How dares a stranger, with designs so vain, Marriage and hospitable rights profane? Was it for this, your fleet did shelter find From swelling seas, and ev'ry faithless wind? (For though a distan: country brought you forth, Your usage here was equal to your worth.) Does this deserve to be rewarded so? Did you come here a stranger or a foe? Your partial judgment may perhaps complain, And think me barbarous for my just disdain. Ill-bred then let me be, but not unchaste, Nor my clear fame with any spot defac'd. Though in my face there's no affected frown, Nor in my carriage a feign'd niceness shown, I keep my honour still without a stain, Nor has my love made any coxcomb vain. Your boldness I with admiration see; What hope had you to gain a queen like me? Because a hero forc'd me once away, Am I thought fit to be a second prey? Had I been won, I had deserv'd your blame, But sure my part was nothing but the shame. Yet the base theft to him no fruit did bear, I 'scap'd unhurt by any thing but fear. Rude force might some unwilling kisses gain, But that was all he ever could obtain. You on such terms would ne'er have let me go; Were he like you, we had not parted so. Untouch'd the youth restor❜d me to my friends, And modest usage made me some amends. 'T is virtue to repent a vicious deed, Did he repent, that Paris might succeed? Sure 't is some fate that sets me above wrongs, Yet still exposes me to busy tongues. I'll not complain; for who's displeas'd with love, If it sincere, discreet, and constant prove? But that I fear; not that I think you base, Or doubt the blooming beauties of my face; But all your sex is subject to deceive, And ours, alas, too willing to believe. Yet others yield; and love o'ercomes the best : But why should I not shine above the rest? Fair Leda's story seems at first to be A fit example ready form'd for me. But she was cozen'd by a borrow'd shape, And under harmless feathers felt a rape. If I should yield, what reason could I use? By what mistake the loving crime excuse? Her fault was in her powerful lover lost; But of what Jupiter have I to boast? Though you to heroes and to kings succeed, Our famous race does no addition need; And great alliances but useless prove

To one that comes herself from mighty Jove.
Go then, and boast in some less haughty place
Your Phrygian blood, and Priam's ancient race;
Which I would show I valu'd, if I durst;
You are the fifth from Jove, but I the first.

The crown of Troy is powerful I confess;
But I have reason to think ours no less.
Your letter, fill'd with promises of all
That men can good, and women pleasant call,
Gives expectation such an ample field,
As would move goddesses themselves to yield.
But if I e'er offend great Juno's laws,
Yourself shall be the dear, the only cause:
Either my honour I'll to death maintain,
Or follow you, without mean thoughts of gain.
Not that so fair a present I despise ;

We like the gift, when we the giver prize.
But 't is your love moves me, which made you
take

Such pains, and run such hazards for my sake.
I have perceiv'd (though I dissembled too)
A thousand things that love has made you do.
Your eager eyes would almost dazzle mine,
In which, wild man, your wanton thoughts would
shine.
[stand,
Sometimes you'd sigh, sometimes disorder'á
And with unusual ardour press my hand;
Contrive just after me to take the glass,
Nor would you let the least occasion pass:
When oft I fear'd, I did not mind alone, [done:
And blushing sate for things which you have
Then murmur'd to myself, He'll for my sake
Do any thing; I hope 't was no mistake.
Oft have I read within this pleasing grove,
Under my name, those charming words, I love.
I, frowning, seem'd not to believe your flame;
But now, alas, am come to write the same.
If I were capable to do amiss,

I could not but be sensible of this.
For oh! your face has such peculiar charms,
That who can hold from flying to your arms!
But what I ne'er can have without offence,
May some blest maid possess with innocence.
Pleasure may tempt, but virtue more should

move;

O learn of me to want the thing you love.
What you desire is sought by all mankind :
As you have eyes, so others are not blind.
Like you they see, like you my charms adore ;
They wish not less, but you dare venture more.
Oh! had you then upon our coasts been brought,
My virgin love when thousand rivals sought,
You had I seen, you should have had my

voice;

Nor could my husband justly blame my choice,
For both our hopes, alas! you come too late;
Another now is master of my fate.
More to my wish I could have liv'd with you,
And yet my present lot can undergo.
Cease to solicit a weak woman's will,
And urge not her you love to so much ill.
But let me live contented as I may,
And make not my unspotted fame your prey.

Some right you claim, since naked to your

eyes

Three goddesses disputed beauty's prize :
One offer'd valour, t'other crowns; but she
Obtain'd her cause, who, smiling, promis'd me.
But first I am not of belief so light, [sight:
To think such nymphs would show you such a
Yet granting this, the other part is feign'd;
A bribe so mean your sentence had not gain'd.
With partial eyes I should myself regard,
To think that Venus made me her reward;
I humbly am content with human praise;
A goddess's applause would envy raise.
But be it as you say; for, 't is confest,
The men, who flatter highest, please us best.
That I suspect it, ought not to displease;
For miracles are not believ'd with ease.
One joy I have, that I had Venus' voice;
A greater yet, that you confirm'd her choice;
That proffer'd laurels, promis'd sovereignty,
Juno and Pallas, you contemn'd for me.
Am I your empire then, and your renown?
What heart of rock, but must by this be won?
And yet bear witness, O you Powers above,
How rude I am in all the arts of love!
My hand is yet untaught to write to men :
This is th' essay of my unpractis'd pen.
Happy those nymphs, whom use has perfect
made!

I think all crime, and tremble at a shade.
E'en while I write, my fearful conscious eyes
Look often back, misdoubting a surprise.
For now the rumour spreads among the crowd,
At court it whispers, but in town aloud.
Dissemble you, whate'er you hear 'em say:
To leave off loving were your better way;
Yet if you will dissemble it, you may.
Love secretly the absence of my lord
More freedom gives, but does not all afford:
Long is his journey, long will be his stay;
Call'd by affairs of consequence away.
To go, or not, when unresolv'd he stood,
I bid him make what swift return he could:
Then kissing me, he said, I recommend
All to thy care, but most my Trojan friend;
I smil'd at what he innocently said,
And only answer'd, You shall be obey'd.
Propitious winds have borne him far from hence,
But let not this secure your confidence.
Absent he is, yet absent he commands:
You know the proverb, "Princes have long
hands."

My fame's my burden: for the more I'm prais'd,
A juster ground of jealousy is rais'd.
Were I less fair, I might have been more blest:
Great beauty through great danger is possess'd.
To leave me here his venture was not hard,
Because he thought my virtue was my guard.

He fear'd my face, but trusted to my life,
The beauty doubted, but believ'd the wife.
You bid me use th' occasion while I can,
Put in our hands by the good easy man.
I would, and yet I doubt, 'twixt love and
fear;

One draws me from you, and one brings me

near.

Our flames are mutual, and my husband's gone:
The nights are long; I fear to lie alone.
One house contains us, and weak walls divide,
And you 're too pressing to be long denied.
Let me not live, but every thing conspires
To join our loves, and yet my fear retires.
You court with words, when you should force
employ :

A rape is requisite to shame-fac'd joy.
Indulgent to the wrongs which we receive,
Our sex can suffer what we dare not give.
What have I said? for both of us 't were best,
Our kindled fire if each of us supprest.
The faith of strangers is too prone to change,
And, like themselves, their wandering passions
range,

Hypsipile, and the fond Minonian maid,
Were both by trusting of their guests betray'd,
How can I doubt that other men deceive,
When you yourself did fair Enone leave?
But lest I should upbraid your treachery,
You make a merit of that crime to me.
Yet grant you were to faithful love inclin'd,
Your weary Trojans wait but for a wind.
Should you prevail; while I assign the night,
Your sails are hoisted, and you take your flight:
Some bawling mariner our love destroys,
And breaks asunder our unfinish'd joys.
But I with you may leave the Spartan port,
To view the Trojan wealth and Prian's court:
Shown while I see, I shall expose my fame,
And fill a foreign country with my shame.
In Asia what reception shall I find?
And what dishonour leave in Greece behind?
What will your brothers, Priam, Hecuba,
And what will all your modest matrons say?
E'en you, when on this action you reflect,
My future conduct justly may suspect ;
And whate'er stranger lands upon your coast,
Conclude me, by your own example, lost.
I from your rage a strumpet's name shall hear
While you forget what part in it you bear.
You, my crime's author, will my crime upbraid:
Deep under ground, oh, let me first be laid!
You boast the pomp and plenty of your land,
And promise all shall be at my command:
Your Trojan wealth, believe me, I despise ;
My own poor native land has dearer ties.
Should I be injur'd on your Phrygian shore,
What help of kindred could I there implore?

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 ÆNEAS. 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 atlast 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) ne 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 iny 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, prepare

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'à,
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 thea
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 litte, 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.
False 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

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 man 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

sworn,

Who will in impious hands no more be borne
Thy sacrilegious worship they disdain,
And rather would the Grecian fires sustain.
Perhaps my greatest shame is still to come,
And part of thee lies hid within my womb.

(

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 the.
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 now,
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;
Renee, I will not suffer thee to stay.
Thy way men would be with ease content;
Their sats
ire tatter'd, and their masts are
spent
If by no meriti thy mind can move,
What thou den st my merit, give my love.
Stay, till I tears 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, 2 glove 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 nade 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
Encas 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.
Sramen 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:
Fey to govern in his tender age,
Lis fierce Achilles in his pupillage:
That hero, born for conquest, trembling stood
Before 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 jaw,
And stubborn Love shall bend beneath my.
sway,

Though struggling oft he strives to disobey. He shakes his torch, he wounds me with i 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 affos, Nor auspice from the flight of chattering birds, Nor Clio, nor her sisters have I seen ; As Hesiod saw them on the shady geen: Experience makes my work; a trut, so itted You may believe; and Venus be my guide.

Far hence, ye vestals, be, who hind your

hair;

And wives, who gowns below your aukles wour.