Poemata : Latin, Greek and Italian Poems Part 3

The G.o.ddess, with a blush, her love betrays, But mounts, and driving rapidly obeys.

Earth now desires thee, Phoebus! and, t'engage Thy warm embrace, casts off the guise of age.

Desires thee, and deserves; for who so sweet, When her rich bosom courts thy genial heat?

Her breath imparts to ev'ry breeze that blows Arabia's harvest and the Paphian rose. 60 Her lofty front she diadems around With sacred pines, like Ops on Ida crown'd, Her dewy locks with various flow'rs new-blown, She interweaves, various, and all her own, For Proserpine in such a wreath attired Taenarian Dis5 himself with love inspired.

Fear not, lest, cold and coy, the Nymph refuse, Herself, with all her sighing Zephyrs sues, Each courts thee fanning soft his scented wing, And all her groves with warbled wishes ring. 70 Nor, unendow'd and indigent, aspires Th'am'rous Earth to engage thy warm desires, But, rich in balmy drugs, a.s.sists thy claim Divine Physician! to that glorious name.

If splendid recompense, if gifts can move Desire in thee (gifts often purchase love), She offers all the wealth, her mountains hide, And all that rests beneath the boundless tide.

How oft, when headlong from the heav'nly steep She sees thee plunging in the Western Deep 80 How oft she cries--Ah Phoebus! why repair Thy wasted force, why seek refreshment there?

Can Tethys6 win thee? wherefore should'st thou lave A face so fair in her unpleasant wave?

Come, seek my green retreats, and rather chuse To cool thy tresses in my chrystal dews, The gra.s.sy turf shall yield thee sweeter rest, Come, lay thy evening glories on my breast, And breathing fresh through many a humid rose, Soft whisp'ring airs shall lull thee to repose. 90 No fears I feel like Semele7 to die, Nor lest thy burning wheels8 approach too nigh, For thou can'st govern them. Here therefore rest, And lay thy evening glories on my breast.

Thus breathes the wanton Earth her am'rous flame, And all her countless offspring feel the same; For Cupid now through every region strays Bright'ning his faded fires with solar rays, His new-strung bow sends forth a deadlier sound, And his new-pointed shafts more deeply wound, 100 Nor Dian's self escapes him now untried, Nor even Vesta9 at her altar-side; His mother too repairs her beauty's wane, And seems sprung newly from the Deep again.

Exulting youths the Hymenaeal10 sing, With Hymen's name roofs, rocks, and valleys ring; He, new attired and by the season dress'd Proceeds all fragrant in his saffron vest.

Now, many a golden-cinctur'd virgin roves To taste the pleasures of the fields and groves, 110 All wish, and each alike, some fav'rite youth Hers in the bonds of Hymenaeal truth.

Now pipes the shepherd through his reeds again, Nor Phyllis wants a song that suits the strain, With songs the seaman hails the starry sphere, And dolphins rise from the abyss to hear, Jove feels, himself, the season, sports again With his fair spouse, and banquets all his train.

Now too the Satyrs in the dusk of Eve Their mazy dance through flow'ry meadows weave, 120 And neither G.o.d nor goat, but both in kind, Sylva.n.u.s,11 wreath'd with cypress, skips behind.

The Dryads leave the hollow sylvan cells To roam the banks, and solitary dells; Pan riots now; and from his amorous chafe Ceres12 and Cybele seem hardly safe, And Faunus,13 all on fire to reach the prize, In chase of some enticing Oread14 flies; She bounds before, but fears too swift a bound, And hidden lies, but wishes to be found. 130 Our shades entice th'Immortals from above, And some kind Pow'r presides oter ev'ry grove, And long ye Pow'rs o'er ev'ry grove preside, For all is safe and blest where ye abide!

Return O Jove! the age of gold restore-- Why chose to dwell where storms and thunders roar?

At least, thou, Phoebus! moderate thy speed, Let not the vernal hours too swift proceed, Command rough Winter back, nor yield the pole Too soon to Night's encroaching, long control. 140

1 Helicon.

2 The Great Bear, called also Charles's Wain (wagon). "Bootes" is the constellation called "The Waggoner," who is said to be "less fatigued" because he drives the wain higher in the sky.

3 Diana (the Moon).

4 t.i.thonus, mortal husband to Aurora (the dawn), granted immortality without eternal youth. See Homer's Hymn to Aphrodite (lines 218-238). Cephalus was her lover, unwillingly taken by her from his beloved wife Procris. See Ovid (Met. vii, 700-708).

5 Hades (Pluto).

6 A water G.o.ddess--mother of the river G.o.ds and wife of Ocea.n.u.s.

7 The mother of Dionysus. Juno persuaded her to ask to see Jove in all his divine glory, the vision of which struck her dead. See Ovid (Met. iii, 308-309.)

8 The wheels of Apollo's chariot. See Ovid (Met. ii, I9-328.)

9 The G.o.ddess of chast.i.ty.

10 Hymn to Hymen, the G.o.ddess of marriage. 11 The wood G.o.d.

12 The G.o.ddess of agriculture. Cybele (Rhea) was called the mother of the G.o.ds and of men. See Virgil (Aen. x, 252-253.)

13 The G.o.d of shepherds. 14 A wood nymph.

ELEGY VI

To Charles Diodati, When He Was Visiting in the Country

Who sent the Author a poetical epistle, in which he requested that his verses, if not so good as usual, might be excused on account of the many feasts to which his friends invited him, and which would not allow him leisure to finish them as he wished.

With no rich viands overcharg'd, I send Health, which perchance you want, my pamper'd friend; But wherefore should thy Muse tempt mine away From what she loves, from darkness into day?

Art thou desirous to be told how well I love thee, and in verse? Verse cannot tell.

For verse has bounds, and must in measure move; But neither bounds nor measure knows my love.

How pleasant in thy lines described appear December's harmless sports and rural cheer! 10 French spirits kindling with caerulean fires, And all such gambols as the time inspires!

Think not that Wine against good verse offends; The Muse and Bacchus have been always friends, Nor Phoebus blushes sometimes to be found With Ivy, rather than with Laurel, crown'd.

The Nine themselves oftimes have join'd the song And revels of the Baccha.n.a.lian throng.

Not even Ovid could in Scythian air Sing sweetly--why? no vine would flourish there. 20 What in brief numbers sang Anacreon's1 muse?

Wine, and the rose, that sparkling wine bedews.

Pindar with Bacchus glows--his every line Breathes the rich fragrance of inspiring wine, While, with loud crash o'erturn'd, the chariot lies And brown with dust the fiery courser flies.

The Roman lyrist steep'd in wine his lays So sweet in Glycera's, and Chloe's praise.2 Now too the plenteous feast, and mantling bowl Nourish the vigour of thy sprightly soul; 30 The flowing goblet makes thy numbers flow, And casks not wine alone, but verse, bestow.

Thus Phoebus favours, and the arts attend Whom Bacchus, and whom Ceres, both befriend.

What wonder then, thy verses are so sweet, In which these triple powers so kindly meet.

The lute now also sounds, with gold inwrought, And touch'd with flying Fingers nicely taught, In tap'stried halls high-roof'd the sprightly lyre Directs the dancers of the virgin choir. 40 If dull repletion fright the Muse away, Sights, gay as these, may more invite her stay; And, trust me, while the iv'ry keys resound, Fair damsels sport, and perfumes steam around, Apollo's influence, like ethereal flame Shall animate at once thy glowing frame, And all the Muse shall rush into thy breast, By love and music's blended pow'rs possest.

For num'rous pow'rs light Elegy befriend, Hear her sweet voice, and at her call attend; 50 Her, Bacchus, Ceres, Venus, all approve, And with his blushing Mother, gentle Love.

Hence, to such bards we grant the copious use Of banquets, and the vine's delicious juice.

But they who DemiG.o.ds and Heroes praise And feats perform'd in Jove's more youthful days, Who now the counsels of high heav'n explore, Now shades, that echo the Cerberean roar,3 Simply let these, like him of Samos4 live, Let herbs to them a bloodless banquet give; 60 In beechen goblets let their bev'rage shine, Cool from the chrystal spring, their sober wine!

Their youth should pa.s.s, in innocence, secure From stain licentious, and in manners pure, Pure as the priest's, when robed in white he stands The fresh l.u.s.tration ready in his hands.

Thus Linus5 liv'd, and thus, as poets write, Tiresias, wiser for his loss of sight,6 Thus exil'd Chalcas,7 thus the bard of Thrace,8 Melodious tamer of the savage race! 70 Thus train'd by temp'rance, Homer led, of yore, His chief of Ithaca9 from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, Through magic Circe's monster-peopled reign, And shoals insidious with the siren train; And through the realms, where griesly spectres dwell, Whose tribes he fetter'd in a gory spell; For these are sacred bards, and, from above, Drink large infusions from the mind of Jove.

Would'st thou (perhaps 'tis hardly worth thine ear) Would'st thou be told my occupation here? 80 The promised King of peace employs my pen, Th'eternal cov'nant made for guilty men, The new-born Deity with infant cries Filling the sordid hovel, where he lies; The hymning Angels, and the herald star That led the Wise who sought him from afar, And idols on their own unhallow'd floor Dash'd at his birth, to be revered no more!

This theme10 on reeds of Albion I rehea.r.s.e; The dawn of that blest day inspired the verse; 90 Verse that, reserv'd in secret, shall attend Thy candid voice, my Critic and my Friend!

1 A poet native to Teios in Ionia.

2 See Horace's Odes (i, 19-23).

3 Cerberus, the guardian of Hades.

4 Pythagoras. 5 A son of Apollo.

6 Tiresias was gifted by Pallas with the power of understanding the language of birds to atone for his loss of sight.

7 The Grecian soothsayer at the siege of Troy. 8 Orpheus.

9 Odysseus.

10 "The Hymn" from "On the Morning of Christ's Nativity."

Elegy VI.

Anno Aetates undevigesimo.1

As yet a stranger to the gentle fires That Amathusia's smiling Queen2 inspires, Not seldom I derided Cupid's darts, And scorn'd his claim to rule all human hearts.

Go, child, I said, transfix the tim'rous dove, An easy conquest suits an infant Love; Enslave the sparrow, for such prize shall be Sufficient triumph to a Chief like thee; Why aim thy idle arms at human kind?

Thy shafts prevail not 'gainst the n.o.ble mind. 10 The Cyprian3 heard, and, kindling into ire, (None kindles sooner) burn'd with double fire.

It was the Spring, and newly risen day Peep'd o'er the hamlets on the First of May; My eyes too tender for the blaze of light, Still sought the shelter of retiring night, When Love approach'd, in painted plumes arrayed; Th'insidious G.o.d his rattling darts betray'd, Nor less his infant features, and the sly Sweet intimations of his threat'ning eye. 20 Such the Sigeian boy4 is seen above, Filling the goblet for imperial Jove; Such he, on whom the nymphs bestow'd their charms, Hylas,5 who perish'd in a Naiad's arms.

Angry he seem'd, yet graceful in his ire, And added threats, not dest.i.tute of fire.

"My power," he said, "by others pain alone, 'Twere best to learn; now learn it by thy own!

With those, who feel my power, that pow'r attest!

And in thy anguish be my sway confest! 30 I vanquish'd Phoebus, though returning vain From his new triumph o'er the Python slain, And, when he thinks on Daphne,6 even He Will yield the prize of archery to me.

A dart less true the Parthian horseman7 sped, Behind him kill'd, and conquer'd as he fled, Less true th'expert Cydonian, and less true The youth, whose shaft his latent Procris slew.8 Vanquish'd by me see huge Orion bend, By me Alcides,9 and Alcides's friend.10 40 At me should Jove himself a bolt design, His bosom first should bleed transfix'd by mine.

But all thy doubts this shaft will best explain, Nor shall it teach thee with a trivial pain, Thy Muse, vain youth! shall not thy peace ensure, Nor Phoebus' serpent yield thy wound a cure.11 He spoke, and, waving a bright shaft in air, Sought the warm bosom of the Cyprian fair.