there is no Reflexion more astonishing, than to consider No. 222. one of these Gentleman spending a fair Fortune, running Wednes in every Body's Debt without the least Apprehension Nov. 14, day, of a future Reckoning, and at last leaving not only his 1711. own Children, but possibly those of other People, by his Means in starving Circumstances; while a Fellow whom one would scarce suspect to have a humane Soul, shall perhaps raise a vast Estate out of nothing, and be the Founder of a Family capable of being very considerable in their Country, and doing many illustrious Services to it. That this observation is just, Experience has put beyond all Dispute. But though the Fact be so evident and glaring, yet the Causes of it are still in the dark; which makes me perswade my self that it would be no unacceptable Piece of Entertainment to the Town, to inquire into the hidden Sources of so unaccountable an Evil I am, Sir, Your most humble Servant' What this Correspondent wonders at, has been Matter of Admiration ever since there was any such thing as humane Life, Horace reflects upon this Inconsistency very agreeably in the Character of Tigellius, whom he makes a mighty Pretender to Oeconomy, and tells you, you might one Day hear him speak the most philo sophick things imaginable concerning being contented with a Little, and his Contempt of every thing but mere Necessaries, and in Half a Week after spend a thousand Pound, When he says this of him with Relation to Expence, he describes him as unequal to himself in every other Circumstance of Life. And indeed if we consider lavish Men carefully, we shall find it always proceeds from a certain Incapacity of possessing themselves, and finding Enjoyment in their own Minds, Mr. Dryden has expressed this very excellently in the Character of Zimri. A Man so various, that he seem'd to be But But in the Course of one revolving Moon, In squandring Wealth was his peculiar Art, This loose State of the Soul hurries the Extravagant from one Pursuit to another; and the Reason that his Expences are greater than another's, is, that his Wants are also more numerous. But what makes so many go on in this Way to their Lives' End, is, that they certainly do not know how contemptible they are in the Eyes of the rest of Mankind, or rather, that indeed they are not so contemptible as they deserve. Tully says it is the greatest of Wickedness to lessen your paternal Estate: And if a Man would thoroughly consider how much worse than Banishment it must be to his Child to ride by the Estate which should have been his had it not been for his Father's injustice to him, he would be smitten with the Reflection more deeply than can be understood by any but one who is a Father. Sure there can be nothing more afflicting, than to think it had been happier for his Son to have been born of any other Man living than himself. It is not perhaps much thought of, but it is certainly a very important Lesson to learn how to enjoy ordinary Life, and to be able to relish your Being without the Transport of some Passion, or Gratification of some Appetite. For want of this Capacity the World is filled with Whetters, Tipplers, Cutters, Sippers, and all the numerous Train of those who for want of Thinking are forced to be ever exercising their Feeling or Tasting. It would be hard on this Occasion to mention the harmless Smoakers of Tobacco and Takers of Snuff. The slower Part of Mankind, whom my Correspon dent wonders should get Estates, are the more imme diately formed for that Pursuit: They can expect distant things without Impatience, because they are not carried out of their Way either by violent Passion, or keen Appetite to any thing, To Men addicted to Delight, Business Business is an Interruption; to such as are cold to No. 222, No. 223, Thursday, November 15, O suavis anima! quale in te dicam bonum WHEN HEN I reflect upon the various Fate of those multitudes of Ancient Writers who flourished in Greece and Italy, I consider Time as an Immense Ocean, in which many noble Authors are entirely swallowed up, many very much shattered and damaged, some quite dis-jointed and broken into pieces, while some have wholly escaped the Common Wreck; but the Number of the last is very small; Apparent rari nantes in gurgite vasto, Among the mutilated Poets of Antiquity, there is none whose Fragments are so beautiful as those of Sappho. They give us a Taste of her way of Writing, which is perfectly conformable with that extraordinary Character we find of her, in the Remarks of those great Criticks who were conversant with her Works when they were entire, One may see, by what is left of them, that she followed Nature in all her Thoughts, without descending to those little Points, Conceits and Turns of Wit with which many of our Modern Lyricks are so miserably infected. Her Soul seems to have been made up of Love and Poetry: She felt the Passion in all its Warmth, and described it in all its Symptoms. She is called by Ancient Authors the Tenth Muse; and by Plutarch is compared to Cacus the Son of Vulcan, who breathed out nothing but Flame. I do not know, by the Character that is given of her Works, whether it is not for the Benefit of Mankind that they are lost. They were filled with such bewitching Tenderness and Rapture, that it might have been dangerous to have given them a Reading, An 1711. No. 223 An Inconstant Lover, called Phaon, occasioned great Thursday, Calamities to this Poetical Lady. She fell desperately in Nov. 15, Love with him, and took a Voyage into Sicily, in Pur suit of him, he having withdrawn himself thither on purpose to avoid her. It was in that Island, and on this Occasion, she is supposed to have made the Hymn to Venus, with a Translation of which I shall present my Reader. Her Hymn was ineffectual for the procur ing that Happiness which she prayed for in it. Phaon was still obdurate, and Sappho so transported with the Violence of her Passion, that she was resolved to get rid of it at any_Price, There was a Promontory in Acarnanía called Leucate, on the Top of which was a little Temple dedicated to Apollo. In this Temple it was usual for despairing Lovers to make their Vows in secret, and afterwards to fling themselves from the Top of the Precipice into the Sea, where they were sometimes taken up alive. This Place was therefore called, the Lovers Leap; and whether or no the Fright they had been in, or the Resolution that could push them to so dreadful a Remedy, or the Bruises which they often received in their Fall, banished all the Tender Sentiments of Love, and gave their Spirits another Turn; those who had taken this Leap were observed never to Relapse into that Passion. Sappho tried the Cure, but perished in the Experiment. After having given this short Account of Sappho so far as it regards the following Ode, I shall subjoin the Translation of it as it was sent me by a Friend, whose admirable Pastorals and Winter Piece have been already so well received. The Reader will find in it that Pathetick Simplicity which is so peculiar to him, and so suitable to the Ode he has here Translated. This Ode in the Greek (besides those Beauties observed by Madam Dacier) has several harmonious Turns in the Words, which are not lost in the English. I must further add, that the Translation has preserved every Image and Sentiment of Sappho, notwithstanding it has all the Ease and Spirit of an Original. In a Word, if the Ladies have a mind to know the manner of Writing practised by the so much celebrated Sappho, they may here |