The steer, with forecast provident to store
The hoarded grain, or manage what they had,
But browsed like beasts upon the leafy boughs,
Or fed voracious on their hunted prey.
An exile from Olympus, and expelled
His native realm by thunder-bearing Jove,
First Saturn came. He from the mountains drew
This herd of men untractable and fierce,
And gave them laws, and called his hiding place,
This growth of forests, Latium. Such the peace
His land possessed, the golden age was then,
So famed in story; till by slow degrees
Far other times, and of far different hue,
Succeeded, thirst of gold and thirst of blood.
Then came Ausonian bands, and armed hosts
From Sicily, and Latium often changed
Her master and her name.
At length arose
Kings, of whom Tybris of gigantic form
Was chief; and we Italians since have called
The river by his name; thus Albula,
(So was the country called in ancient days),
Was quite forgot. Me from my native land
An exile, through the dangerous ocean driven,
Resistless fortune and relentless fate
Placed where thou seest me. Phoebus, and
The nymph Carmentis, with maternal care
Attendant on my wanderings, fixed me here.
[Ten lines omitted.]
He said, and showed him the Tarpeian rock,
And the rude spot where now the capitol
Stands all magnificent and bright with gold,
Then overgrown with thorns. And yet even then
The swains beheld that sacred scene with awe;
The grove, the rock, inspired religious fear.
This grove, he said, that crowns the lofty top
Of this fair hill, some deity, we know,
Inhabits, but what deity we doubt.
The Arcadians speak of Jupiter himself,
That they have often seen him, shaking here
His gloomy ægis, while the thunder-storms
Came rolling all around him. Turn thine eyes,
Behold that ruin; those dismantled walls,
Where once two towns, Ianiculum
By Janus this, and that by Saturn built,
Saturnia. Such discourse brought them beneath The roof of poor Evander; thence they saw, Where now the proud and stately forum stands, The grazing herds wide scattered o'er the field. Soon as he entered-Hercules, he said, Victorious Hercules, on this threshold trod, These walls contained him, humble as they are.
Dare to despise magnificence, my friend,
Prove thy divine descent by worth divine,
Nor view with haughty scorn this mean abode.
So saying, he led Æneas by the hand,
And placed him on a cushion stuffed with leaves,
Spread with the skin of a Lybistian bear.
[The Episode of Venus and Vulcan omitted.] While thus in Lemnos Vulcan was employed, Awakened by the gentle dawn of day, And the shrill song of birds beneath the eaves Of his low mansion, old Evander rose. His tunic, and the sandals on his feet, And his good sword well girded to his side, A panther's skin dependent from his left And over his right shoulder thrown aslant, Thus was he clad. Two mastiffs followed him, His whole retinue and his nightly guard.
OVID. TRIST. LIB. V. ELEG. XII.
Scribis, ut oblectem.
You bid me write to amuse the tedious hours,
And save from withering my poetic powers;
Hard is the task, my friend, for verse should flow
From the free mind, not fettered down by woe.
Restless amidst unceasing tempests tossed,
Whoe'er has cause for sorrow, I have most.
Would you bid Priam laugh, his sons all slain;
Or childless Niobe from tears refrain,
Join the gay dance, and lead the festive train?
Does grief or study most befit the mind
To this remote, this barbarous nook confined?
Could you impart to my unshaken breast
The fortitude by Socrates possessed,
Soon would it sink beneath such woes as mine,
For what is human strength to wrath divine?
Wise as he was, and Heaven pronounced him so,
My sufferings would have laid that wisdom low.
Could I forget my country, thee and all,
And e'en the offence to which I owe my fall,
Yet fear alone would freeze the poet's vein,
While hostile troops swarm o'er the dreary plain.
Add that the fatal rust of long disuse
Unfits me for the service of the Muse.
Thistles and weeds are all we can expect
From the best soil impoverished by neglect;
Unexercised, and to his stall confined,
The fleetest racer would be left behind :
The best built bark that cleaves the watery way, Laid useless by, would moulder and decay,—
No hope remains that time shall me restore,
Mean as I was, to what I was before.
Think how a series of desponding cares
Benumbs the genius and its force impairs.
How oft, as now, on this devoted sheet,
My verse constrained to move with measured feet,
Reluctant and laborious limps along,
And proves itself a wretched exile's song.
What is it tunes the most melodious lays?
'Tis emulation and the thirst of praise,
A noble thirst, and not unknown to me,
While smoothly wafted on a calmer sea.
But can a wretch like Ovid pant for fame?
No, rather let the world forget my name.
Is it because that world approved my strain,
You prompt me to the same pursuit again?
No, let the Nine the ungrateful truth excuse,
I charge my hopeless ruin on the Muse,
And, like Perillus, meet my just desert,
The victim of my own pernicious art;
Fool that I was to be so warned in vain,
And shipwrecked once, to tempt the deep again'
Ill fares the bard in this unlettered land,
None to consult, and none to understand.
The purest verse has no admirers here,
Their own rude language only suits their ear.
Rude as it is, at length familiar grown,
I learn it, and almost unlearn my own ;-
Yet to say truth, even here the Muse disdains
Confinement, and attempts her former strains,
But finds the strong desire is not the power,
And what her taste condemns, the flames devour.
A part, perhaps, like this, escapes the doom,
And though unworthy, finds a friend at Rome;
But oh the cruel art, that could undo
Its votary thus! would that could perish too!
HOR. LIB. I. ODE IX.
Vides, ut altâ stet nive candidum
Soracte;....
SEEST thou yon mountain laden with deep snow
The groves beneath their fleey burdens bow,
The streams, congealed, forget to flow;
Come, thaw the cold, and lay a cheerful pile
Of fuel on the hearth;
Broach the best cask, and make old Winter smile
With seasonable mirth.
This be our part,-let Heaven dispose the rest;
If Jove coinmand, the winds shall sieep
That now wage war upon the foamy deep,
And gentle gales spring from the balmy west.
Even let us shift to-morrow as we may,
When to-morrow's passed away,
We at least shall have to say,
We have lived another day;
Your auburn locks will soon be silvered o'er,
Cld age is at our heels, and youth returns no more.
HOR. LIB. I. ODE XXXVIII.
Persicos odi, puer. apparatus.
Boy, I hate their empty shows;
Persian garlands I detest;
Bring not me the late-blown rose,
Lingering after all the rest.
Plainer myrtle pleases me,
Thus outstretched beneath my vine;
Myrtle more becoming thee,
Waiting with thy master's wine.
ANOTHER VERSION OF THE SAME ODE.
Boy! I detest all Persian fopperies,
Fillet-bound garlands are to me disgusting;
Task not thyself with any search, I charge thee,
Where latest roses linger;
Bring me alone, (for thou wilt find that readily,)
Plain myrtle. Myrtle neither will disparage
Thee occupied to serve me, or me drinking
Beneath my vine's cool shelter.
HOR. LI B. II. ODE XVI.
Otium Divos rogat in patenti.
EASE is the weary merchant's prayer,
Who ploughs by night the Ægean flood,
When neither moon nor stars appear,
Or faintly glimmer through the cloud.
For ease the Mede with quiver graced,
For ease the Thracian hero sighs;
Delightful ease all pant to taste,
A blessing which no treasure buys.
For neither gold can lull to rest,
Nor all a Consul's guard beat off
The tumults of a troubled breast,
The cares that haunt a gilded roof.
Happy the man whose table shows
A few clean ounces of old plate,
No fear intrudes on his repose,
No sordid wishes to be great.
Poor short-lived things, what plans we lay!
Ah, why forsake our native home,
To distant climates speed away,
For self sticks close where'er we roam!
Care follows hard and soon o'ertakes
The well-rigged ship, the warlike steed;
Her destined quarry ne'er forsakes;
Not the wind flies with half her speed.
From anxious fears of future ill
Guard well the cheerful, happy now;
Gild e'en your sorrows with a smile,
No blessing is unmixed below.
Thy neighing steeds and lowing herds,
Thy numerous flocks around thee graze,
And the best purple Tyre affords
Thy robe magnificent displays.
On me indulgent Heaven bestowed
A rural mansion, neat and small; This lyre ;-and as for yonder crowd, The happiness to hate them all.
TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN OF OWEN.
ON ONE IGNORANT AND ARROGANT.
THOU mayest of double ignorance boast,
Who knowest not, that thou nothing knowest.
PRUDENT SIMPLICITY.
THAT thou mayest injure no man, dove-like be, And serpent-like, that none may injure thee!
TO A FRIEND IN DISTRESS.
I WISH thy lot, now bad, still worse, my friend; For when at worst, they say, things always mend.
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