TRANSLATION OF PART OF THE FIRST BOOK OF THE ÆNEID
Composed 1823 (?).—Published 1836
This translation was included in the Philological Museum, edited by Julius Charles Hare, and published at Cambridge in 1832 (vol. i. p. 382, etc.). Three Books were translated by Wordsworth, but the greater portion is still in MS., unpublished. What is now reproduced appeared in the Museum. As it was never included by Wordsworth himself in any edition of his Works, his own estimate of its literary value was slight. It was published by Professor Henry Reed in his American reprint of 1851. Writing to Lord Lonsdale on 9th Nov. 1823, Wordsworth says, “I have just finished a Translation into English rhyme of the First Æneid. Would you allow me to send it to you? I would be much gratified if you would take the trouble of comparing some passages with the original. I have endeavoured to be much more literal than Dryden, or Pitt—who keeps more close to the original than his predecessor.”—Ed.
TO THE EDITORS OF THE “PHILOLOGICAL MUSEUM”
Your letter, reminding me of an expectation I some time since held out to you of allowing some specimens of my translation from the Æneid to be printed in the Philological Museum was not very acceptable; for I had abandoned the thought of ever sending into the world any part of that experiment,—for it was nothing more,—an experiment begun for amusement, and I now think a less fortunate one than when I first named it to you. Having been displeased in modern translations with the additions of incongruous matter, I began to translate with a resolve to keep clear of that fault, by adding nothing; but I became convinced that a spirited translation can scarcely be accomplished in the English language without admitting a principle of compensation. On this point, however, I do not wish to insist, and merely send the following passage, taken at random, from a wish to comply with your request.—W.W.
But Cytherea, studious to invent
Arts yet untried, upon new counsels bent,
Resolves that Cupid, chang’d in form and face
To young Ascanius, should assume his place;
Present the maddening gifts, and kindle heat 5
Of passion at the bosom’s inmost seat.
She dreads the treacherous house, the double tongue;
She burns, she frets—by Juno’s rancour stung;
The calm of night is powerless to remove
These cares, and thus she speaks to wingèd Love: 10
“O son, my strength, my power! who dost despise
(What, save thyself, none dares through earth and skies)
The giant-quelling bolts of Jove, I flee,
O son, a suppliant to thy deity!
What perils meet Æneas in his course, 15
How Juno’s hate with unrelenting force
Pursues thy brother—this to thee is known;
And oft-times hast thou made my griefs thine own.
Him now the generous Dido by soft chains
Of bland entreaty at her court detains; 20
Junonian hospitalities prepare
Such apt occasion that I dread a snare.
Hence, ere some hostile God can intervene,
Would I, by previous wiles, inflame the queen
With passion for Æneas, such strong love 25
That at my beck, mine only, she shall move.
Hear, and assist;—the father’s mandate calls
His young Ascanius to the Tyrian walls;
He comes, my dear delight,—and costliest things
Preserv’d from fire and flood for presents brings. 30
Him will I take, and in close covert keep,
’Mid groves Idalian, lull’d to gentle sleep,
Or on Cythera’s far-sequestered steep,
That he may neither know what hope is mine,
Nor by his presence traverse the design. 35
Do thou, but for a single night’s brief space,
Dissemble; be that boy in form and face!
And when enraptured Dido shall receive
Thee to her arms, and kisses interweave
With many a fond embrace, while joy runs high, 40
And goblets crown the proud festivity,
Instil thy subtle poison, and inspire,
At every touch, an unsuspected fire.”
Love, at the word, before his mother’s sight
Puts off his wings, and walks, with proud delight, 45
Like young Iulus; but the gentlest dews
Of slumber Venus sheds, to circumfuse
The true Ascanius steep’d in placid rest;
Then wafts him, cherish’d on her careful breast,
Through upper air to an Idalian glade, 50
Where he on soft amaracas is laid,
With breathing flowers embraced, and fragrant shade.
But Cupid, following cheerily his guide
Achates, with the gifts to Carthage hied;
And, as the hall he entered, there, between 55
The sharers of her golden couch, was seen
Reclin’d in festal pomp the Tyrian queen.
The Trojans, too (Æneas at their head),
On couches lie, with purple overspread:
Meantime in canisters is heap’d the bread, 60
Pellucid water for the hands is borne,
And napkins of smooth texture, finely shorn.
Within are fifty handmaids, who prepare,
As they in order stand, the dainty fare;
And fume the household deities with store 65
Of odorous incense; while a hundred more
Match’d with an equal number of like age,
But each of manly sex, a docile page,
Marshal the banquet, giving with due grace
To cup or viand its appointed place. 70
The Tyrians rushing in, an eager band,
Their painted couches seek, obedient to command.
They look with wonder on the gifts—they gaze
Upon Iulus, dazzled with the rays
That from his ardent countenance are flung, 75
And charm’d to hear his simulating tongue;
Nor pass unprais’d the robe and veil divine,
Round which the yellow flowers and wandering foliage twine.
But chiefly Dido, to the coming ill
Devoted, strives in vain her vast desires to fill; 80
She views the gifts; upon the child then turns
Insatiable looks, and gazing burns.
To ease a father’s cheated love he hung
Upon Æneas, and around him clung;
Then seeks the queen; with her his arts he tries; 85
She fastens on the boy enamour’d eyes,
Clasps in her arms, nor weens (O lot unblest!)
How great a God, incumbent o’er her breast,
Would fill it with his spirit. He, to please
His Acidalian mother, by degrees 90
Blots out Sichaeus, studious to remove
The dead, by influx of a living love,
By stealthy entrance of a perilous guest.
Troubling a heart that had been long at rest.
Now when the viands were withdrawn, and ceas’d 95
The first division of the splendid feast,
While round a vacant board the chiefs recline,
Huge goblets are brought forth; they crown the wine;
Voices of gladness roll the walls around;
Those gladsome voices from the courts rebound; 100
From gilded rafters many a blazing light
Depends, and torches overcome the night.
The minutes fly—till, at the queen’s command,
A bowl of state is offered to her hand:
Then she, as Belus wont, and all the line 105
From Belus, filled it to the brim with wine;
Silence ensued. “O Jupiter, whose care
Is hospitable dealing, grant my prayer!
Productive day be this of lasting joy
To Tyrians, and these exiles driven from Troy; 110
A day to future generations dear!
Let Bacchus, donor of soul-quick’ning cheer,
Be present; kindly Juno, be thou near!
And, Tyrians, may your choicest favours wait
Upon this hour, the bond to celebrate!” 115
She spake and shed an offering on the board;
Then sipp’d the bowl whence she the wine had pour’d
And gave to Bitias, urging the prompt lord;
He rais’d the bowl, and took a long deep draught;
Then every chief in turn the beverage quaff’d. 120
Graced with redundant hair, Iopas sings
The lore of Atlas, to resounding strings,
The labours of the Sun, the lunar wanderings;
Whence human kind, and brute; what natural powers
Engender lightning, whence are falling showers. 125
He haunts Arcturus,—that fraternal twain
The glittering Bears,—the Pleiads fraught with rain;
—Why suns in winter, shunning heaven’s steep heights
Post seaward,—what impedes the tardy nights.
The learned song from Tyrian hearers draws 130
Loud shouts,—the Trojans echo the applause.
—But, lengthening out the night with converse new,
Large draughts of love unhappy Dido drew;
Of Priam ask’d, of Hector—o’er and o’er—
What arms the son of bright Aurora wore;— 135
What steeds the car of Diomed could boast;
Among the leaders of the Grecian host
How look’d Achilles, their dread paramount—
“But nay—the fatal wiles, O guest, recount,
Retrace the Grecian cunning from its source, 140
Your own grief and your friends’—your wandering course;
For now, till this seventh summer have ye rang’d
The sea, or trod the earth, to peace estrang’d.”