Ovid’s “Magic” and Finding Treasure

Ovid

Ovid

Before I went on vacation, I stopped by my local library’s annual book sale. Unfortunately, I couldn’t make the first day of the sale (where the pickin’s are the best), but still was able to find copies of Plato’s Republic (Modern Library, B. Jowett, translator) and Ovid (J.B. Lippincott Company, Rev. Alfred Church, translator, part of the Ancient Classics for English Readers series), both hardbound and pocket sized (perfect for slipping into a backpack and taking to the park) and only a dollar each. It was like finding treasure!

Speaking of treasure, here’s a gem by Ovid himself:

MAGIC
By Ovid

YE elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves,
And ye that on the sands with printless foot
Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him
When he comes back, you demi-puppets that
By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,
Whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime
Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid,
Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm’d
The noontide sun, call’d forth the mutinous winds,
And ‘twixt the green sea and the azur’d vault
Set roaring water; to the dread rattling thunder
Have I given fire, and rifted Jove’s stout oak
With his own bolt; the strong-bas’d promontory
Have I made shake, and by the spurs pluck’d up
The pine and cedar; graves at my command
Have wak’d their sleepers, op’d, and let ’em forth
By my so potent art.

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About poeticmeditations

A 19th-century romantic poet trying to get by in the 21st-century.
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