Invidiæque acies transverso tortilis hirquo,
Sæva nec anguiferos extende, Calumnia, rictus;
In me triste nihil, fœdissima turba, potestis,
Nec vestri sum juris ego: securaque tutus
Pectora, vipereo gradiar sublimis ab ictu.
At tibi, chare pater, postquam non æqua merenti
Posse referre datur, nec dona rependere factis,
Sit memorâsse satis, repetitaque munera grato
Percensere animo, fidæque reponere menti.
Et vos, O nostri, juvenilia carmina, lusús,
Si modò perpetuos sperare audebitis annos,
Et domi superesse rogo, lucemque tueri,
Nec spisso rapient oblivia nigra sub Orco;
Forsitan has laudes, decantatumque parentis
Nomen, ad exemplum, sero servabitis ævo.
O! that, descending from the two-fold hill,
Pieria's fountain would my bosom fill;
Through all its depths, in limpid fancy, roll,
Blend with my thought and sparkle in my soul:
That thus my song might happily aspire
From meaner themes to hail my honour'd sire.
The Muse, thou best of parents! fain would twine
A wreath to crown paternal worth like thine:
The gift though small my sire will not refuse;―
Nor know we how, without the according muse,
To find what we may offer,-you receive,
In fond requital of the love you give.-
To form the just requital of your love,
Poor would the muse with all her offerings prove→→
To absolve my mighty debt her gifts how vain-
A tuneful nothing, and a barren strain.
my numbers all my wealth resides,-
I own no means of recompense besides:
My sole exchequer fill'd by Clio's smile;
The regal maid, who crowns my faithful toil;
Who, as beneath her laurel shade I dream,
Visits my slumbers in a golden stream.
Nor slight the treasures of the harmonious Nine,
Who greatly speak the source of man, divine:
Show that he caught a sparkle from above;
His breast still glowing with the fire of Jove.
Heaven's ear is charm'd with song: controlling verse
With thrilling force dire Tartarus can pierce;
With chains of triple adamant compell
The dusky hosts, and bind the powers of hell.
Verse chaunts the priestess in the Pythian cave:
Rapt into verse, the pale-eyed Sybills rave:
Verse smooths the sacrificer's holy prayer
At the dread altar, as his hands prepare
To fell the victim, with gilt horns elate,
Or in the breathing entrails grope for fate.
We too, when raised to our celestial land,
Where time in one stupendous pause shall stand,
Crown'd with pure gold shall tread the eternal fane,
Attuning to the lyre the numerous strain:
While the pleased stars, that gem the vaulted sky,
Catch the soft tones, and ring in sweet reply.
The guardian Power, who, throned on every sphere,
Wheels the vast orb, and guides its proud career,
Pours, as he circles through the starry throng,
The unutterable notes of angel-song.
Fierce Ophiuchus hears with mute delight;
And stern Orion checks the threaten'd fight;
While Atlas, as the lays abstract his soul,
Exults, unconscious of the incumbent pole.
When yet the social board, by reason graced,
Disdain'd subservience to the glutton taste:
When modest Bacchus gave the frugal cheer,
The feasts of monarchs own'd the Muses dear.
There sate the bard, in state above the rest,
His unshorn locks with oaken wreaths compress'd:
His the high deeds of heroes to rehearse,
And bid the great examples live in verse:
His with sublimer spirit to recite
The world first rising from essential night;
And infant deities with acorns fed,
Unarm'd as yet from thund'ring Ætna's bed.
Nor aught avail the melodies of tone
To words unwedded, and the Muse unknown:
'Twas not the harp of Orpheus, but the song
That held the floods, and drew the trees along;
Touch'd the hard breasts of furies with consent;
And made their eyes in stony showers relent.
Nor you affect to scorn the Aönian quire,
Bless'd by their smiles, and glowing with their fire:
You, who, by them inspired, with art profound
Can wield the magic of proportion'd sound:
Through thousand tones can teach the voice to stray,
And wind to harmony its mazy way,
Arion's tuneful heir!-then wonder not
A poet-child should be by you begot.
My kindred soul is warm with kindred flame,
And the son treads the father's track to fame.
Phœbus controlls us with a common sway;
To you his lyre commends, to me his lay:
Whole in each bosom makes his just abode;
And child and parent own the one, though varied God.
Yet that you hate the Muse is but profess'd;
Her secret love is cherish'd in your breast:
Else why not urge my steps, where fortune lies
In the prone path, and vaunts her gaudy prize:
Why not condemn me, with the bar's hoarse throng,
To gather affluence from a nation's wrong:
Why rather seek with intellectual gold
To deck my mind, and to my sight unfold,
Withdrawn in shades from lucre's noisy band,
The beauteous vision of the Aönian land:
Give me through all its bloomy wilds to stray,
The bless'd companion of the God of day?
I pass the endearing fatherly caress,
And in the greater kindness lose the less.
When by your bounty, sire, the words, that hung,
In strength and sweetness, on the Latian's tongue,
I now had learn'd; and, what even Jove could speak,
The full sonorous accents of the Greek;
Your love, persuasive, press'd me to advance,
And glean the flowers that strew the page of France:
To win Italia's modern Muse, who shows
The base pollution of barbarian foes;
And read the native strains of hallow'd lore,
Taught by heaven-tutor'd Palestine of yore.
Nor yet content, you led curious
my
To scan the circling wonders of the sky:
Of air the lucid secrets to reveal,
And know what earth's and ocean's depths conceal.
Thus brought to science, in her inmost seat,
You broke the cloud that veil'd her last retreat;
And offer'd, in her plenitude of charms,
The naked goddess to my youthful arms;
And, if your power had match'd your will to bless,
Now should my arms the heavenly fair possess.
Mad worshippers of gold!-and will ye dare.
With mine your glittering treasures to compare-
Mine wealth intangible,—and haply your's-
All that the sun in India's lap matures.
Say could a father more than mine have given,
If Jove that father, and reserved his heaven?
Had it been safe, the boon less precious far,
When Hyperion lent his blazing car;
Sent forth his boy in all the god's array,
And crown'd him with intolerable day.
Now deck'd with ivies and immortal bays,
One, though the meanest of the sons of praise,
High shall I keep the tenor of my state,
O'er the base crowd, and lifted from their fate.
Hence, wakeful cares, and pining sorrows fly!
Hence leering Envy, with thy sidelong eye!
Slander in vain thy viper-jaws expand!
No harm can touch me from your hateful band;
Alien from you, my breast, in virtue strong,
Derides the menace of your reptile throng.
Since then, dear sire, my gratitude can find,
For all your gifts, no gifts of equal kind:
Since every prouder wish my powers confine-
Accept for all, this fond recording line:
O! take the love that strives to be express'd!-
O! take the thanks that live within my breast!
And you, sweet triflings of my youthful state,
If strains, like you, can hope a lasting date:
Unconscious of your mortal master's doom,
If ye maintain the day, nor know the tomb,-
From dark forgetfulness, as time rolls on,
Your power shall snatch the father and the son:
And make them live to teach succeeding days,
How one could merit, and how one could praise.
Besides the translations, with which my friend, Mr. Wrangham, has gratified the readers of the preceding work, the two following, with which he favoured me, of Milton's seventh sonnet, and of Dr. George's inscription for the great poet's cenotaph in Westminster Abbey, possess too much merit to be withheld from the public.
Deign, Lady, from a guileless doting youth
To accept a heart, which fain its lord would fly,
Of lofty spirit, and worth, and constancy
The abode, and faith inflexible, and truth
By many a test well tried, and melting ruth.
When the red flash flames deathful through the sky,
The bolt that shivers, and the storm that raves,
Self-arm'd with native adamant it braves:
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