On Wit and Learning the just prize bestow,
For Fame is all we must expect below.’ 305
The Goddess heard, and bade the Muses raise
The golden trumpet of eternal praise:
From pole to pole the winds diffuse the sound,
That fills the circuit of the world around;
Not all at once, as thunder breaks the cloud, 310
The notes at first were rather sweet than loud;
By just degrees they every moment rise,
Fill the wide earth, and gain upon the skies.
At every breath were balmy odours shed,
Which still grew sweeter as they wider spread; 315
Less fragrant scents th’ unfolding rose exhales,
Or spices breathing in Arabian gales.
Next these the good and just, an awful train,
Thus on their knees address the sacred fane:
‘Since living virtue is with envy curs’d, 320
And the best men are treated like the worst,
Do thou, just Goddess, call our merits forth,
And give each deed th’ exact intrinsic worth.’
‘Not with bare justice shall your act be crown’d
(Said Fame), but high above desert renown’d: 325
Let fuller notes th’ applauding world amaze,
And the loud clarion labour in your praise.’
This band dismiss’d, behold another crowd
Preferr’d the same request, and lowly bow’d;
The constant tenor of whose well-spent days 330
No less deserv’d a just return of praise.
But straight the direful trump of Slander sounds;
Thro’ the big dome the doubling thunder bounds;
Loud as the burst of cannon rends the skies,
The dire report thro’ every region flies, 335
In every ear incessant rumours rung,
And gath’ring scandals grew on every tongue.
From the black trumpet’s rusty concave broke
Sulphureous flames, and clouds of rolling smoke:
The pois’nous vapour blots the purple skies, 340
And withers all before it as it flies.
A troop came next, who crowns and armour wore,
And proud defiance in their looks they bore:
‘For thee (they cried) amidst alarms and strife,
We sail’d in tempests down the stream of life; 345
For thee whole nations fill’d with flames and blood,
And swam to Empire thro’ the purple flood:
Those ills we dared, thy inspiration own;
What virtue seem’d, was done for thee alone.’
‘Ambitious fools!’ (the Queen replied, and frown’d) 350
‘Be all your acts in dark oblivion drown’d;
There sleep forgot, with mighty tyrants gone,
Your statues moulder’d, and your names unknown!’
A sudden cloud straight snatch’d them from my sight,
And each majestic phantom sunk in night. 355
Then came the smallest tribe I yet had seen;
Plain was their dress, and modest was their mien:
‘Great Idol of mankind! we neither claim
The praise of Merit, nor aspire to Fame!
But safe in deserts from th’ applause of men, 360
Would die unheard of, as we liv’d unseen;
‘T is all we beg thee, to conceal from sight
Those acts of goodness which themselves requite.
O let us still the secret joy partake,
To follow Virtue ev’n for Virtue’s sake.’ 365
‘And live there men who slight immortal fame?
Who then with incense shall adore our name?
But, mortals! know, ‘t is still our greatest pride
To blaze those virtues which the good would hide.
Rise! Muses, rise! add all your tuneful breath; 370
These must not sleep in darkness and in death.’
She said: in air the trembling music floats,
And on the winds triumphant swell the notes;
So soft, tho’ high, so loud, and yet so clear,
Ev’n list’ning angels lean’d from Heav’n to hear: 375
To farthest shores th’ ambrosial spirit flies,
Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies.
Next these a youthful train their vows express’d,
With feathers crown’d, with gay embroid’ry dress’d:
‘Hither’ they cried ‘direct your eyes, and see 380
The men of pleasure, dress, and gallantry.
Ours is the place at banquets, balls, and plays,
Sprightly our nights, polite are all our days;
Courts we frequent, where ‘t is our pleasing care
To pay due visits, and address the Fair; 385
In fact, ‘t is true, no nymph we could persuade,
But still in fancy vanquish’d ev’ry maid;
Of unknown Duchesses lewd tales we tell,
Yet, would the world believe us, all were well;
The joy let others have, and we the name, 390
And what we want in pleasure, grant in fame.’
The Queen assents: the trumpet rends the skies,
And at each blast a lady’s honour dies.
Pleas’d with the strange success, vast numbers prest
Around the shrine, and made the same request: 395
‘What you’ she cried, ‘unlearn’d in arts to please,
Slaves to yourselves, and ev’n fatigued with ease,
Who lose a length of undeserving days,
Would you usurp the lover’s dear-bought praise?
To just contempt, ye vain pretenders, fall, 400
The people’s fable, and the scorn of all.’
Straight the black clarion sends a horrid sound,
Loud laughs burst out, and bitter scoffs fly round;
Whispers are heard, with taunts reviling loud,
And scornful hisses run thro’ all the crowd. 405
Last, those who boast of mighty mischiefs done,
Enslave their country, or usurp a throne;
Or who their glory’s dire foundation laid
On sov’reigns ruin’d, or on friends betray’d;
Calm, thinking villains, whom no faith could fix, 410
Of crooked counsels and dark politics;
Of these a gloomy tribe surround the throne,
And beg to make th’ immortal treasons known.
The trumpet roars, long flaky flames expire,
With sparks that seem’d to set the world on fire. 415
At the dread sound pale mortals stood aghast,
And startled Nature trembled with the blast.
This having heard and seen, some Power unknown
Straight changed the scene, and snatch’d me from the throne.
Before my view appear’d a structure fair, 420
Its site uncertain, if in earth or air;
With rapid motion turn’d the mansion round;
With ceaseless noise the ringing walls resound:
Not less in number were the spacious doors
Than leaves on trees, or sands upon the shores; 425
Which still unfolded stand, by night, by day,
Pervious to winds, and open every way.
As flames by nature to the skies ascend,
As weighty bodies to the centre tend,
As to the sea returning rivers roll, 430
And the touch’d needle trembles to the pole,
Hither, as to their proper place, arise
All various sounds from earth, and seas, and skies,
Or spoke aloud, or whisper’d in the ear;
Nor ever silence, rest, or peace is here. 435
As on the smooth expanse of crystal lakes
The sinking stone at first a circle makes;
The trembling surface by the motion stirr’d,
Spreads in a second
circle, then a third;
Wide, and more wide, the floating rings advance, 440
Fill all the wat’ry plain, and to the margin dance:
Thus every voice and sound, when first they break,
On neighb’ring air a soft impression make;
Another ambient circle then they move;
That in its turn, impels the next above; 445
Thro’ undulating air the sounds are sent,
And spread o’er all the fluid element.
There various news I heard of love and strife,
Of peace and war, health, sickness, death, and life,
Of loss and gain, of famine, and of store, 450
Of storms at sea, and travels on the shore,
Of prodigies, and portents seen in air,
Of fires and plagues, and stars with blazing hair,
Of turns of fortune, changes in the state,
The fall of fav’rites, projects of the great, 455
Of old mismanagements, taxations new;
All neither wholly false, nor wholly true.
Above, below, without, within, around,
Confused, unnumber’d multitudes are found,
Who pass, repass, advance, and glide away, 460
Hosts rais’d by fear, and phantoms of a day:
Astrologers, that future fates foreshew,
Projectors, quacks, and lawyers not a few;
And priests, and party zealots, numerous bands,
With home-born lies or tales from foreign lands; 465
Each talk’d aloud, or in some secret place,
And wild impatience stared in ev’ry face.
The flying rumours gather’d as they roll’d,
Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told;
And all who told it added something new, 470
And all who heard it made enlargements too;
In ev’ry ear it spread, on ev’ry tongue it grew.
Thus flying east and west, and north and south,
News travel’d with increase from mouth to mouth.
So from a spark that, kindled first by chance, 475
With gath’ring force the quick’ning flames advance;
Till to the clouds their curling heads aspire,
And towers and temples sink in floods of fire.
When thus ripe lies are to perfection sprung,
Full grown, and fit to grace a mortal tongue, 480
Thro’ thousand vents, impatient, forth they flow,
And rush in millions on the world below.
Fame sits aloft, and points them out their course,
Their date determines, and prescribes their force;
Some to remain, and some to perish soon, 485
Or wane and wax alternate like the moon.
Around, a thousand winged wonders fly,
Borne by the trumpet’s blast, and scatter’d thro’ the sky.
There, at one passage, oft you might survey
A lie and truth contending for the way; 490
And long ‘t was doubtful, both so closely pent,
Which first should issue thro’ the narrow vent:
At last agreed, together out they fly,
Inseparable now the truth and lie;
The strict companions are for ever join’d, 495
And this or that unmix’d, no mortal e’er shall find,
While thus I stood, intent to see and hear,
One came, methought, and whisper’d in my ear:
‘What could thus high thy rash ambition raise?
Art thou, fond youth, a candidate for praise?’ 500
‘‘T is true,’ said I, ‘not void of hopes I came,
For who so fond as youthful bards of Fame?
But few, alas! the casual blessing boast,
So hard to gain, so easy to be lost.
How vain that second life in others’ breath, 505
Th’ estate which wits inherit after death!
Ease, health, and life for this they must resign,
(Unsure the tenure, but how vast the fine!)
The great man’s curse, without the gains, endure,
Be envied, wretched; and be flatter’d, poor; 510
All luckless wits their enemies profest,
And all successful, jealous friends at best.
Nor Fame I slight, nor for her favours call;
She comes unlook’d for, if she comes at all.
But if the purchase costs so dear a price 515
As soothing Folly, or exalting Vice;
Oh! if the Muse must flatter lawless sway,
And follow still where Fortune leads the way;
Or if no basis bear my rising name,
But the fall’n ruins of another’s fame; 520
Then teach me, Heav’n! to scorn the guilty bays;
Drive from my breast that wretched lust of praise;
Unblemish’d let me live or die unknown;
Oh, grant an honest fame, or grant me none!’
Translations from Ovid
Sappho to Phaon
From the Fifteenth of Ovid’s Epistles
Written, according to Pope, in 1707. First published in Tonson’s Ovid, 1712.
SAY, lovely Youth, that dost my heart command,
Can Phaon’s eyes forget his Sappho’s hand?
Must then her name the wretched writer prove,
To thy remembrance lost, as to thy love?
Ask not the cause that I new numbers choose, 5
The lute neglected and the lyric Muse;
Love taught my tears in sadder notes to flow,
And tuned my heart to elegies of woe.
I burn, I burn, as when thro’ ripen’d corn
By driving winds the spreading flames are borne! 10
Phaon to Ætna’s scorching fields retires,
While I consume with more than Ætna’s fires!
No more my soul a charm in music finds;
Music has charms alone for peaceful minds.
Soft scenes of solitude no more can please; 15
Love enters there, and I ‘m my own disease.
No more the Lesbian dames my passion move,
Once the dear objects of my guilty love;
All other loves are lost in only thine,
O youth, ungrateful to a flame like mine! 20
Whom would not all those blooming charms surprise,
Those heav’nly looks, and dear deluding eyes?
The harp and bow would you like Phœbus bear,
A brighter Phœbus Phaon might appear;
Would you with ivy wreathe your flowing hair, 25
Not Bacchus’ self with Phaon could compare:
Yet Phœbus lov’d, and Bacchus felt the flame,
One Daphne warm’d, and one the Cretan dame;
Nymphs that in verse no more could rival me,
Than ev’n those Gods, contend in charms with thee. 30
The Muses teach me all their softest lays,
And the wide world resounds with Sappho’s praise.
Tho’ Great Alcæus more sublimely sings,
And strikes with bolder rage the sounding strings,
No less renown attends the moving lyre, 35
Which Venus tunes, and all her loves inspire;
To me what Nature has in charms denied,
Is well by Wit’s more lasting flames supplied.
Tho’ short my stature, yet my name extends
To Heav’n itself, and earth’s remotest ends. 40
Brown as I am, an Ethiopian dame
Inspired young Perseus with a gen’rous flame;
Turtles and doves of diff’rent hues unite,
And glossy jet is pair’d with shining white.
If to no charms thou wilt thy heart resign, 45
But such as merit, such as equal thine,
By none, alas! by none thou canst employ,
Phaon alone by Phaon must be lov’d!
Yet once thy Sappho could thy cares employ,
Once in he
r arms you centred all your joy: 50
No time the dear remembrance can remove,
For oh! how vast a memory has Love!
My music, then, you could for ever hear,
And all my words were music to your ear.
You stopp’d with kisses my enchanting tongue, 55
And found my kisses sweeter than my song.
In all I pleas’d, but most in what was best;
And the last joy was dearer than the rest.
Then with each word, each glance, each motion fired,
You still enjoy’d, and yet you still desired, 60
Till, all dissolving, in the trance we lay,
And in tumultuous raptures died away.
The fair Sicilians now thy soul inflame;
Why was I born, ye Gods, a Lesbian dame?
But ah, beware, Sicilian nymphs! nor boast 65
That wand’ring heart which I so lately lost;
Nor be with all those tempting words abused,
Those tempting words were all to Sappho used.
And you that rule Sicilia’s happy plains,
Have pity, Venus, on your poet’s pains! 70
Shall fortune still in one sad tenor run,
And still increase the woes so soon begun?
Inured to sorrow from my tender years,
My parents’ ashes drank my early tears:
My brother next, neglecting wealth and fame, 75
Ignobly burn’d in a destructive flame:
An infant daughter late my griefs increas’d,
And all a mother’s cares distract my breast.
Alas! what more could Fate itself impose,
But thee, the last, and greatest of my woes? 80
No more my robes in waving purple flow,
Nor on my hand the sparkling diamonds glow;
No more my locks in ringlets curl’d diffuse
The costly sweetness of Arabian dews,
Nor braids of gold the varied tresses bind, 85
That fly disorder’d with the wanton wind:
For whom should Sappho use such arts as these?
He’s gone, whom only she desired to please!
Cupid’s light darts my tender bosom move;
Still is there cause for Sappho still to love: 90
So from my birth the sisters fix’d my doom,
And gave to Venus all my life to come;
Or, while my Muse in melting notes complains,
My yielding heart keeps measure to my strains.
By charms like thine which all my soul have won, 95
Who might not — ah! who would not be undone?
For those Aurora Cephalus might scorn,
And with fresh blushes paint the conscious morn.
For those might Cynthia lengthen Phaon’s sleep,
And bid Endymion nightly tend his sheep. 100
Venus for those had rapt thee to the skies;
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 10
