inclination lay to poetry, though afterwards he
studied law and practised at the bar, having
for that purpose cultivated eloquence under
Arellius Fuscus and Porcius Latro.
Accordingly we find him to be one of the
Triumviri, who were magistrates that tried
criminal causes; but he soon quitted the
courts of law for those of song. He was
married three times, having repudiated two
of his wives soon after marriage. But for
his last wife, Perilla, he had a strong
affection, having discovered in her a
sympathetic taste for poetry. His affection was
returned, for on his banishment she
remained faithful to him, notwithstanding
certain ungenerous solicitations with which
she was tempted.

It is thought that Ovid would have been
a better poet if he had been less affluent.
Naturally indolent, he preferred company to
composition, and he was much sought by
the most polite families in Rome, where he
for the most part dwelt. Light pieces,
like elegies, first occupied his attention, in
which he tells us he was not guided either
by Apollo or the Muses, but by Love alone.
Of his mistresses, of whom he had many,
he celebrates one under the name of
Corinna. Besides elegies, Ovid wrote his
epistles and his Fasti, and other little
poems which have perished. A tragedy of
his on Medea is much commended by
Quintilian. But his fame rests on his
Metamorphoses— a work of remarkable beauty
which has rendered him immortal. This
poem was undertaken with deliberation,
and prosecuted with diligence, and it was
the poet's purpose to make it one of the
most correct ever produced by Rome: but
he was prevented by his banishment from
giving it his last touches.

Ovid was fifty years old when he was
banished to Tomi, a town in Pontus, on the
Black Sea, near one of the mouths of the
Danube. His alleged offence was the laxity
of his poetic vein, especially as shown in
his poem called The Art of Love; but
the true cause was his discovery of an
intrigue, either on the part of Augustus or
of Mæcenas. The inhabitants of Tomi,
though rude, were conscious of the poet's
merit, and conferred many honours upon
him. In return, Ovid wrote some poems in
their language. After seven years' exile he
died, and was buried by them in a stately
monument before the gates of the city.

Graceful of person, though slender and
of middle stature, his disposition was
courteous and gentle, indisposed to satire,
though once inflicting it on a treacherous
friend. His complexion was pale, but his
frame strong and nervous. As a poet he
has been censured for luxuriancy of
thought and expression; but it is allowed
that no poet, ancient or modern, has
invested beautiful ideas with more beautiful
diction. Nevertheless, it is clear that he
was too negligent of style, particularly in
his Metamorphoses, albeit they abound
with beauties, and in the early books are
even sublime. Some of his descriptions
are equal to those of Virgil, and his similes
are frequently excellent. He had a fine art
in managing the transitions between his
stories, so that they slipped almost
insensibly from one into the other. Hence
they have been compared to the texture of
Arachne's web, wherein the colours were
so nicely blended that the most subtle
vision could scarcely discover where one
begins or the other ends. Many of his
sentiments are beautiful in their delicacy
and simplicity. His fancy, too, was equal
to his wit; and his conceptions were
generally just.

The next poet is Phædrus, of whom the
ancients have told us little. He was born
in Thrace, a few years before Julius Cæsar
became emperor, and, as he boasted, on the
Pierian mountain. In fact, his parentage
is uncertain, but we find him in the service
of Augustus, from whom he received his
freedom. Under Tiberius, he was unjustly
persecuted by Sejanus. He was a
composer of fables, some of which have
reference to his own misfortunes. He was
patronised by one Particulo, a man of good
taste and fine understanding, and also by
Eutycus, to whom he has inscribed his
third book, and who was employed in the
greatest affairs, and possessed of much
power. The fables of Phædrus are of
extraordinary excellence; their style is
laconic, but seasoned with Attic salt: the
latter rather to be designated a just, clear,
and elegant turn of expression, than wit
as generally understood— " such," says a
learned critic, " as we may imagine in the
conversation of persons of good sense, and
perfectly well bred." The purity of his
language is remarkable.

REPROACH.

FIERCE the sea is, and fickle if fair.
So they say of it. So let it be
But did ever the landsman's languor check
The seaman's pride in his dancing deck?

Or did ever the helmsman, whose home is there,
In place of his own true hand and eye,
Trust the ploughman's skill, when the sea ran high,
And submit to a landsman's usurpature?
No! For the seaman loveth the sea,
And knoweth its nature.