John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series
Page 86
Apollo’s Priest to th’ Argive Fleet doth bring, &c.
There we see he makes it not the Argive, but th’ Argive, to shun the shock of the two Vowels, immediately following each other; but in his Second Argument, in the same Page, he gives a bad example of the quite contrary kind:
Alpha the Pray’r of Chryses sings:
The Army’s Plague, the Strife of Kings.
In these words the Armies, the ending with a Vowel, and Armies beginning with another Vowel, without cutting off the first, which by it had been th’ Armies, there remains a most horrible ill-sounding gap betwixt those Words. I cannot say that I have every where observ’d the Rule of the Synalepha in my Translation; but wheresoever I have not, ’tis a fault in sound: the French and Italians have made it an inviolable Precept in their versification; therein following the severe example of the Latin Poets. Our Countrymen have not yet Reform’d their Poetry so far; but content themselves with following the Licentious practice of the Greeks; who, though they sometimes use Synalepha’s, yet make no difficulty very often, to sound one Vowel upon another; as Homer does in the very first line of Alpha. [Greek]. ’Tis true, indeed, that in the second line in these words [Greek], and [Greek], the Synalepha in revenge is twice observed. But it becomes us, for the sake of Euphony, rather Musas colere severiores, with the Romans, than to give into the looseness of the Grecians. 4
I have tir’d my self, and have been summon’d by the Press to send away this Dedication, otherwise I had expos’d some other faults, which are daily committed by our English Poets; which, with care and observation, might be amended. For, after all, our Language is both Copious, Significant, and Majestical, and might be reduc’d into a more harmonious sound. But, for want of Publick Encouragement, in this Iron Age, we are so far from making any progress in the improvement of our Tongue, that in few years, we shall Speak and Write as Barbarously as our Neighbours. 5
Notwithstanding my haste, I cannot forbear to tell your Lordship, that there are two fragments of Homer Translated in this Miscellany; one by Mr.Congreve (whom I cannot mention without the Honour which is due to his Excellent Parts, and that entire Affection which I bear him;) and the other by my self. Both the Subjects are pathetical, and I am sure my Friend has added to the Tenderness which he found in the Original, and, without Flattery, surpass’d his Author. Yet I must needs say this in reference to Homer, that he is much more capable of exciting the Manly Passions than those of Grief and Pity. To cause Admiration, is indeed the proper and adequate design of an Epick Poem: and in that he has excell’d even Virgil. Yet, without presuming to Arraign our Master, I may venture to affirm, that he is somewhat too Talkative, and more than somewhat too digressive. This is so manifest, that it cannot be deny’d, in that little parcel which I have Translated, perhaps too literally: There Andromache in the midst of her Concernment, and Fright for Hector, runs off her Biass, to tell him a Story of her Pedigree, and of the lamentable Death of her Father, her Mother, and her seven Brothers. The Devil was in Hector if he knew not all this matter, as well as she who told it him; for she had been his Bed-fellow for many Years together: and if he knew it, then it must be confess’d, that Homer in this long digression, has rather given us his own Character, than that of the Fair Lady whom he Paints. His Dear Friends the Commentators, who never fail him at a pinch, will needs excuse him, by making the present Sorrow of Andromache, to occasion the remembrance of all the past: But others think that she had enough to do with that Grief which now oppress’d her, without running for assistance to her Family. Virgil, I am confident, wou’d have omitted such a work of supererrogation. But Virgil had the Gift of expressing much in little, and sometimes in silence: For though he yielded much to Homer in Invention, he more Excell’d him in his Admirable Judgment. He drew the Passion of Dido for Eneas, in the most lively and most natural Colours imaginable. Homer was ambitious enough of moving pity; for he has attempted twice on the same subject of Hector’s death: first, when Priam and Hecuba beheld his Corps, which was drag’d after the chariot of Achilles; and then in the Lamentation which was made over him, when his Body was redeem’d by Priam; and the same Persons again bewail his death, with a Chorus of others to help the cry. But if this last excite Compassion in you, as I doubt not but it will, you are more oblig’d to the Translator than the Poet. For Homer, as I observ’d before, can move rage better than he can pity: He stirs up the irascible appetite, as our Philosophers call it; he provokes to Murther, and the destruction of God’s Images; he forms and equips those ungodly Man-killers, whom we Poets, when we flatter them, call Heroes; a race of Men who can never enjoy quiet in themselves, ‘till they have taken it from all the World. This is Homer’s Commendation, and such as it is, the Lovers of Peace, or at least of more moderate Heroism, will never Envy him. But let Homer and Virgil contend for the Prize of Honour, betwixt themselves, I am satisfied they will never have a third Concurrent. I wish Mr.Congreve had the leisure to Translate him, and the World the good Nature and Justice to Encourage him in that Noble Design, of which he is more capable than any Man I know. The Earl of Mulgrave and Mr.Waller, two the best Judges of our Age, have assured me, that they cou’d never read over the Translation of Chapman, without incredible Pleasure and extreme Transport. This Admiration of theirs must needs proceed from the Author himself: For the Translator has thrown him down as low, as harsh Numbers, improper English, and a monstrous length of Verse cou’d carry him. What then wou’d he appear in the Harmonious Version of one of the best Writers, Living in a much better Age than was the last? I mean for versification, and the Art of Numbers: for in the Drama we have not arriv’d to the pitch of Shakespear and Ben Johnson. But here, my Lord, I am forc’d to break off abruptly, without endeavouring at a Compliment in the close. This Miscellany is, without dispute, one of the best of the kind, which has hitherto been extant in our Tongue. At least, as Sir Samuel Tuke has said before me, a Modest Man may praise what is not his own. My Fellows have no need of any Protection, but I humbly recommend my part of it, as much as it deserves, to your Patronage and Acceptance, and all the rest of your Forgiveness.
I am,
My Lord,
Your Lordship’s most
Obedient Servant,
The First Book of Ovid’s Metamorphoses
OF Bodies chang’d to various Forms I sing:
Ye Gods, from whom these Miracles did spring,
Inspire my Numbers with Cœlestial heat;
Till I my long laborious Work compleat;
And add perpetual Tenour to my Rhimes, 5
Deduc’d from Nature’s Birth, to Cæsar’s Times.
Before the Seas, and this Terrestrial Ball,
And Heav’ns high Canopy, that covers all,
One was the Face of Nature, if a Face;
Rather a rude and indigested Mass: 10
A lifeless Lump, unfashion’d, and unfram’d;
Of jarring Seeds; and justly Chaos nam’d.
No Sun was lighted up the World to view;
No Moon did yet her blunted Horns renew:
Nor yet was Earth suspended in the Skye; 15
Nor, pois’d, did on her own Foundations lye:
Nor Seas about the Shoars their Arms had thrown;
But Earth and Air and Water were in one.
Thus Air was void of Light, and Earth unstable,
And Waters dark Abyss unnavigable. 20
No certain Form on any was imprest;
All were confus’d, and each disturb’d the rest.
For hot and cold were in one Body fixt,
And soft with hard, and light with heavy mixt.
But God, or Nature, while they thus contend, 25
To these intestine Discords put an end.
Then Earth from Air, and Seas from Earth were driv’n,
And grosser Air sunk from Æthereal Heav’n.
Thus disembroil’d, they take their proper place;
The next of Kin contiguously embrace; 30
And Foes are sunder’d by a large
r space.
The force of Fire ascended first on high,
And took its dwelling in the vaulted Skie:
Then Air succeeds, in lightness next to Fire:
Whose Atoms from unactive Earth retire. 35
Earth sinks beneath, and draws a numerous throng
Of pondrous, thick, unweildy Seeds along.
About her Coasts, unruly Waters roar,
And, rising on a Ridge, insult the Shoar.
Thus when the God, what ever God was he, 40
Had form’d the whole, and made the parts agree,
That no unequal portions might be found,
He moulded Earth into a spacious round:
Then with a Breath, he gave the Winds to blow;
And bad the congregated Waters flow. 45
He adds the running Springs, and standing Lakes;
And bounding Banks for winding Rivers makes.
Some part, in Earth are swallow’d up, the most
In ample Oceans, disimbogu’d, are lost.
He shades the Woods, the Vallies he restrains 50
With Rocky Mountains, and extends the Plains.
And as five Zones th’ Æthereal Regions bind,
Five Correspondent, are to Earth assign’d:
The Sun, with Rays directly darting down,
Fires all beneath, and fries the middle Zone: 55
The two beneath the distant Poles complain
Of endless Winter, and perpetual Rain.
Betwixt th’ extreams, two happier Climates hold
The Temper that partakes of Hot and Cold.
The Fields of liquid Air, inclosing all, 60
Surround the Compass of this Earthly Ball:
The lighter parts lie next the Fires above;
The grosser near the watry Surface move:
Thick Clouds are spread, and Storms engender there,
And Thunders Voice, which wretched Mortals fear, 65
And Winds that on their Wings cold Winter bear.
Nor were those blustring Brethren left at large,
On Seas and Shoars their fury to discharge:
Bound as they are, and circumscrib’d in place,
They rend the World, resistless, where they pass; 70
And mighty Marks of Mischief leave behind;
Such is the Rage of their tempestuous kind.
First Eurus to the rising Morn is sent,
(The Regions of the balmy Continent;)
And Eastern Realms, where early Persians run, 75
To greet the blest appearance of the Sun.
Westward, the wanton Zephyr wings his Flight;
Pleas’d with the Remnants of departing light:
Fierce Boreas with his Off-spring issues forth,
T’ invade the frozen Waggon of the North. 80
While frowning Auster seeks the Southern Sphere,
And rots with endless Rain, th’ unwholesom year.
High o’re the Clouds, and empty Realms of wind,
The God a clearer space for Heav’n design’d;
Where Fields of Light, and Liquid Æther flow, 85
Purg’d from the pondrous dregs of Earth below.
Scarce had the Pow’r distinguish’d these, when streight
The Stars, no longer overlaid with weight,
Exert their Heads from underneath the Mass,
And upward shoot, and kindle as they pass 90
And with diffusive Light, adorn their Heav’nly place.
Then, every void of Nature to supply,
With Forms of Gods he fills the vacant Skie:
New Herds of Beasts he sends the Plains to share;
New Colonies of Birds, to people Air; 95
And to their Oozy Beds the finny Fish repair.
A Creature of a more Exalted Kind
Was wanting yet, and then was Man design’d:
Conscious of Thought, of more capacious Breast,
For Empire form’d, and fit to rule the rest: 100
Whether with particles of Heav’nly Fire
The God of Nature did his Soul Inspire;
Or Earth, but new divided from the Skie,
And, pliant, still, retain’d th’ Æthereal Energy:
Which Wise Prometheus temper’d into paste, 105
And mixt with living Streams, the Godlike Image cast.
Thus, while the mute Creation downward bend
Their Sight, and to their Earthy Mother tend,
Man looks aloft; and with erected Eyes
Beholds his own Hereditary Skies. 110
From such rude Principles our Form began,
And Earth was Metamorphos’d into Man.
The Golden Age.
The Golden Age was first; when Man yet New,
No Rule but uncorrupted Reason knew;
And, with a Native bent, did Good pursue. 115
Un-forc’d by Punishment, un-aw’d by fear,
His words were simple, and his Soul sincere:
Needless was written Law, where none opprest;
The Law of Man was written in his Breast:
No suppliant Crowds before the Judge appear’d: 120
No Court Erected yet, nor Cause was hear’d;
But all was safe, for Conscience was their Guard.
The Mountain Trees in distant prospect please,
E’re yet the Pine descended to the Seas;
E’re Sails were spread, new Oceans to explore; 125
And happy Mortals, unconcern’d for more,
Confin’d their Wishes to their native Shoar.
No Walls were yet; nor Fence, nor Moat nor Mownd;
Nor Drum was heard, nor Trumpets angry Sound:
Nor Swords were forg’d; but, void of Care and Crime, 130
The soft Creation slept away their time.
The teeming Earth, yet guiltless of the Plough,
And unprovok’d, did fruitful Stores allow:
Content with Food, which Nature freely bred,
On Wildings, and on Strawberries they fed; 135
Cornels and Bramble-berries gave the rest,
And falling Acorns furnisht out a Feast.
The Flow’rs un-sown, in Fields and Meadows reign’d,
And Western Winds immortal Spring maintain’d.
In following Years, the bearded Corn ensu’d 140
From Earth unask’d, nor was that Earth renew’d.
From Veins of Vallies, Milk and Nectar broke;
And Honey sweating through the pores of Oak.
The Silver Age.
But when Good Saturne, banish’d from above,
Was driv’n to Hell, the World was under Jove. 145
Succeeding times a Silver Age behold,
Excelling Brass, but more excell’d by Gold.
Then Summer, Autumn, Winter did appear;
And Spring was but a Season of the Year.
The Sun his Annual course obliquely made, 150
Good days contracted, and enlarg’d the bad.
Then Air with sultry Heats began to glow,
The Wings of Winds were clogg’d with Ice and Snow;
And shivering Mortals, into Houses driven,
Sought shelter from th’ inclemency of Heav’n. 155
Those Houses, then, were Caves, or homely Sheds,
With twining Oziers fenc’d; and Moss their Beds.
Then Ploughs, for Seed, the fruitful Furrows broke,
And Oxen labour’d first beneath the Yoke.
The Brazen Age.
To this next came in course the Brazen Age: 160
A Warlike Offspring prompt to Bloody Rage,
Not Impious yet —— —
The Iron Age.
—— — Hard Steel succeeded then;
And stubborn as the Mettal, were the Men.
Truth, Modesty, and Shame, the World forsook: 165
Fraud, Avarice, and Force, their places took.
Then Sails were spread, to every Wind that blew;
Raw were the Sailors, and the
Depths were new:
Trees rudely hollow’d, did the Waves sustain;
E’re Ships in Triumph plough’d the watry Plain. 170
Then Land-marks limited to each his right:
For all before was common, as the light.
Nor was the Ground alone requir’d to bear
Her annual Income to the crooked share;
But greedy Mortals, rummaging her Store, 175
Digg’d from her Entrails first the precious Oar;
Which next to Hell the prudent Gods had laid;
And that alluring ill to sight displaid.
Thus cursed Steel, and more accursed Gold,
Gave Mischief Birth, and made that Mischief bold: 180
And double death did wretched Man invade,
By Steel assaulted, and by Gold betray’d.
Now, (brandish’d Weapons glitt’ring in their Hands)
Mankind is broken loose from moral Bands;
No Rights of Hospitality remain: 185
The Guest by him who harbour’d him, is slain:
The Son in Law pursues the Father’s life;
The Wife her Husband murders, he the Wife.
The Step-dame Poyson for the Son prepares;
The Son inquires into his Father’s years. 190
Faith flies, and Piety in Exile mourns;
And Justice, here opprest, to Heav’n returns.
The Gyants War.
Nor were the Gods themselves more safe above;
Against beleagur’d Heav’n, the Gyants move.
Hills piled on Hills, on Mountains, Mountains lie, 195
To make their mad approaches to the Skie.
Till Jove, no longer patient, took his time
T’ avenge with Thunder their audacious Crime:
Red Light’ning play’d along the Firmament,
And their demolish’t Works to pieces rent. 200