ; then rival passions woke. That new achievements might o'er old prevail. Piratic laurels before Gallic pale, Was Pompey's fear. His rival in the race, Now flushed with victory, scorned the second place. Caesar in power would no superior own, Pompey would brook no partner of his throne. Which of the chiefs had right upon his side Is not for mortal judgment to decide. Since either cause had warranty divine. The winning Heavens', the losing, Cato, thine. Ill were the champions matched. One ag^d grown Had long exchanged the corselet for the gown ; ■25 Ill pciicc forj^^ottcn tlu- coininaiKler's art, And learned to play the politician's part, — To court the suffra|:^e of the crowd, and hear In his own theatre the ve-nal cheer ; Idly he rested on his ancient fame, And was the shadt)w of a mij^hty name. Like the huge oak which towers ahovc^ tlie fields Decked with ancestral spoils and x'otive shitdds. Its roots once ini<^hty, loosened by ch'ca)-. Hold it no more ; wei\ ! 1 ! Phars. IX. 189-213. CATO ON THE DEATH OF POMPEY. ri" MAN, lie said, is gone unequal far / To our good sires in reverence for the law, Yet useful in an age that knew not right, One who could power with liberty unite, Uncrowned 'mid willing subjects could remain, The Senate rule, yet let the Senate reign. The conqueror's force he hated to unmask, And what he might demand he stooped to ask. If vast his wealth, no bounds his largess knew ; He drew the sword, but he could sheath it too. War was his trade, yet he to peace inclined. Gladly command accepted — and resigned. His home was virtuous and austere, nor showed In aught that there thy master, Rome, abode. He left a name that nations shall revere. That to a grateful land shall still be dear. Marius and Sulla genuine freedom slew. With Pompey e'en the counterfeit withdrew. Now usurpation will unveil its face, Nor seek with forms of law its acts to grace. I ^9 J Thrice happy thou whom life with victory left And murder only of disgrace bereft. Of all the lots, when naught remains but breath, The first is death self-sought, the next is — death. Life under Caesar's yoke might have been thine, O be thy fate, when fortune leaves me, mine. Of Juba's dagger come as kind a thrust ; Rule, tyrants, if ye will, o'er Cato's dust. J [30] s '4 I ! ! Pkars. IX. 543-585. [Cato, on his last march in Africa, comes to the Temple of Jupiter Ammon and is urged by his companions to consult the oracle, but refuses.] rfx Amnion's portals from the motley East / To hear his oracles the people pressed, But all to the great Roman's name gave way. Now with one voice Cato's companions pray That he will test the Libyan prophet's claim, And prove the truth of immemorial fame. And foremost Labienus bids him try To look bereath the veil of destiny. " A happy chance," he cries, *' thus on our road Presents the fane where speaks this migh y god. Here to the Syrtes we may learn the clue. Here of the coming war gain forecast true. To whom should Heaven reveal its high decree, To whom speak truth, Cato, if not to thee ? Thy life hath never swerved from duty's line, Still hast thou strictly kept the law divine. Here mayest thou hold with Jove communion high, Learn Caesar's doom, thy country's destiny ; [31] '1 ' ■ ':' 1 ; Learn whether Hberty and law shall reign, Or all this civil blood has flowed in vain. At least, since virtue is to thee so dear, Learn what she is, and seek her pattern here." Cato's own breast was deity's abode : Thence came an answer worthy of a god. *' What should I ask ? Whether to live a slave Is better, or to fill a soldier's grave ? What life is worth drawn to its utmost span, And whether length of days brings bliss to man ? Whether tyrannic force can hurt the good, Or the brave heart need quail at Fortune's mood ? Whether the pure intent makes righteousness, Or virtue needs the warrant of success ? All this I know : not Ammon can impart Force to the truth engraven on my heart. All men alike, though voiceless be the shrine, Abide in God and act by will divine. No revelation Deity requires. But at our birtn, all men may know, inspires. Nor is truth buried in this barren sand And doled to few, but speaks in every land. What temple, but the earth, the sea, the sky, And Heaven and virtuous hearts, hath deity ? As far as eye can range or feet can rove [3^] .a ■1 vs. ■M I 3 KS«u' I Jove is in all things, all things are in Jove. Let wavering souls to oracles attend, The brave man's course is clear, since sure his end. The valiant and the coward both must fall, This when Jove tells me, he has told me all." This said, he turned him from the temple gate. And left the horde to pry into its fate. [ 1^ 1 CL AUDI AN. Lib. I. i.-xxi. Scepe mihi duhiam traxit senu uientcm — absolvitquc dcos. [The successl'il career of the infamous favourite Rufinus had shaken Claudian's faith in Providence. By the fall of Rufinus the poet's faith is restored.] |FTTiMES had doubt distraught my mind. Did Heaven look down on human kind, Or was the Guiding Power a dream, And chance o'er men's affairs supreme ? When I surveyed great Nature's law, The ordered tides and seasons saw. Day following night, night following day. All seemed to own an Author's sway, Whose fiat ruled the starry choir. Who robed the glorious sun with fire. Bade the moon shine with borrowed light And earth yield all her fruits aright ; [34] Poised the round world and taught the wave Within its bounding shore to rave. But when I turned to man's estate And saw how dark the ways of fate — Saw vice victorious, mounting high, And suffering worth neglected lie. Doubt triumphed and my faith grew cold. Sadly I turned to those who hold That all is born of atoms blind, Whirled through the void, without a mind. And that the gods, if gods there be, Are careless of humanity. But now uiy soul her faith regams, Rufinus falls. Heaven's justice reigns : The bad are raised only to show Heaven's justice in their overthrow. [351 ^ m m ii SENECA. Thyestes, 344-403. Regem non faciunt opes. THE STOIC IDEA OF PERFECTION. \A7hat makes the kir;^ ? His treasure ? Nor yet the circlet on his brow ; Nor yet the purple robe of State ; Nor yet the golden palace gate. The king is he who knows not fear, Whose breast no angry passions tear, Who scorns insane ambition's wreath, The maddening crowd's inconstant breath, The wealth of Europe's mines, the gold In the bright tide of Tagus rolled. And the unmeasured stores of grain Garnered from Libya's sultry plain. Who quails not at the levin stroke ; On raging storms can calmly look. 36 J No, Though the wild winds on Adria rave And round him swell the threatening wave. Who quails not at the thrust of spear ; Feels of the flashing steel no fear ; Who from his spirit's height serene Looks down upon the troubled scene, And, uncomplaining, when his date Has come, goes forth to meet his fate. With kings in grandeur let them vie ; Before whose arms wild Dahans fly, • Who o'er Arabia's burning sea Stretch out their gorgeous empery, WHio dare Sarmatian horsemen brave And march o'er Danube s frozen wave, Or the strange land of fleecy trees. True kingship is a mind at ease. No need is there of charger's might. Of Parthian arrow shot in flight ; Of engines dire, whose hurtling showers Of missiles shake beleaguered towers. The king, a king self-crowned, is he Who from desire and fear is free ; Who would the power of courtiers share May mount ambition's slippery stair ; To live by all the world forgot [37] In ease and quiet be my lot, . And as my noiseless days glide past Rest undistinguished to the last. Well may the man his end bemoan Who dies to others too well-known A stranger to himself alone. [38] CATULLUS. Od. XXXI. Peninsularwn , Sirmio, insularnmque Ocelle. THE TRAVELLER'S RETURN. Q WEET spot, of all the jewels bright That glitter on old Neptune's brow — Peninsula or island hight — The fairest, Sirmium, art thou. O bliss, beyond belief, once more From wanderings long on land and sea — From far Bithynia's unloved shore — Thus to return to peace and thee. O hour of rapture, when the load Cast from the wayworn trav-'ler's breast. He lays him, in the loved abode, Upon the well-known couch to rest. [39l i! Then Sirmium, on thy master smile, Who greets thee after many a day ; Bright be the face of lake and isle ; Let all things in my home be ga}^ ! Od. IV. Phaselus ille, quern videtis, hospitcs. A ONCE FAVOURITE BUT NOW WORN-OUT NESSr: AT ITS LAST ANCHORAGE. " I ^HE barque thou seest lying here, Stranger, was once without a peer ; Sailing or rowing, she could beat All craft afloat, however fleet ; ' This, Adria's beetling cliffs know well. This, sea-girt Cyclades can tell, This, oft have Rhodes, trade's glorious queen, And Thracia's rugged headlands seen. Thou, too, wild Pontus, in whose wood A tall tree once each timber stood ; [40] il! l!!!i And on Cytorus's leafy brow Sighed in the wind-swept forest's sonj^h. City and land of box-wood fame, Kinship with you this barque may chiim ; It grew upon your mountain side ; First in your waves its oars it plied, Then over many a raging sea It bore its master gallantly. Good upon either tack to sail, Or run before the driving gale : Nor paid it ever votive fee To gods that save from wreck at sea. Now its last voyage is o'er and here It rests upon this quiet mere. Devoted to the Brethren Twain Who guide the wanderer o'er the main. [4«] Od. III. Lugi'tc, O Veneres, Cupidinesque. ON THE DEATH OF HIS MISTRESS'S FAVOURITE SPARROW. hM T ET mourninf]f fill the realms of Love, Wail men below and Powers above ! The joy of my beloved has fled, The sparrow of her heart is dead. The sparrow that she used to prize As dearly as her own bright eyes : As knows a girl her mother well, So knew the pretty bird my belle. And ever hopping, chirping round, Far from her lap was never found, Now wings it to that gloomy bourne From which no travellers return, Accurs'd be thou, infernal lair ! Devourer dark of all things fair. The rarest bird to thee is gone ; Take thou once more my malison. How swollen and red, with weeping, see My fair one's eyes, and all through thee ! [42] Od. V. Vivamus mea Lesbia, atquc amemus. LOVE AND DEATH. AA/e will live, my love, and play. Let gray beards wag as wag tlvy may ; Suns that set repair their light, Our brief day has one long night. Give me kisses, give a million. Thousands, thousands more — a billion, Then let us madly mix them, so That we their sum may never know ; Nor envy cast an evil eye, Because it is so monstrous high. U3l •Ill Od. LXX. Nulii se dicit mulier nun nnbere malic. WOMAN'S INCONSTANCY. IWIy lady swears, in all tlie world, she will have ^"^ none but me, None other wed, whoe'er may woo, not though great Jove were he. She swears, but what a woman swears when lovers bend the knee Write we upon the shifting sand, or on the flowing sea. l44] l |II!MI1II>I!IS1I HORACE. Od. I. xxxi. Quid dcdicatum poscit Apollincm. THE POET'S PRAYER. \A7ii^>i bending at Apollo'o shrine The Poet pours the hallowed wine. What think ye is the Poet's prayer ? Not gorgeous India's treasures rare — Not rich Sardinia's hoards of grain, Not herds from hot Calabria's plain, Not meadows such as thou dost lave, Still Liris, with thy silent wave. Let Fortune's favourite dress the vnie That yields Calenum's priceless wine ; The trader, blest of Heaven, whose sails Have weathered oft Atlantic gales, 145 I Unhurt from golden goblets drain The costly draught his ventures gain. Mine be the light poetic fare That my own garden yields. My prayer, Son of Latoua, is no more Than to enjoy my frugal store, Sound both in body and in mind ; Nor, as old age steals on, to find My harp unstrung or friends unkind. < ; *"^.>-fK^^>#\ i^ss^^^ii [46] Od. II. xvi Oiiiim divos rogat in patenti. pkacp: and quiet. T^OR ease the weary seaman prays On the wild ocean, tempest tost, When guiding stars withhold their rays, When pales the moon in cloud-wrack lost, For ease the Median archers sigh — For ease the Thracian warrior bold ; But ease, my friend, nor gems can buy, Nor purple robes, nor mighty gold. No lacquey train, no consul's guard Can keep the spectral crowd aloof That throngs the troubled m.ind or ward The cares that haunt the gilded roof. Upon a frugal board to see The old paternal silver shine ; Light sleep from care and canker free — This happy, lowly lot be mine. The mortal frames a mighty plan, And framing dies, a fretful elf; [47] He posts, unresting, through his span, And flies but ne'er escapes himself. Care sits upon the swelling sail. Care mounts the warrior's barbed steed ; The bounding stag, the driving gale, Are laggards to her deadly speed. Come weal, we'll joy while joy we may, And let the future veil the rest ; Come woe, we'll smile its gloom awa}', Since naught that is is always blest. Achilles died before his hour, Tithonus lived while time grew old ; The self-same boon the self-same DOwer, To me may give, from thee withhold. Around thy dome unnumbered stray The flocks ; Sicilian heifers low, Coursers of glorious lineage neigh ; Thy robes with Afric's purple glow. A home that fits a poets state, A spark, though small, of poet's fire, A poet's heart to scorn dull hate — All this I have, nor more desire. [4s: Od. III. ix. Donee grati4S cram t'lhi. THE RECONCILIATIOX OF LOVERS. [This and the piece which follows have so high and so well deserved a reputation as works of art that one almost shrinks from offering a translation. It has been necessary to take a liberty with the last line but two. Levior corticc literally rendered into English would spoil the effect. The poem is evidently a dialogue; but the critics pronounce it bad taste to prefix the names of the interlocutors, Horace and Lydia. j \A/hile thou wert true, while thou wert kind. Ere round that snowy neck of thine. A happier youth his arms had twined, No monarch's lot could match with niiiu-. While Lydia was thy only flame, Ere yet thy heart had learned to rove, Not Roman Ilia's glorious name Could Match with hers that owned tli)' love. Sweet Chloe is my mistress now, Queen of the dance, the song, the l)'re ; And O ! to death I'd lightly go So fate would spare my heart's desire. L49] ^iiii lili For Calais not in vain I sigh ; His city s pride, his father's joy ; And O ! a double death I'd die So death would spare my Thuriat boy. What if the banished love return And link once more the broken chain ? What if this heart sweet Chloe spurn And welcome Lydia home again ? Though he were lovelier than a star, Thou fickle as an April sky, And curst as Adria's waters are, — With thee I'd live, with thee I'd die. [50I C)d. III. xiii. () foyxf. Bandusia' splcndidivr vitro. the: spring of ban du si a. Opring of Bandusia, crystal clear, Worthy this cup of mantling wine, These votive flowers which now I bear , To-morrow shall a kid be thine^ Yon kid whose horns begin to bud And tell how he shall love and fight In vain ; the little wanton's blood Is doomed to dye thy streamlet bright. Midsummer's noon with scorching ray Taints not thy virgin wave, and clear Is its cool draught at close of day To wandering flock and weary steer. Thou too shalt be a spring renowned, If verse of mine can fame bestow On yonder grot, with holm-oak crowned. From which thy babbling waters flow. [5>J :1k Od. 1. xxxviii. Pei'sicos udi, puer, apparatus. SIMPLICITY. mn'. T liAVH costly wreaths for lordly brows : Of myrtle let my chaplet be ; Seek not for autumn's lingering rose ; Twine but the myrtle, bo}', for me. Of all that blooms there's naught so lit For thee, my boy, that pour'st the wine ; For me, that quaff it as 1 sit, O'erarched by this embowering vine. (5^.1 Od. III. vii. QuidjJes, Asterie, qucm t'lbi cand'uii. TO A (iIRL WHOSE LOVER WAS ABSENT AT SEA. Opring gales will waft him back to thee, Asterie — wherefore pine ? With goodly bales from o'er the sea — Thy Gyges, ever thine. Driven by the wild autumnal gales, To some far northern cove, The weary night he wakes and wails For thee, his absent love. Though from a lovesick northern dame An envoy steals, to tell That Chloe's heart hath caught thy flame And plies each potent spell. Whispering how, as the legends say. Too chaste Bellerophon J3y her, whose love he cast away, To death was well-nigh done. 53 Ml! II 1.^" M M How Peleus, too, had all hut rued Dearly his virtue cold. Each tale that fires the wauton hlood But all in vain are told. As cliffs that billows beat in vain, So is he to her art ; But thou, fair girl, there dwells a swain Hard by — i^uiard well thy heart ! Though 'mid the wonderuig ring, like him, The courser none can guide ; None with an arm so lusty swim Down 3'ellow Tiber's tide. At nightfall be thy lattice shut, Nor look down to the way, When thou dost hear the plaintive flute. And say no yielding Nay. rs4] On. III. xxi. () unfa iiucHiii roiisnli- Mnnlio. TO A CASK OF WINE MADl-: IN THE Yi:\k IN WHICH HORACE WAS BORN. IWfv good contemporary cask, whatever tlion dost ^^^ keep Stored up in thee — smiles, tears, wild loves, mad brawls or easy sleep — Whate'er thy grape was charged withal, thy hour is come ; descend ; Corvimis bids, my mellowest wine must greet my dearest friend. Sage and Socratic though he be, the juice he will not spurn, That many a time made glow, the}' say, old Cato's virtue stern. There's not a heart so hard but thou beneath its guard canst steal, There's not a soul so close but thou its secret canst reveal. There's no despair but thou canst cheer, no wretch's lot so low 55 But thou canst raise, and bid him brave the tyrant and the foe. Please Bacchus and the Queen of Love, and the Hnked Graces three, Till lamps shall fail and stars grow pale, we'll make a night with tliee. On. II. ix. Non semper imbres utibibus hispidas, TO A F[.-i, sleek and full of mirtli. Gathering around the blazing hearth." So said Old Ten-per-cent, when he A jolly farmer fain would be. His moneys he called in amain — Next week he put them out again. 173 PROPERTIUS. Kleg. V. xi. I) head. No honours that on PauUus' consort wail, No pride of ancestry or storied bust, Could save Cornelia from her cruel fate : Now one small hand may hold her ^qandcur's dust. Shades of the Dead and slugj^dsh fens that gloom Around Hell's nuirky shores nu' steps to bind. In lore my hour, but pure in soul, 1 come, Then let the Judge of all the Dead be kind. Call the dread Court ; let silence reign in Hell ; Set for an hour the damned from torture free. And still the Guardian Hound. If aught I tell But truth, fall Hell's worst penalty on mc Is honour to a glorious lineage due ? What my sires were, Afric and Spain proclaim : Nor poor the blood I from my mother drew, For well may Libo's match with Scipio's name. And when, my virgin vesture laid aside. They placed the matron's wreath upon m)- iiead. I .-si Thine, Paullus, I became, till death thy bride : " Wedded to one " shall on my tomb be read. liy Glory's shrine: I swear, great Scipio's tomb, Where sculptured Afric sits a captive maid, l>y him that led the Macedonian liome In chains and all his pride in ruin laid. Never for me v/as bent the censor's law ; Never by me wrong to your honour done ; Your scutcheon to Cornelia owes no flaw, To her your roll of worthy names owes one. Nor failed my virtue; faithful still I stood. And stainless from the bridal to the bier. No law 1 needed save my noble blood ; The basely born are innocent through fear. Judge strictly as ye will, within the bound Of Death's wide realm not one, matron or maid, Howe'er renowned in story, will be found To shun communion with Cornelia's shade. Not she, the wife of purity unstained. At touch of whose pure hand Cybele moved, When Jiands less pure in vain the cable strained, Not she, the virgin of the gods beloved, l7oJ For whom, vAinn Vesta's sacred fire was lost, It from her votary's robe rekindled sprang;. And thou, dear mother, did thy child e'er cost Thee, save by her untimely fate, a j)anj^^ ? Short was my span, yet children three 1 bore, And in their arms I drew my latest breath ; In these I live although my life is o'er; Their dear embraces took the sting from death. Twice tlid my brother fill the curule chair, There sat he when I parted. Daughter, thou Wast born a censor's child ; be it thy care Like me, by wedded troth, his rule to show. Now I bequeath our children to thy heart, Husband, though I am dust, that care is mine ; Father and mother too henceforth thou art ; Around one neck now all those arms must twine. Kiss for th) self and then for her that's gone ; Thy love alone the whole dear burden bears ; If ere for me thou weepest, weep alone. And see, to cheat their lips, thou driest thy tears. Be it enough by night thy grief to pour, By night to commune with Cornelia's shade ; 177] If to ni}' likeness in thy secret bower Thou speakest, speak as though I answer made. Sliould time bring on another wedding-day, And set a stepdame in your mother's place, My children, let your looks no gloom betray; Kind ways and loving words will win her grace. Nor speak too much of me ; the jealous car Of the new wife perchance offence may take ; Hut ah ! if my poor ashes are so dear That he will live un wedded for my sake, Learn, cliildren, to forestall your sire's decline. And let no lonesome thought come near his life; Add to your years what Fate has reft from mine ; Blest in my chiltlren let him bless his wife. Though brief my day, I have not lived in vain ; Mourning for child of mine I never wore ; When from my home went forth my funeral train Not one was missing there of all I bore. My cause is pleaded. Now, ye mourners, rise And witness bear till earth my meed decree ; If worth may claim its guerdon in the skies, My glorious ancestors may welcome me. [78] mmimnimm^mtt Eleg. I. ii. (^)ui(i JHvat ofiidtu proccderc, vita, capillo ? BEAUTY UNADORNKl). |1':ar girl, what boots it thus to dress thy hair, Or flaunt in silken garment rich and rare, To reek of perfume from a foreign mart. And pass thyself for other than thou art — Tluis Nature's gift of beauty to deface And rob thy own fair form of half its grace ? Trust me, no skill can greater charms impart : Love is a naked boy and scorns all art- Bears not the sod unbidden blossoms rare ? The untrained ivy, is it not most fair ? Greenest the shrub on rocks untended grows, Brightest the rill in unhewn channel flows. The beach is with unpolished pebbles gay. And birds untutored trill the sweetest lay. Not thus the damsels of tlie golden age Were wont the hearts of heroes to engage : Their loveliness was to no jewels due, But to such tints as once Apelles drew. From vain coquettish arts they all were free, Content to charm witli simple modesty. By thee despite to n^e will ne'er be done ; The woman pleases well who pleases one. [791 OVID. Amor. II. vi. Psittacus, Eois imitatrix ales ah Indis. ON THE DEATH OF A PARROT. [The opening is, of course, a play on the ceremonies of a Roman funeral. The Paradise of Birds is the best part of the piece.] T^HE talkinj:^ Parrot brought from farthest Ind Is (lead. Ye birds, the obsequies attend ; In pious grief each tender visage tear With claws for hands, and rend your plumes for hair, Beat with your wings your breasts, and let each throat Wail like the funeral trumpet's doleful note. Why, Philomel, bewail that ancient wrong ? Thracia's grim lord has been thy theme too long. One matchless bird claims every thought. The tale Of Itys slain is passing sad, but stale. Hither all tribes that sail the viewless air But thou, sweet turtle, first of all repair. LSoJ In perfect harmony your lives were past, Your faith stood firm and rooted to tlie last. Orestes,. Pylades, illustrious pair, Like you the Parrot and the Turtle were, Yet neither love so true nor hues so brave, Nor such a gift of speech had power to save ; Nor that my mistress loved the pretty prize. Lost prince of birds, in death thy glory lies. Thy glowing feathers mocked the emerald's rays, Thy rudd}^ beak the Punic saffron's blaze. No fowl could language ere so counterfeit Or with such grace the half-formed word repeat. Untimely snatched ! from quarrels tiiou wert free, While others fought, peace still was dear to tliee. Quails in their battles pass a savage life. Yet reach old age, full both of years and strife:. Spare was thy diet ; for thy favourite feat, Practised so oft, scarce left thee time to eat. For food the nut, the drowsy poppy's seed. For drink the stream supplied thy simple need. The felon kite, the greedy vulture live. The doleful daws forebodmg storms survive, The raven still croaks on, Minerva's hate, And scarce nine weary ages bound its date ; LM J P>ut nature's marvel brou^lit from other skies, Image of liiiman speech, the Parrot dies. A cruel power first on the fairest preys, The vile fill up the measure of their days. Thersites lived Achilles' death to tell, Lived Hector's brethren when the hero fell. The seventh day came, the hj^ht of thy last sun, Fate's empty tlistaff showed thy thread had run. Still in death's {nix haunts the holy ground ; The Peacock spreads his glories, and the Dove, Billing her mate, renews her earthly love. There, our lost Parrot, welcomed in the bower. Draws feathered tribes to marvel at his power. A narrow tomb the little bones will hold ; And two brief lines the story will unfold : " I pleased the fair. So much this stone doth tell ; What more ? I talked and for a bird talked well." l»2| ■Miiiii Amor. HI. ix. Mcnnioun si mater, mater ploravit Achilliu. [An elegy on the death of Ovid's poet-friend Tilmllus. Two lines of frigid mythology have been left out. How could a man of Ovid's taste speak of Cupid as the brother of /li)neas and make him attend in that character the pious Trojan's funeral ' The two mistresses with their contest for priority of interest in the dead might well have been omitted by Ovid ; but this is Roman. What ground of complaint Tibullus had against Gallus is a mystery.] Tf for Achilles, if for Memnon dead, A mother's tears by eyes divine were shed, Goddess of Elej^y, let fall thy hair, As mourners wont, and come, our sorrows sliare. Lo ! turned to senseless clay Tibullus lies, And with thy own sweet bard thy iL,dory dies. See Love, with torch extinguished, broken bow, Quiver inverted, joins the train of woe. Behold his grief, by drooping wings expressed, How, with despairing hand he beats his breast ; How the quick sobs his heaving bosom tear ; How drop the tears on his dishevelled hair. Not Venus' self was more distraught with pain When by the boar her beauteous boy was slain. LS3] IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) V. / O {■/ f<\ &p w- iP.r [/ ^ I 1.0 I.I 1.25 2.0, 1 5 *? lillitt |||||m 1-4 III 1.6 V] ^ '^A a // >^ O / Photographic Sciences Corporation 4? iV ^ <> ^ /'^ ^ ^ "i} ^ » 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (71*) 872-4503 I &p W' C?.r - i Q> TJiey say we bards are Heaven's peculiar care, A sacred race, and inspiration share. Hut Death for sacred things shows scant respect And lays his impious hands on Heaven's elect. A muse for mother, a celestial sire, These saved not Oroheus, nor his magic lyre. For him in grief his father's harp was strung, And with his dirge the woodland echoes rung. Great Homer, too, from whose deep fountain fed Tlie streams of song o'er poet souls are spread. Sank to the shades when came the fatal hour. Verse, verse alone, defies the insatiate Power. The tale of Troy for ever will delight And the weird web unwoven in the night, So will your names, bright pair, immortal prove Nemesis his last, Delia his earliest love. But what avail your rites, your timbrels now, Or your chaste nights ? Has Isis heard your vow ? When cruel fate thus bears the good away. Forgive me, Gods, I almost cease to pray. Be pious and you die : frequent the fanes, Death drags you from the altar for your pains. Dost thou, a poet, trust in lines that burn ? Lo ! great Tibullus lies in yon small urn. [84J And fire, O Lacred Son of Song, could feast On that sweet home of poesy, thy breast. The flames that such a sacrilege could dare Would not the majesty of temples spare. The Queen of Beauty turned her from the sight, 'Tis said that she let fall some tears of light. Yet was it better so to end, than lie In common earth beneath an alien sky. At least thy mother closed thy eyes and paid Aftection's last sad offerings to the shade. Thy sister, too, in mourning took hei turn, And bent with drooping tresses o'er thy urn ; Nor failed the two, once to thy heart so dear, To stand together by their lover's bier. Delia, as from thy corpse she parted, cried O hadst thou still been mine, thou hadst not died. Claim not, said Nemesis, the loss as thine, Know that his dying hand was clasped in mine. If aught is left but name or empty shade Tibullus rests in some Elysian glade. Where, crowned with ivy, in their youthful bloom To greet him, Calvus and Catullus come ; And Gallus, too (were friendship's wrong undone). The poet-soldier who both laurels won : (!i;:/:il [85] Together there ye hve, if life there be In yonder realm, a sainted company. Turn, then, Tibullus, to thy peaceful rest, And may the earth lie light upon thy breast. [861 Heroid. VII. sic, ubi fata vacant, udis ahjectus in hcrhis. DIDO TO ^NEAS. [The Epistld of Dido to ^neas who had deserted her.j nr^HE stricken swan beside iMaeander lies In the dank grass, sings her last song, and dies. Think not I hope to move thee by my prayer — That hope, all hope, has sunk in blank despair, No, but when honour, virtu*^, fame are gone 'Twere a poor thrift to huii^and words alone. And thou wilt go, and leave me here forlorn. Thy faith, thy sails by the same breezes borne ; At once thy cable loosed and honour's band. To seek, thou know'st not where, the Italian land. The hopes of Carthage and her rising towers Have then no charm, though thine with kingly powers. Here is a city, where thou goest is none, That land is yet to win ; this land is won. Suppose the haven gained, what friend will come To bid thee call the stranger's land thy home ? Once more thou must feign love, be false once more, And find a Dido on the Italian shore. [871 Whero wilt thou see another Carthage rise ? Where feast, as from this tower, a monarch's eyes ? Or, if thou dost, if Heaven propitious prove To every prayer, where wih thou find — my love ? I burn, as kindled sulphur wastes away, As wastes the frankincense on festal day ; iEneas' form is ever in my sight ; Of him I think by day, I dream by night. Ingrate he is, untouched by all my care. And were I wise, to lose him were my prayer. And yet no hate in me his guilt can move, I curse his falsehood and more deeply love. Spare, Venus, spare thy daughter ! Cupid, wind Thy witcheries round thy rebel brother's mind ! * Alas ! my thoughts on baseless fancies run ; Nought of that mother lingers in her son. Of flinty rocks was born thy heart of stone, Gnarled oaks, fierce beasts may claim thee for their own, Or yon wild ocean, o'er which lies thy way — . See ! how with rising waves it bids thee stay. * iEneas, Dido's faithless husband, being son of Venus and brother of Cupid. [88] Go not ! Thou can'st not go ! The storm is kind ! Mark yon white breakers driven before the wind ! Let tempests give what fain I'd owe to thee And right be done to love by wind and sea. Too much, though just, it were that thou should'st fly From me o'er angry floods and foundering die. Too costly is thy hate, if loss of life Seem a less evil than the hated wife. Soon will the sea grow calm, winds cease to rave. And Triton's steeds skim lightly o'er the wave ; Ah ! would such change could o'er thy spirit come ! It will, if pity in thy heart finds room. The perilous deep is not unknown to thee : Thou oft hast tried — still can'st thou trust — the sea ? Weigh anchor e'en when ocean smiles — how rife With ills and hardships is the seaman's life ! Nor think the main to broken faith is kind ; There traitors oft their treason's guerdon find. Love's traitors most ; for, as the story goes,' 'Twas from the sea that Love's great parent rose. Lost, I would save thee ; wronged, I seek thy good, And snatch my foe from the o'erwhelming flood. Live ; thou wilt suffer less by death than shame ; Live, while I die, and bear a murderer's name. [89 What, if thy barque yield to the tempest's power, (Avert it Heaven !) will be thy thoughts that hour ? Then to thy mind thy perjuries will come. The Trojan's treachery and Dido's doom ; Then, stained with blood, and with dishevelled hair, Thy much wronged wife's sad spectre will appear ; Then, conscience-struck. Heaven's justice thou wilt own And think the lightnings hurled at thee alone. Awhile to pity and the sea give way, Thy safety, sure, is worth a short delay. Think not of me, but of thy youthful son, Enough that on thee rests the deaih of one. Thy boy, thy household gods, compassion claim. Shall waters whelm what has been snatched from flame ? Hut ah ! no gods thou hast. Nor gods nor sire By thee were rescued when Troy sank in fire. 'Twas falsehood every word ; nor I the first In trusting to thy well-coined stories curst. Where is the mother of thy son, thy bride ? Deserted by her ruthless lord she died. That tale my doting heart unwarned could hear. Spare not ! my folly merits all I bear. [90] Ten years o'er land and sea a wanderer driven — who can doubt thou art accurst of Pleaven ? Thrown on my coast, I harboured tliee ; scarce heard The outcast's name and kingly power conferred. And would my bounty had but ended here, Nor lavished on thee treasures yet more dear. Woe worth that day, when, as the tempest broke. We in a sheltering cavern refuge took, 1 heard a cry ; methought the wood-nymphs hailed My bridal ; 'twas my doom by F'uries pealed. Avenge, O Chastity, thy outraged name ; I to Sichaeus bear a load of shame. I keep his statue in a marble shrine Where garlands green and fieecy fillets twine. There four times have I heard the call to doom. Four times himself has whispered, " Dido, come ! * I come, I come ! Dread consort, thine I am, Though still I dread to meet thee in my shame. Forgive my fault ; strong was the tempter's spell ; I fell, but through no weak delusion fell. A goddess mother and a rescued sire Seemed pledges of a love that would not tire. Err if I must, my error was not mean. Give him but truth, where will his peer be seen ? i [911 From birth tc death in one unbroken flow Of misery runs my hfe, a changeless woe. Slain at the altar's side my husband lies, His brother does the deed and grasps the prize. I leave his ashes, leave my own loved home, And chased by foes to unknown lands 1 roam ; Escape a brothers hate, an angry sea. And buy a realm — to give, false wretch, to thee. I found a city that with rising towers And spreading walls offends the neighbouring powers. Then wars arise and threat with loud alarms My frail estate, weak gates and scanty arms. Suitors unnumbered next my peace assail. Each fancying that his rival's claims prevail. Bind, if thou wilt, and to larbas's gate, Send me an offering to Gaetulian hate. A brother, too, I have, whose hand imbrued With my lost lord's would lightly shed my blood. No more those gods, those holy things, profane ; The hands that worship should be free from stain. Thy gods might grieve to have escaped the flame Doomed to receive thy ministry of shame. What, if cut off, a mother I should be And in this bosom bear a pledge of thee ? [92] The child will share its mother's funeral pyre, And yet unborn be murdered by its sire. Fate links a guiltless to a guilty life, lulus' brother dies when dies thy wife. Heaven bids thee go. Why did it bid thee come ? Why to no land but mine could Trojans roam ? And say, has not this Guiding Power of thine Tost thee long years on the tempestuous brine ? Scarce Troy itself would all these pains repay. If still it stood grand as in Hector's day. Simois IS known, but strange is Tiber's shore : Thou art an alien still, thy wanderings o'er. And life may fail e'er thou canst reach the coast For ever near and yet for ever lost. Leave mocking visions ; grasp my certain dower, Pygmalion's treasures and imperial power. A happier Ilium to our Carthage bring ; Here find thy promised land, here reign a king. Is war thy passion ? Does lulus burn From glorious fields in triumph to return ? Doubt not, a worthy foeman shall be found ; The conqueror's pastimes in these realms abound. But, by thy mother, by the shafts of might Thy brother shoots, the gods that shared thy flight- [93] So may'st thou save the remnant of thy host, And none, the ten years' siege has spared, be lost — So for thy son may blessinj:(s never cease. And thy loved father's ashes rest in peace — Wreck not the house that gives itself to thee. I love — no fault else can'st thou find in me. I came not from the hated Grecian land, Nor did ni}' kin against thy country stand. Hat'st thou to call me wife ? I'll wave that name ; Thine let her be and Dido fears no shame. I know the waves that beat on Afric's coast, The passage at set tides is clear or lost. When all is fair, set forth upon thy way, Now stranded seaweed warns in port to stay. Set me to watch ; I'll be a trusty seer, Nor, even if thou wiliest, keep thee here. Thy comrades need repose, thy shattered fleet But half-repaired is scarce seaworthy yet. Much I have done for thee, may yet do more ; For my lost hopes a respite I implore ; While seas grow calm and love — while suff 'ring trains My spirit bravely to endure these pains. Refuse the boon, at once with life I part ; Thou shalt not trample long on this poor heart. [94] Would, vvliile I write, thou could'st the writer see: The Trojan sword is resting on my knee ; Tears down my cheeks are coursing in a flood And wet the blade ; soon it will stream with blood. Thy gift well suits my lot, and cheaply paid Will be thy parting tribute "to my shade ; Nor will thy weapon first my bosom wound ; Love's shaft has there alrea ly entrance found. Anna, my sister, conscious of my shame. My ashes soon will th; ast office ^laim. Grave not " Sichaeus' wife ' upon my tomb. Yet briefly tell the story of ny doom : Let with my name Eneas' mme be shown ; The cause, the sword was his ; the hand my own. m lllii i [95 "I riBULLUS. Eleg. I. i. Divitias alius fulvo sibi congerat auro. [The poet, in reduced circumstances, settles down to a country life with his Delia, declining the invitation of his friend and patron, M. Valerius Messala, to accompany him into Greece to take part in the campaign which ended in the Battle of Actium.] T ET him pile up his heaps of yellow gold ; And o'er broad acres proud dominion hold ; Who watch against near-camping foes will keep Through painful hours, v/hile trumpets break his sleep. For me, to ease with poverty I turn Contented, so my hearth may brightly burn. To set in season due the tender vine And the tall fruit-trees deftly plant, be mine. Hope of the year ! thy promise keep, and still With must my vats, with grain my garners fill. When, without reverence passed I stock or stone That wears the sacred wreath in field or town ? [96] Do not I to the farmer's god each Spring The first fruits of my orchard duly bring ? Ceres, bright goddess, at thy temple gate, Cut from my farm, shall hang the crown of wheat; While in my orchard, reaping-hook in hand, To scare the birds the farmer's god shall stand. Ye, too, m}- household gods, though wide no more Is your domain, shall share my humble store. Once from my noble herd a heifer bled. But now the poor man's lamb must serve instead. This at your shrine shall fall, while swains about Shall ** a good harvest and rich vintage " shout. And now my poverty I almost love. Nor more desire o'er land or sea to rove. But 'neath the greenwood tree the heat to shun. While at my feet the purling waters run. Yet, sometimes, will I take in hand the hoe. Or goad the oxen when the wain moves slow ; Nor will I shrink from bearing home the lamb. Or kid forsaken of its heedless dam. Ye wolves and robbers, spare my little flock ; If steal ye must, steal from the rich man's stock. Duly each year I purify the swain And sprinkle milk, mild Pales, at thy fane. / l97l / Accept then, gods, what my poor board can spare, Clean is the dish, albeit of earthenware. All wares were earthen in the olden da}^ ; Man's richest plate was then the primal clay. Not to the well-stored garners of my sire, Not to ancestral acres, I aspire ; Little I crave, so I can lay me down To rest, not on war's couch, but on my own. How sweet, while to my heart my partner dear I press, the wind howling without to hear ! How sweet, when wintry storms the champaign sweep, Lulled by the pattering rain, to sink to sleep ! Perish all gold and gems, rather than she Should shed one tear at taking leave of me. Messala, war to wage on land and wave. And trophies home to bear, becomes the brave. My lot is beauty's chain to wear and wait, A menial slave, at cruel beaut3^'s gate. Let others glory reap ; Delia, with thee To live inglorious is enough for me. In my last liour to see thy face be mine ; O may my djang hand be clasped in thine ! When thou shalt see me stretched upon my bier Thou wilt give many a kiss, shed many a tear. ['.>8] Yes, thou wilt weep, beloved, when I am gone, Thy heart is not of steel, is not of stone. Nor, trust me, wilt thou from those obsequies See youth or maiden come with tearless eyes. Yet, Delia, in thy grief my spirit spare, Mar not thy comely cheeks, thy tresses fair. Meantime we live, and living let us prove. Ere that fell Shadow comes, the joys of love. Dull age creeps on ; soon we no more shall play ; Lips cannot whisper love when heads are gray. Now is the time for frolicsome amours. The time to beat the watch and break the doors. For such campaigns I am a warrior good ; Who covets wealth may buy it with his blood. His be war's pomp. I happy in my own ; On wealth and pinching want alike look down. !i! Iwl LUCRETIUS. Lib. I. 1-40. /Eneadum gcnetrix, hominum cfivomque voluptas. OPENING INVOCATION TO VP:NUS. ,ODDESs from whom descends the race of Rome, Venus, of gods and men supreme deUght, Hail thou that all beneath the starry dome — Lands rich with grain and seas with navies white- Blessest and cherishest ! Where thou dost come Enamelled earth decks her with posies bright To meet thy advent. Clouds and tempests flee And joyous light smiles over land and sea. Often as comes again the vernal hour And balm}^ gales of spring begin to blow. Birds of the air first feel thy sovereign power And, stirred at heart, its genial influence show. Next the wild herds the grassy champagne scour Drawn by thy charm and stem the river's flow. In mountain, wood, field, sea, all by the grace Of Venus' love, and love preserves their race. [lOOJ 'g Mother of life and beauty that dost brinj All things in order forth, thy aid I claim When to our Memmius I essay to sing Of nature and the universal frame — Memmius whom thy own hand has crowned the king Of all that charms or wins the meed oi fame. Grace thou my verse and while I sing bid cease Fell war and let the weary earth have peace. This thou alone canst do, since thou alone Mars, battle's master, by thy spells canst bmd ; Oft does the God of War love's cravings own Unquenchable, and on thy lap reclined. His shapely neck back in his rapture thrown, His soul with thine through burning looks entwined Feed on thy beauty. Clasp him to thy breast. Fill him with thy sweet self, and give us rest. [101] Lib. I. 62-101. Humnna ante oculos focde cum vita jaceret. A DEFENCE OF FREE-THIxNKING. IQ ROSTRATE lay human life beneath the spell Of dark Religion lowering from the skies ; Nor was one found to back that thraldom fell Until a man of Greece dared lift his eyes — One whom no vengeful thunderbolts could quell Nor wrath of gods. But on his high emprize, Chafed to sublimer daring and intent, To burst through Nature's portals forth he went. Thus his undaunted spirit for mankind O'er Superstition's power the victory won ; Past the world's flaming walls his venturous mind Through the unmeasured universe pressed on, Thence brought us word how Being is defined By bounds fast set which nothing may o'er-run. So trampled under foot Religion lies While Science soars victorious to the skies. [102] ; il ; Nor deem it sin by Reason to be freed, Or think I lead thee an unholy way ; Rather to many a dark and bloody deed Religion hurries those who own her sway. Was not Iphigenia doomed to bleed By the Greek chiefs, though first of men were they, Staining the altar of the Trivian Maid At Aulis where the fleet by winds was stayed ? Lo ! on her tresses fair for bridal tire The sacrificial fillet they have bound ; Beside the altar weeping stands her sire : In all the crowd no tearless eye is found. The priests make ready for their office dire. Yet pitying hide the knife. When gazing round The Maiden sees her doom, her spirit flies. Her limbs sink down, speechless on earth she lies. The firstborn of his children she in vain Had brought the name of father to the king. In arms upborne she goes, not by a train Of youths that the loud hymeneal sing Around a happy bride in joyous strain Bearing her home, but a sad offering, — There to be slain by him who gave her birth. Such evil hath Religion wrought on earth. [103 J I'ii Lib. II. 1-61. Suav^, vinri magus turbantibtts cequora ventisik THE CONSOLATIONS OF SCIENCE. . T^is sweet, when tempests lash the tossing main, Another's perils from the shore to see ; Not that we draw delight from others' pain, But in their ills feel our security : 'Tis sweet to view ranged on the battle plain The warring hosts, ourselves from danger free : But sweeter still to stand upon the tower Reared in serener air by wisdom's power ; Thence to look down upon the wandering ways Of men that blindly seek to live aright. See them waste sleepless nights and weary days, Sweat in Ambition's press, that to the height Of power and glory they themselves may raise. O minds misguided and devoid of light, In what a coil, how darkling do ye spend This lease of being that so soon must end ! [104] Fools ! What doth nature crave ? A painless frame. Therewith a spirit void of care or fear. Calm Ease and true Delight are but the same. What, if for thee no golden statues rear The torch to light the midnight feast, nor flame The long-drawn palace courts with glittering gear. Nor roofs of fretted gold with music ring, Yet hast thou al' things that true pleasure bring — Pleasure like theirs that 'neath the spreading tree Beside the brook, on the soft greensward lie. In kindly circle feasting cheerfully On simple dainties, while the sunny sk}- Smiles on their sport and flowrets deck the lea. Bright summer over all. Will fevers fly The limbs that toss on purple and brocade Sooner than those on poor men's pallets laid ? And as to chase the body's ills away Wealth, birth and kingly majesty are vain. So is it with the mind's disease : array Thy mail-clad legions on the swarming plain. Bid them deploy, wheel, charge in mimic fray, As though one soul moved all the mighty train. With war's full pomp and circumstance : will all Set free the mind to dreadful thoughts a thrall ? [•05 J L Crowd ocean with thy fleets, a thousand sail ; Will thy armada banish from the breast The fear of death ? If then of no avail Are all these baubles, if the soul's unrest Yields not to bristling spear or clashmg mail, If haunting Care climbs an unbidden guest To Power's most awful seat, and mocks his gown Of gorgeous purple and his radiant crown — Delay no longer Reason's aid to try. Since Reason's aid alone can mend our plight That walk in darkness, and, like babes that cry With silly terror in the lonesome night At their own fancy's bugbears, ofttimes fly. Mere grown-up babes, from bugbears of the light. These shadows not the glittering shafts of day. Must chase, but Science with more sovran ray. M-^ [106] Lib. III. 1-30. E tenebris tantes tarn clarmn extol lere lumen. THE LIGHT OF THE ANCIENT WORLD. Thou that in such darkness such a Hglit Didst kindle to man's ways a beacon fire ! Glory of Grecian land ! To tread aright Where thou hast trod, this is my heart's desire. To love, not rival, is my utmost flight, To rival thee what mortal can aspire ? Can swallows match with swans, or the weak feet Of kids vie in the race with coursers fleet ? Father, discoverer, guide, we owe to Thee The golden precepts that shall ne'er grow old ; As bees sip honey on the flowery lea. Knowledge we sip of all the world doth hold. Thy voice is heard : at once the shadows flee, The portals of the universe unfold. And ranging through the void thy followers' eye Sees Nature at her work in earth and sky. [107I rpr Of Deity the secrets straight appear ; The gods within their calm abode are seen ; Abodes which rains ne er drench, which tempests drear Ne'er beat, nor chills the freezing winter keen. But over-canopied with ether clear They ever smile with glorious light serene ; While Nature's self doth every want supply. Nor pain, nor care those mansions come anigh. But Hell and all its terrors vanish quite. Though nought is left beneath our feet to hide The abyss from view. Hell nowhere meets the sight : Into my bosom flows the mingled tide Of shuddering awe and of divine delight To see thy genius which all truth descried. Thus Nature's inmost mysteries unseal And all her ways in Heaven and Earth reveal. [108] 1 ■ i ■1.1. ts Lib. III. S94.1094. yam, jam nun dvmus nccipiet tc liifta. AGAINST THE FEAR OF DEATH. r " " I "hv home no more will welcome thee, nor wile And loving children run thy kiss to share, And make thy heart o'erflow with joy. Now life And life's delights are gone without repair : One day has reft all that with bliss was rife. And widowed all that hung upon thy care.' So say thev ever, but forget to say All cravings ended on that selfsame day. Were but this truth upon their hearts impressed, Changed were their rede. " Thy troubles all arc o'er. Then would they say, This day hath brought thee rest, Thou sleepest well after thy travail sore, While we, round thy pale corpse with heavy breast Gathering, with ceaseless tears thy loss deplore." Sweet after toil is sleep, then wherefore sorrow For him who sleeps and will not wake to-morrow? L «09J So, at the festive board, as crowned with flowers And cup in hand they sit, the revellers cry: " Drink, comrades, drink ; a fleeting span is ours, Poor mortals that we are, of jollity ; Nor comes it back. Then seize the flying hours." Fools that they are of a fond fantasy ! Can senseless clay for the lost banquet crave. Or the lips miss the wine-cup in the grave ? So, when the soul is drowned in slumber deep We feel no want, we reck not, hap what may, We miss not our own selves, nor care of sleep The bond to break, though it should last for aye ; Albeit our spirits then their mansion keep And consciousness returns with dawn of day. How then if sleep for nothing taketh thought Shall death, that hath no wakening, care for aught ? What then if Nature find a voice and say To senseless mortals who their end bewail, " If thou hast drunk of joyaunce in thy day Nor let thy goods, as through a leaky pail Water runs off^, slip unimproved away, Weakling, give over thy unmanly wail : Rise from the feast of life a sated guest ; Thine hour has come, go, turn thee to thy rest ! [no] ^ Ui ■ ? " But if thy days have all been spent in vain And life is now a burden, why to waste Add waste ? Why not have done with toil and pain ? Nought in my stores is left for thee to taste. Though sense and limb should unimpaired remain, Though the whole race of men thou could'st outlast, Nought else have I to give. Nay, though thy frame Could deathless be, still all things are the same." Would not her plea be righteous ? How much more. Should one far gone in j^ears his doom bewail, Justly would Nature say : " Dotard, give o'er Against the universal law to rail ; Years thou hast had enow, blessings good store. But thou hast let all pass without avail Craving for untried joys, despising tried. Till Death unlooked-for stands at thy bedside. " Resign, then, that which suits not withered age And go, since go thou must, with a good grace.' Deserved were that reproach. Fool, dost thou rage Because thou must, like thy forbears, give place ? Old things make way for new on being's stage ; Matter is needed to recruit the race ; Nor sinketh aught to the dark realm beneath, Whereof they prate ; but life is born of death liiij u And, being born, must pass away like thee. So the long line of generations wends. To none hath Nature granted life in fee To each one in his turn a lease she lends. Think, too, of the byegone eternity When thou wert not. That which is past portends What is to come. Why should'st thou start or weep ? In sleep what pain ? What pain in dreamless sleep ? And for those torments, whereof fables speak. On Earth they all have being, not in Hell. Tityos here feeds the avenging vulture's beak Gnawed by the pangs of love or passion fell ; And the poor slave of superstition weak Is Tantalus, though not, as legends tell. The ever-threatening rock, but groundless dread Of wrathful gods hangs o'er the victim's head. Is not a Sisyphus before our eyes When, in fierce contest for the consul's state, Ambition sweats and strains to grasp its prize And still is foiled by adverse power and hate ? To climb unresting and yet never rise. To strive for greatness yet be never great, — What is it but to heave uphill amain The stone which still rolls headlong down again ? [112] To feed yet not to satisfy the soul, To live yet never of life's joys to taste, Though in their course the bounteous seasons roll With ever-varying round of blessings graced, What is it but, like those sad Maids, the bowl To fill with water that still runs to waste ? Hell's fires, the Triple Hound, the Furies, all Are shadows that the slavish soul enthrall. But of the shadows earth the substance shows In vengeful pains that the wrongdoers feel, In guilt that death or tortures undergoes By dungeon or by scourge, by fire or steel, And when e'en these are lacking, by the throes Of conscience agonized that nought can heal. With forecast dark of sharper pangs to come ; A Hell on earth he knows who meets such doom. Say to thyself, unconscionable wight, Ancus is gone, a worthier far than thou. And many a puissant lord from Empire's height Death, that reveres no sceptre, hath brought low ; E'en him, that 'gainst the elements would fight And led his armies o'er the Ocean's flow. Scipio, war's levin, that smote Carthage down Is turned to clay as is the lowliest clown. LX13J I Founders of Arts, the Heliconian throng, Givers of beauty, sleep the common sleep. Not his imperial diadem of song Could Homer's self from dissolution keep. Democritus disdained life to prolong When drowsy age began his sense to steep ; E'en Epicurus, when his course was run, Departed, though, as stars before the sun. Pales every lesser light before his light. Quenched by that orb of intellect supreme. And dost thou then presume, insensate wight. Whose very life is death, whose day a gleam, 'Neath which thou wanderest stumbling with affright As one that wanders in a troublous dream. Ailing, but what thou ailest knowing not. Thus to rebel against the common lot ? W^hat ails them could men learn , and whence the weight That presses on each overburdened breast ? Their days they would not spend, early and late. Seeking relief through change and know no rest. Heartsick the lord from his abode of state Hurries, then hurries back. With jennets pressed As though to save his burnmg house from doom. Headlong he posts down to his country home ; [114 But on the threshold, seized with weariness, Yawns, and to heavy slumber lays him down, Snatching a moment of forgetfulness ; Or headlong, as he came, posts back to town. Thus each man flies but flying from distress Escapes not, since the cause is still unknown. Peace might be theirs were they but taught to see That everlasting calm their lot will be. O doting lust of life that us constrains To fret and fume when peril we espy ; The end is certain ; delay nothing gains Except increase of sad satiety. Nor can man take an hour, with all his pains. From Death who reigns throughout eternity. Though long thy term of being, not the less For that will be thy term of nothingness. ^^^v; [115]