As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night,
O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light,
When not a breath disturbs the deep serene,
And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene;
Around her throne the vivid planets roll,
And stars unnumbered gild the glowing pole,
O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed,
And tip with silver every mountain's head;
Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise,
A flood of glory bursts from all the skies.
But neither Pope nor Cowper can be said to have caught the spirit of the original as well as the old ballad version of Chapman.
As when about the silver moon, when air is free from winde,
And stars shine cleare to whose sweet beams high prospects and the brows
Of all steep hills and pinnacles thrust up themselves for shows;
And even the lowly vallies joy to glitter in their sight—
When the unmeasured firmament bursts to disclose her light,
And all the signs in heaven are seen that glad the shepherd heart.
Apollonius Rhodius, in the Argonautica, presents a greater diversity of imagery. He has not in view, like Homer, the unity of a single scene, but calls up similar emotions by a dispersed variety of the most impressive pictures. We present a translation, which, if it have no other merit, may at least be said to be almost word for word—
Now Night had thrown her shadow o'er the earth.
Far out at sea the sailors stood and gazed,
On wheeling Arctos and Orion's stars.
The traveler longed to hear the warder's voice
Invite to rest; and even the mother's eyes
That drowsy hour pressed downward, as she watched
By her dead child—the watch-dog's voice was mute;
The city's thronging noise had died away,
And stillness reigned o'er all the shaded realm;
Save in Medea's restless soul—
Virgil closely imitates the Greek poet in the designed contrast, if not in his scenery. As we have not troubled them with the Greek, our fair readers, and others, we hope, will pardon us for putting on our page the Latin. Even those may appreciate its exceedingly liquid flow, who are compelled to resort to the translation for its meaning.
Nox erat, et placidum carpebat fessa soporem
Corpora per terras, sylvæque et sæva quiêrant
Æquora: cum medio volvuntur sidera lapsu:
Cum tacet omnis ager, pecudes, pictæque volucres,
Quæque lacus late liquidos, quæque aspera dumis
Rura tenent, somno positæ sub node silenti,
Lenibant curas, et corda oblita laborum
At non infelix Dido—
Æneid, Lib. iv.
'Twas dead of night when wearied bodies close
Their eyes in balmy sleep, and soft repose.
The winds no longer whisper through the woods,
Nor murmuring tides disturb the gentle floods.
The stars in silent order moved around,
And peace with downy wings was brooding on the ground.
The flocks, and herds, and particolored fowl,
Which haunt the woods, or swim the seedy pool,
Stretched on the quiet earth securely lay,
Forgetting the past labors of the day.
All but unhappy Dido—
Dryden is very far from doing justice to Virgil in the translation of this passage, and yet, we must say, that the original, much as it has been praised, falls greatly short of the exquisite description by Apollonius. How much does that most impressive image in the sixth line of the Grecian poet exceed any effect produced by Virgil's pictæ volucres, or "particolored fowl," however ornate the language, and liquid the melody of his highly wrought lines.
But Byron—shall we risk the criticism—Byron, in our judgment, surpasses every example we have quoted, and even had we added, as we might have done, Shakspeare and Milton to the list.