Medea was by Jason's flatt'ry won:
I may, like her, believe, and be undone.
Plain honest hearts, like mine, suspect no cheat,
And love contributes to its own deceit.
The ships, about whose sides loud tempests roar,
With gentle winds were wafted from the shore.
Your teeming mother dream'd a flaming brand,
Sprung from her womb, consum'd the Trojan
land.

To second this, old prophecies conspire,
That Ilium shall be burnt with Grecian fire.
Both give me fear; nor is it much allay'd,
That Venus is oblig'd our loves to aid.
For they, who lost their cause, revenge will
take;

And for one friend two enemies you make.
Nor can I doubt, but, should I follow you,
The sword would soon our fatal crime pursue.
A wrong so great my husband's rage would

rouse,

And my relations would his cause espouse. You boast your strength and courage; but, alas!

Your words receive small credit from your face.
Let heroes in the dusty field delight,
Those limbs were fashion'd for another fight.
Bid Hector sally from the walls of Troy;
A sweeter quarrel should your arms employ.
Yet fears like these should not my mind per-
plex,

Were I as wise as many of my sex.
But time and you may bolder thoughts inspire;
And I perhaps may yield to your desire.
You last demand a private conference;
These are your words, but I can guess your

sense.

Your unripe hopes their harvest must attend:
Be rul'd by me, and time may be your friend.
This is enough to let you understand;
For now my pen has tir'd my tender hand:
My woman knows the secret of my heart,
And may hereafter better news impart.

DIDO TO ENEAS. EPIST. VII.

THE ARGUMENT.

Eneas, the son of Venus and Anchises, having, at the destruction of Troy, saved his gods, his father, and son Ascanius, from the fire, put to sea with twenty sail of ships; and having been long tost with tempests, was at last cast upon the shore of Libya, where queen Dido (flying from the cruelty of Pygmalion, her brother, who had killed her husband Sichæus) had lately built Carthage. She entertained Æneas and his fleet with great civility, fell passionately in love with him, and in the end denied him not the last favours. But Mercury ad

monishing Eneas to go in search of Italy, (a kingdom promised him by the gods) he readily prepared to follow him. Dido soon perceived it, and having in vain tried all other means to engage him to stay, at last in despair writes to him as follows. So, on Mæander's banks, when death is nigh, The mournful swan sings her own elegy. Not that I hope (for, oh, that hope were vain!) By words your lost affection to regain: But having lost whate'er was worth my care, Why should I fear to lose a dying pray'r? 'T is then resolv'd poor Dido must be left, Of life, of honour, and of love bereft ! While you, with loosen'd sails, and vows, pre

pare

To seek a land that flies the searcher's care.
Nor can my rising tow'rs your flight restrain,
Nor my new empire, offer'd you in vain.
Built walls you shun, unbuilt you seek; that
land

Is yet to conquer ; but you this command.
Suppose you landed where your wish design'ä,
Think what reception foreigners would find.
What people is so void of common sense,
To vote succession from a native prince?
Yet there new sceptres and new loves you seek
New vows to plight, and plighted vows to break.
When will your tow'rs the height of Carthage

know?

Or when your eyes discern such crowds below?
If such a town and subjects you could see,
Still would you want a wife who lov'd like me.
For, oh, I burn, like fires with incense bright:
Not holy tapers flame with purer light:
Eneas is my thoughts' perpetual theme;
Their daily longing, and their nightly dream.
Yet he 's ungrateful and obdurate still :
Fool that I am to place my heart so ill!
Myself I cannot to myself restore;
Still I complain, and still I love him more.
Have pity, Cupid, on my bleeding heart,
And pierce thy brother's with an equal dart.
I rave: nor canst thou Venus' offspring be,
Love's mother could not bear a son like thee.
From harden'd oak, or from a rock's cold womb,
At least thou art from some fierce tigress come;
Or on rough seas, from their foundation torn,
Got by the winds, and in a tempest born :
Like that, which now thy trembling sailors fear;
Like that, whose rage should still detain thee
here.

Behold how high the foamy billows ride!
The winds and waves are on the juster side.
To winter weather and a stormy sea
I'll owe, what rather I would owe to thee.
Death thou deserv'st from heav'n's avenging
But I'm unwilling to become the cause. (laws;
To shun my love, if thou wilt seek thy fate,
"T is a dear purchase, and a costly hate.

Stay but a little, till the tempest cease,
And the loud winds are lull'd into a peace.
May all thy rage, like theirs, unconstant prove,
And so it will, if there be pow'r in love.
Know'st thou not yet what dangers ships sus-
tain?

So often wreck'd, how dar'st thou tempt the main ?

Which, were it smooth, were ev'ry wave asleep,
Ten thousand forms of death are in the deep.
In that abyss the gods their vengeance store,
For broken vows of those who falsely swore.
There winged storms on sea-born Venus wait
To vindicate the justice of her state.
Thus I to thee the means of safety show;
And, lost myself, would still preserve my foe.
Faise as thou art, I not thy death design:
O rather live, to be the cause of mine!
Should some avenging storm thy vessel tear,
(But heav'n forbid my words should omen
bear,)

Then in thy face thy perjur'd vows would fly:
And my wrong'd ghost be present to thy eye.
With threat'ning looks think thou behold'st me

stare,

Gasping my mouth, and clotted all my hair. Then, should fork'd lightning and red thunder fall,

What couldst thou say, but, I deserv'd 'em all.
Lest this should happen, make not haste away;
To shun the danger will be worth thy stay.
Have pity on thy son, if not on me:
My death alone is guilt enough for thee.
What has his youth, what have thy gods deserv'd,
To sink in seas, who were from fires preserv'd?
But neither gods nor parent didst thou bear;
Smooth stories all to please a woman's ear,
False as the tale of thy romantic life.
Nor yet am I thy first-deluded wife :
Left to pursuing foes Creusa stay'd,
By thee, base man, forsaken and betray'd.
This, when thou told'st me, struck my tender
heart,

That such requital follow'd such desert.
Nor doubt I but the gods, for crimes like these,
Seven winters kept thee wand'ring on the seas.
Thy starv'd companions, cast ashore, I fed,
Thyself admitted to my crown and bed.
To harbour strangers, succour the distrest,
Was kind enough; but, oh, too kind the rest!
Curst be the cave, which first my ruin brought,
Where, from the storm, we common shelter
sought!

A dreadful howling echoed round the place: The mountain nymphs, thought I, my nuptials grace.

I thought so then, but now too late I know
The furies yell'd my funeral from below.

O chastity and violated fame,
Exact your dues to my dead husband's name*
By death redeem my reputation lost,
And to his arms restore my guilty ghost.
Close by my palace, in a gloomy grove,
Is rais'd a chapel to my murder'd love;
There, wreath'd with boughs and wool his statue
stands,

The pious monument of artful hands.
Last night, methought, he call'd me from the
dome,

And thrice, with hollow voice, cried, Dido, come.
She comes; thy wife thy lawful summons hears;
But comes more slowly, clogg'd with conscious
fears.

Forgive the wrong I offer'd to thy bed;
Strong were his charms, who my weak faith

misled.

His goddess mother, and his aged sire,
Born on his back, did to my fall conspire.
Oh! such he was, and is, that, were he true,
Without a blush I might his love pursue.
But cruel stars my birth-day did attend;
And as my fortune open'd, it must end.
My plighted lord was at the altar slain,
Whose wealth was made my bloody brother's
gain,

Friendless, and follow'd by the murd'rer's hate,
To foreign countries I remov'd my fate;
And here, a suppliant, from the natives' hands
I bought the ground on which my city stands,
With all the coast that stretches to the sea;
E'en to the friendly port that shelter'd thee:
Then rais'd these walls, which mount into the
air,

At once my neighbours' wonder, and their fear.
For now they arm; and round me leagues are
My scarce establish'd empire to invade. [made,
To inan my new-built walls I must prepare,
A helpless woman, and unskill'd in war.
Yet thousand rivals to my love pretend;
And for my person would my crown defend:
Whose jarring votes in one complaint agree,
That each unjustly is disdain'd for thee.
To proud Hyarbas give me up a prey;
(For that must follow, if thou goest away :)
Or to my husband's murd'rer leave my life,
That to the husband he may add the wife.
Go, then, since no complaints can move thy
mind:

Go, perjur'd man, but leave thy gods behind.
Touch not those gods, by whom thou art for-

The babe unborn must perish by thy hate,
And perish guiltless in his mother's fate.
Some god, thou say'st, thy voyage does com-
mand;
[land!
Would the same god had barr'd thee from my
The same, I doubt not, thy departure steers,
Who kept thee out at sea so many years;
While thy long labours were a price so great,
As thou to purchase Troy wouldst not repeat.
But Tyber now thou seek'st, to be at best,
When there arriv'd, a poor precarious guest.
Yet it deludes thy search: perhaps it will
To thy old age lie undiscover'd still.

A ready crown and wealth in dower I bring,
And, without conqu'ring, here thou art a king.
Here thou to Carthage may'st transfer thy
Troy:

Here young Ascanius may his arms employ ;
And, while we live secure in soft repose,
Bring many laurels home from conquer'i foes.
By Cupid's arrows, I adjure thee, stay;
By all the gods, companions of thy way.
So may thy Trojans, who are yet alive,
Live still, and with no future fortune strive;
So may thy youthful son old age attain,
And thy dead father's bones in peace remain;
As thou hast pity on unhappy me,

Who knew no crime, but too much love of thee.
I am not born from fierce Achilles' line,
Nor did my parents against Troy combine.
To be thy wife if I unworthy prove,
By some inferior name admit my love.
To be secur'd of still possessing thee,
What would I do, and what would I not be!
Our Libyan coasts their certain seasons know,
When free from tempests passengers may go:
But now with northern blasts the billows roar,
And drive the floating sea-weed to the shore.
Leave to my care the time to sail away;
Wah, I will not suffer thee to stay.
Thy way men would be with ease content;
Their sats are tatter'd, and their masts are
spen

If by no meri i thy mind can move,
What thou denist my merit, give my love.
Stay, till ears ny loss to undergo;
And give me time to struggle with my wo.
If not, know this, I will not suffer long;
My life's too loathsome, and my love too strong.
Death holds my pen, and dictates what I say,
While cross my lap the Trojan sword I lay.
My tears flow down; the sharp edge cuts their
flood,
[blood.
And drinks my sorrows, that must drink my
How well thy gift does with my fate agree!
My funeral pomp is cheaply made by thee.
To no new wounds my bosom I display:
The sword but enters where love made the way.

But thou, dear sister, and yet dearer friend,
Shall my cold ashes to their urn attend.
Sichæus' wife let not the marble boast,
I lost that title, when my fame I lost.
This short inscription only let it hear:
"Unhappy Dido lies in quiet here. [died,
The cause of death, and sword by which she
Eneas gave: the rest her arm supplied."

TRANSLATIONS

FROM OVID'S ART OF LOVE.

THE FIRST BOOK OF OVID'S ART OF LOVE.

Is Cupid's school whoe'er would take degree,
Must learn his rudiments, by reading me.
Seamen with sailing arts their vessels move;
Art guides the chariot; art instructs to love.
Of ships and chariots others know the rule;
But I am master in Love's mighty school.
Cupid indeed is obstinate and wild,
A stubborn god; but yet the god's a child :
Easy to govern in his tender age,
Like fierce Achilles in his pupillage :
That hero, born for conquest, trembling stood
Beicre the Centaur, and receiv'd the rod.
As Chiron mollified his cruel mind
With art, and taught his warlike hands to wind
The silver strings of his melodious lyre:
So love's fair goddess does my soul inspire,
To teach her softer arts; to sooth the mind,
And smooth the rugged breasts of human kind.
Yet Cupid and Achilles each with scorn
And rage were fill'd; and both were goddess-

born.

The bull, reclaim'd and yok'd, the burden draws: The horse receives the bit within his jaws; And stubborn Love shall bend beneath my

sway,

Though struggling oft he strives to disobey. He shakes his torch, he wounds me with 1.43 darts;

But vain his force, and vainer are his arts. The more he burns my soul, or wounds my sight,

The more he teaches to revenge the spe.

I boast no aid the Delphian god affo, Nor auspice from the flight of chattering birds; Nor Clio, nor her sisters have I seen ; As Hesiod saw them on the shady gen: Experience makes my work; a tru, so tried You may believe; and Venus be my guide,

Far hence, ye vestals, be, who hind your

hair; And wives, who gowns below; your ankles wear.

I sing the brothels loose and unconfin'd,
Th' unpunishable pleasures of the kind;
Which all alike, for love, or money, find.

You, who in Cupid's rolls inscribe your name, First seek an object worthy of your flame; Then strive, with art, your lady's mind to gain: And, last, provide your love may long remain. On these three precepts all my work shall move : These are the rules and principles of love.

Before your youth with marriage is opprest, Make choice of one who suits your humour best:

And such a damsel drops not from the sky;
She must be sought for with a curious eye.

The wary angler, in the winding brook,
Knows what the fish, and where to bait his hook.
The fowler and the huntsman know by name
The certain haunts and harbour of their game.
So must the lover beat the likeliest grounds;
Th' assembly where his quarry most abounds.
Nor shall my novice wander far astray;
These rules shall put him in the ready way.
Thou shalt not sail around the continent,
As far as Perseus, or as Paris went :
For Rome alone affords thee such a store,
As all the world can hardly show thee more.
The face of heav'n with fewer stars is crown'd,
Than beauties in the Roman sphere are found.
Whether thy love is bent on blooming youth,
On dawning sweetness in unartful truth;
Or courts the juicy joys of riper growth;
Here mayst thou find thy full desires in both.
Or if autumnal beauties please thy sight,
(An age that knows to give, and take delight ;)
Millions of matrons of the graver sort,
In common prudence, will not balk the sport.
In summer heats thou need'st but only go
To Pompey's cool and shady portico;
Or Concord's fane; or that proud edifice,
Whose turrets near the bawdy suburb rise:
Or to that other portico, where stands
The cruel father urging his commands,
And fifty daughters wait the time of rest,
To plunge their poniards in the bridegroom's
breast:

Or Venus' temple; where, on annual nights,
They mourn Adonis with Assyrian rights.
Nor shun the Jewish walk, where the foul
drove

On sabbaths, rest from ev'ry thing but love:
Nor Isis' temple; for that sacred whore
Makes others, what to Jove she was before.
And if the hall itself be not belied,
E'en there the cause of love is often tried;
Near it at least, or in the palace-yard,
From whence the noisy combatants are heard.
The crafty counsellors, in formal gown,
There gain another's cause, but lose their own.

There eloquence is nonplust in the suit;
And lawyers, who had words at will, are mute.
Venus, from her adjoining temple, smiles,
To see them caught in their litigious wiles.
Grave senators lead home the youthful dame,
Returning clients, when they patrons came.
But, above all, the play-house is the place;
There's choice of quarry in that narrow chase,
There take thy stand, and sharply looking out,
Soon mayst thou find a mistress in the rout,
For length of time, or for a single bout.
The theatres are berries for the fair:
Like ants on mole-hills thither they repair;
Like bees to hives, so numerously they throng,
It may be said, they to that place belong.
Thither they swarm, who have the public voice:
There choose, if plenty not distract thy choice.
To see and to be seen, in heaps they run;
Some to undo, and some to be undone.

From Romulus the rise of plays began,
To his new subjects a commodious man;
Who, his unmarried soldiers to supply,
Took care the commonwealth should multiply:
Providing Sabine women for his braves,
Like a true king, to get a race of slaves.
His play-house not of Parian marble made,
Nor was it spread with purple sails for shade.
The stage with rushes, or with leaves they
strew'd:

No scenes in prospect, no machining god.
On rows of homely turf they sat to see,
Crown'd with the wreaths of ev'ry common

tree.

There, while they sat in rustic majesty,
Each lover had his mistress in his eye;
And whom he saw most suiting to his mind,
For joys of matrimonial rape design'd.
Scarce could they wait the plaudit in their haste;
But, ere the dances and the song were past,
The monarch gave the signal from his throne;
And, rising, bade his merry men fall on.

The martial crew, like soldiers ready prest,
Just at the word (the word too was, The Best)
With joyful cries each other animate;
Some choose, and some at hazard seize their

mate.

As doves from eagles, or from wolves the lambs,
So from their lawless lovers fly the danes.
Their fear was one, but not one face of fear;
Some rend the lovely tresses of their hair;
Some shriek, and some are struck with dumb
despair.

Her absent mother one invokes in vain;
One stands amaz'd, not daring to complain;
The nimbler trust their feet, the slow remain.
But nought availing, all are captives led,
Trembling and blushing, to the genial bed.
She who too long resisted, or denied,