No More Learning

The father was a practical man, apparently close in matters
of business, but ambitious for his sons, to whom he gave the best
education that the times afforded. It was his desire that both boys
should devote themselves to the law; he placed them at Rome under
the most distinguished masters. Lucius manifested an aptitude for
legal studies, but the hapless Publius found his duty and his inclina-
tion in serious conflict. As he makes confession in the 'Tristia' (Book
iv. , x. ):-
"To me, a lad, the service meet
Of heaven-born maids did seem more sweet,
And secretly the Muse did draw me to her feet.
"Oft cried my father, Still content
To humor such an idle bent?
Even Mæonian Homer did not leave a cent! )
"Stirred by his words, I cast aside
The spell of Helicon, and tried
To clothe my thought in phrase with plainest prose allied.
"But of themselves my words would run
In flowing numbers, and when done,
Whate'er I tried to write, in web of verse was spun. ".
In one part of his training, however, Ovid was not unsuccessful. The
rhetorician Seneca heard him declaim; and says that "when he took
pains he was considered a good declaimer," but that "argumentation
of any kind was irksome to him," and that his discourse resembled
"loose poetry. " His rhetorical studies exerted much influence later
on his verse.
When Ovid was nineteen years of age, the bond of unusual affec-
tion existing between his brother and himself was severed by the
death of Lucius; at this time, he says, "I began to be deprived
of half of myself. " He made a feeble effort to enter civil life, and


## p. 10917 (#129) ##########################################

OVID
10917
held several petty offices; but routine was distasteful to him, and he
preferred to keep himself free from "care-bringing ambition," while.
his passion for poetry constantly grew stronger:—
"Me the Aonian sisters pressed
To court retirement safe, addressed
To that which inclination long had urged as best.
"The poets of the time I sought,
Esteemed them with affection fraught
With reverence; as gods they all were in my thought. »
At some time after his brother's death Ovid studied at Athens, and
made an extended tour in Asia Minor and Sicily in company with the
poet Macer. He became saturated with Greek culture; and many a
passage in his poems has a local coloring due to his inspection of the
spot described.
The earliest productions of our poet were recited in public when
his "beard had only once or twice been cut. " His songs were im-
mediately popular. He became a member of the literary circle of
Rome, and made the acquaintance of prominent men. Having suffi-
cient means to free him from the necessity of labor for his own
support, he mingled with the gay society of the metropolis, and wrote
when in the mood for writing. He secured a house near the temple
of the Capitoline Jupiter, where he lived happily with his third wife;
for the first wife, given to him "when little more than a boy," and
a second wife also, had been speedily divorced.
So the years passed, in pleasure and in the pursuit of his art;
and the poet fondly imagined that all would continue as it had been.
But suddenly, in the latter part of the year 8 A. D. , without a word
of warning, an order came from the Emperor Augustus, directing
him at once to take up his residence at Tomi, a dreary outpost on
the Black Sea, south of the mouths of the Danube. He received the
message when on the island of Elba. Returning to Rome, he made
preparations for his departure; his picture of the distress and con-
fusion of his last night at home (Tristia,' Book i. , iii. ) is among
the most pathetic in ancient literature. He crossed the stormy Adri-
atic in the month of December, and reached Tomi, after a long
and wearisome journey, probably in the spring of 9 A. D. His wife
remained in Rome to intercede for his pardon.
The pretext assigned for the decree of banishment was the publi-
cation of the poet's 'Art of Love'; which, however, had been before
the public for a decade, and was hardly worse in its tendencies than
many other writings of the time. The real reason is often darkly
hinted at by Ovid, but nowhere stated. To discuss the subject at


## p. 10918 (#130) ##########################################

10918
OVID
length would be idle: all things considered, it seems probable that
the poet had involuntarily been a witness to something which, if
known, would compromise some member of the imperial family; and
that it was deemed expedient, as a matter of policy, to remove him
as far from Rome as possible.
The decree was not a formal sentence of exile: Ovid was left in
possession of his property, and did not lose the rights of citizenship.
But his lot was nevertheless a hard one. The climate of Tomi
was so severe that wine froze in the winter. The natives were half-
civilized. The town was wholly without the comforts of life, and
even subject to hostile attacks; especially in winter, when tribes from
the north could cross the Danube on the ice. For a younger man,
full of life and vigor, enforced residence at Tomi would have been a
severe punishment: Ovid was past the age of fifty, beyond the period
when men adjust themselves readily to new surroundings. Absence
from the city for any reason was looked upon by the average Roman
as exile; for the pleasure-loving poet the air of joyous Rome had been
life itself. Who can wonder that his spirit was crushed by the weight
of his misfortune? He sent to Augustus poem after poem, rehearsing
his sorrows and begging for a remission of his sentence, or at least
for a less inhospitable place of banishment. Yet he was not unkindly
to those among whom his lot was cast. He learned the language of
the people of Tomi, and composed in it some verses which the natives
received with tumultuous applause; they honored him with exemption
from public burdens. So long as Augustus lived there was some hope
of pardon; but even this faded away when Tiberius came to the
throne. The poet's health finally succumbed to the climate and to
the strain; he died in 17 A. D. , and was buried at Tomi.
The poems of Ovid may be conveniently arranged in three groups:
Poems of Love, Mythological Poems (Metamorphoses,' 'Fasti'), and
Poems of Exile. The Metamorphoses' and a short fragment ('Hali-
eutica') are written in hexameter verse; all his other poems are in
the elegiac measure, which he brought to the highest perfection.
Noteworthy among the poems of the first group are the 'Love-
Letters' (Epistulæ Heroidum'), assumed to have been written by
the heroines of the olden times to their absent husbands or lovers.
Penelope writes to Ulysses how she lived in constant anxiety for
his safety all through the long and weary Trojan war, and begs
him to return and put an end to her unbearable loneliness. Briseis,
apologizing for her letter "writ in bad Greek by a barbarian hand,»
implores Achilles either to slay her or bid her come back to him.
The fair none, deserted for Helen, reproaches Paris with his fickle-
ness; Medea rages with uncontrollable fury as she recalls to Jason
the rites of his new marriage; and Dido with fond entreaty presses


## p. 10919 (#131) ##########################################

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10919
Eneas to abide at Carthage. Every imaginable phase of passionate
longing and despair comes to expression in these cleverly conceived
epistles, which in the development of thought and in the arrangement
of words show abundant traces of the poet's rhetorical studies.
The 'Loves' ('Amores') consist of forty-nine short poems, written
at different times, and arranged in three books. While the variety
of topics touched upon is great, the 'Loves' as a whole celebrate
the charms of Corinna, whom the poet presents as his mistress. But
there is reason to suppose that Corinna was altogether a fiction,
created by the poet's fancy to furnish a concrete attachment for his
amatory effusions. The most pleasing of these poems is the elegy
on the death of a pet parrot, which has often been imitated; but the
poet hardly anywhere strikes a higher level than in the bold prophecy
of his immortality, at the end of the first book.
The 'Loves' were followed by 'Ars Amatoria' (Art of Love),
which was published about 2 B. C. This was a didactic poem in
three books, concerned with the methods of securing and retaining
the affections. The first two books are addressed to men, the third
to the fair sex. While characterized by psychological insight and a
style of unusual finish, this work reflects conditions so foreign to
those of our day that it does not appeal to modern taste, and it is
very little read.
A supplementary book on 'Love-Cures' ('Remedia
Amoris') published three or four years later, recommends various
expedients for delivering one's self from the thraldom of the tender
passion.
The 'Fasti' (Calendar) is arranged in six books, one for each
month from January to June. Ovid clearly intended to include also
the remaining months of the year, but was prevented by his banish-
ment; the part completed received its final revision at Tomi. Under
each month the days are treated in their order; the myths and
legends associated with each day are skillfully interwoven with the
appropriate details of worship, and a certain amount of astronom-
ical information. Thus, under March 15th, we find a mention of the
festival of Anna Perenna, with an entertaining account of the rites
and festivals in her honor; then come the various stories which
are told to explain how her worship at Rome originated; lastly there
is a reference to the assassination of Julius Cæsar, who fell on that
date. The following day, March 16th, is passed with the statement
that in the morning the fore part of the constellation Scorpio be-
comes visible. Apart from the charm of the 'Fasti' as literature,
the numerous references to Roman history and institutions, and to
details of topography, lend to the poem a peculiar value for the stu-
dent.
The most important work of Ovid is the Metamorphoses,' or
'Transformations,' which comprises about eleven thousand lines, and


## p. 10920 (#132) ##########################################

10920
OVID
is divided into fifteen books. From one of the elegies written at
Tomi (Tristia,' Book i. , vii. ), we learn that when the poet was
banished the work was still incomplete; in a fit of desperation he
burned the manuscript, but as some of his friends had copies, the
poem was preserved. In point of structure, thought, and form the
'Metamorphoses' has characteristics that ally it with both epic and
didactic poetry; but it is more nearly akin to the latter class than
to the former. The purpose is to set forth, in a single narrative,
the changes of form which, following current myths, had taken place
from the beginning of things down to the poet's own time.
The poem begins with the evolution of the world out of chaos; it
closes with the transformation of Julius Cæsar into a star. Between
these limits the poet has blended as it were into a single movement
two hundred and sixteen stories of marvelous change. For the last
two books he drew largely upon Roman sources; the rest of the
matter was taken from the Greek,-the stories following one another
in a kind of chronological order. Notwithstanding the diversity and
amount of the material utilized in the poem, the parts are so well
harmonized, and the transitions are so skillfully made, that the reader
is carried along with interest almost unabated to the end.
The 'Sorrows' (Tristia'), in five books, are made up of short
poems written during the first four years of Ovid's residence at Tomi;
they depict the wretchedness of his condition, and plead for mercy.
Of a similar purport are the 'Letters from the Black Sea' ('Epistulæ
ex Ponto'), in four books, which are addressed to various persons at
Rome, and belong to the period from 12 A. D. to near the end of the
poet's life. The 'Letters' particularly show a marked decline in
poetical power.
Besides these and a few other extant poems, Ovid left several
works that have perished. Chief among them was a tragedy called
'Medea,' to which Quintilian gave high praise.
Poetry with Ovid was the spontaneous expression of an ardent
and sensuous nature; his ideal of poetic art was the ministry of
pleasure. There is in his verse a lack of seriousness which stands
in marked contrast with the tone of Virgil, or even of Horace. His
point of view at all times is that of the drawing-room or the dinner-
table; the tone of his poetry is that of the cultivated social life of
his time. No matter what the theme, the same lightness of touch
is everywhere noticeable. Up to this time, poetic tradition had kept
the gods above the level of common life: Ovid treats them as gen-
tlemen and ladies accustomed to good society, whose jealousies, in-
trigues, and bickerings read very much like a modern novel. In this
as in his treatment of love he simply manifested a tendency of his
age. His easy relation with the reader gives him a peculiar charm
as a story-teller.


## p. 10921 (#133) ##########################################

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10921
As a poet, Ovid possessed a luxuriant imagination, and great
facility in the use of language. His manner is usually simple and
flowing. His verse is often pathetic, never intense; sometimes ele-
vated, never sublime; abounding in humorous turns, frequently with
touches of delicate irony. It is marred sometimes by incongruous or
revolting details, or by an excess of particulars which should be left
to the imagination of the reader; and also by a repetition of ideas or
phrases intended to heighten the effect, but in reality weakening it.
In view of the amount of poetry which Ovid produced, it is surpris-
ing that the average of quality is so high. He left more than twice
as many lines as Virgil, four times as many as Horace, and more
than fifteen times as many as Catullus.
Ovid has always been a favorite poet, though read more often in
selections than as a whole. To his influence is due the wide ac-
quaintance of modern readers with certain classical myths, as those
of Phaethon and of Pyramus and Thisbe. In the earlier periods of
English literature he was more highly esteemed than now, when
critical and scientific tendencies are paramount, and the finished
poetry of Horace and Virgil is more popular than the more imagi-
native but less delicate verse of our poet. Milton knew much of
Ovid by heart; the authors in whom he took most delight were,
after Homer, Ovid and Euripides.
The concreteness of Ovid's imagination has given him an influ-
ence greater than that of any other ancient poet in the suggestion
of themes for artistic treatment, from Guido's 'Aurora' to the prize
paintings at the École des Beaux-Arts.
Элей ишке
keley
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. -There is a notable Elizabethan version of
Ovid's Metamorphoses' by Arthur Golding, published in London
1565-7. It is in ballad metre, usually of fourteen syllables, and has
much poetic merit. It is considered certain that Shakespeare was
well acquainted with this book. Sandys's Metamorphoses' appeared
in 1626, and shares with Ogilby's Homer the distinction of having
incited Alexander Pope to become a translator. There is an excel-
lent version of the 'Metamorphoses' entire, in blank verse, by Henry
King (Blackwood, 1871).
There is a very convenient brief monograph on Ovid in the
'Ancient Classics for English Readers,' written by Alfred Church.
The version of many portions of the 'Metamorphoses' by Dryden is.
well known, and is now easily accessible in the Chandos Classics,


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10922
Vol. cxlix. Less sympathetic than Mr. Church's treatment, and not
quite complete, is the section on Ovid in Professor Sellar's 'Roman
Poets of the Augustan Age. '
There is no complete library edition, nor indeed any annotated
edition for English readers, of Ovid entire, nor even of the 'Metamor-
phoses. The 'Heroides' have been carefully edited by Palmer, the
'Fasti' by Hallam. Selections from the 'Metamorphoses' and other
poems (virginibus puerisque) are in wide use as school text-books.
From the introduction to the essayist's own school edition, a few
sentences have been repeated here.
F. W. K.
[These citations are all taken either from the volume Ovid in Ancient
Classics, or from Vol. cxlix. of the 'Chandos Classics. ']
ON THE DEATH OF CORINNA'S PARROT
O
UR parrot, sent from India's farthest shore,
Our parrot, prince of mimics, is no n more.
Throng to his burial, pious tribes of air,
With rigid claw your tender faces tear!
Your ruffled plumes, like mourners' tresses, rend,
And all your notes, like funeral trumpets, blend!
Mourn all that cleave the liquid skies; but chief,
Beloved turtle, lead the general grief,—
Through long harmonious days the parrot's friend,
In mutual faith still loyal to the end!
What boots that faith? those splendid hues and strange?
That voice so skilled its various notes to change?
What to have won my gentle lady's grace?
Thou diest, hapless glory of thy race.
Red joined with saffron in thy beak was seen,
And green thy wings beyond the emerald's sheen;
Nor ever lived on earth a wiser bird,
With lisping voice to answer all he heard.
'Twas envy slew thee: all averse to strife,
One love of chatter filled thy peaceful life;
For ever satisfied with scantiest fare,
Small time for food that busy tongue could spare.
Walnuts and sleep-producing poppies gave
Thy simple diet, and thy drink the wave.
Long lives the hovering vulture, long the kite
Pursues through air the circles of his flight;


## p. 10923 (#135) ##########################################

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Many the years the noisy jackdaws know,
Prophets of rainfall; and the boding crow
Waits, still unscathed by armed Minerva's hate,
Three ages three times told, a tardy fate.
But he, our prattler from earth's farthest shore,
Our human tongue's sweet image, is no more.
Thus still the ravening Fates our best devour,
And spare the mean till life's extremest hour.
Why tell the prayers my lady prayed in vain,
Borne by the stormy south wind o'er the main?
The seventh dawn had come, the last for thee;
With empty distaff stood the fatal Three:
Yet still from failing throat thy accents rung;
Farewell, Corinna! cried thy dying tongue.
There stands a grove with dark-green ilex crowned
Beneath the Elysian hill, and all around
With turf undying shines the verdant ground.
There dwells, if true the tale, the pious race:
All evil birds are banished from the place;
There harmless swans unbounded pasture find;
There dwells the phoenix, single of his kind;
The peacock spreads his splendid plumes in air;
The kissing doves sit close, an amorous pair;
There, in their woodland home a guest allowed,
Our parrot charms the pious listening crowd.
Beneath a mound of justly measured size,
Small tombstone, briefest epitaph, he lies:
"His mistress's darling"-that this stone may show
The prince of feathered speakers lies below.
Translation of Alfred Church.
FROM SAPPHO'S LETTER TO PHAON
10923
A
SPRING there is, where silver waters show,
Clear as a glass, the shining sands below;
A flowery lotus spreads its arms above,
Shades all the banks, and seems itself a grove;
Eternal greens the mossy margin grace,
Watched by the sylvan genius of the place.
Here as I lay, and swelled with tears the flood,
Before my sight a watery virgin stood;
She stood and cried, "Oh, you that love in vain,
Fly hence, and seek the fair Leucadian main!


## p. 10924 (#136) ##########################################

10924
OVID
There stands a rock, from whose impending steep
Apollo's fane surveys the rolling deep;
There injured lovers, leaping from above,
Their flames extinguish and forget to love.
Deucalion once with hopeless fury burned;
In vain he loved,- relentless Pyrrha scorned:
But when from hence he plunged into the main,
Deucalion scorned and Pyrrha loved in vain.
Hence, Sappho, haste! from high Leucadia throw
Thy wretched weight, nor dread the deeps below. "
She spoke, and vanished with the voice; - I rise,
And silent tears fall trickling from my eyes.
I go, ye nymphs, those rocks and seas to prove
And much I fear; but ah! how much I love!
I go, ye nymphs, where furious love inspires;
Let female fears submit to female fires.
To rocks and seas I fly from Phaon's hate,
And hope from seas and rocks a milder fate.
Ye gentle gales, below my body blow,
And softly lay me on the waves below!
And then, kind Love, my sinking limbs sustain,
Spread thy soft wings, and waft me o'er the main,
Nor let a lover's death the guiltless flood profane!
On Phœbus's shrine my harp I'll then bestow,
And this inscription shall be placed below:-
"Here she who sung to him that did inspire,
Sappho to Phoebus, consecrates her lyre;
What suits with Sappho, Phœbus, suits with thee,-
The gift, the giver, and the god agree. "
-
Translation of Pope.
A SOLDIER'S BRIDE (LAODAMIA)
Α΄
H! TROJAN Women (happier far than we),
Fain in your lot would I partaker be!
If ye must mourn o'er some dead hero's bier,
And all the dangers of the war are near,
With you at least the fair and youthful bride
May arm her husband, in becoming pride;
Lift the fierce helmet to his gallant brow,
And with a trembling hand his sword bestow;
With fingers all unused the weapon brace,
And gaze with fondest love upon his face!


## p. 10925 (#137) ##########################################

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How sweet to both this office she will make,-
How many a kiss receive, how many take!
When all equipped she leads him from the door,
Her fond commands how oft repeating o'er:
"Return victorious, and thine arms enshrine-
Return, beloved, to these arms of mine! "
Nor shall these fond commands be all in vain:
Her hero-husband will return again.
Amid the battle's din and clashing swords
He still will listen to her parting words:
And if more prudent, still, ah! not less brave,
One thought for her and for his home will save.
OⓇ
Translation of Miss E. Garland.
THE CREATION
F BODIES changed to various forms I sing.
Ye gods, from whence these miracles did spring,
Inspire my numbers with celestial heat,
Till I my long laborious work complete;
And add perpetual tenor to my rhymes,
Deduced from nature's birth to Cæsar's times.
Before the seas, and this terrestrial ball,
And heaven's high canopy, that covers all,
One was the face of nature, if a face;
Rather a rude and indigested mass:
10925
A lifeless lump, unfashioned and unframed,
Of jarring seeds, and justly Chaos named.
No sun was lighted up, the world to view;
No moon did yet her blunted horns renew;
Nor yet was earth suspended in the sky,
Nor, poised, did on her own foundations lie;
Nor seas about the shores their arms had thrown:
But earth and air and water were in one.
Thus air was void of light, and earth unstable,
And water's dark abyss unnavigable.
No certain form on any was impressed:
All were confused, and each disturbed the rest.
For hot and cold were in one body fixed,
And soft with hard, and light with heavy mixed.
But God, or Nature, while they thus contend,
To these intestine discords put an end.


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Then earth from air, and seas from earth, were driven,
And grosser air sunk from ethereal heaven.
Thus disembroiled, they take their proper place;
The next of kin contiguously embrace;
And foes are sundered by a larger space.
The force of fire ascended first on high,
And took its dwelling in the vaulted sky.
Then air succeeds, in lightness next to fire;
Whose atoms from unactive earth retire.
Earth sinks beneath, and draws a numerous throng
Of ponderous, thick, unwieldy seeds along.
About her coasts unruly waters roar,
And rising on a ridge, insult the shore.
Thus when the God, whatever God was he,
Had formed the whole, and made the parts agree,
That no unequal portions might be found,
He molded earth into a spacious round;
Then, with a breath, he gave the winds to blow,
And bade the congregated waters flow.
He adds the running springs and standing lakes;
And bounding banks for winding rivers makes,—
Some part in earth are swallowed up, the most
In ample oceans, disembogued, are lost;
He shades the woods, the valleys he restrains
With rocky mountains, and extends the plains.
Translation of Dryden.
BAUCIS AND PHILEMON
N PHRYGIAN ground
Two neighb'ring trees, with walls encompassed round,
Stand on a moderate rise, with wonder shown,—
One a hard oak, a softer linden one:
I saw the place, and them by Pittheus sent
To Phrygian realms, my grandsire's government.
Not far from thence is seen a lake, the haunt
Of coots and of the fishing cormorant:
Here Jove with Hermes came; but in disguise
Of mortal men concealed their deities:
One laid aside his thunder, one his rod;
And many toilsome steps together trod;
For harbor at a thousand doors they knocked,—
Not one of all the thousand but was locked.


## p. 10927 (#139) ##########################################

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At last an hospitable house they found,—
An homely shed; the roof, not far from ground,
Was thatched with reeds and straw together bound.
There Baucis and Philemon lived, and there
Had lived long married, and a happy pair;
Now old in love; though little was their store,
Inured to want, their poverty they bore,
Nor aimed at wealth, professing to be poor.
For master or for servant here to call,
Was all alike, where only two were all.
Command was none, where equal love was paid;
Or rather both commanded, both obeyed.
From lofty roofs the gods repulsed before,
Now stooping, entered through the little door;
The man (their hearty welcome first expressed)
A common settle drew for either guest,
Inviting each his weary limbs to rest.
But ere they sat, officious Baucis lays
Two cushions stuffed with straw, the seat to raise,—
Coarse, but the best she had: then takes the load
Of ashes from the hearth, and spreads abroad
The living coals, and lest they should expire,
With leaves and barks she feeds her infant fire;
10927
It smokes, and then with trembling breath she blows,
Till in a cheerful blaze the flames arose.
With brushwood and with chips she strengthens these,
And adds at last the boughs of rotten trees.
The fire thus formed, she sets the kettle on
(Like burnished gold the little seether shone):
Next took the coleworts which her husband got
From his own ground (a small well-watered spot);
She stripped the stalks of all their leaves; the best
She culled, and then with handy care she dressed.
High o'er the hearth a chine of bacon hung:
Good old Philemon seized it with a prong,
And from the sooty rafter drew it down,
Then cut a slice, but scarce enough for one:
Yet a large portion of a little store,
Which for their sakes alone he wished were more.
This in the pot he plunged without delay,
To tame the flesh, and drain the salt away.
The time between, before the fire they sat,
And shortened the delay by pleasing chat.


## p. 10928 (#140) ##########################################

10928
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A beam there was, on which a beechen pail
Hung by the handle, on a driven nail:
This filled with water, gently warmed, they set
Before their guests; in this they bathed their feet,
And after with clean towels dried their sweat.
This done, the host produced the genial bed.
Sallow the foot, the borders, and the stead,
Which with no costly coverlet they spread;
But coarse old garments,-yet such robes as these
They laid alone, at feasts, on holidays.
The good old housewife, tucking up her gown,
The table sets; the invited gods lie down.
The trivet-table of a foot was lame,-
A blot which prudent Baucis overcame,
Who thrust beneath the limping leg a sherd,
So was the mended board exactly reared;
Then rubbed it o'er with newly gathered mint,-
A wholesome herb, that breathed a grateful scent.
Pallas began the feast, where first was seen
The party-colored olive, black and green;
Autumnal cornels next in order served,
In lees of wine well pickled and preserved;
A garden salad was the third supply,
Of endive, radishes, and succory:
Then curds and cream, the flower of country fare,
And new-laid eggs, which Baucis's busy care
Turned by a gentle fire, and roasted rare.
All these in earthenware were served to board;
And next in place an earthen pitcher, stored
With liquor of the best the cottage could afford.
This was the table's ornament and pride,
With figures wrought: like pages at his side
Stood beechen bowls; and these were shining clean,
Varnished with wax without, and lined within.
By this the boiling kettle had prepared,
And to the table sent the smoking lard:
On which with eager appetite they dine,-
A savory bit, that served to relish wine;
The wine itself was suiting to the rest,
Still working in the must, and lately pressed.
The second course succeeds like that before:
Plums, apples, nuts, and of their wintry store
Dry figs and grapes and wrinkled dates were set
In canisters, to enlarge the little treat;
I


## p. 10929 (#141) ##########################################

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10929
All these a milk-white honeycomb surround,
Which in the midst the country banquet crowned.
But the kind hosts their entertainment grace
With hearty welcome, and an open face;
In all they did, you might discern with ease
A willing mind and a desire to please.
Meantime the beechen bowls went round, and still,
Though often emptied, were observed to fill,
Filled without hands, and of their own accord
Ran without feet, and danced about the board.
Devotion seized the pair, to see the feast
With wine, and of no common grape, increased;
And up they held their hands, and fell to prayer,
Excusing as they could their country fare.
One goose they had ('twas all they could allow),
A wakeful sentry, and on duty now,
Whom to the gods for sacrifice they vow:
Her, with malicious zeal, the couple viewed;
She ran for life, and, limping, they pursued:
Full well the fowl perceived their bad intent,
And would not make her master's compliment;
But, persecuted, to the powers she flies,
And close between the legs of Jove she lies.
He with a gracious ear the suppliant heard,
And saved her life; then what he was, declared,
And owned the god. "The neighborhood,” said he,
"Shall justly perish for impiety:
You stand alone exempted; but obey
With speed, and follow where we lead the way:
Leave these accursed; and to the mountain's height
Ascend, nor once look backward in your flight. "
They haste, and what their tardy feet denied,
The trusty staff (their better leg) supplied.
An arrow's flight they wanted to the top,
And there secure, but spent with travel, stop;
Then turn their now no more forbidden eyes:
Lost in a lake the floated level lies;
XIX-684
A watery desert covers all the plains,
Their cot alone as in an isle remains;
Wondering with peeping eyes, while they deplore
Their neighbors' fate, and country now no more,
Their little shed, scarce large enough for two,
Seems, from the ground increased, in height and bulk
to grow.


## p. 10930 (#142) ##########################################

OVID
10930
A stately temple shoots within the skies:
The crotchets of their cot in columns rise:
The pavement polished marble they behold,
The gates with sculpture graced, the spires and tiles of
gold.
Then thus the sire of gods, with looks serene:-
"Speak thy desire, thou only just of men;
And thou, O woman, only worthy found
To be with such a man in marriage bound. "
Awhile they whisper; then, to Jove addressed,
Philemon thus prefers their joint request:-
"We crave to serve before your sacred shrine,
And offer at your altars rites divine:
And since not any action of our life
Has been polluted with domestic strife,
We beg one hour of death; that neither she
With widow's tears may live to bury me,
Nor weeping I, with withered arms, may bear
My breathless Baucis to the sepulchre. "
The godheads sign their suit. They run their race
In the same tenor all the appointed space:
Then, when their hour was come, while they relate
These past adventures at the temple gate,
Old Baucis is by old Philemon seen
Sprouting with sudden leaves of sprightly green;
Old Baucis looked where old Philemon stood,
And saw his lengthened arms a sprouting wood.
New roots their fastened feet begin to bind,
Their bodies stiffen in a rising rind;
Then, ere the bark above their shoulders grew,
They give and take at once their last adieu:
At once, "Farewell, O faithful spouse," they said;
At once the encroaching rinds their closing lips invade.
Even yet, an ancient Tyanæan shows
A spreading oak, that near a linden grows;
The neighborhood confirm the prodigy,-
Grave men, not vain of tongue, or like to lie.
I saw myself the garlands on their boughs,
And tablets hung for gifts of granted vows;
And offering fresher up, with pious prayer,—
"The good," said I, "are God's peculiar care,
And such as honor Heaven shall heavenly honor share. »
Translation of Dryden.
-


## p. 10931 (#143) ##########################################

OVID
10931
A GREWSOME LOVER
A
PROMONTORY, sharpening by degrees,
Ends in a wedge, and overlooks the seas;
On either side, below, the water flows:
This airy walk the giant lover chose;
Here in the midst he sate; his flocks, unled,
Their shepherd followed, and securely fed.
A pine so burly, and of length so vast,
That sailing ships required it for a mast,
He wielded for a staff, his steps to guide;
But laid it by, his whistle while he tried.
A hundred reeds, of a prodigious growth,
Scarce made a pipe proportioned to his mouth;
Which when he gave it wind, the rocks around,
And watery plains, the dreadful hiss resound.
I heard the ruffian shepherd rudely blow,
Where, in a hollow cave, I sat below;
On Acis's bosom I my head reclined:
And still preserve the poem in my mind.
"O lovely Galatea, whiter far
Than falling snows and rising lilies are;
More flowery than the meads; as crystal bright;
Erect as alders, and of equal height;
More wanton than a kid; more sleek thy skin
Than Orient shells, that on the shores are seen;
Than apples fairer, when the boughs they lade;
Pleasing as winter suns or summer shade;
More grateful to the sight than goodly plains;
And softer to the touch than down of swans,
Or curds new turned; and sweeter to the taste
Than swelling grapes, that to the vintage haste;
More clear than ice, or running streams that stray
Through garden plots, but, ah! more swift than they.
"Yet, Galatea, harder to be broke
Than bullocks, unreclaimed to bear the yoke;
And far more stubborn than the knotted oak;
Like sliding streams, impossible to hold:
Like them fallacious; like their fountains, cold:
More warping than the willow, to decline
My warm embrace; more brittle than the vine;
Immovable, and fixed in thy disdain;
Rough as these rocks, and of a harder grain;


## p. 10932 (#144) ##########################################

OVID
10932
More violent than is the rising flood;
And the praised peacock is not half so proud;
Fierce as the fire, and sharp as thistles are;
And more outrageous than a mother-bear;
Deaf as the billows to the vows I make,
And more revengeful than a trodden snake;
In swiftness fleeter than the flying hind,
Or driven tempests, or the driving wind.
All other faults with patience I can bear;
But swiftness is the vice I only fear.
"Yet, if you knew me well, you would not shun
My love, but to my wished embraces run;
Would languish in your turn, and court my stay;
And much repent of your unwise delay.
"My palace, in the living rock, is made
By nature's hand: a spacious pleasing shade,
Which neither heat can pierce, nor cold invade.
My garden filled with fruits you may behold,
And grapes in clusters, imitating gold;
Some blushing bunches of a purple hue,
And these, and those, are all reserved for you.
Red strawberries in shades expecting stand,
Proud to be gathered by so white a hand:
Autumnal cornels later fruit provide,
And plums, to tempt you, turn their glossy side:
Not those of common kinds; but such alone
As in Phæacian orchards might have grown.
Nor chestnuts shall be wanting to your food,
Nor garden fruits, nor wildings of the wood;
The laden boughs for you alone shall bear;
And yours shall be the product of the year.
"The flocks, you see, are all my own; beside
The rest that woods and winding valleys hide,
And those that folded in the caves abide.
Ask not the numbers of my growing store:
Who knows how many, knows he has no more.
Nor will I praise my cattle; trust not me,
But judge yourself, and pass your own decree:
Behold their swelling dugs; the sweepy weight
Of ewes, that sink beneath the milky freight;
In the warm folds their tender lambkins lie;
Apart from kids, that call with human cry.
New milk in nut-brown bowls is duly served
For daily drink; the rest for cheese reserved.


## p. 10933 (#145) ##########################################

OVID
10933
Nor are these household dainties all my store:
The fields and forests will afford us more;
The deer, the hare, the goat, the savage boar;
All sorts of venison; and of birds the best,-
A pair of turtles taken from the nest.
I walked the mountains, and two cubs I found,
Whose dam had left 'em on the naked ground:
So like, that no distinction could be seen;
So pretty, they were presents for a queen;
And so they shall: I took them both away;
And keep, to be companions of your play.
"Oh raise, fair nymph, your beauteous face above
The waves; nor scorn my presents, and my love.
Come, Galatea, come, and view my face:
I late beheld it in the watery glass,
And found it lovelier than I feared it was.
Survey my towering stature, and my size:
Not Jove, the Jove you dream, that rules the skies,
Bears such a bulk, or is so largely spread.
My locks (the plenteous harvest of my head)
Hang o'er my manly face; and dangling down,
As with a shady grove my shoulders crown.
Nor think, because my limbs and body bear
A thick-set underwood of bristling hair,
My shape deformed: what fouler sight can be
Than the bald branches of a leafless tree?
Foul is the steed without a flowing mane;
And birds, without their feathers and their train.
Wool decks the sheep; and man receives a grace
From bushy limbs and from a bearded face.
My forehead with a single eye is filled,
Round as a ball, and ample as a shield.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the radiant sun,
Is Nature's eye; and she's content with one.
Add, that my father sways your seas, and I,
Like you, am of the watery family;
-
I make you his, in making you my own.
You I adore, and kneel to you alone;
Jove, with his fabled thunder, I despise,
And only fear the lightning of your eyes.
Frown not, fair nymph; yet I could bear to be
Disdained, if others were disdained with me.
But to repulse the Cyclops, and prefer
The love of Acis, heavens! I cannot bear.


## p. 10934 (#146) ##########################################

OVID
10934
But let the stripling please himself; nay more,
Please you, though that's the thing I most abhor:
The boy shall find, if e'er we cope in fight,
These giant limbs endued with giant might. "
THE SUN-GOD'S PALACE
S
UBLIME on lofty columns, bright with gold
And fiery carbuncle, its roof inlaid
Translation of Dryden.
With ivory, rose the palace of the sun,
Approached by folding gates with silver sheen
Radiant material priceless, yet less prized
For its own worth than what the cunning head
Of Mulciber thereon had wrought: the globe
Of earth, the seas that wash it round, the skies
That overhang it. 'Mid the waters played
Their gods cærulean. Triton with his horn
Was there, and Proteus of the shifting shape,
And old geon, curbing with firm hand
The monsters of the deep. Her Nereids there
Round Doris sported, seeming, some to swim,
Some on the rocks their tresses green to dry,
Some dolphin-borne to ride; nor all in face
The same, nor different; - so should sisters be.
Earth showed her men, and towns, and woods, and beasts,
And streams, and nymphs, and rural deities;
And over all the mimic heaven was bright
With the twelve Zodiac signs, on either valve
Of the great portal figured,-six on each.
WE
Translation of Henry King.
A TRANSFORMATION
EARY and travel-worn,- her lips unwet
With water, at a straw-thatched cottage door
The wanderer knocked. An ancient crone
forth
And saw her need, and hospitable brought
Her bowl of barley-broth, and bade her drink.
Thankful she raised it; but a graceless boy
And impudent stood by, and, ere the half
came


## p. 10935 (#147) ##########################################

OVID
10935
Was drained, "Ha! ha! see how the glutton swills! "
With insolent jeer he cried. The goddess's ire
Was roused; and as he spoke, what liquor yet
The bowl retained, full in his face she dashed.
His cheeks broke out in blotches; what were arms
Turned legs, and from the shortened trunk a tail
Tapered behind. Small mischief evermore
Might that small body work: the lizard's self
Was larger now than he. With terror shrieked
The crone, and weeping, stooped her altered child
To raise; the little monster fled her grasp
And wriggled into hiding. Still his name
His nature tells, and, from the star-like spots
That mark him, known as Stellio, crawls the Newt.
Translation of Henry King.
EFFECT OF ORPHEUS'S SONG IN HADES
O SANG he, and, accordant to his plaint,
S
As wailed the strings, the bloodless ghosts were moved
To weeping. By the lips of Tantalus
Unheeded slipped the wave; Ixion's wheel
Forgot to whirl; the Vulture's bloody feast
Was stayed; awhile the Belides forbore
Their leaky urns to dip; and Sisyphus
Sate listening on his stone. Then first, they say,
The iron cheeks of the Eumenides
Were wet with pity. Of the nether realm
Nor king nor queen had heart to say him nay.
Forth from a host of new-descended shades
Eurydice was called; and halting yet,
Slow with her recent wound, she came alive,
On one condition to her spouse restored,—
That, till Avernus's vale is passed and earth
Regained, he look not backward, or the boon
Is null and forfeit. Through the silent realm
Upward against the steep and fronting hill,
Dark with obscurest gloom, the way he led;
And now the upper air was all but won,
When, fearful lest the toil o'ertask her strength,
And yearning to behold the form he loved,
An instant back he looked-and back the shade
That instant fled! The arms that wildly strove


## p. 10936 (#148) ##########################################

10936
OVID
To clasp and stay her, clasped but yielding air!
No word of plaint even in that second death
Against her lord she uttered,- how could love
Too anxious be upbraided? — but one last
And sad "Farewell! " scarce audible, she sighed,
And vanished to the ghosts that late she left.
Translation of Henry King.
THE POET'S FAME
O CROWN I here a work that dares defy
S
The wrath of Jove, the fire, the sword, the tooth
Of all-devouring Time! Come when it will
The day that ends my life's uncertain term,—
That on this corporal frame alone hath power
To work extinction,- high above the Stars
My nobler part shall soar; my Name remain
Immortal; wheresoe'er the might of Rome
O'erawes the subject Earth, my Verse survive
Familiar in the mouths of men! and if
A bard may prophesy, while time shall last
Endure, and die but with the dying world!
Translation of Henry King.


## p. 10937 (#149) ##########################################

10937
THOMAS NELSON PAGE
(1854-)
HOMAS NELSON PAGE "had the good fortune," to quote from
his own felicitous description of his birthplace, as recorded
in the Homeric combat Pulaski's Tunament,' "to come
from the old county of Hanover, as that particular division of the
State of Virginia is affectionately called by nearly all who are so
lucky as to have seen the light amid its broom-straw fields and heavy
forests. " This occurrence took place in 1854; and if the future author
exhibited discrimination in the choice of a birthplace, he was even
more happy in the time of his advent. A
little earlier, and the prejudices of his sec-
tion might have obscured the fact that other
as well as his ancestral acres were robed in
the hue which is the color of their preva-
lent crop; and a little later, his sketches of
Virginia life before and during the War
would not have been reminiscences. It is
also worth while to note, for the effect on
the literature of his inventions, that he
belongs to an honorable and historic fam-
ily; on the maternal side the descendant of
Governor Nelson, and on the paternal of
gentleman landholders, high in wisdom and
council since the settlement of the State.

THOMAS NELSON PAGE
He was educated at the University of Virginia, and practiced
law in Richmond. In 1883 he published a volume of negro dialect
poems with A. C. Gordon, entitled 'Befo' de War,' among which is
the favorite and pathetic ballad 'My Boy Cree'; and in 1884 'Marse
Chan,' his first pronounced success, appeared in the Century Magazine.
The now famous 'Meh Lady,' 'Ole Stracted,' and 'Unc' Edinburg's
Drowndin',' with several other stories written for the periodicals,
were published in the volume entitled 'In Ole Virginia. This and
'Two Little Confederates' (1888), an autobiography, 'On Newfound
River (1891), The Burial of the Guns' (1894), and all the sketches
except the first and last in 'Elsket (1891), are pictures of Virginia
life before, or during, the Civil War.
What Mr. Page would have been in another age, country, and sta-
tion, it is difficult to surmise, except that he must have been a man


## p. 10938 (#150) ##########################################

10938
THOMAS NELSON PAGE
of letters. Tradition possesses him in a remarkable degree; and if he
owes much to his experiences when, a little barefoot boy, he hunted
deserters in the pines, and hid behind a rail fence to see what the
battle was like, - the small sovereign of a hungry domain suffering
the fortunes of war,-he owes as much to the lore he gleaned in
neither school nor class-room, but from the shelves of a dark old
library, where Horace rubbed brown calf shoulders with Clarissa
Harlowe,' and the Elizabethan dramatists with the 'Bucolics. ' Nor
can the author's point of view be ignored in his slightest sketch; for
it was that of one who lived under a régime and a code that was
patriarchal in its government, impractical, chivalrous, whose fashion.
is passing away, and whose history is best preserved in his own vol-
It taught him that all women were beautiful, and gracious,
and proud, and good, and distractingly fascinating, only becoming
meek and gentle when surrendering on their own terms; and the
men, at least the young men, are preux chevaliers, straight, and
strong, and religious, and fire-eaters, till the timid reader trembles in
their company lest he may give offense. These ideal and delightful
personages might have come out of an Arthurian legend. Did they
indeed step from a brown volume-"Meh Lady" and "Marse Chan,"
Bruce and Margaret of Newfound River? Or are they of that stuff
that dreams are made of, and the embodiment of his own beliefs?
umes.
No discussion of Mr. Page's writing can go far without a refer-
ence to the manner in which his stories are told. With what one is
tempted to call a consummate art,- but that their secret is open
to every reader, and that they show as little trace of labor as one
of the bird-songs of his own pine forests,—these beautiful and loving
personations are thrown against a dark background. The fair maiden.
is contrasted with her black foster-sister; Sir Galahad with his hum-
ble servitor. And the true story is told, as it can best be told in
fiction's form, of the great system of slavery,- of the traits it en-
gendered and the characters it formed.
And how subtle the instinct that the defense, not of the institu-
tion but of its victims, both master and slave, is maintained not by
the white man but by the black, who in his simple fashion tells the
story of the lives of his "white people," of whom he is one, whose
riches and splendor and nobility all aggrandize his own greatness.
The lovely and touching idyls, Marse Chan,' 'Meh Lady,' 'Unc'
Edinburg's Drowndin','- pathetic and humorous, and such a picture
of ante-bellum Virginia life as is seldom found in our literature,-
are told by an old negro, who through the illusive haze of memory
sees the social pageant pass by, till the day when the trumpet
sounded and he rode to the wars by his master's side, that master's
black angel, guarding and defending him from the foes who were


## p. 10939 (#151) ##########################################

THOMAS NELSON PAGE
10939
come to rescue the slave. In all these stories the negro, not the
white man, is the hero; like Brer Rabbit, it is he to whom are
shrewdness and wisdom and the finer traits that rabbits are not sup-
posed to possess, as loyalty and generosity. And that another, not
thine own self, may praise thee, the description of the magnificence
of the old régime is not related by its modest and loyal son, but by
the slave; obviously a dispassionate and unprejudiced witness.
Mr. Page is scarcely less happy in his treatment of another char-
acter, the "poor white. " This type is peculiar to the soil, and to
know him one must live with him; he occupied before the War the
middle ground between the gentry and the negro, and was conde-
scended to by both. We see these men in a class and individually
in Two Little Confederates' and 'On Newfound River,' especially
in the admirable trial scene when the county magnate bullies the
justice, and his humble adherents, Hall and Jim Mills, drawl out
their patron's wisdom. And we see them again, reborn through
courage and patriotism, in the noble and stirring series of stories
named for the first in the volume, The Burial of the Guns. '
An author's own people are his most severe critics; but Mr. Page's
countrymen and women are content to appear to the world as they
appear in his books.
THE BURIAL OF THE GUNS
Copyright 1894, by Charles Scribner's Sons
EE surrendered the remnant of his army at Appomattox, April
9th, 1865, and yet a couple of days later
battery lay intrenched right in the mountain pass where it
had halted three days before. Two weeks previously it had been
detailed with a light division, sent to meet and repel a force
which it was understood was coming in by way of the southwest
valley, to strike Lee in the rear of his long line from Richmond
to Petersburg. It had done its work. The mountain pass had
been seized and held, and the Federal force had not gotten by
that road within the blue rampart which guarded on that side
the heart of Virginia. This pass, which was the key to the main
line of passage over the mountains, had been assigned by the
commander of the division to the old colonel and his old battery,
and they had held it. The position taken by the battery had
been chosen with a soldier's eye. A better place could not have
been selected to hold the pass. It was its highest point, just
where the road crawled over the shoulder of the mountain along


## p. 10940 (#152) ##########################################

THOMAS NELSON PAGE
10940
the limestone cliff, a hundred feet sheer above the deep river,
where its waters had cut their way in ages past, and now lay
deep and silent, as if resting after their arduous toil before they
began to boil over the great bowlders which filled the bed a
hundred or more yards below.
The little plateau at the top guarded the descending road on
either side for nearly a mile; and the mountain on the other side
of the river was the centre of a clump of rocky, heavily timbered
spurs, so inaccessible that no feet but those of wild animals or of
the hardiest hunter had ever climbed it. On the side of the river
on which the road lay, the only path out over the mountain
except the road itself was a charcoal-burner's track, dwindling
at times to a footway known only to the mountain folk, which
the picket at the top could hold against an army. The posi-
tion, well defended, was impregnable; and it was well defended.
This the general of the division knew when he detailed the old
colonel, and gave him his order to hold the pass until relieved,
and not let his guns fall into the hands of the enemy. He
knew both the colonel and his battery. The battery was one
of the oldest in the army. It had been in the service since
April 1861, and its commander had come to be known as
"the
wheel-horse of his division. " He was perhaps the oldest officer
of his rank in his branch of the service. Although he had bit-
terly opposed secession, and was many years past the age of serv
ice when the War came on, yet as soon as the President called
on the State for her quota of troops to coerce South Carolina, he
had raised and uniformed an artillery company, and offered it,
not to the President of the United States, but to the governor
of Virginia.
It is just at this point that he suddenly looms up to me as a
soldier; the relation he never wholly lost to me afterward, though
I knew him for many, many years of peace. His gray coat with
the red facing and the bars on the collar; his military cap; his
gray flannel shirt-it was the first time I ever saw him wear
anything but immaculate linen; his high boots; his horse capari-
soned with a black high-peaked saddle, with crupper and breast-
girth, instead of the light English hunting-saddle to which I had
been accustomed, -all come before me now as if it were but
the other day. I remember but little beyond it, yet I remember,
as if it were yesterday, his leaving home, and the scenes which
immediately preceded it; the excitement created by the news of


## p. 10941 (#153) ##########################################

THOMAS NELSON PAGE
10941
the President's call for troops; the unanimous judgment that it
meant war; the immediate determination of the old colonel, who
had hitherto opposed secession, that it must be met; the sup-
pressed agitation on the plantation, attendant upon the tender of
his services and the governor's acceptance of them.
The prompt and continuous work incident to the enlistment of
the men, the bustle of preparation, and all the scenes of that time,
come before me now. It turned the calm current of the life of
an old and placid country neighborhood, far from any city or cen-
tre, and stirred it into a boiling torrent, strong enough, or fierce
enough, to cut its way and join the general torrent which was
bearing down and sweeping everything before it. It seemed but
a minute before the quiet old plantation, in which the harvest,
the corn-shucking, and the Christmas holidays alone marked the
passage of the quiet seasons, and where a strange carriage or a
single horseman coming down the big road was an event in life,
was turned into a depot of war supplies, and the neighborhood
became a parade-ground. The old colonel-not a colonel yet, nor
even a captain, except by brevet-was on his horse by daybreak,
and off on his rounds through the plantations and the pines,
enlisting his company. The office in the yard, heretofore one
in name only, became one now in reality; and a table was set
out piled with papers, pens, ink, books of tactics and regulation,
at which men were accepted and enrolled. Soldiers seemed to
spring from the ground, as they did from the sowing of the
dragon's teeth in the days of Cadmus. Men came up the high-
road or down the paths across the fields, sometimes singly, but
oftener in little parties of two or three, and asking for the cap-
tain, entered the office as private citizens and came out soldiers
enlisted for the war. There was nothing heard of on the plant-
ation except fighting; white and black, all were at work, and
all were eager; the servants contended for the honor of going
with their master; the women flocked to the house to assist in
the work of preparation,— cutting out and making underclothes,
knitting socks, picking lint, preparing bandages, and sewing on
uniforms,- for many of the men who had enlisted were of the
poorest class, far too poor to furnish anything themselves, and
their equipment had to be contributed mainly by wealthier neigh-
bors. The work was carried on at night as well as by day, for
the occasion was urgent. Meantime the men were being drilled
by the captain and his lieutenants, who had been militia officers


## p. 10942 (#154) ##########################################

10942
THOMAS NELSON PAGE
of old. We were carried to see the drill at the cross-roads, and
a brave sight it seemed to us: the lines marching and counter-
marching in the field, with the horses galloping as they wheeled
amid clouds of dust, at the hoarse commands of the excited offi-
cers, and the roadside lined with spectators of every age and
condition.
I recall the arrival of the messenger one night, with the tel-
egraphic order to the captain to report with his company at
"Camp Lee" immediately; the hush in the parlor that attended
its reading; then the forced beginning of the conversation after-
wards in a somewhat strained and unnatural key, and the cap-
tain's quick and decisive outlining of his plans. Within the hour
a dozen messengers were on their way in various directions to
notify the members of the command of the summons, and to
deliver the order for their attendance at a given point next day.