TRANSLATIONS IN ENGLISH VERSE

FROM

OVID,

HORACE, TACITUS,

ETC.

BY

WILLIAM LEE, M.A.

PORMERLY FELLOW Op st. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.

2

OVIDII

METAMORPH. LIBER XIII.

a

CONSEDERE duces : et, vulgi stante corona,
Surgit ad hos clypei dominus septemplicis Ajax.
Utque erat impatiens iræ, Sigeïa torvo
Littora respexit, classemque in littore, vultu:
Intendensque manus, Agimus, pro Jupiter! inquit,
Ante rates causam, et mecum confertur Ulysses !
At non Hectoreïs dubitavit cedere flammis,
Quas ego sustinui, quas hac a classe fugavi.
Tutius est fictis igitur contendere verbis, [tum;
Quam pugnare manu.

Sed nec mihi dicere promp-
Nec facere est isti. Quantumque ego Marte feroci,
Quantum acie valeo, tantum valet iste loquendo.
Nec memoranda tamen vobis mea facta, Pelasgi,
Esse reor: vidistis enim. Sua narret Ulysses,
Quæ sine teste gerit, quorum nox conscia sola est.
Præmia magna peti fateor: sed demit honorem
Æmulus Ajaci. Non est tenuisse superbum,
Sit licet hoc ingens, quicquid speravit Ulysses.
Iste tulit pretium jam nunc certaminis hujus,
Quo cum victus erit, mecum certasse feretur.
Atque ego, si virtus in me dubitabilis esset,
Nobilitate potens essem, Telamone creatus,
Mônia qui forti Trojana sub Hercule cepit:
Littoraque intravit Pagasæa Colcha carina.

3

OVID.

METAMORPHOSES, BOOK XIII.

The chiefs are set, the crowd in circle close,
Lord of the seven-fold shield, great Ajax rose.
Angry of mood, survey'd (and stern his look)
The shore, the ships: with hands uplifted, spoke.
Is it, ye gods, before this fleet I plead,
The fleet from Trojan fires my valour saved !
And dares Ulysses to compare with me,
Nor scorned Ulysses Hector's fires to flee!
Is safer then the conference of words,
Than fierce encounter of contending swords?
Too slow of speech, in action swift and strong,
Not mine, as his, the readiness of tongue.
As greater far my prowess in the field,
To him the force of eloquence I yield.
My cause no art of elocution needs,
Soldiers, Pelasgians, ye have seen my deeds!
Unwitnessed his, Ulysses may recite,
Conscious of his alone the darksome night.
Great is the prize for arbitrement, I own,
But such my rival lessens its renown.
Nor may with pride the Telamonian hold,
What claims Ulysses arrogantly bold.
To him may glory in the contest be,
For him, to rival Ajax, victory!