No More Learning

_Nec verbum verbo curabis reddere, fidus
Interpres,_

was the taste of the Augustan age. None but a poet can translate a poet.
The freedom which this precept gives, will, therefore, in a poet's
hands, not only infuse the energy, elegance, and fire of his author's
poetry into his own version, but will give it also the spirit of an
original.

He who can construe may perform all that is claimed by the literal
translator. He who attempts the manner of translation prescribed by
Horace, ventures upon a task of genius. Yet, however daring the
undertaking, and however he may have failed in it, the translator
acknowledges, that in this spirit he has endeavoured to give the Lusiad
in English. Even farther liberties, in one or two instances, seemed to
him advantageous---- But a minuteness[22] in the mention of these will
not appear with a good grace in this edition of his work; and besides,
the original is in the hands of the world.




MICKLE'S INTRODUCTION TO THE LUSIAD.


If a concatenation of events centred in one great action--events which
gave birth to the present commercial system of the world--if these be of
the first importance in the civil history of mankind, then the Lusiad,
of all other poems, challenges the attention of the philosopher, the
politician, and the gentleman.

In contradistinction to the Iliad and the AEneid, the Paradise Lost has
been called the Epic Poem of Religion. In the same manner may the Lusiad
be named the Epic Poem of Commerce. The happy completion of the most
important designs of Henry, Duke of Viseo, prince of Portugal, to whom
Europe owes both Gama and Columbus, both the eastern and the western
worlds, constitutes the subject of this celebrated epic poem. But before
we proceed to the historical introduction necessary to elucidate a poem
founded on such an important period of history, some attention is due to
the opinion of those theorists in political philosophy who lament that
India was ever discovered, and who assert that increase of trade is only
the parent of degeneracy, and the nurse of every vice.

Much, indeed, may be urged on this side of the question; but much, also,
may be urged against every institution relative to man. Imperfection, if
not necessary to humanity, is at least the certain attendant on
everything human.
Though some part of the traffic with many countries
resemble Solomon's importation of apes and peacocks; though the
superfluities of life, the baubles of the opulent, and even the luxuries
which enervate the irresolute and administer disease, are introduced by
the intercourse of navigation, yet the extent of the benefits which
attend it are also to be considered before the man of cool reason will
venture to pronounce that the world is injured, and rendered less
virtuous and happy by the increase of commerce.

If a view of the state of mankind, where commerce opens no intercourse
between nation and nation be neglected, unjust conclusions will
certainly follow. Where the state of barbarians, and of countries under
different degrees of civilization are candidly weighed, we may
reasonably expect a just decision. As evidently as the appointment of
nature gives pasture to the herds, so evidently is man born for society.
As every other animal is in its natural state when in the situation
which its instinct requires, so man, when his reason is cultivated, is
then, and only then, in the state proper to his nature. The life of the
naked savage, who feeds on acorns and sleeps like a beast in his den, is
commonly called the natural state of man; but, if there be any propriety
in this assertion, his rational faculties compose no part of his nature,
and were given not to be used. If the savage, therefore, live in a state
contrary to the appointment of nature, it must follow that he is not so
happy as nature intended him to be. And a view of his true character
will confirm this conclusion. The reveries, the fairy dreams of a
Rousseau, may figure the paradisaical life of a Hottentot, but it is
only in such dreams that the superior happiness of the barbarian exists.
The savage, it is true, is reluctant to leave his manner of life; but,
unless we allow that he is a proper judge of the modes of living, his
attachment to his own by no means proves that he is happier than he
might otherwise have been. His attachment only exemplifies the amazing
power of habit in reconciling the human breast to the most uncomfortable
situations. If the intercourse of mankind in some instances be
introductive of vice, the want of it as certainly excludes the exertion
of the noblest virtues; and, if the seeds of virtue are indeed in the
heart, they often lie dormant, and even unknown to the savage possessor.
The most beautiful description of a tribe of savages (which we may be
assured is from real life) occurs in these words:[23] And the five spies
of Dan "came to Laish, and saw the people that were there, how they
dwelt careless, after the manner of the Zidonians, quiet and secure; and
there was no magistrate in the land, that might put them to shame in
anything. . . .