“The Transformation of Io into a Heyfer” (III) – Ovid
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Tag: John Dryden
June 6, 2020
“The Transformation of Io into a Heyfer” (II) – Ovid
“Juno, Jupiter and Io“ (1672)
Gerbrand van den Eeckhout
________________
we left Inachus in my last instalment
looking for his daughter, Io
Her, just returning from her father’s brook,
Her, Io
Jove had beheld, with a desiring look:
the sentence structure, as it’s been
crafted in the verses above, has
been an aspect of Ovid’s poem for
some time, though, it must again
be noted, as translated by John
Dryden, the subject goes where
the object should go, the sentence
is inverted
the sentence should be, Jove had
beheld her, … just returning from
her father’s brook
but the placement of Her at the
top of the sentence, and even
capitalized, is, you must admit,
arresting, and of the highest
poetic order
And, Oh fair daughter of the flood, he said,
the flood, the many rivers that came
to comfort Inachus, their sovereign,
in his distress at having lost Io, his
daughter, their many surging
confluences would’ve created
overflowing torrents, the flood
Worthy alone of Jove’s imperial bed,
Jove thinks Io worthy of no one
else’s mattress but his own
Happy whoever shall those charms possess;
The king of Gods (nor is thy lover less)
Invites thee to yon cooler shades; to shun
The scorching rays of the meridian sun.
whoever might partake of her charms,
Jove tells Io, would be Happy
again an inverted sentence, note
but Jove makes his play, flashes
his pedigree,The king of Gods,
nothing less, and invites her to a
shady grove, out of the noonday,
the meridian, sun
Nor shalt thou tempt the dangers of the grove
Alone, without a guide; thy guide is Jove.
Jove / Jupiter, god of gods
No puny Pow’r, but he whose high command
Is unconfin’d,
Jove / Jupiter is not a nobody, but,
rather, unconfin’d, omnipotent,
he boasts
who rules the seas and land;
And tempers thunder in his awful hand,
Jove / Jupiter, supreme master of
the elements
Oh fly not:
Jove urges Io
for she fled from his embrace
O’er Lerna’s pastures:
Lerna, a region of Ancient Greece
he pursu’d the chace
Along the shades of the Lyrcaean plain;
Lyrcaean, after some investigation,
seems to mean from Lycaeus, the
Latin name for Lykaion, a mountain
in Greece, considered by some to
be the birthplace of Jove / Jupiter /
Zeus
otherwise, but very improbably, the
Lyrcaean plain is a literary invention,
of Ovid, or of his translator, Dryden
At length the God, who never asks in vain,
Involv’d with vapours, imitating night,
Both Air, and Earth;
Inform’d with, having transformed
himself into, vapours, a mist,
imitating night, shrouding [b]oth
Air and Earth in darkness,
becoming himself, therefore,
indistinct, indefinite, nebulous,
within them
and then suppress’d her flight,
And mingling force with love, enjoy’d the full delight.
first of all Phoebus / Apollo‘s pursuit
of Daphne, and now Jove / Jupiter‘s
constraint of Io, are not admirable
aspects of male deities, indeed in
our age of action against the
harassment of women, their
behaviour is disturbing, uncomfortable
for me even to read, I’m too reminded
of dissolute American CEOs, not to
mention presidents, but concluding
that this dilemma has been around
for countless ages among vertebrates,
be they animal, human, or, as in these
instances, divine, therefore written in
our antediluvian, our primeval, genes,
maybe, consequently, ineradicably
Mean-time the jealous Juno, from on high,
Juno, goddess of goddesses, wife
of Jupiter / Jove
Survey’d the fruitful fields of Arcady;
Arcady, or Arcadia, a region still
of Greece
And wonder’d that the mist shou’d over-run
The face of day-light, and obscure the sun.
which is to say, Juno, suspicious,
asks herself, what’s up with that
No nat’ral cause she found, from brooks, or bogs,
Or marshy lowlands, to produce the fogs;
she reckons
Then round the skies she sought for Jupiter,
Her faithless husband; but no Jove was there:
Juno knows her Jove / Jupiter
Suspecting now the worst, Or I, she said,
Am much mistaken, or am much betray’d.
it’s one of two things, Juno figures,
after [s]uspecting … the worst, I am
myself in error, she concludes, I am
myself mistaken , or am, by my
husband, much betray’d
With fury she precipitates her flight:
her flight, her plan of action, both
geographical, and tactical
Dispels the shadows of dissembled night;
dissembled, sham, not actual, Jove /
Jupiter, if you’ll remember, Involv’d
with vapours, was imitating night,
not easily visible
And to the day restores his native light.
note that day is masculine here,
his native light
Th’ Almighty Leacher, careful to prevent
The consequence, foreseeing her descent,
Transforms his mistress in a trice; and now
In Io’s place appears a lovely cow.
Leacher, lecher
in a trice, very quickly, in the bat
of an eyelash
a cow
see above
So sleek her skin, so faultless was her make,
Ev’n Juno did unwilling pleasure take
To see so fair a rival of her love;
though transformed into a cow, Io
remains lovely, even Juno can see
that, however be she jealous
And what she was, and whence, enquir’d of Jove:
where did you get that, Juno asks
of Jove, surely dryly
Of what fair herd, and from what pedigree?
and what, and when, and how, she
further inquires, probably acidly
The God, half caught, was forc’d upon a lye:
And said she sprung from Earth.
Jove, who’d had to tell a lye, a lie,
said that the heifer, the altered Io,
had sprung, spontaneously, he
claimed, from the earth
She took the word,
Juno accepted Jove‘s explanation
And begg’d the beauteous heyfer of her lord.
Juno asks of Jove that she might
keep the heyfer for herself, the
heifer, a virgin cow
What should he do? ’twas equal shame to Jove
Or to relinquish, or betray his love:
Yet to refuse so slight a gift, wou’d be
But more t’ increase his consort’s jealousie:
Jove / Jupiter was in a bind, to
out Io, or to out himself
Thus fear, and love, by turns, his heart assail’d;
And stronger love had sure, at length, prevail’d:
But some faint hope remain’d, his jealous queen
Had not the mistress through the heyfer seen.
if it weren’t for the fact that Juno
maybe, some faint hope, might
not have recognized Io in the
heifer, Jove / Jupiter would’ve,
had sure, eventually, at length,
confessed to his indiscretion, his
stronger love, having prevail’d
The cautious Goddess, of her gift possest,
Yet harbour’d anxious thoughts within her breast;
As she who knew the falshood of her Jove;
though Juno has been granted her
request, she remains sceptical,
knew her husband was prone to
falshood, or falsehood
And justly fear’d some new relapse of love.
justly, the facts would bear her out,
were she cognizant of them
Which to prevent, and to secure her care,
To trusty Argus she commits the fair.
Argus Panoptes, one of the giants
who must’ve remained after their
war
Panoptes, pan optes, Greek for many
eyes, of which only a few, it came to
be believed, of Juno‘s entrusted
guardian, slept at a time
to be continued
R ! chard
June 1, 2020
“The Transformation of Daphne into a Lawrel” (III) – Ovid
“Laurel” (1901)
Alphonse Mucha
_______
however ardently might’ve Phoebus
been pleading his case before
Daphne, his, however recalcitrant,
intended, flashing his divine pedigree,
vowing to put all that aside to serve
only her
She heard not half; so furiously she flies;
And on her ear th’ imperfect accent dies,
th’ imperfect accent might be the
unnatural tone of a divinity Daphne
might be hearing, the unusual timbre
of a deity’s voice, I can’t imagine Ovid
would be suggesting that Daphne and
Phoebus spoke different Greek dialects
perhaps th’ imperfect accent is the
unsettling manner of his entreaties,
his indecorous urgency
poets can be confounding
Fear gave her wings; and as she fled, the wind
Increasing, spread her flowing hair behind;
And left her legs and thighs expos’d to view:
Which made the God more eager to pursue.
the pagan gods were notoriously
mischievous, spirited, impulsive,
quite human, never sublime and
irreproachable as is the Abrahamic
Supreme Deity
the pagan gods lived in the fields
and streams, the hills and vales,
the seas and mountains, that
surrounded Greek and Roman
communities, Olympus was their
steepest height, never the
supernatural elevations, beyond
even our visible heaven, that our
present pervasive monotheism
proclaims
The God was young, and was too hotly bent
To lose his time in empty compliment:
But led by love, and fir’d with such a sight,
Impetuously pursu’d his near delight.
often, the gods of antiquity were
perverse, not at all blameless,
not innocent, not irreproachable,
like the one and only god that,
today, in its several interpretations,
even murderously conflicting, rules,
oversees, mostly, our present, at
least Western, faith communities
As when th’ impatient greyhound slipt from far,
Bounds o’er the glebe to course the fearful hare,
glebe, fields
She in her speed does all her safety lay;
And he with double speed pursues the prey;
O’er-runs her at the sitting turn, and licks
His chaps in vain, and blows upon the flix:
flix, fur, the greyhound’s pelt
perhaps greyhounds do this, blow
upon their flix, you’ll have to ask
Ovid, or maybe Dryden, his
translator
She scapes, and for the neighb’ring covert strives,
a covert, a bush in which to hide
And gaining shelter, doubts if yet she lives:
doubts if yet she lives, she can’t
believe she made it
If little things with great we may compare,
Such was the God, and such the flying fair,
the flying fair, Daphne, the God,
Phoebus
She urg’d by fear, her feet did swiftly move,
But he more swiftly, who was urg’d by love.
love, as Ovid, or is it, once again,
Dryden, who defines it, urg’d,
compelled by hormones, not at all
our romantic conception of it
He gathers ground upon her in the chace:
Now breathes upon her hair, with nearer pace;
And just is fast’ning on the wish’d embrace.
Red Riding Hood and the Big
Bad Wolf
The nymph grew pale, and in a mortal fright,
Spent with the labour of so long a flight;
Spent, defeated
And now despairing, cast a mournful look
Upon the streams of her paternal brook;
her father, Peneus, was a river god,
if you’ll remember, paternal brook,
the rill, the rivulet, of her father
Oh help, she cry’d, in this extreamest need!
If water Gods are deities indeed:
if there is a god, be with me, she
cry’d, you, yourself, I’m sure, have
been there, though Daphne‘s faith
was grounded in help, in this case,
from her father, god of, appropriately
in this instance, streams
Gape Earth, and this unhappy wretch intomb;
I’d rather die, Daphne pleads, I’d
rather the earth swallowed me up,
I’d rather be intomb[ed]
Or change my form, whence all my sorrows come.
transform me, rid me of what makes
me appealing, Daphne pleads
Scarce had she finish’d, when her feet she found
Benumb’d with cold, and fasten’d to the ground:
A filmy rind about her body grows;
a condition I’ve found not unlike the
ravages I call, ironically, bark, crusty
imperfections that afflict my own
ageing body
Her hair to leaves, her arms extend to boughs:
The nymph is all into a lawrel gone;
Daphne is turning into a tree,
a lawrel
The smoothness of her skin remains alone.
of Daphne, only her smoothness
remains
Yet Phoebus loves her still, and casting round
Her bole, his arms, some little warmth he found.
bole, the stem of a tree
The tree still panted in th’ unfinish’d part:
where Daphne had not yet become
a tree, she still panted, pulsed
Not wholly vegetive, and heav’d her heart.
heav’d her heart, passionately
reacted
He fixt his lips upon the trembling rind;
rind, bark
It swerv’d aside, and his embrace declin’d.
kisses not at all sweeter than wine,
said the lawrel
To whom the God, Because thou canst not be
My mistress, I espouse thee for my tree:
Phoebus begins to speak directly
here, Because thou canst not be, /
My mistress, he says, I espouse
thee for my tree:
espouse, marry
Be thou the prize of honour, and renown;
you will be, he continues, the
prize that will represent heroes
The deathless poet, and the poem, crown.
honour, first of all, worthy, deathless,
poets, Phoebus commands, let the
laurel wreath crown deserving
wordsmiths
Ovid had reason to champion poets,
he’d been exiled from Rome by the
Emperor, Augustus, his catering to
the Roman ruler becomes
intermittently evident throughout
this masterpiece
Thou shalt the Roman festivals adorn,
And, after poets, be by victors worn.
victors, Olympic champions, notably
Thou shalt returning Caesar’s triumph grace;
Ovid curries imperial favour here with
Augustus, by simply immortalizing in
poetry the name of Caesar, the new
Emperor’s great-uncle, and adoptive
father, making his own personal
nemesis shine, for what it might be
worth, by association
When pomps shall in a long procession pass.
the parades will be long ones
Wreath’d on the posts before his palace wait;
the laurel leaves will garland the
posts, stations, before, in front of,
the imperial palace
And be the sacred guardian of the gate.
Secure from thunder, and unharm’d by Jove,
even Jove / Jupiter, god of gods,
will stand by, honour, the symbol
of the laurel
Unfading as th’ immortal Pow’rs above:
Unfading, into very eternity
it’s interesting to note that the
laurel has not lost its significance
despite the intervening centuries,
epochs, we find reference to it even
in the honorific title of laureate, as
in Nobel laureate, or even in the
accolade of baccalaureate, the
bachelor’s degree, the prestigious
academic accomplishment
Unfading indeed
And as the locks of Phoebus are unshorn,
Phoebus always sports perfect
hair
So shall perpetual green thy boughs adorn.
it would seem that, according to
this, laurel leaves, perpetual
green, don’t ever lose their
colour, but I can’t attest to this,
being a poet rather than an
arborist, a gardener, though
bay leaves, laurel, even dry,
don’t turn brown, I’ve since
noticed
The grateful tree was pleas’d with what he said;
And shook the shady honours of her head.
and they all lived happily ever
after
or didn’t
myths are the enduring fairy tales
that adults continue to believe in,
according to their culture, about
men and women rather than
boys and girls, they help us, like
fairy tales, make up our moral
order
R ! chard
May 30, 2020
“Apollo e Dafne” – George Frideric Handel
“George Frideric Handel” (1726 – 1728)
Balthasar Denner
__________
supposing that there would probably
be a musical interpretation of the
myth of Apollo and Daphne, I wasn’t
surprised to discover that Handel
had written one, in 1709 – 10, cantatas
on mythic subjects was the type of
thing he did, don’t forget the
Renaissance, the renewed, and
probing fascination, starting more
or less in the 14th Century, with
Classical Greece and Rome, affecting
everything, even as late, 1685 to 1759,
as the 18th Century for this composer
I must admit that I’m not particularly
partial to Handel, his rhythms are
way too elementary for my taste,
plus he never achieves the depth
of emotion Bach, his contemporary,
does, 1685 – 1750, so that I’ve put
him aside pretty well completely
but here’s an Apollo e Dafne that
I found compelling from beginning
to end
Apollo e Dafne is not an opera, but
a cantata, which means a piece
for voice and orchestra, but with
several movements, like tunes in
a Broadway show
this production, however, has
incorporated a scenario with
singers in costume acting
out a plot
it has no subtitles though, but
you can read the translation
here, should you need to
Handel’s libretto, note, is a
reworking of Ovid’s text, therefore
not an exact reproduction of the
version I’ve been highlighting,
Dryden’s translation of 1717,
written a few years, you’ll want to
consider, after Handel’s own
composition, but the essential
story is there, she eventually
turns into a tree, no surprise,
you knew that already from Ovid’s
very title, The Transformation of
Daphne into a Lawrel, as
inscribed, however archaically
now, by Dryden
I’ll just point out that Cupid’s in
red, doesn’t sing, just delivers
atmospheric context, and you
might find some later scenes
quite, even shockingly, I did,
explicit, be advised
otherwise, enjoy, be delighted
R ! chard
April 8, 2020
“Metamorphoses” – Ovid, 105
“The Creation” (1935)
Aaron Douglas
________
it should be noted that this exemplary
translation of Metamorphoses was
done by a clutch of eminent poets,
John Dryden principally, England’s
first Poet Laureate, 1688, but with
the help of, notably, Joseph Addison,
Alexander Pope, and William
Congreve, among a number of
celebrated others, under the
direction of the poet and physician,
Samuel Garth, in no later than 1717,
over 300 hundred years ago
this will explain the sometimes
disorienting spelling of some
otherwise common words, you’ve
read already, for instance, “extreams”
for “extremes”, “watry” for “watery”,
“blustring” for “blustering”
it might also be that my own reading
of the text could be influenced by
idiosyncratic interpretations given
by the above poets, who would’ve
written according to the perspectives
of their own time, the 18th Century,
somewhat altering, most likely, the
pristine intentions of Ovid’s original
as I myself, however philologically
scrupulously – mea culpa, mea
culpa, mea maxima culpa, I must
contritely confess – can, can
be forewarned
but onwards to the completion of
the Creation
High o’er the clouds, and empty realms of wind,
The God a clearer space for Heav’n design’d;
Where fields of light, and liquid aether flow;
a description of Heaven, “fields of light and
liquid aether”
Purg’d from the pondrous dregs of Earth below.
“the pondrous dregs of Earth”, our dwelling
Scarce had the Pow’r distinguish’d these, when streight
The stars, no longer overlaid with weight,
Exert their heads, from underneath the mass;
And upward shoot, and kindle as they pass,
“the Pow’r”, or “the God, whatever God was he”,
earlier noted
while gravitation again allows the “fields of light”,
newly “distinguished”, or separated, from the
“pondrous dregs of Earth“, to “streight…upward
shoot, and kindle”, or sparkle, like firewood, or
nebulae, aurorae, very constellations
And with diffusive light adorn their heav’nly place.
diffusive, evanescent, aetherial, nearly
transcendental
Then, every void of Nature to supply,
With forms of Gods he fills the vacant sky:
New herds of beasts he sends, the plains to share:
New colonies of birds, to people air:
And to their oozy beds, the finny fish repair.
note that all life forms are “forms of Gods”,
and “birds”, anthropomorphically, no less
than “people air”
A creature of a more exalted kind
Was wanting yet, and then was Man design’d:
the design follows
Conscious of thought, of more capacious breast,
For empire form’d, and fit to rule the rest:
though the specific initial progenitor will remain
ever the secret of that Creator
Whether with particles of heav’nly fire
The God of Nature did his soul inspire,
Or Earth, but new divided from the sky
was it “heav’nly fire” or “Earth”, which malleable
And, pliant, still retain’d th’ aetherial energy:
we are, in other words, quintessentially,
however muddied, starlight
Which wise Prometheus temper’d into paste,
And, mixt with living streams, the godlike image cast.
Prometheus is the Titan who fashioned
us of clay, and gifted us with fire despite
the opposition of the Gods, for which he
was cruelly punished, but that’s another
story
Thus, while the mute creation downward bend
Their sight, and to their earthly mother tend,
mute creation, species who have no
language, animals, lizards, insects
Man looks aloft; and with erected eyes
Beholds his own hereditary skies.
hereditary, received from the Creator,
the primordial ancestor, generator
From such rude principles our form began;
And earth was metamorphos’d into Man.
R ! chard
April 3, 2020
“Metamorphoses” – Ovid, 101
“Primavera“ (1478)
Sandro Botticelli
_________
a friend expressed some interest in Ovid’s
Metamorphoses recently after I’d sung for
a few moments its praises, had told her I
was revisiting it after some time with the
intention of duly, this time, completing it,
given that, hey, we’ve got lots of time, at
present, all of us, on our hands, by very
mandate
it sounds wonderful, she briefed me after
I’d sent her the appropriate link, but there
are some parts I don’t understand
I’ll help, I said, only too eager to share
the delights of this inprobable treasure,
a gift nearly two thousand years old,
with the magic still of very revelation
Metamorphoses is a creation story, the
equivalent of the Bible for those who
revered the Roman deities, the same
deities that the Greeks revered, but
transplanted, renamed, to Roman
stock, like the Puritans did their
Christian seed at Plymouth Rock
Ovid, 43 BC to 17/18 AD, was a Roman
poet, paying fealty to Augustus, Emperor
of Rome, 63 BC to 14 AD, therefore his
Roman goddesses, gods, and his,
contemporary, Latin
which was translated into English early
in the Renaissance, but found its best
expression, to my mind still, in the
eminent hands of Sir Samuel Garth,
John Dryden, Alexander Pope, Joseph
Addison, William Congreve, among
others in, already, 1717
listen
The Creation of the World
Of bodies chang’d to various forms, I sing:
Ovid is saying my topic is transformation, very
metamorphoses, plural of metamorphosis
Ye Gods, from whom these miracles did spring,
Inspire my numbers with coelestial heat;
‘Till I my long laborious work compleat:
And add perpetual tenour to my rhimes,
Deduc’d from Nature’s birth, to Caesar’s times.
poets have traditionally called upon their related
muses to inspire them to accomplish their task,
Ovid invokes his Gods, compare Shakespeare’s
O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend / The
brightest heaven of invention, his prologue to
Henry V
“Ye Gods”, Ovid says, “from whom these
miracles did spring”, those everyday wonders
that surround us, inspire me, he asks, that I
might “compleat”, which is to say complete,
his poem, “this long laborious work”
his “numbers” are his years, “coelestial”, or
celestial, “heat”, is inspiration
“tenour to my rimes” means rhythm, weight,
to his poetry
“Nature’s birth”, or the beginning of time, to
“Caesar’s time”, Ovid‘s own period under
Augustus
Ovid asks the Gods to fuel him with the
fire to tell the story of the world from its
very beginning to his own epoch,
Caesar’s
how’s that for a project
enough for now
but stay tuned for, to follow, the Creation,
capital C, I tell you
R ! chard
September 13, 2012
the ensuing Ages – Ovid
“The Siver Age“ (c.1516)
________
it is interesting to note how profoundly Ovid‘s mythological
setting marked Christian notions of the Creation, which at
least in the West have held sway now for some nearly two
thousand years
it is a tale then twice told, the last time however with not
half even the first one’s contagious exuberance, I think
worthy indeed proponents of that earlier oracular deity
Richard
____________________
But when good Saturn, banish’d from above,
Was driv’n to Hell, the world was under Jove.
Succeeding times a silver age behold,
Excelling brass, but more excell’d by gold.
Then summer, autumn, winter did appear:
And spring was but a season of the year.
The sun his annual course obliquely made,
Good days contracted, and enlarg’d the bad.
Then air with sultry heats began to glow;
The wings of winds were clogg’d with ice and snow;
And shivering mortals, into houses driv’n,
Sought shelter from th’ inclemency of Heav’n.
Those houses, then, were caves, or homely sheds;
With twining oziers fenc’d; and moss their beds.
Then ploughs, for seed, the fruitful furrows broke,
And oxen labour’d first beneath the yoke.
Was driv’n to Hell, the world was under Jove.
Succeeding times a silver age behold,
Excelling brass, but more excell’d by gold.
Then summer, autumn, winter did appear:
And spring was but a season of the year.
The sun his annual course obliquely made,
Good days contracted, and enlarg’d the bad.
Then air with sultry heats began to glow;
The wings of winds were clogg’d with ice and snow;
And shivering mortals, into houses driv’n,
Sought shelter from th’ inclemency of Heav’n.
Those houses, then, were caves, or homely sheds;
With twining oziers fenc’d; and moss their beds.
Then ploughs, for seed, the fruitful furrows broke,
And oxen labour’d first beneath the yoke.
To this came next in course, the brazen age:
A warlike offspring, prompt to bloody rage,
Not impious yet…
“The Age of Iron” (1637)
__________
Hard steel succeeded then:
And stubborn as the metal, were the men.
Truth, modesty, and shame, the world forsook:
Fraud, avarice, and force, their places took.
Then sails were spread, to every wind that blew.
Raw were the sailors, and the depths were new:
Trees, rudely hollow’d, did the waves sustain;
E’re ships in triumph plough’d the watry plain.
Then land-marks limited to each his right:
For all before was common as the light.
Nor was the ground alone requir’d to bear
Her annual income to the crooked share,
But greedy mortals, rummaging her store,
Digg’d from her entrails first the precious oar;
Which next to Hell, the prudent Gods had laid;
And that alluring ill, to sight display’d.
Thus cursed steel, and more accursed gold,
Gave mischief birth, and made that mischief bold:
And double death did wretched Man invade,
By steel assaulted, and by gold betray’d,
Now (brandish’d weapons glittering in their hands)
Mankind is broken loose from moral bands;
No rights of hospitality remain:
The guest, by him who harbour’d him, is slain,
The son-in-law pursues the father’s life;
The wife her husband murders, he the wife.
The step-dame poyson for the son prepares;
The son inquires into his father’s years.
Faith flies, and piety in exile mourns;
And justice, here opprest, to Heav’n returns.
(from “Metamorphoses“, Book I, in a translation by
eminent hands)
September 8, 2012
“The Golden Age” – Ovid
“The Golden Age“ (1637)
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Eden revisited
Richard
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The golden age was first; when Man yet new,
No rule but uncorrupted reason knew:
And, with a native bent, did good pursue.
Unforc’d by punishment, un-aw’d by fear,
His words were simple, and his soul sincere;
Needless was written law, where none opprest:
The law of Man was written in his breast:
No suppliant crowds before the judge appear’d,
No court erected yet, nor cause was heard:
But all was safe, for conscience was their guard.
The mountain-trees in distant prospect please,
E’re yet the pine descended to the seas:
E’re sails were spread, new oceans to explore:
And happy mortals, unconcern’d for more,
Confin’d their wishes to their native shore.
No walls were yet; nor fence, nor mote, nor mound,
Nor drum was heard, nor trumpet’s angry sound:
Nor swords were forg’d; but void of care and crime,
The soft creation slept away their time.
The teeming Earth, yet guiltless of the plough,
And unprovok’d, did fruitful stores allow:
Content with food, which Nature freely bred,
On wildings and on strawberries they fed;
Cornels and bramble-berries gave the rest,
And falling acorns furnish’d out a feast.
The flow’rs unsown, in fields and meadows reign’d:
And Western winds immortal spring maintain’d.
In following years, the bearded corn ensu’d
From Earth unask’d, nor was that Earth renew’d.
From veins of vallies, milk and nectar broke;
And honey sweating through the pores of oak.
(from “Metamorphoses“, Book I, in a translation by
eminent hands)
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