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And thou, O Sleep, nursling of gloomy night,
Soon a crab the throat will seize
Raging let him fix the doom,
O, I long to dance and revel
Leaving this abandoned home-
Uly. Be silent, ye wild things! Nay, hold your peace,
Until his eye be tortured out with fire.
Chorus. Nay, we are silent, and we chaw the air.
Within-it is delightfuly red hot.
Chorus. You then command who first should seize the stake
To burn the Cyclops' eye, that all may share
In the great enterprise.
We are too few,
We cannot at this distance from the door
Thrust fire into his eye.
And we just now
Have become lame; cannot move hand or foot.
Chorus. The same thing has occurred to us-our ankles
Are sprained with standing here, I know not how.
Uly. What, sprained with standing still?
Or ashes in our eyes, I know not whence.
And there is dust
Uly. Cowardly dogs! ye will not aid me then?
Chorus. With pitying my own back and my backbone, And with not wishing all my teeth knocked out,
This cowardice comes of itself-but stay,
I know a famous Orphic incantation
To make the brand stick of its own accord
Into the skull of this one-eyed son of Earth.
Uly. Of old I knew ye thus by nature; now
Speak cheerfully, that so ye may awaken
The courage of my friends with your blithe words.
And parch up to dust,
The Etnean hind!
Scoop and draw,
But beware lest he claw
Your limbs near his maw.
Cyc. Ah me! my eyesight is parched up to cinders.
Chorus. For you are wicked.
And besides miserable.
Chorus. What, did you fall into the fire when drunk?
Cyc. 'Twas Nobody destroyed me.
Cyc. I wish you were as blind as I am.
It cannot be that no one made you blind.
Cyc. It was that stranger ruined me:-the wretch
Chorus. They stand under the darkness of the rock
At my right hand or left? Chorus. Close on your right.
You have them.
Near the rock itself.
Oh, misfortune on misfortune!
Now they escape you there.
Not on that side.
I've cracked my skull.
Cyc. Not there, although you say so.
Cyc. Where then?
I keep with care this body of Ulysses.
Far from you
Cyc. What do you say? You proffer a new name.
I should have done ill to have burned down Troy
Cyc. Ai ai! the ancient oracle is accomplished;
Uly. I bid thee weep-consider what I say,
To mine own land, o'er the Sicilian wave.
Cyc. Not so, if whelming you with this huge stone I can crush you and all your men together;
I will descend upon the shore, though blind,
Groping my way down the steep ravine.
Chorus. And we, the shipmates of Ulysses now, Will serve our Bacchus all our happy lives.
TRANSLATIONS FROM MOSCHUS.
WHEN winds that move not its calm surface sweep
Of earth and its deep woods, where interspersed,
PAN loved his neighbour Echo-but that child
The Satyr loved with wasting madness wild
The bright nymph Lyda,—and so the three went weeping. As Pan loved Echo, Echo loved the Satyr;
The Satyr, Lyda-and thus love consumed them.
And thus to each-which was a woful matter
To bear what they inflicted, justice doomed them; For inasmuch as each might hate the lover,
Each loving, so was hated.-Ye that love not Be warned-in thought turn this example over, That when ye love, the like return ye prove nɔt.
From the Italian of Dante.
DANTE ALIGHIERI TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI.
GUIDO, I would that Lappo, thou, and I,
With winds at will where'er our thoughts might wend,
Should mar our joyous voyage; but it might be,
Companions of our wandering, and would grace
SCENES FROM THE "MAGICO PRODIGIOSO" OF CALDERON.
CYPRIAN as a Student; CLARIN and MOSCON as poor Scholars, with books. Cyp. In the sweet solitude of this calm place,
This intricate wild wilderness of trees
And flowers and undergrowth of odorous plants,
Leave me; the books you brought out of the house
To me are ever best society.
And whilst with glorious festival and song
Antioch now celebrates the consecration
Of a proud temple to great Jupiter,
And bears his image in loud jubilee
To its new shrine, I would consume what still
Go and enjoy the festival; it will
You, my friends,
Be worth the labour, and return for me
When the sun seeks its grave among the billows,
I cannot bring my mind,
Great as my haste to see the festival
Certainly is, to leave you, sir, without
Just saying some three or four hundred words.
How is it possible that on a day
Of such festivity, you can bring your mind
To come forth to a solitary country
With three or four old books, and turn your back
My master's in the right;
Than a procession day, with troops of men,
And dances, and all that.
From first to last,
Clarin, you are a temporizing flatterer;
You praise not what you feel but what he does;
You lie-under a mistake
For this is the most civil sort of lie
That can be given to a man's face. I now
Cyp. Enough, you foolish fellows.
Puffed up with your own doting ignorance,
When night falls, veiling in its shadows wide
This glorious fabric of the universe.
Mos. How happens it, although you can maintain The folly of enjoying festivals,
To speak truth,
Livia is she who has surprised my heart;
Cyp. Now, since I am alone, let me examine
The question which has long disturbed my mind
With doubt; since first I read in Plinius
The words of mystic import and deep sense
In which he defines God. My intellect
Can find no God with whom these marks and signs
Which I must fathom.
Enter the DEVIL, as a fine Gentleman.
Demon. Search even as thou wilt,
But thou shalt never find what I can hide.
Cyp. What noise is that among the boughs? Who moves? What art thou?
'Tis a foreign gentleman.
Even from this morning I have lost my way
My way, and lost my servants and my comrades.