Ver. 2. I dare not snatch one of your kisses; The sweetness of your charms has ravish'd my soul. 3. Your eyes are black and lovely, But wild and disdainful as those of a stag. STANZA III. 1. The wretched Ibrahim sighs in these verses; One dart from your eyes has pierced through my heart. 2. Ah! when will the hour of possession arrive? The sweetness of your charms has ravish'd my soul. STANZA IV. 1. My cries pierce the heavens! My eyes are without sleep! Turn to me, Sultana! let me gaze on thy beauty. 2. Adieu-I go down to the grave. My heart is hot as sulphur ;-sigh, and it will flame. 3. Crown of my life, fair light of my eyes! My Sultana! my princess! I rub my face against the earth;-I am drowned in scalding tears—I rave! Have you no compassion? will you not turn to look upon me? I have taken abundance of pains to get these verses in a literal translation; and if you were acquainted with my interpreters, I might spare myself the trouble of assuring you, that they have received no poetical touches from their hands. In my opinion, (allowing for the inevitable faults of a prose translation into a language so very different) there is a good deal of beauty in them. The epithet of stag-eyed, (though the sound is not very agreeable in English) pleases me extremely; and I think it a very lively image of the fire and indifference in his mistress's eyes.- Monsieur Boileau has very justly observed, that we are never to judge of the elevation of an expression in an ancient author, by the sound it carries with us; since it may be extremely fine with them, when, at the same time, it appears low or uncouth to us. You are so well acquainted with Homer, you cannot but have observed the same thing, and you must have the same indulgence for all oriental poetry. The repetitions at the end of the two first stanzas are meant for a sort of chorus, and are agreeable to the ancient manner of writing. The music of the verses apparently changes in the third stanza, where the burden is altered; and I think he very artfully seems more passionate at the conclusion, as it is natural for people to warm themselves by their own discourse, especially on a subject in which one is deeply concerned; it is certainly far more touching, than our modern custom of concluding a song of passion, with a turn which is inconsistent with it. The first verse is a description of the season of the year; all the country now being full of nightingales, whose amours with roses, is an Arabian fable, as well known here, as any part of Ovid amongst us, and is much the same as if an English poem should begin, by saying,--" Now Philomela sings." Or what if I ing,— turned the whole into the style of English poetry, to see how it would look ? STANZA I. "Now Philomel renews her tender strain, 66 I sought the groves to hear the wanton sing, STANZA II. "In vain I'm promis'd such a heavenly prize. "Those eyes like, &c. STANZA III. "Your wretched lover in these lines complains: "Ah! bright Sultana! maid divinely fair! STANZA IV." "The heavens relenting hear my piercing cries, 66 Turn thee, Sultana, ere thy lover dies; Sinking to earth, I sigh the last adieu, Call me, my goddess, and my life renew. My queen! my angel! my fond heart's desire! I rave-my bosom burns with heavenly fire! Pity that passion which thy charms inspire." I have taken the liberty in the second verse, of following what I suppose the true sense of the author, though not literally expressed. By his saying he went down to admire the beauty of the vines, and her charms ravished his soul; I understand a poetical fiction, of having first seen her in a garden, where he was admiring the beauty of the spring. But I could not forbear retaining the comparison of her eyes with those of a stag, though perhaps the novelty of it may give it a burlesque sound in our language. I cannot determine upon the whole, how well I have succeeded in the translation, neither do I think our English proper to express such violence of passion, which is very seldom felt amongst us. We want, also, those compound words which are very frequent and strong in the Turkish language. You see I am pretty far gone in Oriental learning, and to say truth, I study very hard. I wish my studies may give me an occasion of entertaining your curiosity, which will be the utmost advantage hoped for from them, by, Yours, &c. LETTER XVI. FROM LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. Belgrade Village, June 17, 1717. I HOPE, before this time, you have received two or three of my letters. I had yours but yesterday, though dated the third of February, in which you suppose me to be dead and buried. I have already let you know that I am still alive; but, to say truth, I look upon my present circumstances to be exactly the same with those of departed spirits. The heats of Constantinople have driven me to this place, which perfectly answers the description of the Elysian fields. I am in the middle of a wood, consisting chiefly of fruit trees, watered by a vast number of fountains, famous for the excellency of their water, and divided into many shady walks, upon short grass, that seems to me artificial; but, I am assured, is the pure work of nature—within view of the Black Sea, from whence we perpetually enjoy the refreshment of cool breezes, that make us insensible of the heat of the summer. The village is only inhabited by the richest amongst the Christians, who meet every night at a fountain, forty paces from my house, to sing and dance. The beauty and dress of the women, exactly resemble the ideas of the ancient nymphs, as they are given us by the representations of the poets and painters. But what persuades me more fully of my decease, is the situation of my own mind, the profound ignorance I am in, of what passes among the living (which only comes to me by chance) and the great calmness with which I receive it. Yet I have still a hankering after my friends and acquaintances left in the world, according to the authority of that admirable author, That spirits departed are wondrous kind Which no body can deny. |