Admiration - Ovidius...

P. Ovidius Naso, Art of Love, Remedy of Love,
Art of Beauty, Court of Love, History of Love,
Amours various, Ed.

Admiration

Thee, Delia, all that see thee must admire,
And mankind in its own despite desire.
As a blind man, restor'd to sudden sight,
Starts in amaze at the first flash of light,
So was I struck, such sudden wonder knew,
When my eyes dazzl'd with the sight of you.
I saw whatever could inflame desire,
Parch up the veins, and set the blood on fire;
From ev'ry charm the pointed lightning came,
And fast as they dispers'd, I caught the flame;
Like stars your glittering eyes were seen to shine,
And roll with motions that are all divine,
Where majesty and softness mingled meet,
And shew a soul at once sublime and sweet;
I gaz'd; and, as I gaz'd, from ev'ry view
New wonders I descried, new passions drew.
Nor were the charms less pow'rful of your tongue,
My ravished soul on ev'ry accent hung,
Glow'd when you spoke, and melted when you sung.
Those lips unopen'd cannot fail to move,
But silently are eloquent in love;
That face and neck, those shoulders, hands, and arms,
Each limb, each feature, has peculiar charms;
Each of itself might singly win a soul,
And never need th' assistance of the whole;
On this one part a poet's praise might dwell,
Did not this other part deserve as well.
Beauty is surely near allied to wit,
Of which none can the just description hit;
By their own selves they may be shewn the best,
And only are, in being seen, exprest.
Beauty's true charms no poem can present,
Which but imperfectly are done in paint;
That, too, comes short of life, and only takes
Faint images of those which nature makes.

P. Ovidius Naso. Ovid's Art of Love (in three Books), the Remedy of Love, the Art of Beauty, the Court of Love, the History of Love, and Amours. Anne Mahoney. edited for Perseus. New York. Calvin Blanchard. 1855.
Fund for the Improvement of Postsecondary Education provided support for entering this text.


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Perseus and Andromeda

Propitious chance led Perseus once to view
The fairest piece that ever nature drew:
Chain'd on a rocky shore the virgin stood,
Naked, and whiter than the foaming flood;
Whom, as he cours'd the confines of the sky,
Amaz'd he saw, and kept his wond'ring eye
So fix'd, he had almost forgot to fly.
Had not the winds dispers'd her flowing hair,
And held it waving in the liquid air;
Or had not streams of tears apace roll'd down
Her lovely cheeks, he would have thought her stone.
Straight he precipitates his hasty flight,
Impatient to obtain a nearer sight.
Now all at once he feels the raging fires,
Sees all the maid, and all he sees, admires.
With awe and wonder, mix'd with love and fear,
He stands as motionless as shame made her;
Urg'd on at last, but still by slow degrees,
Loth to offend, he draws to what he sees.
"Oh! why (he cries), most matchless fair one, why
Are you thus us'd? can you be doom'd to die?
Have you done any guilt? that guilt relate.
How can such beauty merit such a fate?
I am thy champion, and espouse thy cause;
In thy defence the Thund'rer's offspring draws.
Say, if thou'rt rescu'd by the son of Jove,
Say, for thy life wilt thou return my love?"
The bashful virgin no return affords,
But sends ten thousand sighs instead of words;
With grief, redoubled with her shame, she mourns
She weeps, he joys, she blushes, and he burns.
In chains, extended at her length she lay,
While he with transport took a full survey.
Fain would her hands her consciousblushes hide,
But that the fetters which they wore denied.
What could she do ? all that she could she did,
For drown'd in floods of tears, her eyes she hid.
Much urg'd to speak, she turn'd her bashful look
Far as she could aside, and trembling spoke:
"My mother, conscious of her beauty, strove
(Alas, too conscious!) with the wife of Jove,
Who, by a cruel and unjust decree,
To punish her, takes this revenge on me
Here I am doom'd a dreadful monster's prey,
Who now, now, now, is issuing from the sea;
Haste, gen'rous youth, our common foe subdue,
And if you save my life, I live for you."
Thus spoke the maid, half dying with her fears,
When, lo! the monster from the sea appears.
The dauntless hero mounts his flying horse,
And o'er the waves directs his airy course;
Let him alone his victory pursue,
For dreadful war has nothing here to do.
This short account will love-sick swains suffice,-
He slew his foe, and straight receiv'd his prize.
Thrice happy youth, too fortunately bless'd,
Who only came, and conquer'd, and possess'd;
None of the pangs of love your bliss annoy'd,-
You but beheld, admir'd, and so enjoy'd.

P. Ovidius Naso. Ovid's Art of Love (in three Books), the Remedy of Love, the Art of Beauty, the Court of Love, the History of Love, and Amours. Anne Mahoney. edited for Perseus. New York. Calvin Blanchard. 1855.
Fund for the Improvement of Postsecondary Education provided support for entering this text.

Desire

All other lovers longer toils sustain;
Desires, hopes,jealousies, an endless train.

P. Ovidius Naso. Ovid's Art of Love (in three Books), the Remedy of Love, the Art of Beauty, the Court of Love, the History of Love, and Amours. Anne Mahoney. edited for Perseus. New York. Calvin Blanchard. 1855.
Fund for the Improvement of Postsecondary Education provided support for entering this text.

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Pygmalion

How thou art envied let Pygmalion prove,
Who by a miracle obtained his love;
Who, living in an age when women led
The lewdest lives, all shame and honour fled,
For a long time declin'd the nuptial bed;
He saw them all debauch'd with monstrous crimes;
No virtuous maid, no Delia bless'd the times.
Had she liv'd then, his skill had ne'er been shown,
Nor the strange miracle that crown'd it, known.
There had lie fix'd, not form'd, his fancied maid,
Nor fondly been by his own art betray'd.
The nymph in polish'd iv'ry glitter'd bright;
So smooth, she seem'd too slippery for his sight.
So curious was her shape, so just her frame,
So quick her eyes appear'd, so full of flame,
They would have roll'd if not restrained by shame.
From his strange art the statue had received
Such lively strokes, one would have thought it liv'd;
E'en he himself could hardly, hardly know,
But doubted long, whether it liv'd or no.
Yet from her, as she was, he gather'd fires,
And fierce and boundless were his mad desires.
He felt her flesh, (his fancy thought it such,)
And fear'd to hurt her with too rude a touch;
He kiss'd her with belief so strong and vain,
That he imagin'd how she kiss'd again.
Now makes his court, his fond addresses moves,
And tells a long fond tale how well he loves.
Presents her now with all he thought might please,
With precious gums distill'd from weeping trees.
Small singing birds, who strain their tuneful throats,
Covering round, repeat their pretty notes.
With sweetest flowers he crowns her lovely head,
And lays her on the softest downy bed.
In richest robes his charming idol drest,
Bright sparkling gems adorn her neck and breast,
And she look'd well in all, but looked, when naked, best.
Now Venus kept her feast; and goodly train
For love-sick youths frequent, and fill her fane.
The snow-white heifers fall by sacred strokes,
While with rich gums the loaded altar smokes.
Among the rest the hopeless lover stands,
Tears in his eyes, his offerings in his hands;
More furious than before he feels his fires,
E'en his despair redoubles his desires.
A long, long time in orations deferr'd,
He durst not pray, lest he should not be heard;
Till urg'd by love, his tim'rous silence broke,
Thus, but still tim'rously, at last he spoke-
"If you, ye sacred powers that rule above,
And you, great goddess of propitious love;
If all we want is plac'd within your power,
And you can give whatever we implore;
Exert your godhead now, now lend your aid,
Give me the wife I wish, one like," he said,
But durst not say, "Give me the ivory maid."
This finish'd, thrice auspicious flashes rise,
And wreaths of curling smoke ascended thrice.
Half hoping now, and yet still half afraid,
With doubtful joy he seeks his ivory maid;
Doats more than ever on her fancied charms,
And closely clasps her in his longing arms;
When all at once, with joy and wonder fill'd,
He feels her stubborn sides begin to yield;
Soft was her bosom grown; her throbbing breast
Heav'd with her breath, swell'd greatly to be prest.
Surpriz'd and glad, he feels her oft and oft,
And more and more perceives her warm and soft.
Warm were her lips, and ev'ry pointed kiss
With melting touches met and moisten'd his.
Her blood now circled, and her pulses beat,
And life at last enjoy'd a settled seat.
Slowly she lifts her new and fearful sight
And sees at once her lover and the light;
An unborn maid both life and lover found,
And he too had his desp'rate wishes crown'd.
Desperate indeed; what prospect could he see,
Or how at first hope any more than me?

P. Ovidius Naso. Ovid's Art of Love (in three Books), the Remedy of Love, the Art of Beauty, the Court of Love, the History of Love, and Amours. Anne Mahoney. edited for Perseus. New York. Calvin Blanchard. 1855.
Fund for the Improvement of Postsecondary Education provided support for entering this text.