"La verginella è simile alla rosa,
Chi'n bel giardin su la nativa spina,
Mentre sola, e sicura si riposa,
Ne gregge, ne pastor sele avvicina;
L'aura soave, e l'alba rugidosa
L'acqua, la terra al suo favor s'inch a:
Giovani vaghi, e donne innamorate,
Amano averne e seni, e tempre ornate.
Ma non si tosto dal materno stelo,
Remossa viene, e dal suo ceppo verde,
Che, quanto avea dagli uomini, e dal cielo,
Favor, grazia, ebellezza, tutto perde."
Gratian.—Let us examine the alterations made by one genius, in transferring to his own language the ideas of another genius of another country. Catullus says "the floweret,"—flosculus: Ariosto particularises the rose,—the bel giardin, "the beautiful garden," stands for septis in hortis, the enclosed. Then he has given the idea of secretus, which is certainly "separated," "set apart," by the words sola e sicura, "alone and safe"—is it so good? but he gives that a grace, a beauty, the original perhaps has not, riposa—the floweret enjoys its secret repose. The cutting down the flower by the plough was unnecessary, after telling us of the enclosure; we scarcely like to be brought suddenly into the ploughed field. Here Ariosto is better—"nor shepherd nor flock come near it." That enough confirms the idea of its being fenced off, and they wander in their idleness, or, but for the fence, might have reached it; the plough and the team are a heavy apparatus, and would be a most unexpected intrusion,—so I like the Italian here better. Then, su la nativa spina is good: you see the beautiful creature on its native stem or thorn. Then for the enumeration of the airs, the sun, and the shower, the Italian, in his beautiful language, softens the very air, and gives it a sweetness, l'aura soave, and ushers in "the dewy morn:" then, expanding to the glory of the full reverence of nature to this emblem of purity, he makes all bend and bow before it, as before the very queen of the earth. Here he surpasses his original. Then he gives you the object of the wishes of the youths and maidens, the multi pueri multæ optaveræ puellæ. They desire to place it in their bosoms or round their temples: and is not the lovingness of the youths and maidens a good addition? The giovani vaghi e donne innamorate. Both are admirable—but I incline to Ariosto.
Aquilius.—And do you think the Latin poet the original? You forget how little originality the Latin authors can claim. This of Catullus is a translation—a free one, it is true—of perhaps a still more beautiful passage in Euripides. Reach the book: you will find it in that very singular play the Hippolytus. Ay, here it is. He offers the garland to the virgin goddess Artemis—(line 73)
"Σοι τονδε πλεκτον στεφανον εξ ακηρατου
Λειμωνος ω δεσποινα, κοσμησας φερω,
Ενθ'ουτε τοιμην αξιοι φερβειν βοτα
Ουτ' ηλθε ρω σιδηρος αλλ' ακηρατον
Μελισσα λειμων' ηρινον διερχεται
Αιδως δε ποταμιαισι κηπευει δροσοις.
Ὁσοις διδακτον μηδεν, αλλ' εν τη φυσει
Το σωφρονειν ειληχεν ες τα πανθ' ὁμως,
Τουτος δρεπεσθαι τοις κακοισι, δ' ου θεμις."
"I bring thee, O mistress, this woven crown, beautifully made up of flowers of the pure untouched meadow—where never shepherd thinks it fitting to feed his flock, nor the sickle comes; but the bee ever passes over the pure meadow breathing of spring, and modesty waters it as a garden with the river-dews. To them who have, untaught, in their nature the gift of chastity, to these only it is at all times an allowed sanctity to cut these flowers, but not to the evil-minded."
You cannot doubt that the passage in Catullus is taken from the Greek—which is of a higher sentiment in the conclusion, and is enriched beyond the Latin by the bee, and above all by the personification of Modesty tending and watering the garden, or rather these especial flowers, with the river-dews.
Curate.—How far more pure is the sentiment, and more quiet the imagery, in the Greek! The Greeks were the great originators of glorious thought and beautiful diction.
Gratian.—Let us now to Catullus. What have we next?
Aquilius.—Here is a tender little piece, to his friend Ortalus. I see it has an omission: this edition does not supply it; I only take what I see. It seems Ortalus had requested him to send him his translation from Callimachus, the "Coma Berenices," which for some time, through grief for the death of his brother, he had failed to do. He now sends the poem.