John Conington

thumb|Blank verse really deserving the name I believe to be impossible except to one or two eminent writers in a generation. thumb|Let hopes and sorrows, fears and angers be,And think each day that dawns the last you'll see;For so the hour that greets you unforeseenWill bring with it enjoyment twice as keen. John Conington (10 August 1825 – 23 October 1869) was an English classical scholar. Quotes thumb|It is true that the longer one has lived the better one can appreciate a poem which is concerned with life. But the gain that comes to us with the years depends, partly at least, upon the riches we have been willing to extract from literature, which is the experience of men and women written out. In youth's search for this treasure the Aeneid will be at once a fair haven and a port of departure. It is this principle [i.e. the interpretation of an original] which constitutes the true value of a really good translation—not as superseding the original even to the worst scholar, but as explaining it even to the best. "The Academical Study of Latin", address delivered by Professor Conington in the Theatre, Oxford, December 2, 1854, as his inaugural lecture, as published and reported in Miscellaneous Writings of John Conington, ed. J. A. Symonds, Vol. I (1872), p. 208, and as quoted in The Aeneid of Virgil in Blank Verse by William J. Thornhill, Preface, p. vii An inferior artist's only chance of giving pleasure. On rhyme. Preface to The Odes and Carmen Saeculare of Horace (1863), p. xi. Blank verse really deserving the name I believe to be impossible except to one or two eminent writers in a generation. Preface to The Aeneid of Virgil, Translated into English Verse by John Conington (1866), p. ix A critical sense of style and of poetic form is not easy to attain, nor is it of first importance for the younger, or, indeed, for any student of Virgil. Wide open to anyone who is willing to learn is the richer knowledge of Virgil as a poet who loved his country and who loved also that humanity which existed before Rome, exists today within ourselves, and will exist long after our own civilization, like that of Virgil's Rome, has become a matter of "ancient history." It is true that the longer one has lived the better one can appreciate a poem which is concerned with life. But the gain that comes to us with the years depends, partly at least, upon the riches we have been willing to extract from literature, which is the experience of other men and women written out. In youth's search for this treasure the Aeneid will be at once a fair haven and a port of departure. Introduction to The Aeneid of Virgil (Chicago and New York: Scott Foresman and Company, 1916), p. 45; partially quoted in School and Home Education, Vol. 35 (1916), p. 172 Commentary P. Vergili Maronis Opera The Works of Virgil, with a Commentary by John Conington, M.A. Volume I (1858) There are few writers whose text is in so satisfactory a state as Virgil's. Preface, p. xi Volume II (1863) Virgil imitated Homer, but imitated him as a rival, not as a disciple. Introduction, p. 27 Translations The Odes and Carmen Saeculare of Horace (1863) thumb|In the moment of our talking, envious time has ebbed away.Seize the present; trust tomorrow even as little as you may. In the moment of our talking, envious time has ebb'd away.Seize the present; trust to-morrow e'en as little as you may. Book I, ode xi Ah! Postumus! Devotion failsThe lapse of gliding years to stay,With wrinkled age it nought availsNor conjures conquering Death away. Book II, ode xiv Death takes the mean man with the proud;The fatal urn has room for all. Book III, ode i No, trust the Muse: she opes the good man's grave,And lifts him to the gods. Book IV, ode viii The Aeneid of Virgil (1866) Book I So vast the labor to createThe fabric of the Roman state! p. 4 Then should some man of worth appearWhose stainless virtue all revere, They hush, they list: his clear voice rulesTheir rebel wills, their anger cools. p. 10 thumb|This suffering will yield us yetA pleasant tale to tell. Comrades and friends! for ours is strengthHas brooked the test of woes;O worse-scarred hearts! these wounds at lengthThe Gods will heal, like those. p. 12 This suffering will yield us yetA pleasant tale to tell. p. 12 Bear up, and live for happier days. p. 12 She turned, and flashed upon their viewHer stately neck's purpureal hue;Ambrosial tresses round her headA more than earthly fragrance shed:Her falling robe her footprints swept,And showed the goddess as she stept. p. 21 thumb|E'en here the tear of pity springs,And hearts are touched by human things. thumb|Myself not ignorant of woe,Compassion I have learned to show. 'Is there, friend,' he cries, 'a spotThat knows not Troy's unhappy lot?' p. 23 E'en here the tear of pity springs,And hearts are touched by human things. p. 23 If men and mortal arms ye slight,Know there are gods who watch o'er right. p. 27 May Heaven, if virtue claim its thought,If justice yet avail for aught; Heaven, and the sense of conscious right, With worthier meed your acts requite! p. 29 Myself not ignorant of woe,Compassion I have learned to show. p. 31 Book II Too cruel, lady, is the pain,You bid me thus revive again. p. 39 Now dews precipitate the night,And setting stars to rest invite. p. 39 I quail,E'en now, at telling of the tale. p. 48 thumb|Then come the clamour and the blare,And shouts and clarions rend the air. Then come the clamour and the blare,And shouts and clarions rend the air. p. 52 Fury and wrath within me rave,And tempt me to a warrior's grave. p. 52 'Tis come, our fated day of death. p. 53 We have been Trojans: Troy has been:She sat, but sits no more, a queen. p. 53 Dire agonies, wild terrors swarm,And Death glares grim in many a form. p. 55 Book III thumb|Fell lust of gold! abhorred, accurst!What will not men to slake such thirst? thumb|Live and be blest! 'tis sweet to feelFate's book is closed and under seal.For us, alas! that volume sternHas many another page to turn. I heard, fear-stricken and amazed, My speech tongue-tied, my hair upraised. p. 77 Fell lust of gold! abhorred, accurst!What will not men to slake such thirst? p. 77 Live and be blest! 'tis sweet to feelFate's book is closed and under seal.For us, alas! that volume sternHas many another page to turn. p. 96 Snatch him, ye Gods, from mortal eyes! p. 101 Huge, awful, hideous, ghastly, blind. p. 103 Book IV thumb|While memory lasts and pulses beat,The thought of Dido shall be sweet. thumb|My life is lived, and I have playedThe part that Fortune gave. thumb|'To die! and unrevenged!' she said,'Yet let me die.' Fear proves a base-born soul. p. 109 She calls it marriage now; such nameShe chooses to conceal her shame. p. 117 "From me you fly! Ah! let me crave,By these poor tears, that hand you gave—Since, parting with my woman's pride,My madness leaves me nought beside—By that our wedlock, by the riteWhich, but begun, could yet unite,If e'er my kindness held you bound,If e'er in me your joy you found,Look on this falling house, and still,If prayer can touch you, change your will." p. 123 While memory lasts and pulses beat,The thought of Dido shall be sweet. p. 124 Curst Love! what lengths of tyrant scorn Wreak'st not on those of woman born? p. 127 A woman's will Is changeful and uncertain still. p. 134 My life is lived, and I have playedThe part that Fortune gave. p. 138 'To die! and unrevenged!' she said,'Yet let me die.' p. 138 Book V thumb|They can because they think they can. Hush your tongues from idle speech. p. 146 They can because they think they can. p. 153 My chief, let Fate cry on or back,'Tis ours to follow, nothing slack:Whate'er betide, he only curesThe stroke of Fortune who endures. p. 175 Book VI thumb|The journey down to the abyssIs prosperous and light:The palace gates of gloomy DisStand open day and night:But upward to retrace the wayAnd pass into the light of dayThere comes the stress of labour; thisMay task a hero's might. War, dreadful war, and Tiber floodI see incarnadined with blood. p. 189 The journey down to the abyssIs prosperous and light:The palace gates of gloomy DisStand open day and night:But upward to retrace the wayAnd pass into the light of dayThere comes the stress of labour; thisMay task a hero's might. p. 191 Back, ye unhallowed! p. 197 Now for a heart that scorns dismay:Now for a soul prepared. p. 197 Along the illimitable shadeDarkling and lone their way they made, Through the vast kingdom of the dead, An empty void, though tenanted:So travellers in a forest moveWith but the uncertain moon above,Beneath her niggard light. p. 197 At Orcus' portals hold their lairWild Sorrow and avenging Care;And pale Diseases cluster there,And pleasureless DecayFoul Penury, and Fears that kill,And Hunger, counsellor of ill,A ghastly presence they:Suffering and Death the threshold keep,And with them Death's blood-brother, Sleep. p. 197 No longer dream that human prayerThe will of Fate can overbear. p. 202 A lethargy of sleep,Most like to death, so calm, so deep. p. 209 This to a tyrant master soldHis native land for cursed gold. p. 215 No, had I e'en a hundred tongues,A hundred mouths, and iron lungs,Those types of guilt I could not show,Nor tell the forms of penal woe. p. 215 They reach the realms of tranquil bliss. Green spaces folded in with trees,A paradise of pleasances. p. 215 Here sees he the illustrious deadWho fighting for their country bled;Priests who while earthly life remainedPreserved that life unsoiled, unstained;Blest bards, transparent souls and clear,Whose song was worthy Phoebus' ear;Inventors who by arts refinedThe common lot of human kind,With all who grateful memory wonBy services to others done:A goodly brotherhood, bedightWith coronals of virgin white. p. 217 Each for himself, we all sustainThe durance of our ghostly pain;Then to Elysium we repair,The few, and breathe this blissful air. p. 220 thumb|But, Roman, thou, do thou controlThe nations far and wide;Be this thy genius, to impose The rule of peace on vanquished foes, Show pity to the humbled soul, And crush the sons of pride. But, Roman, thou, do thou controlThe nations far and wide;Be this thy genius, to impose The rule of peace on vanquished foes, Show pity to the humbled soul, And crush the sons of pride. pp. 225–226 Ah son! compel me not to speakThe sorrows of our race!That youth the Fates but just displayTo earth, nor let him longer stay:With gifts like these for aye to hold,Rome's heart had e'en been overbold.Ah! what a groan from Mars's plainShall o'er the city sound!How wilt thou gaze on that long train,Old Tiber, rolling to the mainBeside his new-raised mound!No youth of Ilium's seed inspiresWith hope as fair his Latian sires:Nor Rome shall dandle on her kneeA nursling so adored as he.O piety! O ancient faith!O hand untamed in battle scathe!No foe had lived before his sword,Stemmed he on foot the war's red tideOr with relentless rowel goredHis foaming charger's side.Dear child of pity! shouldst thou burstThe dungeon-bars of Fate accurst,Our own Marcellus thou! pp. 226–227 Sleep gives his name to portals twain; One all of horn, they say, Through which authentic spectres gain Quick exit into day, And one which bright with ivory gleams, Whence Pluto sends delusive dreams. p. 228 Book VIII Terror wings his flight. p. 280 Thou too take courage, wealth despise,And fit thee to ascend the skies, Nor be a poor man's courtesiesRejected or disdained. p. 286 Ah! would but Jupiter restoreThe strength I had in days of yore! p. 294 O ye Gods, and O great Jove,Have pity on a father's loveAnd hear Evander's prayer:If 'tis your purpose to restoreMy Pallas to my arms once more;If living is to see his face,Then grant me life, of your dear grace:No toil too hard to bear.But ah! if Fortune be my foe,And meditate some crushing blow,Now, now the thread in mercy break,While hope sees dim and cares mistake,While still I clasp thee darling boy,My latest and my only joy,Nor let assurance, worse than fear,With cruel tidings wound my ear. p. 295 Book IX thumb|'Tis thus that men to heaven aspire:Go on and raise your glories higher. Me, guilty me, make me your aim,O Rutules! mine is all the blame;He did no wrong, nor e'er could do;That sky, those stars attest 'tis true;Love for his friend too freely shown,This was his crime, and this alone. p. 324 Thus, severed by the ruthless plough,Dim fades a purple flower:Their weary necks so poppies bow,O'erladen by the shower. p. 324 Blest pair! if aught my verse avail, No day shall make your memory fail From off the heart of time. p. 324 'Tis thus that men to heaven aspire:Go on and raise your glories higher. p. 333 Book X thumb|Each has his destined time: a spanIs all the heritage of man:'Tis virtue's part by deeds of praiseTo lengthen fame through after days. Each has his destined time: a spanIs all the heritage of man:'Tis virtue's part by deeds of praiseTo lengthen fame through after days. p. 367 O impotence of man's frail mind To fate and to the future blind, Presumptuous and o'erweening still When Fortune follows at its will! p. 369 Book XI In vain she strives with dying handsTo wrench away the blade:Fixed in her ribs the weapon stands,Closed by the wound it made.Bloodless and faint, she gasps for breath;Her heavy eyes sink down in death;Her cheek's bright colors fade. p. 427 Book XII Why reel I thus, confused and blind?What madness mars my sober mind? p. 436 Fierce boils in every veinIndignant shame and passion blind,The tempest of the lover's mind,The soldier's high disdain. p. 465 Let Rome be glorious on the earth,The centre of Italian worth. p. 472 The Satires, Epistles, and Art of Poetry of Horace (1869) Satires thumb|Then take, good sir, your pleasure while you may;With life so short 'twere wrong to lose a day. thumb|O Fortune, cruellest of heavenly powers,Why make such game of this poor life of ours? He who maligns an absent friend's fair fame,Who says no word for him when others blame,Who courts a reckless laugh by random hits,Just for the sake of ranking among wits,Who feigns what he ne'er saw, a secret blabs,Beware him, Roman! that man steals or stabs! Book I, satire iv, p. 18 Then take, good sir, your pleasure while you may;With life so short 'twere wrong to lose a day. Book II, satire viii, p. 85 O Fortune, cruellest of heavenly powers,Why make such game of this poor life of ours? Book II, satire viii, p. 94 Epistles You lose no time in taking out a fly,Or straw, it may be, that torments your eye;Why, when a thing devours your mind, adjournTill this day year all thought of the concern?Come now, have courage to be wise: begin:You're halfway over when you once plunge in:He who puts off the time for mending, standsA clodpoll by the stream with folded hands,Waiting till all the water be gone past;But it runs on, and will, while time shall last. Book I, epistle ii, p. 104 Let hopes and sorrows, fears and angers be,And think each day that dawns the last you'll see;For so the hour that greets you unforeseenWill bring with it enjoyment twice as keen. Book I, epistle iv, p. 108 Virtue's a mere name,Or 'tis high venture that achieves high aim. Book I, epistle xvii, p. 138 For easier 'tis to learn and recollectWhat moves derision than what claims respect. Book II, epistle i, p. 160 Art of Poetry thumb|None knows the reason why this curseWas sent on him, this love of making verse. Who hopes by strange variety to please,Puts dolphins among forests, boars in seas. p. 172 Mere grace is not enough: a play should thrillThe hearer's soul, and move it at its will. p. 175 The gods imploreTo crush the proud and elevate the poor. p. 180 What's kept at home you cancel by a stroke:What's sent abroad you never can revoke. p. 188 None knows the reason why this curseWas sent on him, this love of making verse. p. 191 The Poems of Virgil Translated Into English Prose (1872) In: Miscellaneous Writings of the Late John Conington, ed. by J. A. Symonds, Vol. II (1872) A wet summer and a fine winter should be the farmer's prayer. Georgics, Book I, p. 39 Arise from my bones, my unknown avenger. Aeneid, Book IV, p. 216 Quotes about Conington [John Conington's] translation of the Satires and Epistles of Horace [are] on the whole, perhaps, the best and most successful translation of a Classic, that exists in the English language. Hugh Andrew Johnstone Munro, as quoted in The Quarterly Review, Vol. 130 (1871), p. 531 External links Category:1825 births Category:1869 deaths Category:University of Oxford faculty Category:Poets from England Category:Translators from England Category:University of Oxford alumni Category:Translators of Homer