And waves repel: for nature gives their kind, To that intent, a length of legs behind. The cubs of bears a living lump appear, When whelp'd, and no determin'd figure wear. Their mother licks 'em into shape, and gives As much of form, as she herself receives. The grubs from their sexangular abode Crawl out unfinish'd, like the maggot's brood: Trunks without limbs ; till time at leisure brings The thighs they wanted, and their tardy wings. The bird who draws the car of Juno, vain Of her crown'd head, and of her starry train; And he that bears th' artillery of Jove, The strong-pounc'd eagle, and the billing dove; And all the feather'd kind, who could suppose (But that from sight, the surest sense, he knows) They from th' included yolk, not ambient white arose, There are who think the marrow of a man, Which in the spine, while he was living, ran; When dead, the pith corrupted, will become A snake, and hiss within the hollow tomb. All these receive their birth from other things; But from himself the phoenix only springs: Self-born, begotten by the parent flame In which he burn'd, another and the same: Who not by corn or herbs his life sustains, But the sweet essence of Amomum drains: And watches the rich gums Arabia bears, While yet in tender dew they drop their tears. He (his five centuries of life fulfill'd) His nest on oaken boughs begins to build, Or trembling tops of palm: and first he draws The plan with his broad bill, and crooked claws, Nature's artificers; on this the pile Is form'd, and rises round; then with the spoil Funeral and bridal both; and all around An infant phoenix from the former springs, His father's heir, and from his tender wings Shakes off his parent dust; his method he pursues, And the same lease of life on the same terms renews: When grown to manhood he begins his reign, Seeks the sun's city, and his sacred church, India, when conquer'd, on the conqu❜ring god All changing species should my song recite; Before I ceas'd, would change the day to night. Nations and empires flourish and decay, By turns command, and in their turns obey; Time softens hardy people, time again Hardens to war a soft, unwarlike train. Thus Troy, for ten long years, her foes withstood, And daily bleeding bore the expense of blood: Now for thick streets it shows an empty space, Or only fill'd with tombs of her own perish'd race, Herself becomes the sepulchre of what she was. Yet this is change, but she by changing thrives, For thus old saws foretell, and Helenus Anchises' drooping son enliven'd thus, When Ilium now was in a sinking state, And he was doubtful of his future fate : O goddess-born, with thy hard fortune strive, Troy never can be lost, and thou alive. Thy passage thou shalt free through fire and sword, [be: And Troy in foreign lands shall be restor❜d. Sages and chiefs, of other lineage born, By whom thy Rome shall rule the conquer'd This Helenus to great Æneas told, anew, Rais'd by the fall: decreed by loss to gain; Enslav'd but to be free, and conquer'd but to reign. 'Tis time my hard-mouth'd coursers to con- The forms of men, and brutal figures take, Let goats for food their loaded udders lend, Nor purple feathers intercept his flight; Take not away the life you cannot give: These precepts by the Samian sage were taught, Which godlike Numa to the Sabines brought, TRANSLATIONS FROM OVID'S EPISTLES. PREFACE CONCERNING OVID'S EPISTLES. THE life of Ovid being already written in our language before the translation of his Metamorphoses, I will not presume so far upon myself, to think I can add any thing to Mr. Sandys his undertaking. The English reader may there be satisfied, that he flourished in the reign of Augustus Cæsar; that he was extracted from an ancient family of Romar Knights; that he was born to the inheritance of a splendid fortune; that he was designed to the study of the law, and had made considerable progress in it, before he quitted that profession, for this of Poetry, to which he was more naturally formed. The cause of his banisament is unknown; because he was himself unwilling further to provoke the emperor, by ascribing it to any other reason, than what was pretended by Augustus, which was, the lasciviousness of his Elegies, and his Art of Love. It is true, they are not to be excused in the severity of manners, as being able to corrupt a larger empire, if there were any, than that of Rome : yet this may be said in behalf of Ovid, that no man has ever treated the passion of love with so much delicacy of thought, and of expression, or searched into the nature of it more philosophically than he. And the empeior, who condemned him, had as little reason as another man to punish that fault with so much severity, if at least he were the author of a cer tain Epigram, which is ascribed to him, relating Cur aliquid vidi, cur noxia lumina feci ? &c. Namely, that he had either seen, or was conscious to somewhat which had procured him his disgrace. But neither am I satisfied, that this was the incest of the emperor with his own daughter; for Augustus was of a nature too vindictive, to have contented himself with so small a revenge, or so unsafe to himself, as that of simple banishment; but would certainly have secured his crimes from public notice, by the death of him who was witness to them. Neither have historians given us any sight into such an action of this emperor: nor would he (the greatest politician of his time) in all probability, have managed his crimes with so little secrecy, as not to shun the observation of any man. It seems more probable, that Ovid was either the confidant of some other passion, or that he had stumbled by some inadvertency upon the privacies of Livia, and seen her in a bath; for the words Sine veste Dianam agree better with Livia, who had the fame of chastity, than with either of the Julias, who were both noted for incontinency. The first verses, which were made by him in his youth, and recited publicly, according to the custom, were, as he himself assures us, to Corinna: his banishment happened not till the age of fifty: from which it may may be deduced, with probability enough, that the love of Corinna did not occasion it; nay, he tells us plainly, that his offence was that of error only, not of wickedness; and in the some paper of verses also, that the cause was notoriously known at Rome, though it be left so obscure to after ages. But to leave conjectures on a subject so uncertain, and to write some what more authentic of this Poet: that he frequented the court of Augustus, and was well received in it, is most undoubted all his poems bear the character of a court, and appear to be written, as the French call it, cavalièrement: add to this, that the titles of many of his Elegies, and more of his letters in his banishment, are addressed to persons well known to us, even at this distance, to have been considerable in that court. Nor was his acquaintance less with the famous Poets of his age, than with the noblemen and ladies. He tells you himself, in a particular account of his own life, that Macer, Horace, Tibullus, Propertius, and many others of them, were his familiar friends, and that some of them communicated their writings to him; but that he had only seen Virgil. If the imitation of nature be the business of a Poet, I know no author, who can justly be compared with ours, especially in the description of the passions. And, to prove this, I shall need no other judges than the generality of his readers; for all passions being inborn with us, we are almost equally judges, when we are concerned in the representation of them. Now I will appeal to any man, who has read this Poet, whether he finds not the natural emotion of the same passion in himself, which the poet describes in his feigned persons? His thoughts, which are the pictures and results of those passions, are generally such as naturally arise from those disorderly motions of our spirits. Yet, not to speak too partially in his behalf, I will confess, that the copiousness of his wit was such, that he often writ too pointedly for his subject, and made his persons speak more eloquently than the violence of their pas sion would admit; so that he is frequently witty out of season; leaving the imitation of nature, and the cooler dictates of his judgment, for the false applause of fancy. Yet he seems to have found out this imperfection in his riper age: for why else should he complain, that his Metamorphoses was left unfinished? Nothing sure can be added to the wit of that poem, or of the rest: but many things ought to have been retrenched; which I suppose would have been the business of his age, if his misfortunes had not come too fast upon him. But take him uncorrected, as he is transmitted to us, and it must be acknowledged, in spite of his Dutch friends, the commentators, even of Julius Scaliger himself, that Seneca's censure will stand good against him; Nescivit quod bene cessit relinquere ; he never knew how to give over, when he had done well, but continually varying the same sense a hundred ways, and taking up in another place, what he had more than enough inculcated before, he sometimes cloys his readers instead of satisfying them; and gives occasion to his translators, who dare not cover him, to blush at the nakedness of their father. This then is the allay of Ovid's writings, which is sufficiently recompensed by his other excellencies: nay, this very fault is not without its beauties; for the most severe censor cannot but be pleased with the prodigality of his wit, though at the same time he could have wished that the master of it had been a better manager. Every thing which he does becomes him; and, if sometimes he appears too gay, yet there is a secret gracefulness of youth, which accompanies his writings, though the staidness and sobriety of age be wanting. In the most material part, which is the conduct, it is certain that he seldom has miscarried; for if his elegies be compared with those of Tibullus and Propertius, his contemporaries, it will be found, that those poets seldom designed before they writ; and though the language of Tibullus be more polished, and the learning of Propertius, especially in his fourth book, more set out to ostentation; yet their common practice was to look no further before them than the next line; whence it will inevitably follow, that they can drive to no certain point, but ramble from one subject to another, and conclude with somewhat, which is not of a piece with their beginning: Purpuereus, late qui splendeat, unus et alter as Horace says: though the verses are golden, they are but patched into the garment. But our poet has always the goal in his eye, which directs him in his race: some beautiful design, which he first establishes, and then contrives the means, which will naturally conduct him to his end. This will be evident to judicious readers in his Epistles, of which somewhat, at least in general will be expected. The title of them in our late editions is Epistolæ Heroidum, the Letters of the Heroines. But Heinsius has judged more truly, that the inscription of our author was barely, Epistles; which he concludes from his cited verses, where Ovid asserts this work as his own invention, and not borrowed from the Greeks, whom (as the masters of their learning) the Romans usually did imitate. But it appears not from their writings, that any of the Grecians ever touched upon this way, which our Poet therefore justly has vindicated to himself. I quarrel not at the word Heroidum, because it is used by Ovid in his Art of Love: Jupiter ad veteres supplex Heroidas ibat. But, sure, he could not be guilty of such an oversight, to call his work by the name of Heroines, when there are divers men, or heroes, as, namely, Paris, Leander, and Acontius, joined in it. Except Sabinus, who writ some answers to Ovid's Letters, Quam celer e toto rediit meus orbe Sabinus) I remember not any of the Romans, who have treated on this subject, save ouly Propertius, and that but once, in his Epistle of Arethusa to Lycotas, which is written so near the style of Ovid, that it seems to be but an imitation; and therefore ought not to defraud our Poet of the glory of his invention. Concerning the Epistles, I shall content myself to observe these few particulars: first, that they are generally granted to be the most perfect pieces of Ovid, and that the style of them is tenderly passionate and courtly; two properties well agreeing with the persons, which were heroines and lovers. Yet, where the characters were lower, as in Enone and Hero, he has kept close to nature, in drawing his images after a country life, though, perhaps, he has Romanized his Grecian dames too much, and made them speak, sometimes, as if they had been born in the city of Rome, and under the empire of Augustus. There seems to be no great variety in the particular subjects which be has chosen; most of the Epistles being writ PREFACE TO OVID'S EPISTLES. ten from ladies, who were forsaken by their overs: which is the reason that many of the same thoughts come back upon us in divers letters; but of the general character of women, which is modesty, he has taken a most becoming care; for his amorous expressions go no further than virtue may allow, and therefore may be read, as he intended them, by matrons without a blush. Thus much concerning the Poet: it remains that I should say somewhat of poetical translations in general, and give my opinion (with submission to better judgments) which way of version seems to be the most proper. All translation, I suppose, may be reduced to these three heads First, that of Metaphrase, or turning an author word by word, and line by line, from one Thus, or near this language into another. manner, was Horace his Art of Poetry transThe second way is lated by Ben Jonson. that of Paraphrase, or translation with latitude, where the author is kept in view by the translator, so as never to be lost, but his words are not so strictly followed as his sense; and that too is admitted to be amplified, but not altered. Such is Mr. Waller's translation of Virgil's Fourth Æneid. The third way is that of imitation, where the translator (if now he has not lost that name) assumes the liberty, not only to but to forsake vary from the words and them both as he sees occasion; and taking only some general hints from the original, to run divisions on the ground-work, as he pleases. Such is Mr. Cowley's practice in turning two Odes of Pindar, and one of Horace, into English. sense, Concerning the first of these methods, our master Horace has given us this caution: Nec verbum verbo curabis reddere fidus Nor word for word too faithfully translate, as the Earl of Roscommon has excellently ren- That servile path thou nobly dost decline, It is almost impossible to translate verbally and well, at the same time; for the Latin (a most severe and compendious language) often expresses that in one word, which either the Atque fidem venti vela fidemque ferent. What Poet of our nation is so happy as to ex- In short, the verbal copier is encumbered But then the sufferings of Ulysses, which are a considerable part of that sentence, are omitted: [Ος μάλα πολλὰ πλάγχθη :] The consideration of these difficulties, in a servile, literal translation, not long since made two of our famous wits, Sir John Denham, and Mr. Cowley, to contrive another way of turning authors into our tongue, called, by the latter of them, Imitation. As they were friends, I suppose they communicated their thoughts on this subject to each other; and, therefore, their reasons for it are little different. Though the practice of one is much more moderate, I take |