A TRANSLATION of OVID de Tristibus, Elegy II. Book 1

Ye mighty Gods, who rule th' extensive Sea: Or ye whose Power the Heav'ns and Earth obey: (For what remains, but Pray'rs alone to you Who at one Sight can look all Nature thro'?) Spare ye to shake and tear the shatter'd Ship; Nor aid great Caesar's Anger in the Deep! Oft' times the Gods themselves in Parties are, When one depresses, th' other seeks to spare. Tho' Phoebus self to save old Ilium sought; Vulcanian Arms its sure Destruction wrought. The Trojan Race still found bright Venus true, Whom fierce Minerva did with Rage pursue. The good AEneas found Saturnia's Rage; Yet Love's soft Queen could all her Hate asswage. Minerva's Pow'r the sly Ulysses saves; While Neptune sought him on the boist'rous Waves. And who forbids some Pow'r divine to keep From angry Gods, the torn and shater'd Ship: The grievous Waters wash me as I pray, And horrid Winds enforce my Words away: Thro' the hoarse Noise no pitying God can hear The Winds, my Words and Sails in Pieces tear: The Fault's unknown: Why should I bear such Woes? Are all the Gods, as well as Caesar Foes? Ah Wretch! what Hills of Water roll on high! Just now, just now, you'd think they touch'd the Sky. How deep the Vallies in the Ocean low'r! Just now you'd think they touch'd the Stygian Shore. The Seas and Skies alone attract the Sight, There pitchy Clouds in black Batallions fight: Here hollow Murmurs from the Ocean rise, And fill with spreading Sounds the distant Skies: Sometimes the East-Wind gathers Strength from far, And seems the Victor in the windy War: Sometimes the West is present with his Pow'rs; As fiercer Boreas from the Northern Shores: Sometimes the South in dreadful Tempests blows; Nor which to serve the troubled Ocean knows: The Pilot's self, these Squalls desires, nor flies, And from his Art still doubtful Evils rise. Nothing but Death appears in frightful Forms; No Hopes of Safety from such horrid Storms: Ev'n whilst I speak, oppress'd beneath a Wave, It proves at once a Winding-sheet and Grave. No Ills like these my pious Consort knows, She only grieves me as an absent Spouse; Far from her Thoughts such dreadful Tempest be, She knows not that I'm tost by Wind and Sea; Before my Eyes she knows not Death to stand, 'Twas well I left her on the peaceful Land: How hard, ye Fates, should I resign my Breath! She being here, 'twould make a double Death: Myself alone can all my Pains endure, And longer live, while my lov'd Fair's secure.

Alas, how swift the Clouds have darted Flame! From Heav'ns huge Axle, what strong Noises came? While Seas enrag'd in Hills and Vales divide, With what strong Force the Waters beat the Side! More light a Cannon Ball pursues its Course, And rends a massy Wall with lesser Force. I fear not Death, my Life from Shipwreck guard, Another Death I'll count a great Reward: 'Tis glorious dying by some honour'd Wound, Where our bold Corps may lie beneath the Ground. Our dying Eyes some pitying Friend might close, And wish our Souls may meet a calm Repose: But to the Fishes Meat, to Sharks a Prey, Or Baits for lesser Monsters of the Sea; Think, think, ye worst of Foes! what have I done To draw a Fate so very wretched on? Nor me alone do all these Dangers strike, Men undeserving meet my Fate alike. Ye Powers above, and ye green Deities, Who govern by your Care the raging Seas, Permit that I, exil'd by Caesar's Pow'r, May safely reach th' inhospitable Shore: Seek ye, to slay what his mild Anger spares, My Fault, less Punishment than Drowning bears: Had Caesar doom'd me to the Stygian Lake He need not you to his Assistance take; He loves no envious Plenty of our Blood, He gives and takes, and all his Acts are Good. Ye know my Crime, be satisfy'd in this; What have I done to your dread selves amiss? Use all your Power to save, I'm wretched still, Exil'd and punish'd for my conscious Ill. I plow no Waves to find the Sweets of Gain; Nor heap up Wealth from Mexico or Spain: Nor is my Course to learned Athens bent, Where with a studious Mind I lately went. The Asian Town, fair Alexandria, thee, And jocund Nile, far be your Joys from me. Small is my Wish, small is my humble Pray'r. To find a Sky serene, or Breezes fair: 'Tis scarce bellev'd I sail to frigid Climes, And barb'rous Lands, unknown to former Times. Yet still the Winds, as cruel as the Shore, To freezing Pontus will not waft me o're. Far, far, I fear, far as remotest Thule, Dread Tomos lies, and the Meotis Pool: Beneath some stormy and intemperate Zone, (For Navigation is to me unknown:) Yet, by my Vows and Oaths, I'm exil'd there; Then smooth, ye Powers, the Waves and restless Air: Assist the lab'ring Vessel in her Way; My Punishment's on Land, and not at Sea: To dye on Pontus' Shores, is Caesar's Doom, Far from my Friends: Ah! very far from Rome. Blow swift ye Winds, Ausonian Coasts I see, I must from them, or they must fly from me. Thus Caesar wills, he drives me to the Place, And barb'rous Scythia must behold my Face: What he commands sure I deserve; for still I owe Allegiance to his sacred Will. Yet if ye Powers our mortal Acts ye see, Ye know that Wickedness was far from me; 'Twas Error all, a Carelesness of Mind Which brought, unthinking, all the Ills I find. If I have lov'd great Caesar's awful State; If his Commands alone to me is Fate; If happy Days I liv'd in his blest Reign, And offer'd Pray'rs for Caesar's kindred Train; So spare me Gods: If not, destroy my Soul; O'er my loath'd Head let briny Waters roll.

Am I deceiv'd? the Clouds disperse away, Stop'd is the Anger of the boist'rous Sea! From some great Pow'r these sudden Changes spring; For Chance alone this Help could never bring. The Seas and Winds obey the pow'rful Voice; Sailors give Thanks, and exil'd I rejoice.