Books: Poemata (William Cowper, trans.)
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John Milton >> Poemata (William Cowper, trans.)
1 A river in Sicily.
2 Subject of Theocritus's Lament for Daphnis (Idyl i) in which
Thyrsis is the mourning shepherd. Hylas was taken away by nymphs
who admired his beauty and Bion is the subject of Moschus's
Epitaph of Bion (Idyl iii).
3 Goddess who was protector of the flocks. Faunus is god of the
plains and hills around Rome.
4 Characters in Ovid's Metamorphoses.
5 A river near St. Albans. Cassivellaunus was a British chieftan
who opposed Caesar. See Gallic War (v, xi.)
6 Medicine. Diodati took medical training at Cambridge.
7 Milton's planned epic opened with the Dardanian (i.e. Trojan)
fleet, under Brutus, approaching England.
8 Brennus and Belinus were kings of Brittany who, according to
Spencer's Fairie Queen, "rasackt Greece" and conquered France
and Germany. Arviragus led the Britons against Claudius.
9 See Malory's Morte d'Arthur.
10 A river in Oxford.
11 Goddess of the Dawn.
To Mr. John Rouse,
Librarian of the University of Oxford,
An Ode1 on a Lost Volume of my Poems Which He
Desired Me to Replace that He Might Add
Them to My Other Works Deposited in the Library.
Strophe I
My two-fold Book! single in show
But double in Contents,
Neat, but not curiously adorn'd
Which in his early youth,
A poet gave, no lofty one in truth
Although an earnest wooer of the Muse--
Say, while in cool Ausonian2 shades
Or British wilds he roam'd,
Striking by turns his native lyre,
By turns the Daunian lute 10
And stepp'd almost in air,--
Antistrophe
Say, little book, what furtive hand
Thee from thy fellow books convey'd,
What time, at the repeated suit
Of my most learned Friend,
I sent thee forth an honour'd traveller
From our great city to the source of Thames,
Caerulean sire!
Where rise the fountains and the raptures ring,
Of the Aonian choir,3 20
Durable as yonder spheres,
And through the endless lapse of years
Secure to be admired?
Strophe II
Now what God or Demigod
For Britain's ancient Genius mov'd
(If our afflicted land
Have expiated at length the guilty sloth
Of her degen'rate sons)
Shall terminate our impious feuds,
And discipline, with hallow'd voice, recall? 30
Recall the Muses too
Driv'n from their antient seats
In Albion, and well-nigh from Albion's shore,
And with keen Phoebean shafts
Piercing th'unseemly birds,
Whose talons menace us
Shall drive the harpy race from Helicon afar?
Antistrophe
But thou, my book, though thou hast stray'd,
Whether by treach'ry lost
Or indolent neglect, thy bearer's fault, 40
From all thy kindred books,
To some dark cell or cave forlorn,
Where thou endur'st, perhaps,
The chafing of some hard untutor'd hand,
Be comforted--
For lo! again the splendid hope appears
That thou may'st yet escape
The gulphs of Lethe, and on oary wings
Mount to the everlasting courts of Jove,
Strophe III
Since Rouse desires thee, and complains 50
That, though by promise his,
Thou yet appear'st not in thy place
Among the literary noble stores
Giv'n to his care,
But, absent, leav'st his numbers incomplete.
He, therefore, guardian vigilant
Of that unperishing wealth,
Calls thee to the interior shrine, his charge,
Where he intends a richer treasure far
Than Ion kept--(Ion, Erectheus' son4 60
Illustrious, of the fair Creusa born)--
In the resplendent temple of his God,
Tripods of gold and Delphic gifts divine.
Antistrophe
Haste, then, to the pleasant groves,
The Muses' fav'rite haunt;
Resume thy station in Apollo's dome,
Dearer to him
Than Delos, or the fork'd Parnassian hill.
Exulting go,
Since now a splendid lot is also thine, 70
And thou art sought by my propitious friend;
For There thou shalt be read
With authors of exalted note,
The ancient glorious Lights of Greece and Rome.
Epode
Ye, then my works, no longer vain
And worthless deem'd by me!
Whate'er this steril genius has produc'd
Expect, at last, the rage of Envy spent,
An unmolested happy home,
Gift of kind Hermes and my watchful friend, 80
Where never flippant tongue profane
Shall entrance find,
And whence the coarse unletter'd multitude
Shall babble far remote.
Perhaps some future distant age
Less tinged with prejudice and better taught
Shall furnish minds of pow'r
To judge more equally.
Then, malice silenced in the tomb,
Cooler heads and sounder hearts, 90
Thanks to Rouse, if aught of praise
I merit, shall with candour weigh the claim.
1 This Ode consists of three strophes and the same of antistrophes,
concluding with an epode. Although these units do not perfectly
correspond in their number of verses or in divisions which are
strictly parallel, nevertheless I have divided them in this
fashion with a view to convenience or the reader, rather than
conformity with the ancient rules of versification. In other
respects a poem of this kind should, perhaps, more correctly be
called monostrophic. The metres are in part regularly patterned
and in part free. There are two Phaleucian verses which admit a
spondee in the third foot, a practice often followed by Catullus
in the second foot. [Milton's Note, translated--W.C.]
1 This Ode is rendered without rhyme, that it might more
adequately represent the original, which, as Milton himself
informs us, is of no certain measure. It may possibly for this
reason disappoint the reader, though it cost the writer more
labour than the translation of any other piece in the whole
collection.--W.C.
2 Italian.
3 The Muses, who dwelt on Mount Helicon in Aonia.
4 See Euripides' Ion.
Paradisum Amissam, Lib. II 1
Quales aerii montis de vertice nubes
Cum surgunt, et jam Boreae tumida ora quierunt,
Caelum hilares abdit spissa caligine vultus,
Nimbosumque nives aut imbres cogitat aether:
Tum si jucundo tandem sol prodeat ore, 5
Et croceo montes et pascua lumine tingat,
Gaudent omnia, aves mulcent concentibus agros,
Balatuque ovium colles vallesque resultant.
1 Translation of a simile in Paradise Lost,
"As when, from mountaintops, the dusky clouds
Ascending, &c.--"(ii. 488)--W.C.
3. TRANSLATIONS OF THE ITALIAN POEMS
I
Fair Lady, whose harmonious name the Rheno
Through all his grassy vale delights to hear,
Base were, indeed, the wretch, who could forbear
To love a spirit elegant as thine,
That manifests a sweetness all divine, 5
Nor knows a thousand winning acts to spare,
And graces, which Love's bow and arrows are,
Temp'ring thy virtues to a softer shine.
When gracefully thou speak'st, or singest gay
Such strains as might the senseless forest move, 10
Ah then--turn each his eyes and ears away,
Who feels himself unworthy of thy love!
Grace can alone preserve him, e'er the dart
Of fond desire yet reach his inmost heart.
II
As on a hill-top rude, when closing day
Imbrowns the scene, some past'ral maiden fair
Waters a lovely foreign plant with care,
That scarcely can its tender bud display
Borne from its native genial airs away, 5
So, on my tongue these accents new and rare
Are flow'rs exotic, which Love waters there,
While thus, o sweetly scornful! I essay
Thy praise in verse to British ears unknown,
And Thames exchange for Arno's fair domain; 10
So Love has will'd, and oftimes Love has shown
That what He wills he never wills in vain.
Oh that this hard and steril breast might be
To Him who plants from heav'n, a soil as free.
III
Canzone.
They mock my toil--the nymphs and am'rous swains--
And whence this fond attempt to write, they cry,
Love-songs in language that thou little know'st?
How dar'st thou risque to sing these foreign strains?
Say truly. Find'st not oft thy purpose cross'd, 5
And that thy fairest flow'rs, Here, fade and die?
Then with pretence of admiration high--
Thee other shores expect, and other tides,
Rivers on whose grassy sides
Her deathless laurel-leaf with which to bind 10
Thy flowing locks, already Fame provides;
Why then this burthen, better far declin'd?
Speak, Canzone! for me.--The Fair One said who guides
My willing heart, and all my Fancy's flights,
"This is the language in which Love delights." 15
IV
To Charles Diodati.
Charles--and I say it wond'ring--thou must know
That I who once assum'd a scornful air,
And scoff'd at love, am fallen in his snare
(Full many an upright man has fallen so)
Yet think me not thus dazzled by the flow 5
Of golden locks, or damask cheek; more rare
The heart-felt beauties of my foreign fair;
A mien majestic, with dark brows, that show
The tranquil lustre of a lofty mind;
Words exquisite, of idioms more than one, 10
And song, whose fascinating pow'r might bind,
And from her sphere draw down the lab'ring Moon,
With such fire-darting eyes, that should I fill
My ears with wax, she would enchant me still.
V.
Lady! It cannot be, but that thine eyes
Must be my sun, such radiance they display
And strike me ev'n as Phoebus him, whose way
Through torrid Libya's sandy desert lies.
Meantime, on that side steamy vapours rise 5
Where most I suffer. Of what kind are they,
New as to me they are, I cannot say,
But deem them, in the Lover's language--sighs.
Some, though with pain, my bosom close conceals,
Which, if in part escaping thence, they tend 10
To soften thine, they coldness soon congeals.
While others to my tearful eyes ascend,
Whence my sad nights in show'rs are ever drown'd,
'Till my Aurora comes, her brow with roses bound.
VI.1
Enamour'd, artless, young, on foreign ground,
Uncertain whither from myself to fly,
To thee, dear Lady, with an humble sigh
Let me devote my heart, which I have found
By certain proofs not few, intrepid, sound, 5
Good, and addicted to conceptions high:
When tempests shake the world, and fire the sky,
It rests in adamant self-wrapt around,
As safe from envy, and from outrage rude,
From hopes and fears, that vulgar minds abuse, 10
As fond of genius, and fix'd fortitude,
Of the resounding lyre, and every Muse.
Weak you will find it in one only part,
Now pierc'd by Love's immedicable dart.
1 It has ever been thought difficult for an author to speak
gracefully of himself, especially in commendation; but Milton,
who was gifted with powers to overcome difficulties, of every
kind, is eminently happy in this particular. He has spoken
frequently of himself both in verse and prose, and he continually
shows that he thought highly of his own endowments; but if he
praises himself, he does it with that dignified frankness and
simplicity of conscious truth, which renders even egotism
respectable and delightful: whether he describes the fervent and
tender emotions of his juvenile fancy, or delineates his situation
in the decline of life, when he had to struggle with calamity
and peril, the more insight he affords us into his own sentiments
and feelings, the more reason we find both to love, and revere
him.--W.C.
Appendix: Cowper's translation of Andrew Marvell's "To Christina,
Queen of Sweden," &c.
To Christina, Queen of Sweden, with Cromwell's Picture.1
Christina, maiden of heroic mien!
Star of the North! of northern stars the queen!
Behold, what wrinkles I have earn'd, and how
The iron cask still chafes my vet'ran brow,
While following fate's dark footsteps, I fulfill
The dictates of a hardy people's will.
But soften'd, in thy sight, my looks appear,
Not to all Queens or Kings alike severe.
1 Written on Cromwell's behalf, this poem was originally attr. to
Milton, hence Cowper's inclusion of it. It has since been
recognized as the work of Marvell.
Appendix: Poems from the Latin Prose Works. Translated by various
hands.
Epigram From "Pro Populo Anglicano Defensio" (I650).
Translated by Joseph Washington (I692).
On Salmasius's "Hundreda."
Who taught Salmasius, the French chatt'ring Pye,1
To try at English, and "Hundreda"2 cry?
The starving Rascal, flush'd with just a Hundred
English Jacobusses,3 "Hundreda" blunder'd.
An outlaw'd King's last stock.--a hundred more,
Would make him pimp for th'Antichristian Whore;4
And in Rome's praise employ his poison'd Breath,
Who once threatn'd to stink the Pope to death.
1 i.e. The Magpie.
2 Salmasius attempted to do certain English words in his Latin.
a "Hundred" was a division of an English shire.
3 The Jacobus was a gold coin named for James I.
4 Salmasius attacked the Pope in "De Primatu Papae" in I645.
Epigrams from the "Defensio Secunda" (I654).
Translated by Robert Fellowes (I878?).
On Salmasius.
Rejoice, ye herrings, and ye ocean fry,
Who, in cold winter, shiver in the sea;
The knight, Salmasius,1 pitying your hard lot,
Bounteous intends your nakedness to clothe,
And, lavish of his paper, is preparing
Chartaceous jackets to invest you all,
Jackets resplendent with his arms and fame,
Exultingly parade the fishy mart,
And sing his praise with checquered, livery,
That well might serve to grace the letter'd store
Of those who pick their noses and ne'er read.
1 A play on "Salmon."
[Lines Concerning Alexander More.]1
O Pontia, teeming with More's Gallic seed,
You have been Mor'd2 enough, and no More need.
1 Wrongly attr. to Milton, who prefaced these lines with,
"Ingenii, hoc distochon" [Some ingenious person wrote this
distich]. Milton wrongly believed More to be the author of a libel
against him.
2 It is impossible to give a literally exact rendering of this. I
have played upon the name as well as I could in English.--R.F.
Appendix: Translation of a Letter to Thomas Young,
Translated by Robert Fellows (I878?).
To My Tutor, Thomas Young.
Though I had determined, my excellent tutor, to write you an
epistle in verse, yet I could not satisfy myself without
sending also another in prose, for the emotions of my
gratitude, which your services so justly inspire, are too
expansive and too warm to be expressed in the confined limits
of poetical metre; they demand the unconstrained freedom of
prose, or rather the exuberant richness of Asiatic
phraseology: thought it would far exceed my power accurately
to describe how much I am obliged to you, even if I could
drain dry all the sources of eloquence, or exhaust all the
topics of discourse which Aristotle or the famed Parisian
logician has collected. You complain with truth that my
letters have been very few and very short; but I do not
grieve at the omission of so pleasurable a duty, so much as I
rejoice at having such a place in your regard as makes you
anxious often to hear from me. I beseech you not to take it
amiss, that I have not now written to you for more than three
years; but with you usual benignity to impute it rather to
circumstances than to inclination. For Heaven knows that I
regard you as a parent, that I have always treated you with
the utmost respect, and that I was unwilling to tease you
with my compositions. And I was anxious that if my letters
had nothing else to recommend them, they might be recommended
by their rarity. And lastly, since the ardour of my regard
makes me imagine that you are always present, that I hear
your voice and contemplate your looks; and as thus... I charm
away my grief by the illusion of your presence, I was afraid
when I wrote to you the idea of your distant separation
should forcibly rush upon my mind; and that the pain of your
absence, which was almost soothed into quiescence, should
revive and disperse the pleasurable dream. I long since
received your desirable present of the Hebrew Bible. I wrote
this at my lodgings in the city, not, as usual, surrounded by
my books. If, therefore, there be anything in this letter
which either fails to give pleasure, or which frustrates
expectation, it shall be compensated by a more elaborate
composition as soon as I return to the dwelling of the muses.1
--London, March 26, I625.
1 i.e. Cambridge.
Appendix: Translations of the Italian Poems
By George MacDonald (I876).
I.
O lady fair, whose honoured name doth grace
Green vale and noble ford of Rheno's stream--
Of all worth void the man I surely deem
Whom thy fair soul enamoureth not apace,
When softly self-revealed in outer space 5
By actions sweet with which thy will doth teem,
And gifts--Love's bow and shafts in their esteem
Who tend the flowers one day shall crown thy race.
When thou dost lightsome talk or gladsome sing,--
A power to draw the hill-trees, rooted hard-- 10
The doors of eyes and ears let that man keep,
Who knows himself unworthy thy regard.
Grace from above alone him help can bring,
That passion in his heart strike not too deep.
II.
As in the twilight brown, on hillside bare,
Useth to go the little shepherd maid,
Watering some strange fair plant, poorly displaced,
Not thriving in unwonted soil and air,
Far from its native springtime's genial care; 5
So on my ready tongue hath Love assayed
Of a strange speech to wake new flower and blade,
While I of thee, in scorn so debonair,
Sing songs whose sense is to my people lost-
Yield the fair Thames, and the fair Arno gain. 10
Love willed it so, and I, at others' cost,
Already knew Love never willed in vain.
Ill would slow mind, hard heart reward the toil
Of him who plants from heaven so good a soil,
III.
Canzone.
Ladies, and youths that in their favour bask,
With mocking smiles come round me: Prithee, why,
Why dost thou with an unknown language cope,
Love-riming? Whence the courage for the task?
Tell us--so never frustrate be thy hope, 5
And the best thoughts still to thy thinking fly!
Thus mocking they: Thee other streams, they cry,
Thee other shores, another sea demands,
Upon whose verdant strands
Are budding, every moment, for thy hair, 10
Immortal guerdon, leaves that will not die;
An over-burden on thy back why bear?--
Song,1 I will tell thee; thou for me reply:
My lady saith-and her word is my heart--
This is Love's mother-tongue, and fits his part. 15
1 Ital. "Canzone."
IV.
To Charles Diodati.
Diodati--and I muse to tell the tale--
This stubborn I, that Love was wont despise,
And made a laughter of his snares, unwise,
Am fallen, where honest feet will sometimes fail.
Not golden tresses, not a cheek vermeil, 5
Bewitched me thus; but, in a new-world guise,
A beauty that the heart beatifies;
A mien where high-souled modesty I hail;
Eyes softly splendent with a darkness dear;
A speech that more than one tongue vassal hath; 10
A voice that in the middle hemisphere
Might make the tired moon wander from her path;
While from her eyes such potent flashes shoot,
That to stop hard my ears would little boot.
V.
Truly,1 my lady sweet, your blessed eyes--
It cannot be but that they are my sun;
As strong they smite me as he smites upon
The man whose way o'er Libyan desert lies,
The while a vapour hot doth me surprise, 5
From that side springing where my pain doth won;
Perchance accustomed lovers--I am none,
And know not--in their speech call such things sighs;
A part shut in, itself, sore vexed, conceals,
And shakes my bosom; part, undisciplined, 10
Breaks forth, and all about in ice congeals;
But that which to mine eyes the way doth find,
Makes all my nights in silent showers abound,
Until my Dawn2 returns, with roses crowned.
1 Correcting MacDonald's "Certes" (Ital. "Per Certo").
2 [Ital.] "Alba"-I suspect a hint at the lady's name.-G.M.
VI.
A modest youth, in love a simpleton,
When to escape myself I seek and shift,
Lady, I of my heart the humble gift
Vow unto thee. In trials many a one,
True, brave, it has been, firm to things begun, 5
By gracious, prudent, worthy thoughts uplift.
When roars the great world, in the thunder-rift,
Its own self, armour adamant, it will don,
From chance and envy as securely barred,
From hopes and fears that still the crowd abuse, 10
As inward gifts and high worth coveting,
And the resounding lyre, and every Muse.
There only wilt thou find it not so hard
Where Love hath fixed his ever cureless sting.