University of Virginia Library

MISCELLANEOUS TRANSLATIONS.

TRANSLATION FROM THE ILIAD.

TRANSLATION FROM THE ODYSSEY.

Telemachus, your choice was not misplac'd
“On men like me, nor has your guest disgrac'd
“Your friendly roof. I did not labour long
“To bend the bow, nor have I aim'd it wrong.
“I feel my practice and my force the same.
“Henceforth the noble suitors will not blame
“The vigour of my arm and truth of aim.
“But now the hour invites you to repair
“To some slight banquet in the open air,
“Anon to feast within with dance and song,
“For joys like these to festive hours belong.”
He knit his brow, his son the signal knew,
And the light sword across his shoulders threw,
And grasp'd his spear, and stood with youthful pride
Array'd for battle at his father's side;
Ulysses cast his tatters to the ground,
Sprung forth and seiz'd the threshold at a bound,
Then showering down the glittering shafts around
From his full quiver, thus aloud he spake.
“Another trial, Lords, I mean to make—
“Unlike the last, for further proof I take
“A point untouch'd by any marksman's skill,
“If my force fail me not—and Phœbus will.”
Then at Antinous his aim he took,
That stood, with careless air and easy look,
Fearless of fraud or force, secure of soul,
Just heaving from the board a mighty bowl;
He pois'd it in his hand, the cup was gold
With double handles of a massy mould;
Wafting it round, or ere he quaffed the wine,
Of death or danger what could he divine,
Or how imagine that a hand unknown,
Bold tho' he were, a stranger and alone,
Amidst his feasting friends should strike him dead?
Ulysses loos'd the string, the shaft was sped,
It struck him thro' the throat, the grisly point
Peer'd out behind beside the spinal joint;
He sinks aside, his limbs their force forego,
From his loose grasp the goblet falls below,
With streams of spouting gore his nostrils flow,
The table is spurn'd down, a mingled flood,
Pollutes the floor with meat, and wine, and blood.
The suitors rise in uproar round the hall,
And angry voices on Ulysses call.
“Stranger, this was a shrewd and evil shot,
“The archer's prize no more shall be thy lot,
“The vultures of this isle shall gnaw thy head,
“The noblest chief of Ithaca lies dead.”
They spoke unconscious of his dire intent,
As of a murder casual and unmeant;
But the stern chief abandoning disguise,
And fiercely looking round them thus replies.
“Traitors and dogs, you never dreamt before
“To see me here return'd from Ilion's shore,
“That, weak and helpless, in her husband's life,
“With boisterous courtship have besieg'd my wife;
“Grinding my household, and defiling all,
“Careless whatever vengeance may befall
“From righteous men or the just Gods on high—
“But know, your doom is fixed this day to die.”

TRANSLATIONS FROM EURIPIDES.

THE DIRGE IN THE ALCESTIS.

Fare thee well, good and fair, Pelias's noble heir,
Thy course is done;
Good and gracious things betide thee,
In the dark mansion that must hide thee,
From yon fair sun.
The Sovereign of the Realm. And he that at the Helm
Steers in the murky stream his dusky wherry,
(Wafting the feeble sprites that flit below,)
Shall hear and know,
That never did a nobler spirit pass
The Infernal Ferry.
Firm and fond, far far beyond
The best of woman-kind that have been ever;
Whilst here on earth above,
Thy constant worth and love,
Shall form the theme of emulous endeavour,
Wherever minstrels sing—or where they strike the string:
Whether in Sparta's ancient state austere,
When the revolving year
Brings round the high Karneian festival,
And the moon's awful and full orbed ball,
Fills and illumines all:
Or where proud Athens hails the festive day,
With pomp and art and prosperous display.

HERCULES FURENS.

The Demon of Madness is represented as having a certain feeling of justice and right, averse to exercising her power, but at the same time having a pleasure in it. She has been remonstrating with Iris, who answers:

Iris.
Don't remonstrate, Juno's order justifies you, never fear,
You've a warrant for your errand, and you come, commission'd here,
For a sudden execution, not to parley and debate.

Lissa.
Heaven and earth I call to witness. I protest and invocate,
Every power that sees and hears us, and the sun's all-viewing eye,
To record that, as a vassal, on compulsion I comply.
Since the fates have so decreed it, and you bring me tied and bound,
Train'd to chase the prey before me, like a huntsman with a hound,
Here I go then!—Nor the tempest, nor the deep earth quaking shock,
Nor the speed of angry lightning, nor the bolt that splits the rock,
With a fiercer haste and heat shall hurry than shall I to seize,
And overturn and storm the breast and brain of Hercules.
First, I mean to slay the children, nor shall he—the father—he,
Know the deed his hands are doing, 'till I leave his spirit free.
—Now the storm begins to shake him—life and death are in debate,—
—Look before you—there! behold him—low'ring at the palace gate—
Mark the turn his eyes are taking—and the forehead, bending low,
Breathing hard and angry like the bull that meditates a blow—
Invocating earth and hell, and all the dreary powers below.
There you stand entranced and idle! I shall rouse and shake ye soon—
Hand in hand, a surly partner dancing to a bloody tune.
—Iris, hence! to fair Olympus, speed aloft your airy flight.—
I proceed within the palace—creeping onward out of sight.

FROM EMPEDOCLES.

ΠΕΡΙ ΚΑΘΑΡΜΩΝ.—Frag. 77 & 78.

Friends! kinsmen! inmates of the noble town,
Whose rocky-planted turrets guard and crown
Old Agrigentum's memorable seat;
Famous for courteous cheer and converse sweet,
My fellow-citizens!—I greet you well:
Within your gentle precincts here I dwell,
An earthly sojourner, but honoured more
Than ever human mortal was before,
Even as a visible Deity; with a crown,
With garlands and with fillets falling down,
With such a pomp of ornament, I meet
Your daily gaze, and move along the street.
When to the neighbouring city, as befals,
My progress leads me, far without the walls,
The multitude flock forth and crowd the way,
Men, women, old and young, in long array,
Eager in admiration or concern,
To know, what it imports them most to learn,
Of omens, expiations, prophecies,
Or politic advisements, deep and wise,
Or means of public safety for defence
Against the wasting power of pestilence—
Oh, poor pre-eminence! how mean! how base!
Amidst this earthly, transitory race,
To boast of worldly power, or name, or place.

FROM CATULLUS.

Carm. III.—Lugete, o Veneres, &c.

Ye Venuses and Cupids all,
And all polite, well-bred,
Ingenious persons, hear my call!
My lady's sparrow,—he is dead,
And therefore you must drop a tear:
He was so nice a little dear—
Such a darling, such a love;
Round the room, about, above,
He used to flutter and to hurry,—
Then he came, in such a flurry,
Flying to my lady's breast,
Lodging in it like a nest,
Like an infant with a mother;
He would not leave her for another;
He would not move, he would not stir,
Nor chirp for any, but for her.
And now, they say, that he must go,
For ever, to the shades below,
Where not a creature, I can learn,
Was ever suffered to return.
O nasty, spiteful, ugly death,
To be so peevish and absurd,—
To take that dear, delightful bird,
Down to your odious shades beneath;
O dismal and unhappy case,—
Poor Lesbia's eyes and lovely face
Are flush'd with weeping, vex'd and red,
Since her unlucky bird is dead.

Carm. IV.—Phaselus ille, &c.

Stranger, the bark you see before you says,
That in old times, and in her early days,
She was a lively vessel that could make
The quickest voyages, and overtake
All her competitors with sail or oar;
And she defies the rude Illyrian shore,
And Rhodes, with her proud harbour, and the seas
That intersect the scatter'd Cyclades,
And the Propontic and the Thracian coast,
(Bold as it is) to contradict her boast.
She calls to witness the dark Euxine sea,
And mountains that had known her as a tree,
Before her transformation, when she stood
A native of the deep Cytorian wood,
Where all her ancestors had flourish'd long,
And, with their old traditionary song,
Had whisper'd her responses to the breeze,
And waked the chorus of her sister trees.
Amastris! from your haven forth she went,
You witness'd her first outset and descent,
Adventuring on an unknown element.
From thence she bore her master safe and free
From danger and alarm, through many a sea;
Nor ever once was known to lag behind,
Foremost on every tack, with every wind
At last, to this fair inland lake, she says
She came to pass the remnant of her days,
Leaving no debt due to the Deities,
For vows preferr'd in danger on the seas:
Clear of incumbrance, therefore, and all other
Contentious claims, to Castor or his brother,
As a free gift and offering she devotes
Herself, as long as she survives and floats.

Carm. X.—Varus me meus, &c.

Varus, whom I chanced to meet
The other evening in the street,
Engaged me there, upon the spot,
To see a mistress he had got.
She seem'd, as far as I can gather,
Lively and smart, and handsome rather.
There, as we rested from our walk,
We enter'd into different talk—
As how much might Bithynia bring?
And had I found it a good thing?
I answer'd, as it was the fact,
The province had been stript and sack'd;
That there was nothing for the prætors,
And still less for us wretched creatures,
His poor companions and toad-eaters.
At least, says she, you bought some fellows
To bear your litter; for they tell us,
Our only good ones come from there—
I chose to give myself an air;
Why, truly with my poor estate,
The difference wasn't quite so great
Betwixt a province, good or bad,
That where a purchase could be had,
Eight lusty fellows, straight and tall,
I shouldn't find the wherewithal
To buy them. But it was a lie;
For not a single wretch had I—
No single cripple fit to bear
A broken bedstead or a chair.
She, like a strumpet, pert and knowing,
Said—“Dear Catullus, I am going
“To worship at Serapis' shrine—
Do lend me, pray, those slaves of thine!”
I answer'd—It was idly said,—
They were a purchase Cinna made
(Caius Cinna, my good friend)—
It was the same thing in the end,
Whether a purchase or a loan—
I always used them as my own;
Only the phrase was inexact—
He bought them for himself, in fact.
But you have caught the general vice
Of being too correct and nice,
Over curious and precise;
And seizing with precipitation
The slight neglects of conversation.

Carm. XXXI.—Peninsularum Sirmio, &c.

Of all the famous isles and promontories,
From the sun's up-rise to his setting glories,
Of all that Neptune's liquid arms surround,
In oceans or in midland waters found,
The fairest and the best, to thee I call—
Sirmio, the gem and jewel of them all.
How gladly I revisit and review
Thy wonted scenes, and scarce believe it true,
After so long a journey, past and o'er,
From Hellespont and the Bithynian shore,
To find myself amidst your walks once more.
How sweet it is to lay aside the load
Of foreign cares within one's own abode,
And with free heart and unencumber'd head,
To couch ourselves in our accustom'd bed;
That single moment overpays our pain—
Sweet Sirmio receive me once again,
And with thy smiles, thy old possessor greet,
And ye, fair waters of the Lydian Lake,
Salute me with such mirth as ye can make,
And roll your laughing billows at my feet.
Let all be glad and cheerful for my sake.

Carm. XXXIX.—Egnatius quod candidos, &c.

Egnatius has a certain pride that centres
In his white teeth; he smiles at all adventures:
He goes, like other people, to attend
And countenance the trial of a friend:
The orator insists and perseveres;
The audience and judges are in tears;
When in the midst of his pathetic style,
Egnatius sympathises with a smile.
Following a widow to the funeral pile
Of her last child, he cannot choose but smile:
Without a thought of person, time, or place,
He wears a constant smile upon his face:
In business, in distress, in haste, in sadness,
It looks like a disease, a kind of madness:
(Though not a witty madness or refined)—
A madness in degree, though not in kind,
And therefore all his friends must speak their mind.
—My dear Egnatius, if your birth had been
At Tiber, Rome, or in the space between;
Were you a Susian fat or Umbrian poor,
A Volscian, or a Lanuvinian boor,
Sharp-tooth'd and eager at his meals and labours;
Or a Cisalpine, like my friends and neighbours;
Of any nation, tribe, or race, in short,
That scour their teeth and gums in cleanly sort,
I still should disapprove that constant smile,
It shows a silly, poor, affected style.—
But in his native Celtiberian land,
Your Celtiberian, as we understand,
Time out of mind, cleanseth his jaws and bone,
Each for himself, with urine of his own,
Reserved and hoarded from the day before;
And therefore, calculated on that score,
The whiteness of your teeth seems to imply
A steady, copious use of chamber-lye.

Carm. LXI.—Collis o Heliconei, &c.

Carm. XCI.—Non ideo Gelli, &c.

Gellius, it never once was my design,
In all that wretched, tedious love of mine,
To treat you as a worthy man or just,
Alive to shame, susceptible of trust,
In word or act true, faithful, or sincere;
But since that idol which my heart held dear
Was not your sister, niece, or near of kin,
The slight inducement of so small a sin
As broken faith to a confiding friend,
Would scarce, methought, allure you to descend
From those proud heights of wickedness sublime—
Giant ambition that aspires to climb
The topmost pinnacles of human guilt:—
—To make the mistress of your friend a jilt
Appear'd too poor a triumph. I was blind
To that perpetual relish which you find
In crimes of all degrees and every kind.

TRANSLATION FROM LOPE DE VEGA.

Such a pair of black eyes as I saw yesterday—
So lively, so sparkling, so gentle and gay!
Dear mother, such things they were seeming to say;
They so taunted and teazed betwixt earnest and play:
They gave me such pleasure, so mingled with pain,
And oh! I am dying to see them again!

FROM THE SPANISH OF GONZALO DE BERCEO.

Vida de San Millan, Stanzas 57, 63-65, 77 and 78.

FROM THE “DIANA” OF MONTE MAYOR.

My mother died to give me life—
I was born in sorrowing;
The very nurse that tended me
Was a poor ill-fated thing.
So have I been all my life,
In courtship and in marrying:
Love, so seeming sweet at first,
Left behind a secret sting;
Sirens plighted me his faith,
And went, forsooth, to serve the king;
My father gave me to a churl,
For such wealth as he could bring.
Would he had given me to the grave,
With a shroud instead of a wedding-ring!
Jealousy couches by my side,
From bed-time to the fair morning.
When I wake he watches me;
When I rise he is on the wing—
Jealousy pursues my path,
To the fold and to the spring.
Jealousy besets me so,
That I can neither laugh nor sing:
I can neither look nor speak
For fear of false interpreting.
His countenance is never gay,
Always sour and threatening;
His looks still peering on one side—
No voice but angry muttering;
If I ask him what he ails,
He never answers anything.

TRANSLATION OF THE “ROMANCE DEL REY DE ARAGON.”

LINES WRITTEN AFTER VISITING THE MONASTERIES AT CATANIA.

Monks and holy clerks profest
Lead the sweetest and the best,
The securest life of all.
Look within the convent wall,
See the countenances there
Unannoy'd by worldly care,
Unaffected happy faces,
With the features and the traces
Of habitual tranquillity:
With the joyous affability
That bespeaks a heart and head,
Undisturb'd at board and bed,
Studious hours and holy rites,
Occupy their days and nights;
Study, learning, and devotion,
Leading onward to promotion;
Here discreet and trusty Friars,
Rule the Brotherhood as Priors;
Some are known as casuists,
Theologians, canonists;
One among them, here and there,
Rises to the prelate's chair.
Thence again his parts and knowledge,
Fix him in the sacred college,
With the robe of Cardinal;
Last—the topmost point of all—
The majestic throne of Pope,
Stands within the verge of hope:
That supreme and awful state,
Which the noble and the great
With devout obeisance greet,
Humbly falling at his feet.

TRANSLATION FROM FAUST.

Act III. Scene VII.

Mephistopheles.
But I withdraw myself. I see
You've visitors of quality.

Martha.
Come get your best bred answer ready,
My dear, he takes you for a lady.

Margaret.
'Tis the good gentleman's good nature,—
I'm a poor harmless simple creature,
I've neither jewels, silk, nor lace;
I've nothing but my silly face.

Martha.
Ah! dress and jewels are not all,
But there's a style, an air withal,
An elegance—

Meph.
Well, if I may,
I'm glad that I'm allowed to stay.

Martha.
And what's your errand, tell me, pray?

Meph.
My worthy dame, if I could chuse,
I should have brought you better news:
But 'tis a promise, after all,
Your husband begg'd of me to call.
To give his best respects, he said
And to acquaint you—He was dead.

Martha.
What, dead! dear honest soul! And I—
I shan't survive it. I shall die.

Marg.
Good worthy mother, don't distract
Yourself.

Meph.
The melancholy fact
Is as I mentioned.

Marg.
Well, I vow,
For my part it would kill me now,—
I never should look up again.

Meph.
Pain follows pleasure—pleasure pain.

Martha.
But how? when did it happen? Say!

Meph.
Your husband lies in Padua,
In a fair churchyard open'd newly,
Enclosed and consecrated duly,
In the best spot that could be found,
Accommodated under ground.

Martha.
You've brought me something, I suppose?

Meph.
Yes, when his life drew to a close
He trusted me with a commission
Of costly charge: his last petition,
As a memorial of the dead,
To have five hundred masses said.

ÆSOP'S FABLE OF THE FROGS.

The Frogs time out of mind
Lived uncontroll'd.
Their form of government was undefined,
But reasons, strong and manifold,
Which then were given,
Induced them to demand a King from Heaven.
Jove heard the prayer—and, to fulfil it,
Threw them down a Log or Billet:
The Prince arrived with such a dash,
Coming down to take possession;
Frogs are easy to abash,
Their valour is diluted with discretion,—
In a word their hearts forsook them:
That instant they dissolved the Session,
Choosing the shortest way that took them
Down to the bottom of the Bog,—
Not one remain'd to cry, “God save King Log.”
There was an ancient flap-chapped Peer,
Nobly born
Of the best spawn;
At first he kept aloof from fear,
Waiting the close of all this storm,
Till things should take some settled form—
Like a great vassal,
In his castle,
With full-blown bags,
Intrench'd with lofty bullrushes and flags.
A wish to gain the sovereign's ear,
Made him draw near;
He saw him where he lay in state,
With a solidity and weight,
That bespoke him truly great.
Then came a shoal in quest of posts and charges,
Much like our ancient courtiers with their barges,
They ventured barely within reach,—
The Chancellor discharged a speech:
They waited for his majesty's reply,—
They waited a long, tedious, awkward space,
Then stared each other in the face,
And drew more nigh,—
Till growing bolder,
They leap'd upon the back and shoulder
Of their Stadholder.
The worthy monarch all that while
Was never seen to frown or smile,
He never looked, he never stirred,—
He never spoke a single word,
Bad or good.
It seem'd as if he neither heard
Nor understood.
The Frogs, like Russian nobles in such cases,
Reading each others' meaning in their faces,
Proceeded to the monarch's deposition,—
This act was followed by preferring
A new Petition
For a new Prince more active and more stirring.
The prayer was heard;
To make quick work,
Jove sent them down the Stork,
First cousin to the Secretary Bird.
His forte was business and despatch:
At the first snatch
He swallowed the Polonius of the Pool;
Then following Machiavelli's rule,
He fell upon the poor Marsh-landers,
Conscribing all that he could catch,
Trampling them down into the mud,
Confiscating their guts and blood,
Like a French Prefect sent to Flanders.
The wretched frogs in their despair
Renewed their prayer;
And Jove in answer thundered this decree,—
“Since you could not agree,
“To live content and free,
“I sent you down a King of the best wood,
“Suited to your pacific brood;
“Your foolish pride
“Set him aside,
“This second was intended for a curse,—
“Be satisfied—or I shall find a worse.”

TRANSLATION FROM PROSPER AQUITANUS.