The Æneid of Virgil Translated Into Scottish Verse. Volumes 1 & 2. Virgil
and irkyt in a fremmyt land?
O weilaway! for nocht wes all, I fand,
That thou eschapit sa mony perrellis huge.
Helenus the dyvyne, as we with hym gan luge,20
Quhen horribill thingis seir he dyd aduert,
Schew not befor to me thir harmys smert,
Nor ȝit the fellon and akwart Celeno.
This wes extreme laubour of pane and wo;
Thys was the end of all hys lang vayage:25
And hyddir syne, warpyt with seys rage,
Apon ȝour costis, as I fra thens was dryve,
Sum happy chance and God maid me arryve.
The Prynce Eneas, on this wys, alane
The fatis of goddys and rasys mony ane30
Rehersyng schew, and syndry strange wentis;
The queyn and all the Tyrryanys takand tentis.
And at the last he cessyt and said no moir,
Endyng his tayll as ȝe haue hard befor.
THE PROLOUG OF THE FERD BUKE.
With bemys scheyn thou bricht Cytherea,
Quhilk only schaddowist amang starris lyte,
And thi blyndyt weyngit son Cupyd, ȝe twa
Fosteraris of byrnyng, carnail, hait delyte,
Ȝour joly wo neidlyngis most I endyte,5
Begynyng with a fenȝeit faynt plesance,
Continewit in lust, and endyt with pennance.
In fragil flesch ȝour fykkil seyd is saw,
Rutyt in delyte, welth, and fude delicate,
Nurist with sleuth and mony onsemly saw;10
Quhar schame is lost, thar spredis ȝour burgeonys hait;
Oft to revolue ane onleful consait
Rypys ȝour peralus frutis and oncorn:
Of wikkyt grayn quhou sal gude schaif be schorn?
Quhat is ȝour fors bot feblyng of the strenth?15
Ȝour curyus thochtis quhat but musardry?
Ȝour fremmyt glaidnes lestis not ane howris lenth;
Ȝour sport for schame ȝe dar not specify;
Ȝour frute is bot onfructuus fantasy;
Ȝour fary joys beyn bot janglyng and japys,20
And ȝour trew seruandis sylly goddys apys.
Ȝour sweit myrthis ar mixt with byttyrnes;
Quhat is ȝour drery gemme? a myrry pane;
Ȝour wark onthrift, ȝour quyet is restles,
Ȝour lust lykyng in langour to remane,
Frendschip turment, ȝour traist is bot a trane:5
O luf, quhidder art thou joy or fulychnes,
That makis folk sa glaid of thar distres?
Salomonys wyt, Sampson thou rubbist hys fors,
And Dauid thou byreft hys prophecy;
Men says thou brydillyt Aristotyll as ane hors,10
And crelyt vp the flour of poetry:
Quhat sal I of thi myghtis notyfy?
Fair weil, quhar that thy lusty dart assalis,
Wyt, strenth, ryches, na thyng bot grace avalis.
Thou cheyn of luf, ha benedicite!15
Quhou hard strenys thi bandis euery wyght!
The god abuf, from his hie maieste,
With the ybond, law in a maid dyd lycht;
Thou venquyst the strang gyant of gret mycht;
Thou art mair forcy than the ded sa fell;20
Thou plenyst paradyce, and thou heryt hell.
Thou makist febill wight, and lawyst the hie;
Thou knyttis frendschyp quhar thar beyn na parage;
Thou Jonathas confederat with Davy;
Thou dantyt Alexander for all his vaslalage;25
Thou festnyt Jacob fourteyn ȝheir in bondage;
Thou techit Hercules go lern to spyn,
Reke Dyomeir hys mays and lyoun skyn.
For luf Narsysus perysyt at the well;
For luf thou stervyst most douchty Achill;
Thesyus, for luf, hys fallow socht to hell;
The snaw quhyte dow oft to the gray maik will.
Allace! for luf how mony thame self dyd spill!5
Thy fury, luf, moderis taucht, for dispyte,
Fyle handis in blude of thar ȝong chyldering lyte.
O Lord, quhat writis myne author of thi fors,
In hys Georgikis! quhou thyne ondantyt myght
Constrenys so sum tyme the stonyt hors10
That, by the sent of a meyr far of syght,
He bradis brays onon, and takis the flyght;
Na brydill may hym dant nor bustuus dynt,
Nowther bra, hie roch, nor brayd fludis stynt.
The bustuus bullys oft, for the ȝong ky,15
With horn to horn wyrkis othir mony a wound,
So rumysyng with hydduus lowand cry
The feildis all doith of thar rowstis resound:
The meyk hartis, in bellyng, oft ar fond
Mak fers bargane, and rammys togyddir ryn;20
Baris twyte thar tuskis, and fret otheris skyn.
The reuthtfull smart and lamentabill cace
Quhilk thar he writis of Leander ȝyng,
Quhou for thi luf, Hero, allace, allace!
In fervent flambe of hait desyre byrnyng,25
By nychtis tyde, the hevynys lowd thundering,
And, all with storm trublyt, the seys flude
Bettand on the rolkis, and rowtand as it war wod;
Set he hym not to swym our, wallaway!
The fyrth betwix Sestos and Abydane,
In Europe and in Asya citeis tway;
Hys fader and moder mycht hym not call agane:
O God, quhat harm! thar wes he drynt and slane;5
And quhen his lufe saw this myscheif, atanys
Out our the wall scho lap, and brak hir banys.
Lo, quhou Venus kan hir seruandis acquyte!
Lo, quhou hir passionys onbridillis al thar wyt!
Lo, quhou thai tyne thame self for schort delyte!10
Lo, from all grace quhou to myscheif thai flyt,
Fra weil to sturt, fra payn to ded! and ȝyt
Thar