The dawning light breaks forth;
I heare, aloofe,
The whistling ayre, the Saints bell of the Heav’n,
Wherewith each morne it call’s the drowsy Birds
To offer up theyre Hymnes to th’ new-borne day.
But who ere saw, from night’s dark bosome, spring
A morne soe fayre and beautifull? Observe
With what imperceptible hand, it steales
The starres from Heav’n, and deck’s the earth with flow’rs:
Haile, lovely fields, your flow’rs in this array
Fournish a kind of star-light to the day.
Or take again Celia’s encounter with the centaur. And in this connexion it is worth while mentioning that, when revising his translation and introducing a number of verbal changes, in most cases distinctly for the better, Sir George appears to have been struck by the absurdity of this machinery, and throughout replaced the centaur by a ‘wild man.’ After telling how she was seized and carried to ‘the middle of a desart wood,’ Celia proceeds:
There, to a sturdy oake, he
bound me fast,
Doubling my bonds with knots of mine own hayre;
Ungratefull hayre, thou ill returnst my care.
The Tyrant then my mantle took in hand
And with one rash tore it from head to foote.
Consider whether shame my trembling pale
Did now convert into Vermillion: up
I cast my eyes to Heav’n, and with lowd cryes
Implor’d it’s ayd; then lookt downe tow’rd the earth,
And phancy’d my dejected eyebrows hung
Like a chast mantle ore my naked limbs. (I. iii.)
A comparison of this and the preceding renderings with the original will show that while Talbot’s is by far the more fiowing and imaginative, Sidnam’s is on the whole rather more literal, except where he appears to have misunderstood the original. No other English translation, I believe, exists.