A PARAPHRASE FROM THE “ÆNEID,” LIB. 9.
Nisus, the guardian of the portal, stood,
Eager to gild his arms with hostile blood;
Well skill’d, in fight, the quivering
lance to wield,
Or pour his arrows thro’ th’
embattled field:
From Ida torn, he left his sylvan cave,
And sought a foreign home, a distant grave.
To watch the movements of the Daunian
host,
With him Euryalus sustains the post;
No lovelier mien adorn’d the ranks
of Troy,
And beardless bloom yet grac’d the
gallant boy; 10
Though few the seasons of his youthful
life,
As yet a novice in the martial strife,
’Twas his, with beauty, Valour’s
gifts to share—
A soul heroic, as his form was fair:
These burn with one pure flame of generous
love;
In peace, in war, united still they move;
Friendship and Glory form their joint
reward;
And, now, combin’d they hold their
nightly guard. [ii]
“What God,” exclaim’d
the first, “instils this fire?
Or, in itself a God, what great desire?
20
My lab’ring soul, with anxious thought
oppress’d,
Abhors this station of inglorious rest;
The love of fame with this can ill accord,
Be’t mine to seek for glory with
my sword.
See’st thou yon camp, with torches
twinkling dim,
Where drunken slumbers wrap each lazy
limb?
Where confidence and ease the watch disdain,
And drowsy Silence holds her sable reign?
Then hear my thought:—In deep
and sullen grief
Our troops and leaders mourn their absent
chief: 30
Now could the gifts and promised prize
be thine,
(The deed, the danger, and the fame be
mine,)
Were this decreed, beneath yon rising
mound,
Methinks, an easy path, perchance, were
found;
Which past, I speed my way to Pallas’
walls,
And lead Æneas from Evander’s halls.”
With equal ardour fir’d,
and warlike joy,
His glowing friend address’d the
Dardan boy:—
“These deeds, my Nisus, shalt thou
dare alone?
Must all the fame, the peril, be thine
own? 40
Am I by thee despis’d, and left
afar,
As one unfit to share the toils of war?
Not thus his son the great Opheltes taught:
Not thus my sire in Argive combats fought;
Not thus, when Ilion fell by heavenly
hate,
I track’d Æneas through the walks
of fate:
Thou know’st my deeds, my breast
devoid of fear,
And hostile life-drops dim my gory spear.
Here is a soul with hope immortal burns,
And life, ignoble life,
for Glory spurns. [iii] 50
Fame, fame is cheaply earn’d by
fleeting breath:
The price of honour, is the sleep of death.”
Then Nisus:—“Calm
thy bosom’s fond alarms: [iv]
Thy heart beats fiercely to the din of
arms.
More dear thy worth, and valour than my
own,
I swear by him, who fills Olympus’
throne!
So may I triumph, as I speak the truth,
And clasp again the comrade of my youth!
But should I fall,—and he,
who dares advance
Through hostile legions, must abide by
chance,— 60
If some Rutulian arm, with adverse blow,
Should lay the friend, who ever lov’d
thee, low,
Live thou—such beauties I would
fain preserve—
Thy budding years a lengthen’d term
deserve;
When humbled in the dust, let some one
be,
Whose gentle eyes will shed one tear for
me;
Whose manly arm may snatch me back by
force,
Or wealth redeem, from foes, my captive
corse;
Or, if my destiny these last deny,
If, in the spoiler’s power, my ashes
lie; 70
Thy pious care may raise a simple tomb,
To mark thy love, and signalise my doom.
Why should thy doating wretched mother
weep
Her only boy, reclin’d in endless
sleep?
Who, for thy sake, the tempest’s
fury dar’d,
Who, for thy sake, war’s deadly
peril shar’d;
Who brav’d what woman never brav’d
before,
And left her native, for the Latian shore.”
“In vain you damp the ardour of
my soul,”
Replied Euryalus; “it scorns controul;
80
Hence, let us haste!”—their
brother guards arose,
Rous’d by their call, nor court
again repose;
The pair, buoy’d up on Hope’s
exulting wing,
Their stations leave, and speed to seek
the king.
Now, o’er the earth
a solemn stillness ran,
And lull’d alike the cares of brute
and man;
Save where the Dardan leaders, nightly,
hold
Alternate converse, and their plans unfold.
On one great point the council are agreed,
An instant message to their prince decreed;
90
Each lean’d upon the lance he well
could wield,
And pois’d with easy arm his ancient
shield;
When Nisus and his friend their leave
request,
To offer something to their high behest.
With anxious tremors, yet unaw’d
by fear, [v]
The faithful pair before the throne appear;
Iulus greets them; at his kind command,
The elder, first, address’d the
hoary band.
“With patience” (thus Hyrtacides
began)
“Attend, nor judge, from youth,
our humble plan. 100
Where yonder beacons half-expiring beam,
Our slumbering foes of future conquest
dream, [vi]
Nor heed that we a secret path have trac’d,
Between the ocean and the portal plac’d;
Beneath the covert of the blackening smoke,
Whose shade, securely, our design will
cloak!
If you, ye Chiefs, and Fortune will allow,
We’ll bend our course to yonder
mountain’s brow,
Where Pallas’ walls, at distance,
meet the sight,
Seen o’er the glade, when not obscur’d
by night: 110
Then shall Æneas in his pride return,
While hostile matrons raise their offspring’s
urn;
And Latian spoils, and purpled heaps of
dead
Shall mark the havoc of our Hero’s
tread;
Such is our purpose, not unknown the way,
Where yonder torrent’s devious waters
stray;
Oft have we seen, when hunting by the
stream,
The distant spires above the valleys gleam.”
Mature in years, for sober
wisdom fam’d,
Mov’d by the speech, Alethes here
exclaim’d,— 120
“Ye parent gods! who rule the fate
of Troy,
Still dwells the Dardan spirit in the
boy;
When minds, like these, in striplings
thus ye raise,
Yours is the godlike act, be yours the
praise;
In gallant youth, my fainting hopes revive,
And Ilion’s wonted glories still
survive.”
Then in his warm embrace the boys he press’d,
And, quivering, strain’d them to
his agéd breast;
With tears the burning cheek of each bedew’d,
And, sobbing, thus his first discourse
renew’d:— 130
“What gift, my countrymen, what
martial prize,
Can we bestow, which you may not despise?
Our Deities the first best boon have given—
Internal virtues are the gift of Heaven.
What poor rewards can bless your deeds
on earth,
Doubtless await such young, exalted worth;
Æneas and Ascanius shall combine
To yield applause far, far surpassing
mine.”
Iulus then:—“By
all the powers above!
By those Penates, who my country love!
140
By hoary Vesta’s sacred Fane, I
swear,
My hopes are all in you, ye generous pair!
Restore my father, to my grateful sight,
And all my sorrows, yield to one delight.
Nisus! two silver goblets are thine own,
Sav’d from Arisba’s stately
domes o’erthrown;
My sire secured them on that fatal day,
Nor left such bowls an Argive robber’s
prey.
Two massy tripods, also, shall be thine,
Two talents polish’d from the glittering
mine; 150
An ancient cup, which Tyrian Dido gave,
While yet our vessels press’d the
Punic wave:
But when the hostile chiefs at length
bow down,
When great Æneas wears Hesperia’s
crown,
The casque, the buckler, and the fiery
steed
Which Turnus guides with more than mortal
speed,
Are thine; no envious lot shall then be
cast,
I pledge my word, irrevocably past:
Nay more, twelve slaves, and twice six
captive dames,
To soothe thy softer hours with amorous
flames, 160
And all the realms, which now the Latins
sway,
The labours of to-night shall well repay.
But thou, my generous youth, whose tender
years
Are near my own, whose worth my heart
reveres,
Henceforth, affection, sweetly thus begun,
Shall join our bosoms and our souls in
one;
Without thy aid, no glory shall be mine,
Without thy dear advice, no great design;
Alike, through life, esteem’d, thou
godlike boy,
In war my bulwark, and in peace my joy.”
170
To him Euryalus:—“No
day shall shame
The rising glories which from this I claim.
Fortune may favour, or the skies may frown,
But valour, spite of fate, obtains renown.
Yet, ere from hence our eager steps depart,
One boon I beg, the nearest to my heart:
My mother, sprung from Priam’s royal
line,
Like thine ennobled, hardly less divine,
Nor Troy nor king Acestes’ realms
restrain
Her feeble age from dangers of the main;
180
Alone she came, all selfish fears above,
A bright example of maternal love.
Unknown, the secret enterprise I brave,
Lest grief should bend my parent to the
grave;
From this alone no fond adieus I seek,
No fainting mother’s lips have press’d
my cheek;
By gloomy Night and thy right hand I vow,
Her parting tears would shake my purpose
now: [viii]
Do thou, my prince, her failing age sustain,
In thee her much-lov’d child may
live again; 190
Her dying hours with pious conduct bless,
Assist her wants, relieve her fond distress:
So dear a hope must all my soul enflame,
To rise in glory, or to fall in fame.”
Struck with a filial care so deeply felt,
In tears at once the Trojan warriors melt;
Faster than all, Iulus’ eyes o’erflow!
Such love was his, and such had been his
woe.
“All thou hast ask’d, receive,”
the Prince replied;
“Nor this alone, but many a gift
beside. 200
To cheer thy mother’s years shall
be my aim,
Creusa’s [2] style but wanting to
the dame;
Fortune an adverse wayward course may
run,
But bless’d thy mother in so dear
a son.
Now, by my life!—my Sire’s
most sacred oath—
To thee I pledge my full, my firmest troth,
All the rewards which once to thee were
vow’d, [x]
If thou should’st fall, on her shall
be bestow’d.”
Thus spoke the weeping Prince, then forth
to view
A gleaming falchion from the sheath he
drew; 210
Lycaon’s utmost skill had grac’d
the steel,
For friends to envy and for foes to feel:
A tawny hide, the Moorish lion’s
spoil, [xi]
Slain ’midst the forest in the hunter’s
toil,
Mnestheus to guard the elder youth bestows,
And old Alethes’ casque defends
his brows;
Arm’d, thence they go, while all
th’ assembl’d train,
To aid their cause, implore the gods in
vain. [xiii]
More than a boy, in wisdom and in grace,
Iulus holds amidst the chiefs his place:
220
His prayer he sends; but what can prayers
avail,
Lost in the murmurs of the sighing gale?
The trench is pass’d,
and favour’d by the night,
Through sleeping foes, they wheel their
wary flight.
When shall the sleep of many a foe be
o’er?
Alas! some slumber, who shall wake no
more!
Chariots and bridles, mix’d with
arms, are seen,
And flowing flasks, and scatter’d
troops between:
Bacchus and Mars, to rule the camp, combine;
A mingled Chaos this of war and wine.
230
“Now,” cries the first, “for
deeds of blood prepare,
With me the conquest and the labour share:
Here lies our path; lest any hand arise,
Watch thou, while many a dreaming chieftain
dies;
I’ll carve our passage, through
the heedless foe,
And clear thy road, with many a deadly
blow.”
His whispering accents then the youth
repress’d,
And pierced proud Rhamnes through his
panting breast:
Stretch’d at his ease, th’
incautious king repos’d;
Debauch, and not fatigue, his eyes had
clos’d; 240
To Turnus dear, a prophet and a prince,
His omens more than augur’s skill
evince;
But he, who thus foretold the fate of
all,
Could not avert his own untimely fall.
Next Remus’ armour-bearer, hapless,
fell,
And three unhappy slaves the carnage swell;
The charioteer along his courser’s
sides
Expires, the steel his sever’d neck
divides;
And, last, his Lord is number’d
with the dead:
Bounding convulsive, flies the gasping
head; 250
From the swol’n veins the blackening
torrents pour;
Stain’d is the couch and earth with
clotting gore.
Young Lamyrus and Lamus next expire,
And gay Serranus, fill’d with youthful
fire;
Half the long night in childish games
was pass’d; [xv]
Lull’d by the potent grape, he slept
at last:
Ah! happier far, had he the morn survey’d,
And, till Aurora’s dawn, his skill
display’d. [xvi]
In slaughter’d folds, the keepers
lost in sleep, [xvii]
His hungry fangs a lion thus may steep;
260
’Mid the sad flock, at dead of night
he prowls,
With murder glutted, and in carnage rolls
Insatiate still, through teeming herds
he roams; [xviii]
In seas of gore, the lordly tyrant foams.
Nor less the other’s
deadly vengeance came,
But falls on feeble crowds without a name;
His wound unconscious Fadus scarce can
feel,
Yet wakeful Rhæsus sees the threatening
steel;
His coward breast behind a jar he hides,
And, vainly, in the weak defence confides;
270
Full in his heart, the falchion search’d
his veins,
The reeking weapon bears alternate stains;
Through wine and blood, commingling as
they flow,
One feeble spirit seeks the shades below.
Now where Messapus dwelt they bend their
way,
Whose fires emit a faint and trembling
ray;
There, unconfin’d, behold each grazing
steed,
Unwatch’d, unheeded, on the herbage
feed: [xix]
Brave Nisus here arrests his comrade’s
arm,
Too flush’d with carnage, and with
conquest warm: 280
“Hence let us haste, the dangerous
path is pass’d;
Full foes enough, to-night, have breath’d
their last:
Soon will the Day those Eastern clouds
adorn;
Now let us speed, nor tempt the rising
morn.”
What silver arms, with various
art emboss’d,
What bowls and mantles, in confusion toss’d,
They leave regardless! yet one glittering
prize
Attracts the younger Hero’s wandering
eyes;
The gilded harness Rhamnes’ coursers
felt,
The gems which stud the monarch’s
golden belt: 290
This from the pallid corse was quickly
torn,
Once by a line of former chieftains worn.
Th’ exulting boy the studded girdle
wears,
Messapus’ helm his head, in triumph,
bears;
Then from the tents their cautious steps
they bend,
To seek the vale, where safer paths extend.
Just at this hour, a band
of Latian horse
To Turnus’ camp pursue their destin’d
course:
While the slow foot their tardy march
delay,
The knights, impatient, spur along the
way: 300
Three hundred mail-clad men, by Volscens
led,
To Turnus with their master’s promise
sped:
Now they approach the trench, and view
the walls,
When, on the left, a light reflection
falls;
The plunder’d helmet, through the
waning night,
Sheds forth a silver radiance, glancing
bright;
Volscens, with question loud, the pair
alarms:—
“Stand, Stragglers! stand! why early
thus in arms?
From whence? to whom?”—He
meets with no reply;
Trusting the covert of the night, they
fly: 310
The thicket’s depth, with hurried
pace, they tread,
While round the wood the hostile squadron
spread.
With brakes entangled, scarce
a path between,
Dreary and dark appears the sylvan scene:
Euryalus his heavy spoils impede,
The boughs and winding turns his steps
mislead;
But Nisus scours along the forest’s
maze,
To where Latinus’ steeds in safety
graze,
Then backward o’er the plain his
eyes extend,
On every side they seek his absent friend.
320
“O God! my boy,” he cries,
“of me bereft, [xx]
In what impending perils art thou left!”
Listening he runs—above the
waving trees,
Tumultuous voices swell the passing breeze;
The war-cry rises, thundering hoofs around
Wake the dark echoes of the trembling
ground.
Again he turns—of footsteps
hears the noise—
The sound elates—the sight
his hope destroys:
The hapless boy a ruffian train surround,
While lengthening shades his weary way
confound; 330
Him, with loud shouts, the furious knights
pursue,
Struggling in vain, a captive to the crew.
What can his friend ’gainst thronging
numbers dare?
Ah! must he rush, his comrade’s
fate to share?
What force, what aid, what stratagem essay,
Back to redeem the Latian spoiler’s
prey?
His life a votive ransom nobly give,
Or die with him, for whom he wish’d
to live?
Poising with strength his lifted lance
on high,
On Luna’s orb he cast his frenzied
eye:— 340
“Goddess serene, transcending every
star! [xxiii]
Queen of the sky, whose beams are seen
afar!
By night Heaven owns thy sway, by day
the grove,
When, as chaste Dian, here thou deign’st
to rove;
If e’er myself, or Sire, have sought
to grace
Thine altars, with the produce of the
chase,
Speed, speed my dart to pierce yon vaunting
crowd,
To free my friend, and scatter far the
proud.”
Thus having said, the hissing dart he
flung;
Through parted shades the hurtling weapon
sung; 350
The thirsty point in Sulmo’s entrails
lay,
Transfix’d his heart, and stretch’d
him on the clay:
He sobs, he dies,—the troop
in wild amaze,
Unconscious whence the death, with horror
gaze;
While pale they stare, thro’ Tagus’
temples riven,
A second shaft, with equal force is driven:
Fierce Volscens rolls around his lowering
eyes;
Veil’d by the night, secure the
Trojan lies. [xxiv]
Burning with wrath, he view’d his
soldiers fall.
“Thou youth accurst, thy life shall
pay for all!” 360
Quick from the sheath his flaming glaive
he drew,
And, raging, on the boy defenceless flew.
Nisus, no more the blackening shade conceals,
Forth, forth he starts, and all his love
reveals;
Aghast, confus’d, his fears to madness
rise,
And pour these accents, shrieking as he
flies;
“Me, me,—your vengeance
hurl on me alone;
Here sheathe the steel, my blood is all
your own;
Ye starry Spheres! thou conscious Heaven!
attest!
He could not—durst not—lo!
the guile confest! 370
All, all was mine,—his early
fate suspend;
He only lov’d, too well, his hapless
friend:
Spare, spare, ye Chiefs! from him your
rage remove;
His fault was friendship, all his crime
was love.”
He pray’d in vain; the dark assassin’s
sword
Pierced the fair side, the snowy bosom
gor’d;
Lowly to earth inclines his plume-clad
crest,
And sanguine torrents mantle o’er
his breast:
As some young rose whose blossom scents
the air,
Languid in death, expires beneath the
share; 380
Or crimson poppy, sinking with the shower,
Declining gently, falls a fading flower;
Thus, sweetly drooping, bends his lovely
head,
And lingering Beauty hovers round the
dead.
But fiery Nisus stems the battle’s
tide,
Revenge his leader, and Despair his guide;
Volscens he seeks amidst the gathering
host,
Volscens must soon appease his comrade’s
ghost;
Steel, flashing, pours on steel, foe crowds
on foe;
Rage nerves his arm, Fate gleams in every
blow; 390
In vain beneath unnumber’d wounds
he bleeds,
Nor wounds, nor death, distracted Nisus
heeds;
In viewless circles wheel’d his
falchion flies,
Nor quits the hero’s grasp till
Volscens dies;
Deep in his throat its end the weapon
found,
The tyrant’s soul fled groaning
through the wound. [xxvi]
Thus Nisus all his fond affection prov’d—
Dying, revenged the fate of him he lov’d;
Then on his bosom sought his wonted place,
And death was heavenly, in his friend’s
embrace! 400
Celestial pair! if aught my verse can
claim,
Wafted on Time’s broad pinion, yours
is fame! [xxviii]
Ages on ages shall your fate admire,
No future day shall see your names expire,
While stands the Capitol, immortal dome!
And vanquished millions hail their Empress,
Rome!
[Footnote 1: Lines 1-18 were
first published in ‘P. on V. Occasions’,
under the title of “Fragment of a Translation
from the 9th Book of Virgil’s ’Æneid’.”]
[Footnote 2: The mother of Iulus,
lost on the night when Troy was taken.]
[Footnote i:
’Him Ida sent, a hunter, now no
more,
To combat foes, upon a foreign shore;
Near him, the loveliest of the Trojan
band,
Did fair Euryalus, his comrade, stand;
Few are the seasons of his youthful life,
As yet a novice in the martial strife:
The Gods to him unwonted gifts impart,
A female’s beatify, with a hero’s
heart.
[’P. on V. Occasions.’]
From Ida torn he left his native grove,
Through distant climes, and trackless
seas to rove.’
[’Hours of Idleness.’]]
[Footnote ii:
‘And now combin’d, the massy
gate they guard’.
[’P. on V. Occasions’.]
—they hold the nightly guard’.
[’Hours of Idleness’.]]
[Footnote iii:
And Love, and Life alike the glory spurned.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote iv:
Then Nisus, “Ah, my friend—why
thus suspect
Thy youthful breast admits of no defect.”
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote v:
Trembling with diffidence not awed by
fear.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote vi:
The vain Rutulians lost in slumber dream.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote vii:
’Hither she came------.
[’Hours of Idleness.’]]
[Footnote viii:
’Her falling tears------.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote ix:
’With this assurance Fate’s
attempts are vain;
Fearless I dare the foes of yonder plain.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote x:
’That all the gifts which once to
thee were vowed.
[’MS. Newstead’.]
[Footnote xi:
’A tawny skin the furious lion’s
spoil.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote xii:
’Mnestheus presented, and the Warrior’s
mask
Alethes gave a doubly temper’d casque.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote xiii:
’To glad their journey, follow them
in vain.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote xiv:
’Dispersed and scattered on the
sighing gale.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote xv:
‘By Bacchus’ potent draught
weigh’d down at last
Half the long night in childish games
was past.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote xvi:
’—disportive play’d.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote xvii:
By hunger prest, the keeper lull’d
to sleep
In slaughter thus a Lyon’s fangs
may steep.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote xviii:
Through teeming herds unchecked, unawed,
he roams.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote xix:
Heedless of danger on the herbage feed.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote xx:
——’of thee bereft
In what dire perils is my brother left.’
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote xxi:
Then his lov’d boy the ruffian band
surround
Entangled in the tufted Forest ground.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote xxii:
‘At length a captive to the hostile
crew’.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote xxiii:
‘The Goddess bright transcending
every star’.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote xxiv:
’No object meets them but the earth
and skies.
He burns for vengeance, rising in his
wrath—
Then you, accursed, thy life shall pay
for both;
Then from the sheath his flaming brand
he drew,
And on the raging boy defenceless flew.
Nisus no more the blackening shade conceals,
Forth forth he rushed and all his love
reveals;
Pale and confused his fear to madness
grows,
And thus in accents mild he greets his
Foes.
“On me, on me, direct your impious
steel,
Let me and me alone your vengeance feel—
Let not a stripling’s blood by Chiefs
be spilt,
Be mine the Death, as mine was all the
guilt.
By Heaven and Hell, the powers of Earth
and Air.
Yon guiltless stripling neither could
nor dare:
Spare him, oh! spare by all the Gods above,
A hapless boy whose only crime was Love.”
He prayed in vain; the fierce assassin’s
sword
Pierced the fair side, the snowy bosom
gored;
Drooping to earth inclines his lovely
head,
O’er his fair curls, the purpling
stream is spread.
As some sweet lily, by the ploughshare
broke
Languid in Death, sinks down beneath the
stroke;
Or, as some poppy, bending with the shower,
Gently declining falls a waning flower’.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote xxv:
‘Revenge his object’.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote xxvi:
‘The assassin’s soul’.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote xxvii:
’Then on his breast he sought his
wonted place,
And Death was lovely in his Friend’s
embrace’.
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
[Footnote xxviii:
‘Yours are the fairest wreaths of
endless Fame.’
[’MS. Newstead’.]]
TRANSLATION FROM THE “MEDEA” OF EURIPIDES
[Greek: Erotes hyper men agan, K.T.L.[1]]
1.
When fierce conflicting passions urge
The breast, where love is wont to glow,
What mind can stem the stormy surge
Which rolls the tide of human woe?
The hope of praise, the dread of shame,
Can rouse the tortur’d breast no
more;
The wild desire, the guilty flame,
Absorbs each wish it felt before.
2.
But if affection gently thrills
The soul, by purer dreams possest,
The pleasing balm of mortal ills
In love can soothe the aching breast:
If thus thou comest in disguise, [i]
Fair Venus! from thy native heaven,
What heart, unfeeling, would despise
The sweetest boon the Gods have given?
3.
But, never from thy golden bow,
May I beneath the shaft expire!
Whose creeping venom, sure and slow,
Awakes an all-consuming fire:
Ye racking doubts! ye jealous fears!
With others wage internal war;
Repentance! source of future tears,
From me be ever distant far!
4.
May no distracting thoughts destroy
The holy calm of sacred love!
May all the hours be winged with joy,
Which hover faithful hearts above!
Fair Venus! on thy myrtle shrine
May I with some fond lover sigh!
Whose heart may mingle pure with mine,
With me to live, with me to die!
5.
My native soil! belov’d before,
Now dearer, as my peaceful home,
Ne’er may I quit thy rocky shore,
A hapless banish’d wretch to roam!
This very day, this very hour,
May I resign this fleeting breath!
Nor quit my silent humble bower;
A doom, to me, far worse than death.
6.
Have I not heard the exile’s sigh,
And seen the exile’s silent tear,
Through distant climes condemn’d
to fly,
A pensive, weary wanderer here?
Ah! hapless dame! [2] no sire bewails,
No friend thy wretched fate deplores,
No kindred voice with rapture hails
Thy steps within a stranger’s doors.
7.
Perish the fiend! whose iron heart
To fair affection’s truth unknown,
Bids her he fondly lov’d depart,
Unpitied, helpless, and alone;
Who ne’er unlocks with silver key,
The milder treasures of his soul;
May such a friend be far from me,
And Ocean’s storms between us roll!
[Footnote 1: The Greek heading
does not appear in ‘Hours of Idleness’
or ’Poems O. and T’.]
[Footnote 2: Medea, who accompanied
Jason to Corinth, was deserted by him for the daughter
of Creon, king of that city. The chorus, from
which this is taken, here addresses Medea; though
a considerable liberty is taken with the original,
by expanding the idea, as also in some other parts
of the translation.]
[Footnote 3: The original is
[Greek: katharan anoixanta klaeda phren_on,]
literally “disclosing the bright key of the mind.”]
[Footnote i:
‘If thus thou com’st in gentle
guise’.
[’Hours of Idleness’.]]
