The Satires of Decimus Junius Juvenalis and of Aulus Persius Flaccus, Translated into English Verse. By William Gifford ... with Notes and Illustrations. In Two Volumes |
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| X. | SATIRE X. |
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 | The Satires of Decimus Junius Juvenalis |  |
3
SATIRE X.
5
In every clime, from Ganges' distant stream
To Gades, gilded by the western beam,
Few, from the clouds of mental errour free,
In its true light or good or evil see.
For what, with reason, do we seek or shun?
What plan, how happily soe'er begun,
But, finish'd, we our own success lament,
And rue the pains, so fatally mispent?—
To headlong ruin see whole houses driven,
Curs'd with their prayers, by too indulgent heaven!
To Gades, gilded by the western beam,
Few, from the clouds of mental errour free,
In its true light or good or evil see.
For what, with reason, do we seek or shun?
What plan, how happily soe'er begun,
But, finish'd, we our own success lament,
And rue the pains, so fatally mispent?—
To headlong ruin see whole houses driven,
Curs'd with their prayers, by too indulgent heaven!
6
Bewilder'd thus by folly or by fate,
We beg pernicious gifts in every state,
In peace, in war. A full and rapid flow
Of eloquence, lays many a speaker low:
Even strength itself is fatal; Milo tries
His wondrous arms, and—in the trial dies!
We beg pernicious gifts in every state,
In peace, in war. A full and rapid flow
Of eloquence, lays many a speaker low:
Even strength itself is fatal; Milo tries
His wondrous arms, and—in the trial dies!
But avarice wider spreads her deadly snare,
And hoards amass'd with too-successful care,
Hoards, which o'er all paternal fortunes rise,
As o'er the dolphin towers the whale in size.
For this, in other times, at Nero's word,
The ruffian bands unsheath'd the murderous sword,
Rush'd to the swelling coffers of the great,
Chaced Lateranus from his lordly seat,
Besieged too-wealthy Seneca's wide walls,
And closed, terrifick, round Longinus' halls:
While sweetly in their cocklofts slept the poor,
And heard no soldier thundering at their door.
And hoards amass'd with too-successful care,
Hoards, which o'er all paternal fortunes rise,
As o'er the dolphin towers the whale in size.
For this, in other times, at Nero's word,
The ruffian bands unsheath'd the murderous sword,
7
Chaced Lateranus from his lordly seat,
Besieged too-wealthy Seneca's wide walls,
And closed, terrifick, round Longinus' halls:
While sweetly in their cocklofts slept the poor,
And heard no soldier thundering at their door.
The traveller, freighted with a little wealth,
Sets forth at night, and wins his way by stealth:
Even then, he fears the bludgeon and the blade,
And starts and trembles at a rush's shade;
While, void of care, the beggar trips along,
And, in the spoiler's presence, trolls his song.
Sets forth at night, and wins his way by stealth:
Even then, he fears the bludgeon and the blade,
And starts and trembles at a rush's shade;
While, void of care, the beggar trips along,
And, in the spoiler's presence, trolls his song.
The first great wish that all with rapture own,
The general cry, to every temple known,
Is, gold, gold, gold!—“and let, all-gracious Powers,
“The largest chest the Forum boasts, be ours!”
Yet none from earthen bowls destruction sip:
Dread then the draught, when, mantling, at your lip,
The goblet sparkles, radiant from the mine,
And the broad gold inflames the ruby wine.
The general cry, to every temple known,
8
“The largest chest the Forum boasts, be ours!”
Yet none from earthen bowls destruction sip:
Dread then the draught, when, mantling, at your lip,
The goblet sparkles, radiant from the mine,
And the broad gold inflames the ruby wine.
And do we, now, admire the stories told,
Of the two Sages, so renown'd of old;
How this for ever laugh'd, whene'er he stept
Beyond the threshold; that, for ever wept?
But all can laugh:—the wonder yet appears,
What fount supplied the eternal stream of tears!
Of the two Sages, so renown'd of old;
How this for ever laugh'd, whene'er he stept
Beyond the threshold; that, for ever wept?
9
What fount supplied the eternal stream of tears!
Democritus, at every step he took,
His sides with unextinguish'd laughter shook,
Though, in his days, Abdera's simple towns,
No fasces knew, chairs, litters, purple gowns.—
What! had he seen, in his triumphal car,
Amid the dusty Cirque, conspicuous far,
The Prætor perch'd aloft, superbly drest
In Jove's proud tunick, with a trailing vest
Of Tyrian tapestry, and o'er him spread
A crown, too bulky for a mortal head,
Borne by a sweating slave, maintain'd to ride
In the same car, and mortify his pride!
Add now the bird, that, with expanded wing,
From the raised sceptre, seems prepared to spring;
And trumpets here; and there the long parade
Of duteous friends, who head the cavalcade;
Add too, the zeal of clients robed in white,
Who hang upon his reins, and grace the sight,
Unbribed, unbought,—save by the dole, at night!
His sides with unextinguish'd laughter shook,
Though, in his days, Abdera's simple towns,
No fasces knew, chairs, litters, purple gowns.—
What! had he seen, in his triumphal car,
Amid the dusty Cirque, conspicuous far,
10
In Jove's proud tunick, with a trailing vest
Of Tyrian tapestry, and o'er him spread
A crown, too bulky for a mortal head,
Borne by a sweating slave, maintain'd to ride
In the same car, and mortify his pride!
Add now the bird, that, with expanded wing,
From the raised sceptre, seems prepared to spring;
And trumpets here; and there the long parade
Of duteous friends, who head the cavalcade;
Add too, the zeal of clients robed in white,
Who hang upon his reins, and grace the sight,
Unbribed, unbought,—save by the dole, at night!
Yes, in those days, in every varied scene,
The good old man found matter for his spleen:
A wondrous sage! whose story makes it clear,
That men may rise in folly's atmosphere,
Beneath Bœotian fogs, of soul sublime,
And great examples to the coming time.—
He laugh'd aloud to see the vulgar fears,
Laugh'd at their joys, and sometimes at their tears:
Secure the while, he mock'd at Fortune's frown,
And when she threaten'd, bade her hang or drown!
Superfluous then, or fatal, is the prayer,
Which, to the Immortals' knees, we fondly bear.
The good old man found matter for his spleen:
11
That men may rise in folly's atmosphere,
Beneath Bœotian fogs, of soul sublime,
And great examples to the coming time.—
He laugh'd aloud to see the vulgar fears,
Laugh'd at their joys, and sometimes at their tears:
Secure the while, he mock'd at Fortune's frown,
And when she threaten'd, bade her hang or drown!
Superfluous then, or fatal, is the prayer,
Which, to the Immortals' knees, we fondly bear.
12
Some, Power hurls headlong from her envied height,
Some, the broad tablet, flashing on the sight,
With titles, names: the statues, tumbled down,
Are dragg'd by hooting thousands through the town;
The brazen cars torn rudely from the yoke,
And, with the blameless steeds, to shivers broke—
Then roar the fires! the sooty artist blows,
And all Sejanus in the furnace glows;
Sejanus, once so honour'd, so adored,
And only second to the world's great lord,
Runs glittering from the mould, in cups and cans,
Basons and ewers, plates, pitchers, pots and pans.
Some, the broad tablet, flashing on the sight,
With titles, names: the statues, tumbled down,
Are dragg'd by hooting thousands through the town;
The brazen cars torn rudely from the yoke,
And, with the blameless steeds, to shivers broke—
Then roar the fires! the sooty artist blows,
And all Sejanus in the furnace glows;
13
And only second to the world's great lord,
Runs glittering from the mould, in cups and cans,
Basons and ewers, plates, pitchers, pots and pans.
“Crown all your doors with bay, triumphant bay!
“Sacred to Jove, the milkwhite victim slay;
“For lo! where great Sejanus by the throng,
“A joyful spectacle! is dragg'd along.
“What lips! what cheeks! hah, traitour!—for my part,
“I never loved the fellow—in my heart.”
‘But tell me; Why, was he adjudged to bleed?
‘And who discover'd? and who proved the deed?’
“Proved!—a huge, wordy letter came to day
“From Capreæ.” Good! what think the people? They!
They follow fortune, as of old, and hate,
With their whole souls, the victim of the state.
Yet would the herd, thus zealous, thus on fire,
Had Nurscia met the Tuscan's fond desire,
And crush'd the unwary prince, have all combined,
And hail'd Sejanus, Master of mankind!
For since their votes have been no longer bought,
All publick care has vanish'd from their thought;
And those who once, with unresisted sway,
Gave armies, empire, every thing, away,
For two poor claims have long renounced the whole,
And only ask,—the Circus and the Dole.
“Sacred to Jove, the milkwhite victim slay;
14
“A joyful spectacle! is dragg'd along.
“What lips! what cheeks! hah, traitour!—for my part,
“I never loved the fellow—in my heart.”
‘But tell me; Why, was he adjudged to bleed?
‘And who discover'd? and who proved the deed?’
“Proved!—a huge, wordy letter came to day
“From Capreæ.” Good! what think the people? They!
They follow fortune, as of old, and hate,
With their whole souls, the victim of the state.
Yet would the herd, thus zealous, thus on fire,
Had Nurscia met the Tuscan's fond desire,
15
And hail'd Sejanus, Master of mankind!
For since their votes have been no longer bought,
All publick care has vanish'd from their thought;
16
Gave armies, empire, every thing, away,
For two poor claims have long renounced the whole,
And only ask,—the Circus and the Dole.
“But there are more to suffer.” ‘So I find;
‘A fire so fierce, for one was ne'er design'd.
‘I met my friend Brutidius, and I fear,
‘From his pale looks, he thinks there's danger near.
‘What, if this Ajax, in his frenzy, strike,
‘Suspicious of our zeal, at all alike!’
“True: fly we then, our loyalty to show;
“And trample on the carcase of his foe,
“While yet exposed, on Tiber's banks it lies”—
‘But let our slaves be there,’ another cries:
“Yes; let them (lest our ardour they forswear,
“And drag us, pinion'd, to the Bar,) be there.”
Thus of the favourite's fall the converse ran,
And thus the whisper pass'd from man to man.
‘A fire so fierce, for one was ne'er design'd.
17
‘From his pale looks, he thinks there's danger near.
‘What, if this Ajax, in his frenzy, strike,
‘Suspicious of our zeal, at all alike!’
“True: fly we then, our loyalty to show;
“And trample on the carcase of his foe,
“While yet exposed, on Tiber's banks it lies”—
‘But let our slaves be there,’ another cries:
“Yes; let them (lest our ardour they forswear,
“And drag us, pinion'd, to the Bar,) be there.”
Thus of the favourite's fall the converse ran,
And thus the whisper pass'd from man to man.
Lured by the splendour of his happier hour,
Wouldst thou possess Sejanus' wealth and power;
See crowds of suppliants at thy levee wait,
Give this to sway the army, that the state;
And keep a prince in ward, retired to reign,
O'er Capreæ's crags, with his Chaldean train?
Yes, yes, thou wouldst (for I can read thy breast)
Enjoy that favour which he once possest,
Assume all offices, grasp all commands,
The Imperial Horse, and the Prætorian Bands.
'Tis nature, this; even those who want the will,
Pant for the dreadful privilege to kill:
Yet what delight can rank and power bestow,
Since every joy is balanced by its woe!
—Still wouldst thou choose the favourite's purple, say?
Or, thus forewarn'd, some paltry hamlet sway?
At Gabii, or Fidenæ, rules propound,
For faulty measures, and for wares unsound;
And take the tarnish'd robe, and petty state,
Of poor Ulubræ's ragged magistrate?—
Wouldst thou possess Sejanus' wealth and power;
See crowds of suppliants at thy levee wait,
Give this to sway the army, that the state;
And keep a prince in ward, retired to reign,
O'er Capreæ's crags, with his Chaldean train?
18
Enjoy that favour which he once possest,
Assume all offices, grasp all commands,
The Imperial Horse, and the Prætorian Bands.
'Tis nature, this; even those who want the will,
Pant for the dreadful privilege to kill:
Yet what delight can rank and power bestow,
Since every joy is balanced by its woe!
—Still wouldst thou choose the favourite's purple, say?
Or, thus forewarn'd, some paltry hamlet sway?
19
For faulty measures, and for wares unsound;
And take the tarnish'd robe, and petty state,
Of poor Ulubræ's ragged magistrate?—
You grant me then, Sejanus grossly err'd,
Nor knew what prayer his folly had preferr'd:
For when he begg'd for too much wealth and power,
Stage above stage, he raised a tottering tower,
And higher still, and higher; to be thrown,
With louder crash, and wider ruin down!
Nor knew what prayer his folly had preferr'd:
For when he begg'd for too much wealth and power,
Stage above stage, he raised a tottering tower,
20
With louder crash, and wider ruin down!
What wrought the Crassi, what the Pompeys' doom,
And His, who bow'd the stubborn neck of Rome?
What but the wild, the unbounded wish to rise,
Heard, in malignant kindness, by the skies!
Few kings, few tyrants, find a bloodless end,
Or to the grave, without a wound, descend.
And His, who bow'd the stubborn neck of Rome?
What but the wild, the unbounded wish to rise,
Heard, in malignant kindness, by the skies!
Few kings, few tyrants, find a bloodless end,
Or to the grave, without a wound, descend.
The child, with whom a trusty slave is sent,
Charged with his little scrip, has scarcely spent
His mite at school, ere all his bosom glows
With the fond hope he never more foregoes,
To reach Demosthenes' or Tully's name,
Rival of both in eloquence and fame!—
Yet by this eloquence, alas! expired
Each orator, so envied, so admired!
Yet by the rapid and resistless sway
Of torrent genius, each was swept away!
Genius, for that, the baneful potion sped,
And lopt, from this, the hands and gory head:
While meaner pleaders unmolested stood,
Nor stain'd the rostrum with their wretched blood.
“How fortunate a natal day was thine,
“In that late consulate, O Rome, of mine!”
Oh, soul of eloquence! had all been found,
An empty vaunt, like this, a jingling sound,
Thou mightst, in peace, thy humble fame have borne,
And laugh'd the swords of Antony to scorn!
Yet this would I prefer, the common jest,
To that which fired the fierce triumvir's breast,
That second scroll, where eloquence divine,
Burst on the ear, from every glowing line.
And he too fell, whom Athens, wondering, saw
Her fierce democracy, at will, o'erawe,
And “fulmine over Greece!” some angry Power
Scowl'd, with dire influence, on his natal hour.—
Blear'd with the glowing mass, the ambitious sire,
From anvils, sledges, bellows, tongs, and fire,
From tempering swords, his own more safe employ,
To study rhetorick, sent his hopeful boy.
Charged with his little scrip, has scarcely spent
His mite at school, ere all his bosom glows
With the fond hope he never more foregoes,
21
Rival of both in eloquence and fame!—
Yet by this eloquence, alas! expired
Each orator, so envied, so admired!
Yet by the rapid and resistless sway
Of torrent genius, each was swept away!
Genius, for that, the baneful potion sped,
And lopt, from this, the hands and gory head:
22
Nor stain'd the rostrum with their wretched blood.
“How fortunate a natal day was thine,
“In that late consulate, O Rome, of mine!”
23
An empty vaunt, like this, a jingling sound,
Thou mightst, in peace, thy humble fame have borne,
And laugh'd the swords of Antony to scorn!
24
To that which fired the fierce triumvir's breast,
That second scroll, where eloquence divine,
Burst on the ear, from every glowing line.
And he too fell, whom Athens, wondering, saw
Her fierce democracy, at will, o'erawe,
25
Scowl'd, with dire influence, on his natal hour.—
Blear'd with the glowing mass, the ambitious sire,
From anvils, sledges, bellows, tongs, and fire,
From tempering swords, his own more safe employ,
To study rhetorick, sent his hopeful boy.
The spoils of war; the trunk in triumph placed,
With all the trophies of the battle graced,
Crush'd helms, and batter'd shields; and streamers borne
From vanquish'd fleets, and beams from chariots torn;
And arcs of triumph, where the captive foe
Bends, in mute anguish, o'er the pomp below,
Are blessings, which the slaves of glory rate,
Beyond a mortal's hope, a mortal's fate!
Fired with the love of these, what countless swarms,
Barbarians, Romans, Greeks, have rush'd to arms,
All danger slighted, and all toil defied,
And madly conquer'd, or as madly died!
So much the raging thirst of fame exceeds
The generous warmth, which prompts to worthy deeds,
That none confess fair Virtue's genuine power,
Or woo her to their breast, without a dower.
Yet has this wild desire, in other days,
This boundless avarice of a few for praise,
This frantick rage for names to grace a tomb,
Involv'd whole countries in one general doom:
Vain “rage!” the roots of the wild fig-tree rise,
Strike through the marble, and their memory dies!
For, like their mouldering tenants, tombs decay,
And, with the dust they hide, are swept away.
With all the trophies of the battle graced,
Crush'd helms, and batter'd shields; and streamers borne
From vanquish'd fleets, and beams from chariots torn;
And arcs of triumph, where the captive foe
Bends, in mute anguish, o'er the pomp below,
26
Beyond a mortal's hope, a mortal's fate!
Fired with the love of these, what countless swarms,
Barbarians, Romans, Greeks, have rush'd to arms,
All danger slighted, and all toil defied,
And madly conquer'd, or as madly died!
So much the raging thirst of fame exceeds
The generous warmth, which prompts to worthy deeds,
That none confess fair Virtue's genuine power,
Or woo her to their breast, without a dower.
Yet has this wild desire, in other days,
This boundless avarice of a few for praise,
This frantick rage for names to grace a tomb,
Involv'd whole countries in one general doom:
Vain “rage!” the roots of the wild fig-tree rise,
Strike through the marble, and their memory dies!
For, like their mouldering tenants, tombs decay,
And, with the dust they hide, are swept away.
Produce the urn that Hannibal contains,
And weigh the mighty dust which yet remains:
And is this all! Yet this was once the bold,
The aspiring chief, whom Africk could not hold,
Though stretch'd, in breadth, from where the Atlantick roars,
To distant Nilus, and his sun-burnt shores;
In length, from Carthage to the burning zone,
Where other moors, and elephants are known.
—Spain conquer'd, o'er the Pyrenees he bounds:
Nature opposed her everlasting mounds,
Her Alps, and snows; o'er these, with torrent force,
He pours, and rends through rocks his dreadful course.
Already at his feet Italia lies;—
Yet thundering on, “Think nothing done,” he cries,
“Till Rome, proud Rome, beneath my fury falls,
“And Africk's standards float along her walls!”
Big words!—but view his figure! view his face!
O, for some master-hand the lines to trace,
As through the Etrurian swamps, by floods increast,
The one-eyed chief urged his Getulian beast!
And weigh the mighty dust which yet remains:
27
The aspiring chief, whom Africk could not hold,
Though stretch'd, in breadth, from where the Atlantick roars,
To distant Nilus, and his sun-burnt shores;
In length, from Carthage to the burning zone,
Where other moors, and elephants are known.
—Spain conquer'd, o'er the Pyrenees he bounds:
Nature opposed her everlasting mounds,
Her Alps, and snows; o'er these, with torrent force,
He pours, and rends through rocks his dreadful course.
28
Yet thundering on, “Think nothing done,” he cries,
“Till Rome, proud Rome, beneath my fury falls,
“And Africk's standards float along her walls!”
Big words!—but view his figure! view his face!
O, for some master-hand the lines to trace,
As through the Etrurian swamps, by floods increast,
The one-eyed chief urged his Getulian beast!
But what ensued? Illusive Glory, say.
Subdued on Zama's memorable day,
He flies in exile to a petty state,
With headlong haste; and, at a despot's gate,
Sits, mighty suppliant! of his life in doubt,
Till the Bithynian's morning nap be out.
Subdued on Zama's memorable day,
He flies in exile to a petty state,
With headlong haste; and, at a despot's gate,
Sits, mighty suppliant! of his life in doubt,
Till the Bithynian's morning nap be out.
Nor swords, nor spears, nor stones from engines hurl'd,
Shall quell the man whose frown alarm'd the world:
The vengeance due to Cannæ's fatal field,
And floods of human gore, a ring shall yield!—
Fly, madman, fly! at toil and danger mock,
Pierce the deep snow, and scale the eternal rock,
To please the rhetoricians, and become
A declamation—for the boys of Rome!
Shall quell the man whose frown alarm'd the world:
The vengeance due to Cannæ's fatal field,
And floods of human gore, a ring shall yield!—
29
Pierce the deep snow, and scale the eternal rock,
To please the rhetoricians, and become
A declamation—for the boys of Rome!
One world, the ambitious youth of Pella found
Too small; and toss'd his feverish limbs around,
And gasp'd for breath, as if immured the while,
In Gyaræ, or Serîpho's rocky isle:
But entering Babylon, found ample room,
Within the narrow limits of a tomb!
Death, the great teacher, Death alone proclaims,
The true dimensions of our puny frames.
Too small; and toss'd his feverish limbs around,
And gasp'd for breath, as if immured the while,
In Gyaræ, or Serîpho's rocky isle:
30
Within the narrow limits of a tomb!
Death, the great teacher, Death alone proclaims,
The true dimensions of our puny frames.
31
The daring tales, in Grecian story found,
Were once believed:—of Athos sail'd around,
Of fleets, that bridges o'er the waves supplied,
Of chariots, rolling on the stedfast tide,
Of lakes exhausted, and of rivers quaft,
By countless nations, at a morning's draught,
And all that Sostratus so wildly sings,
Besotted poet, of the king of kings.
Were once believed:—of Athos sail'd around,
32
Of chariots, rolling on the stedfast tide,
Of lakes exhausted, and of rivers quaft,
By countless nations, at a morning's draught,
And all that Sostratus so wildly sings,
Besotted poet, of the king of kings.
But how return'd he, say? this soul of fire,
This proud barbarian, whose impatient ire
Chastised the winds, that disobey'd his nod,
With stripes, ne'er suffer'd from the Æolian god;
Fetter'd the Shaker of the sea and land—
But, in pure clemency, forbore to brand!
And sure, if aught can touch the Powers above,
This calls for all their service, all their love!—
But how return'd he? say;—His navy lost,
In a small bark he fled the hostile coast,
And, urged by terrour, drove his labouring prore,
Through floating carcases, and floods of gore.
So Xerxes sped, so speed the conquering race;
They catch at glory, and they clasp disgrace!
This proud barbarian, whose impatient ire
Chastised the winds, that disobey'd his nod,
With stripes, ne'er suffer'd from the Æolian god;
Fetter'd the Shaker of the sea and land—
But, in pure clemency, forbore to brand!
33
This calls for all their service, all their love!—
But how return'd he? say;—His navy lost,
In a small bark he fled the hostile coast,
34
Through floating carcases, and floods of gore.
So Xerxes sped, so speed the conquering race;
They catch at glory, and they clasp disgrace!
“Life! length of life!” For this, with earnest cries,
Or sick or well, we supplicate the skies.
Pernicious prayer! for mark what ills attend,
Still, on the old, as to the grave they bend:
A ghastly visage, to themselves unknown,
For a smooth skin, a hide with scurf o'ergrown,
And such a cheek, as many a grandam ape,
In Tabraca's thick woods, is seen to scrape.
Or sick or well, we supplicate the skies.
Pernicious prayer! for mark what ills attend,
Still, on the old, as to the grave they bend:
A ghastly visage, to themselves unknown,
For a smooth skin, a hide with scurf o'ergrown,
35
In Tabraca's thick woods, is seen to scrape.
36
Strength, beauty, and a thousand charms beside,
With sweet distinction, youth from youth divide;
While age presents one universal face:
A faultering voice, a weak and trembling pace,
An ever-dropping nose, a forehead bare,
And toothless gums to mumble o'er its fare.
Poor wretch! behold him, tottering to his fall,
So loathsome to himself, wife, children, all,
That those who hoped the legacy to share,
And flatter'd long,—disgusted, disappear.
The sluggish palate dull'd, the feast no more
Excites the same sensations as of yore;
Taste, feeling, all, a universal blot,
And e'en the rites of love remember'd not:
Or if,—through the long night he feebly strives,
To raise a flame where not a spark survives;
While Venus marks the effort with distrust,
And hates the gray decrepitude of lust.
With sweet distinction, youth from youth divide;
While age presents one universal face:
A faultering voice, a weak and trembling pace,
An ever-dropping nose, a forehead bare,
And toothless gums to mumble o'er its fare.
Poor wretch! behold him, tottering to his fall,
So loathsome to himself, wife, children, all,
That those who hoped the legacy to share,
And flatter'd long,—disgusted, disappear.
The sluggish palate dull'd, the feast no more
Excites the same sensations as of yore;
Taste, feeling, all, a universal blot,
And e'en the rites of love remember'd not:
Or if,—through the long night he feebly strives,
To raise a flame where not a spark survives;
While Venus marks the effort with distrust,
And hates the gray decrepitude of lust.
37
Another loss!—no joy can song inspire,
Though famed Seleucus lead the warbling quire:
The sweetest airs escape him; and the lute,
Which thrills the general ear, to him is mute.—
He sits, perhaps, too distant: bring him near;
Alas! 'tis still the same: he scarce can hear
The deep-toned horn, the trumpet's clanging sound,
And the loud blast which shakes the benches round.
Even at his ear, his slave must bawl the hour,
And shout the comer's name, with all his power!
Though famed Seleucus lead the warbling quire:
The sweetest airs escape him; and the lute,
Which thrills the general ear, to him is mute.—
He sits, perhaps, too distant: bring him near;
Alas! 'tis still the same: he scarce can hear
The deep-toned horn, the trumpet's clanging sound,
And the loud blast which shakes the benches round.
Even at his ear, his slave must bawl the hour,
And shout the comer's name, with all his power!
Add that a fever only, warms his veins,
And thaws the little blood which yet remains;
That ills of every kind, and every name,
Rush in, and seize the unresisting frame.
Ask you how many? I could sooner say,
How many drudges Hippia kept in pay,
How many orphans Basilus beguiled,
How many pupils Hæmolus defiled,
How many men long Maura overmatch'd,
How many patients Themison dispatch'd,
In one short autumn; nay, perhaps, record,
How many villas call my quondam barber lord!
And thaws the little blood which yet remains;
That ills of every kind, and every name,
Rush in, and seize the unresisting frame.
Ask you how many? I could sooner say,
How many drudges Hippia kept in pay,
How many orphans Basilus beguiled,
How many pupils Hæmolus defiled,
How many men long Maura overmatch'd,
How many patients Themison dispatch'd,
38
How many villas call my quondam barber lord!
These their shrunk shoulders, those their hams bemoan,
This hath no eyes, and envies that with one:
This takes, as helpless at the board he stands,
His food, with bloodless lips, from others' hands;
While that, whose eager jaws, instinctive, spread
At every feast, gapes feebly to be fed,
Like Progne's brood, when, laden with supplies,
From bill to bill, the fasting mother flies.
This hath no eyes, and envies that with one:
This takes, as helpless at the board he stands,
His food, with bloodless lips, from others' hands;
While that, whose eager jaws, instinctive, spread
At every feast, gapes feebly to be fed,
Like Progne's brood, when, laden with supplies,
From bill to bill, the fasting mother flies.
But other ills, and worse, succeed to those:
His limbs long since were gone; his memory goes.
Poor driveller! he forgets his servants quite,
Forgets, at morn, with whom he supp'd at night;
Forgets the children he begot and bred;
And makes a strumpet heiress in their stead.—
So much avails it the rank arts to use,
Gain'd, by long practice, in the loathsome stews!
His limbs long since were gone; his memory goes.
Poor driveller! he forgets his servants quite,
Forgets, at morn, with whom he supp'd at night;
39
And makes a strumpet heiress in their stead.—
So much avails it the rank arts to use,
Gain'd, by long practice, in the loathsome stews!
But grant his senses unimpair'd remain;
Still woes on woes succeed, a mournful train!
He sees his sons, his daughters, all expire,
His faithful consort on the funeral pyre,
Sees brothers, sisters, friends, to ashes turn,
And all he loved, or loved him, in their urn.
Lo here, the dreadful fine we ever pay,
For life protracted to a distant day!
To see our house by sickness, pain pursued,
And scenes of death incessantly renew'd:
In sable weeds to waste the joyless years,
And drop, at last, mid solitude and tears!
Still woes on woes succeed, a mournful train!
He sees his sons, his daughters, all expire,
His faithful consort on the funeral pyre,
Sees brothers, sisters, friends, to ashes turn,
And all he loved, or loved him, in their urn.
Lo here, the dreadful fine we ever pay,
For life protracted to a distant day!
To see our house by sickness, pain pursued,
And scenes of death incessantly renew'd:
In sable weeds to waste the joyless years,
And drop, at last, mid solitude and tears!
The Pylian's (if we credit Homer's page)
Was only second to the raven's age.
“O happy, sure, beyond the common rate,
“Who warded off, so long, the stroke of fate!
“Who told his years by centuries, who so oft
“Quaff'd the new must! O happy, sure”—But, soft.
This “happy” man of destiny complain'd,
Curs'd his gray hairs, and every god arraign'd;
What time he lit the pyre, with streaming eyes,
And, in dark volumes, saw the flames arise
Round his Antilochus:—“Tell me,” he cried,
To every friend who linger'd at his side,
“Tell me what crimes have roused the Immortals' hate,
“That thus, in vengeance, they protract my date?”
Was only second to the raven's age.
40
“Who warded off, so long, the stroke of fate!
“Who told his years by centuries, who so oft
“Quaff'd the new must! O happy, sure”—But, soft.
This “happy” man of destiny complain'd,
Curs'd his gray hairs, and every god arraign'd;
What time he lit the pyre, with streaming eyes,
And, in dark volumes, saw the flames arise
41
To every friend who linger'd at his side,
“Tell me what crimes have roused the Immortals' hate,
“That thus, in vengeance, they protract my date?”
So question'd heaven Laertes—Peleus so—
(Their hoary heads bow'd to the grave with woe)
While This bewail'd his son, at Ilium slain;
That his, long wandering o'er the faithless main.
(Their hoary heads bow'd to the grave with woe)
While This bewail'd his son, at Ilium slain;
That his, long wandering o'er the faithless main.
While Troy yet flourish'd, had her Priam died,
With what solemnity, what funeral pride,
Had he descended, every duty paid,
To old Assaracus, illustrious shade!—
Hector himself, bedew'd with many a tear,
Had join'd his brothers to support the bier;
And Troy's dejected dames, a numerous train,
Follow'd, in sable pomp, and wept amain,
As sad Polyxena her pall had rent,
And wild Cassandra raised the loud lament:
Had he but fall'n, ere his adulterous boy
Spread his bold sails, and left the shores of Troy.
With what solemnity, what funeral pride,
Had he descended, every duty paid,
To old Assaracus, illustrious shade!—
Hector himself, bedew'd with many a tear,
Had join'd his brothers to support the bier;
42
Follow'd, in sable pomp, and wept amain,
As sad Polyxena her pall had rent,
And wild Cassandra raised the loud lament:
Had he but fall'n, ere his adulterous boy
Spread his bold sails, and left the shores of Troy.
But what did lengthen'd life avail the sire?
To see his realm laid waste by sword and fire.
Then too, too late, the feeble soldier tried
Unequal arms, and flung his crown aside;
Totter'd, his children's murderer to repel,
With trembling haste, and at Jove's altar fell,
Fell without effort; like the steer, that, now,
Time-worn and weak, and, by the ungrateful plough,
Spurn'd forth to slaughter, to the master's knife,
Yields his shrunk veins, and miserable life.
His end, howe'er, was human; while his mate,
Doom'd, in a brute, to drain the dregs of fate,
Pursued the foes of Troy from shore to shore,
And bark'd, and howl'd at those she curs'd before.
To see his realm laid waste by sword and fire.
Then too, too late, the feeble soldier tried
Unequal arms, and flung his crown aside;
Totter'd, his children's murderer to repel,
With trembling haste, and at Jove's altar fell,
Fell without effort; like the steer, that, now,
Time-worn and weak, and, by the ungrateful plough,
Spurn'd forth to slaughter, to the master's knife,
Yields his shrunk veins, and miserable life.
43
Doom'd, in a brute, to drain the dregs of fate,
Pursued the foes of Troy from shore to shore,
And bark'd, and howl'd at those she curs'd before.
I pass, while hastening to the Roman page,
The Pontick king, and Crœsus, whom the Sage
Wisely forbad in fortune to confide,
Or take the name of happy, till he died.
The Pontick king, and Crœsus, whom the Sage
44
Or take the name of happy, till he died.
That Marius, exiled from his native plains,
Was hid in fens, discover'd, bound in chains;
That, bursting these, to Africa he fled,
And, through the realms he conquer'd, begg'd his bread,
Arose from age, from treacherous age alone:
For what had Rome, or earth, so happy known,
Had he, in that blest moment, ceased to live,
When, graced with all that Victory could give,
“Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war,”
He first alighted from his Cimbrian car!
Was hid in fens, discover'd, bound in chains;
That, bursting these, to Africa he fled,
And, through the realms he conquer'd, begg'd his bread,
Arose from age, from treacherous age alone:
For what had Rome, or earth, so happy known,
45
When, graced with all that Victory could give,
“Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war,”
He first alighted from his Cimbrian car!
Campania, prescient of her Pompey's fate,
Sent a kind fever to arrest his date:
When lo! a thousand suppliant altars rise,
And publick prayers obtain him of the skies.
Ill done! that head, thus rescued from the grave
His Evil Fate and ours, by Nilus' wave,
Lopt from the trunk:—such mutilation dire,
Cornelius 'scaped; Cethegus fell entire;
And Catiline press'd, whole, the funeral pyre.
Sent a kind fever to arrest his date:
When lo! a thousand suppliant altars rise,
And publick prayers obtain him of the skies.
Ill done! that head, thus rescued from the grave
His Evil Fate and ours, by Nilus' wave,
Lopt from the trunk:—such mutilation dire,
Cornelius 'scaped; Cethegus fell entire;
And Catiline press'd, whole, the funeral pyre.
46
Whene'er the fane of Venus meets her eye,
The anxious mother breathes a secret sigh,
For handsome boys; but asks, with bolder prayer,
That all her girls be exquisitely fair!
“And wherefore, not? Latona, in the sight
“Of Dian's beauty, took unblamed delight.”
True; but Lucretia curs'd her fatal charms,
When spent with struggling in a Tarquin's arms;
And poor Virginia would have changed her grace,
For Rutila's crook'd back, and homely face.
The anxious mother breathes a secret sigh,
For handsome boys; but asks, with bolder prayer,
That all her girls be exquisitely fair!
“And wherefore, not? Latona, in the sight
“Of Dian's beauty, took unblamed delight.”
47
When spent with struggling in a Tarquin's arms;
And poor Virginia would have changed her grace,
For Rutila's crook'd back, and homely face.
“But boys may still be fair?” No; they destroy
Their parents' peace, and murder all their joy;
For rarely do we meet, in one combined,
A beauteous body and a virtuous mind,
Though, through the rugged line, there still has run,
A Sabine sanctity, from sire to son.—
Besides, should nature, in her kindest mood,
Confer the ingenuous flush of modest blood,
The disposition chaste as unsunn'd snow—
(And what can nature more than these bestow,
These, which no art, no care can give?)—even then,
They cannot hope, they must not, to be men!
Smit with their charms, the imps of hell appear,
And pour their proffers in a parent's ear,
For prostitution!—infamously bold,
And trusting to the almighty power of gold:
While youths in shape and air less form'd to please,
No tyrants mutilate, no Neros seize.
Their parents' peace, and murder all their joy;
For rarely do we meet, in one combined,
A beauteous body and a virtuous mind,
Though, through the rugged line, there still has run,
A Sabine sanctity, from sire to son.—
Besides, should nature, in her kindest mood,
Confer the ingenuous flush of modest blood,
The disposition chaste as unsunn'd snow—
(And what can nature more than these bestow,
These, which no art, no care can give?)—even then,
They cannot hope, they must not, to be men!
48
And pour their proffers in a parent's ear,
For prostitution!—infamously bold,
And trusting to the almighty power of gold:
While youths in shape and air less form'd to please,
No tyrants mutilate, no Neros seize.
Go now, and triumph in your beauteous boy,
Your Ganymede! whom other ills annoy,
And other dangers wait: his graces known,
He stands profess'd, the favourite of the town;
And dreads, incessant dreads, on every hand,
The vengeance which a husand's wrongs demand:
For sure detection follows soon or late;
Born under Mars, he cannot scape his fate.
Oft on the adulterer too, the furious spouse
Inflicts worse evils than the law allows;
By blows, stripes, gashes some are robb'd of breath,
And others, by the mullet, rack'd to death.
Your Ganymede! whom other ills annoy,
And other dangers wait: his graces known,
He stands profess'd, the favourite of the town;
And dreads, incessant dreads, on every hand,
The vengeance which a husand's wrongs demand:
For sure detection follows soon or late;
Born under Mars, he cannot scape his fate.
49
Inflicts worse evils than the law allows;
By blows, stripes, gashes some are robb'd of breath,
And others, by the mullet, rack'd to death.
“But my Endymion will more lucky prove,
“And serve a beauteous mistress, all for love.”
No; he will soon to ugliness be sold,
And serve a toothless grandam, all for gold.
Servilia will not lose him; jewels, clothes,
All, all she sells, and all on him bestows;
For women nought to the dear youth deny,
Or think his labours can be bought too high:
When love's the word, the naked sex appear,
And every niggard is a spendthrift here.
“And serve a beauteous mistress, all for love.”
No; he will soon to ugliness be sold,
And serve a toothless grandam, all for gold.
Servilia will not lose him; jewels, clothes,
All, all she sells, and all on him bestows;
For women nought to the dear youth deny,
Or think his labours can be bought too high:
When love's the word, the naked sex appear,
And every niggard is a spendthrift here.
“But if my boy with virtue be endued,
“What harm will beauty do him?” Nay, what good?
Say, what avail'd, of old, to Theseus son,
The stern resolve? what, to Bellerophon?—
O, then did Phædra redden, then her pride
Took fire, to be so stedfastly denied!
Then, too, did Sthenobœa glow with shame,
And both burst forth with unextinguish'd flame!
A woman scorn'd is pitiless as fate,
For, there, the dread of shame adds stings to hate.
“What harm will beauty do him?” Nay, what good?
Say, what avail'd, of old, to Theseus son,
The stern resolve? what, to Bellerophon?—
50
Took fire, to be so stedfastly denied!
Then, too, did Sthenobœa glow with shame,
And both burst forth with unextinguish'd flame!
A woman scorn'd is pitiless as fate,
For, there, the dread of shame adds stings to hate.
But Silius comes.—Now, be thy judgment tried:
Shall he accept, or not, the proffer'd bride,
And marry Cæsar's wife? hard point, in truth:
Lo! this most noble, this most beauteous youth,
Is hurried off, a helpless sacrifice
To the lewd glance of Messalina's eyes!
—Haste, bring the victim: in the nuptial vest,
Already see the impatient Empress drest;
The genial couch prepared, the accustomed sum
Told out, the augurs and the notaries come.
“But why all these?” You think, perhaps, the rite
Were better, known to few, and kept from sight:
Not so the lady; she abhors a flaw,
And wisely calls for every form of law.
But what shall Silius do? refuse to wed?
A moment sees him number'd with the dead.
Consent, and gratify the eager dame?
He gains a respite, till the tale of shame,
Thro' town and country, reach the Emperour's ear,
Still sure the last—his own disgrace to hear.
Then let him, if a day's precarious life
Be worth his study, make the fair his wife;
For wed or not, poor youth, 'tis still the same,
And still the axe must mangle that fine frame!
Shall he accept, or not, the proffer'd bride,
And marry Cæsar's wife? hard point, in truth:
Lo! this most noble, this most beauteous youth,
Is hurried off, a helpless sacrifice
To the lewd glance of Messalina's eyes!
—Haste, bring the victim: in the nuptial vest,
Already see the impatient Empress drest;
51
Told out, the augurs and the notaries come.
“But why all these?” You think, perhaps, the rite
Were better, known to few, and kept from sight:
Not so the lady; she abhors a flaw,
And wisely calls for every form of law.
But what shall Silius do? refuse to wed?
A moment sees him number'd with the dead.
Consent, and gratify the eager dame?
He gains a respite, till the tale of shame,
Thro' town and country, reach the Emperour's ear,
Still sure the last—his own disgrace to hear.
52
Be worth his study, make the fair his wife;
For wed or not, poor youth, 'tis still the same,
And still the axe must mangle that fine frame!
Say then, shall man, deprived all power of choice
Ne'er raise to Heaven the supplicating voice?
Not so; but to the gods his fortunes trust:
Their thoughts are wise, their dispensations just.
What best may profit or delight they know,
And real good for fancied bliss bestow:
With eyes of pity they our frailties scan;
More dear to them, than to himself, is man.
By blind desire, by headlong passion driven,
For wife and heirs we daily weary Heaven;
Yet still 'tis Heaven's prerogative to know,
If heirs, or wife, will bring us weal or wo.
Ne'er raise to Heaven the supplicating voice?
53
Their thoughts are wise, their dispensations just.
What best may profit or delight they know,
And real good for fancied bliss bestow:
With eyes of pity they our frailties scan;
More dear to them, than to himself, is man.
By blind desire, by headlong passion driven,
For wife and heirs we daily weary Heaven;
Yet still 'tis Heaven's prerogative to know,
If heirs, or wife, will bring us weal or wo.
But, (for 'tis good our humble hope to prove,)
That thou mayst, still, ask something, from above;
Thy pious offerings to the temple bear,
And, while the altars blaze, be this thy prayer.
That thou mayst, still, ask something, from above;
Thy pious offerings to the temple bear,
And, while the altars blaze, be this thy prayer.
O thou, who know'st the wants of human kind,
Vouchsafe me health of body, health of mind;
A soul prepared to meet the frowns of fate,
And look undaunted on a future state;
That reckons death a blessing, yet can bear
Existence nobly, with its weight of care;
That anger and desire alike restrains,
And counts Alcides' toils, and cruel pains,
Superiour far to banquets, wanton nights,
And all the Assyrian monarch's soft delights!
Vouchsafe me health of body, health of mind;
54
And look undaunted on a future state;
That reckons death a blessing, yet can bear
Existence nobly, with its weight of care;
That anger and desire alike restrains,
And counts Alcides' toils, and cruel pains,
Superiour far to banquets, wanton nights,
And all the Assyrian monarch's soft delights!
Here bound, at length, thy wishes. I but teach,
What blessings man, by his own powers, may reach.
The path to peace is virtue. We should see,
If wise, O Fortune, nought divine in thee:
But we have deified a name alone,
And fix'd in heaven thy visionary throne!
What blessings man, by his own powers, may reach.
55
If wise, O Fortune, nought divine in thee:
56
And fix'd in heaven thy visionary throne!
| The Satires of Decimus Junius Juvenalis | |