Then, something scarcely to be seen,
Her Finger and her Thumb between
She held, and sweetly smiling, cry’d,
Your Goblin’s Skill shall now be try’d. 120
She said; and gave — what shall I call
That thing so shining, crisp and small,
Which round his Finger strove to twine?
A Tendril of the Cyprian Vine?
Or Sprig from Cytherea’s Grove; 125
Shade of the Labyrinth of Love?
With Awe, he now takes from her Hand
That Fleece-like Flow’r of fairy Land:
Less precious, whilom, was the Fleece
Which drew the Argonauts from Greece; 130
Or that, which modern Ages see
The Spur and Prize of Chivalry,
Whose Curls of kindred Texture, grace
Heroes and Kings of Spanish Race.
The Spark prepar’d, and Pug at Hand, 135
He issues, thus, his strict Command.
This Line, thus Curve and thus Orbicular,
Render direct, and perpendicular;
But so direct, that in no sort
It ever may in Rings retort. 140
See me no more ‘till this be done:
Hence, to thy Task — avaunt, be gone.
Away the Fiend like Lightning flys,
And all his Wit to Work applys:
Anvils and Presses he employs, 145
And dins whole Hell with hamm’ring Noise.
In vain: he to no Terms can bring
One Twirl of that reluctant Thing;
Th’elastick Fibre mocks his Pains,
And it’s first spiral Form retains. 150
New Stratagems the Sprite contrives,
And down the Depths of Sea he dives:
This Sprunt its Pertness sure will lose
When laid (said he) to soak in Ooze.
Poor foolish Fiend! he little knew 155
Whence Venus and her Garden grew.
Old Ocean, with paternal Waves
The Child of his own Bed receives;
Which oft as dipt new Force exerts,
And in more vig’rous Curls reverts. 160
So, when to Earth, Alcides flung
The huge Anteus, whence he sprung,
From ev’ry Fall fresh Strength he gain’d,
And with new Life the Fight maintain’d.
The bailed Goblin grows perplex’d, 165
Nor knows what Sleight to practise next:
The more he trys, the more he fails;
Nor Charm, nor Art, nor Force avails.
But all concur his Shame to show,
And more exasperate the Foe. 170
And now he pensive turns and sad,
And looks like melancholick mad.
He rolls his Eyes now off, now on
That wonderful Phenomenon.
Sometimes he twists and twirls it round, 175
Then, pausing, meditates profound:
No End he sees of his Surprize,
Nor what it should be can devise:
For never yet was Wooll or Feather,
That cou’d stand buff against all Weather; 180
And unrelax’d like this, resist
Both Wind and Rain, and Snow and Mist.
What Stuff, or whence, or how ’twas made,
What Spinster Witch could spin such Thread,
He nothing knew; but to his Cost 185
Knew all his Fame and Labour lost.
Subdu’d, abash’d, he gave it o’er;
’Tis said, he blush’d; ’tis sure, he swore
Not all the Wiles that Hell could hatch
Could conquer that SUPERB MUSTACH. 190
Defeated thus, thus discontent,
Back to the Man the Demon went:
I grant, quoth he, our Contract null,
And give you a Discharge in full.
But tell me now, in Name of Wonder, 195
(Since I so candidly knock under,)
What is this Thing? Where could it grow?
Pray take it— ’tis in Statu quo.
Much Good may’t do you; for my Part,
I wash my Hands oft from my Heart. 200
In Truth, Sir Goblin or Sir Fairy,
Replys the Lad, you’re too soon weary.
What, leave this trifling Task undone!
And think’st Thou this the only one?
Alas! were this subdu’d, thou’dst find 205
Millions of more such still behind,
Which might employ, ev’n to Eternity,
Both you and all your whole Fraternity.
THE PEASANT IN SEARCH OF HIS HEIFER.
A TALE after M. De la Fontaine.
IT so befell: a silly Swain
Had sought his Heifer long in vain;
For wanton she had frisking stray’d,
And left the Lawn, to seek the Shade.
Around the Plain he rolls his Eyes, 5
Then, to the Wood, in Haste he hies;
Where, singling out the fairest Tree,
He climbs, in Hopes to hear or see.
Anon, there chanc’d that Way to pass
A jolly Lad and buxom Lass: 10
The Place was apt, the Pastime pleasant;
Occasion with her Forelock present:
The Girl agog, the Gallant ready;
So lightly down he lays my Lady.
But so she turn’d, or so was laid, 15
That she some certain Charms display’d,
Which with such Wonder struck his Sight,
(With Wonder, much; more, with Delight)
That loud he cry’d in Rapture, What!
What see I, Gods! What see I not! 20
But nothing nam’d; from whence ’tis guess’d,
’Twas more than well could be express’d.
The Clown aloft, who lent an Ear,
Strait stopt him short in mid Career:
And louder cry’d, Ho! honest Friend, 25
That of thy seeing seest no End;
Dost see the Heifer that I seek?
If do’st, pray be so kind to speak.
HOMER’S HYMN TO VENUS.
Translated into
ENGLISH VERSE.
TO THE READER OF THE ENSUING HYMN.
OF the three greater Hymns of Homer, viz one to Apollo, one to Mercury, and one to Venus, this to Venus is the shortest; it is also the most simple in its Design, and connected in its Parts. The other two abound more in Digressions both Geographical and Mythological, and contain many Allusions to ancient Customs and History, which without a Commentary could not well be understood by the generality of Readers. These Considerations determin’d me to acquiesce in the Translation of this Hymn; tho’ I had once entertain’d Thoughts of turning ’em all three into English Verse.
As I had often read them all with extraordinary Pleasure; I could not avoid sometimes reflecting on the Censures of some Grammarians, who have deny’d or at least doubted them to be genuine.
A Poem which is good in it self cannot really lose any thing of its Value, tho’ it should appear, upon a strict Enquiry, not to be the Work of so eminent an Author, as him, to whom it was first imputed. But all Truth is so amiable in it self, that even where it is of least Importance there is a Pleasure in the Search after it, and a Satisfaction in the Vindication of it.
Tho’ the Beauties of this ensuing Poem, in the Original, want not even the Name of Homer to recommend ’em, and much less does that mighty Name stand in need of their Reputation, yet, if they are his, ’tis an Injustice to him to ascribe ’em to any other; and it is a Hardship to them to deprive ’em of the Authority due to them, and to leave ’em to make their way thro’ bad Judgments, purely by their own Merit.
I will not trouble the Reader with the Enquiry my Curiosity led me to make in this Matter; I will only give him one Reason, of many, why these Hymns may be receiv’d for genuine. The most suspected of ’em all, is that to Apollo. (As for this to Venus, it
were almost enough to induce us to conclude it legitimate, to observe that Lucretius thought it not below him to copy from the Beginning of it, the Beginning of his own admirable Poem.)
The Hymn to Apollo has been suppos’d to have been mitten by one Cynæthus of Chios, who was a famous Repeater of Homer’s Verses. To obviate which Supposition, we only reply, that this very Hymn to Apollo is quoted twice by Thucydides in the third Book of his History, and expresly quoted as the Work of Homer.
After his second Quotation, which consists of about half a score Verses, Thucydides observes that in those Verses Homer has made mention of himself: Hence, ’tis beyond question Thucydides believ’d or rather was assur’d it was the Work of Homer. He might be very well morally assur’d of it, for he liv d within four hundred Years of Homer, and that is no distance of Time to render the Knowledge of such Things either uncertain or obscure in such a Country as Greece, and to a Man of such Learning, Power and Wisdom as our Author. The learned Casaubon, in his Comment on a Passage in the first Book of Strabo, takes the Liberty to dissent from Strabo, and cites as Authority against him part of the Quotation made by Thucydides from the afore- mention’d Hymn of Homer. Strabo says, Homer has made no Mention of what Country he was: In one of the Verses cited by Thucydides, Homer calls himself the blind Man of rocky Chios. Casaubon’s Note is as follows: In Hymno Apollinis quern ego cur debeamus adereiv contra autoritatem Thucy- didis, causam nullam satis magnam video: in eo inquam Hymno, hæc de se Homerus, &c.
Now whether it be more reasonable, by the Example of so learned a Man as Casaubon, to give Credit to the Authority of Thucydides, the most grave, wise, faithful, and consummate Historian that ever wrote; or to give into the Scruples, Conjectures, and Suggestions of Scholiasts and Grammarians; I leave to the Determination of each impartial Reader.
HOMER’S HYMN TO VENUS.
SING, Muse, the Force, and all-informing Fire
Of Cyprian Venus, Goddess of Desire:
Her Charms, th’Immortal Minds of Gods can move,
And tame the stubborn Race of Men to Love.
The wilder Herds and ravenous Beasts of Prey, 5
Her Influence feel, and own her kindly Sway.
Thro’ pathless Air, and boundless Ocean’s Space,
She rules the feather’d Kind and finny Race;
Whole Nature on her sole Support depends,
And far as Life exists, her Care extends. 10
Of all the num’rous Host of Gods above,
But three are found inflexible to Love.
Blue-ey’d Minerva free preserves her Heart,
A Virgin unbeguil’d by Cupid’s Art;
In shining Arms the Martial Maid delights, 15
O’er War presides, and well-disputed Fights;
With Thirst of Fame she first the Hero fir’d,
And first the Skill of useful Arts inspir’d;
Taught Artists first the carving Tool to wield,
Chariots with Brass to arm, and form the fenceful Shield; 20
She first taught modest Maids in early Bloom
To shun the lazy Life, and spin, or ply the Loom.
Diana next, the Paphian Queen defies,
Her smiling Arts and proffer’d Friendship flies:
She loves, with well-mouth’d Hounds and chearful Horn, 25
Or Silver-sounding Voice, to wake the Morn,
To draw the Bow, or dart the pointed Spear,
To wound the Mountain Boar, or rouse the woodland Deer:
Sometimes, of gloomy Groves she likes the Shades,
And there of Virgin Nymphs the Chorus leads; 30
And sometimes, seeks the Town, and leaves the Plains,
And loves Society where Virtue reigns.
The third Celestial Pow’r averse to Love
Is Virgin Vesta, dear to mighty Jove;
Whom Neptune sought to wed, and Phœbus woo’d; 35
And both with fruitless Labour long pursu’d;
For she, severely chaste, rejected both,
And bound her Purpose with a solemn Oath,
A Virgin Life inviolate to lead;
She swore, and Jove assenting bow’d his Head. 40
But since her rigid Choice the Joys deny’d
Of Nuptial Rites, and Blessings of a Bride,
The bounteous Jove with Gifts that Want supply’d.
High on a Throne she sits amidst the Skies,
And first is fed with Fumes of Sacrifice: 45
For Holy Rites to Vesta first are pay’d,
And on her Altar First-fruit Off rings laid;
So Jove ordain’d in Honour of the Maid.
These are the Pow’rs above, and only these,
Whom Love and Cytherea’s Arts displease: 50
Of other Beings, none in Earth or Skies
Her Force resists, or Influence denies.
With Ease, her Charms the Thunderer can bind,
And captivate with Love th’Almighty Mind:
Ev’n He, whose dread Commands the Gods obey, 55
Submits to her, and owns superior Sway;
Enslav’d to Mortal Beauties by her Pow’r,
He oft descends, his Creatures to adore;
While to conceal the Theft from Juno’s Eyes,
Some well-dissembled Shape the God belies. 60
Juno, his Wife and Sister, both in Place
And Beauty, first among th’Ætherial Race;
Whom, all transcending in superior Worth,
Wise Saturn got, and Cybele brought forth;
And Jove, by never-erring Counsel sway’d, 65
The Partner of his Bed and Empire made.
But Jove at length with just Resentment fir’d,
The laughing Queen her self with Love inspir’d.
Swift thro’ her Veins the sweet Contagion ran,
And kindled in her Breast, Desire of mortal Man; 70
That she, like other Deities, might prove
The Pains and Pleasures of inferior Love;
And not insultingly the Gods deride,
Whose Sons were human by the Mother’s side:
Thus, Jove ordain’d she now for Man should burn, 75
And bring forth Mortal Off-spring in her turn.
Amongst the Springs which flow from Ida’s Head,
His lowing Herds the young Anchises fed:
Whose godlike Form and Face the smiling Queen
Beheld, and lov’d to Madness soon as seen. 80
To Cyprus, strait the wounded Goddess flies,
Where Paphian Temples in her Honour rise,
And Altars smoke with daily Sacrifice.
Soon as arriv’d, she to her Shrine repair’d,
Where entring quick, the shining Gates she barr’d. 85
The ready Graces wait, her Baths prepare,
And oint with fragrant Oils her flowing Hair;
Her flowing Hair around her Shoulders spreads,
And all adown, Ambrosial Odour sheds.
Last, in transparent Robes her Limbs they fold, 90
Enrich’d with Ornaments of purest Gold.
And thus attir’d, her Chariot she ascends,
And Cyprus left, her Flight to Troy she bends.
On Ida she alights, then seeks the Seat
Which lov’d Anchises chose for his Retreat: 95
And ever as she walk’d thro’ Lawn or Wood,
Promiscuous Herds of Beasts admiring stood.
Some humbly follow, while some fawning meet,
And lick the Ground, and crouch beneath her Feet.
Dogs, Lions, Wolves and Bears their Eyes unite, 100
And the swift Panther stops to gaze with fix’d Delight.
For, ev’ry Glance she gives, soft Fire imparts,
Enkindling sweet Desire in Savage Hearts.
Inflam’d with Love, all single out their Mates,
And to their shady Dens each Pair retreats. 105
Mean time the Tent she spies so much desir’d,
Where her Anchises was alone
retir’d;
Withdrawn from all his Friends, and Fellow-Swains,
Who fed their Flocks beneath, and sought the Plains:
In pleasing Solitude the Youth she found, 110
Intent upon his Lyre’s harmonious Sound.
Before his Eyes Jove’s beauteous Daughter stood,
In Form and Dress, a Huntress of the Wood;
For had he seen the Goddess undisguis’d,
The Youth with Awe and Fear had been surpriz’d. 115
Fix’d he beheld her, and with Joy admir’d
To see a Nymph so bright, and so attir’d.
For from her flowing Robe a Lustre spread,
As if with radiant Flame she were array’d;
Her Hair in part disclos’d, in part conceal’d, 120
In Ringlets fell, or was with Jewels held;
With various Gold and Gems her Neck was grac’d,
And orient Pearls heav’d on her panting Breast:
Bright as the Moon she shone, with silent Light,
And charm’d his Sense with Wonder and Delight. 125
Thus while Anchises gaz’d, thro’ ev’ry Vein
A thrilling Joy he felt, and pleasing Pain.
At length he spake — All hail Celestial Fair!
Who humbly dost to visit Earth repair.
Who-e’er thou art, descended from above, 130
Latona, Cynthia, or the Queen of Love,
All hail! all Honour shall to thee be paid;
Or art thou Themis} or the blue-ey’d Maid?
Or, art thou fairest of the Graces three,
Who with the Gods share Immortality? 135
Or else, some Nymph, the Guardian of these Woods,
These Caves, these fruitful Hills, or Crystal Floods?
Who-e’er thou art, in some conspicuous Field,
I, to thy Honour will an Altar build,
Where holy Off rings I’ll each Hour prepare; 140
O prove but thou propitious to my Pray’r.
Grant me, among the Trojan Race, to prove
A Patriot worthy of my Country’s Love;
Bless’d in my self, I beg, I next, may be
Bless’d in my Children and Posterity: 145
Happy in Health, long let me see the Sun,
And, lov’d by all, late may my Days be done.
He said — Jove’s beauteous Daughter thus reply’d.
Delight of Human-kind, thy Sexes Pride!
Honour’d Anchises, you behold in me 150
No Goddess bless’d with Immortality;
But Mortal I, of mortal Mother came,
Otreus my Father, (you have heard the Name)
Complete Works of William Congreve Page 15
