A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace With the Original Text, and Critical Notes collected from his best Latin and French Commentators. By the Revd Mr. Philip Francis...The third edition |
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Ode XII. To Virgil.
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 | A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace |  |
395
Ode XII. To Virgil.
Companions of the Spring, the Thracian Winds
With kindly Breath now drive the Bark from Shore;
No Frost, with hoary Hand, the Meadow binds,
Nor swollen with wintry Snow the Torrents roar.
With kindly Breath now drive the Bark from Shore;
No Frost, with hoary Hand, the Meadow binds,
Nor swollen with wintry Snow the Torrents roar.
The Swallow, hapless Bird! now builds her Nest,
And in complaining Notes begins to sing,
That, with Revenge too cruelly possest,
Impious She punish'd an incestuous King.
And in complaining Notes begins to sing,
That, with Revenge too cruelly possest,
Impious She punish'd an incestuous King.
Stretch'd on the springing Grass the Shepherd Swain
His reedy Pipe with rural Music fills;
The God, who guards his Flock, approves the Strain,
The God, who loves Arcadia's gloomy Hills.
His reedy Pipe with rural Music fills;
The God, who guards his Flock, approves the Strain,
The God, who loves Arcadia's gloomy Hills.
397
Virgil, 'tis thine, with noble Youths to feast,
Yet, since the thirsty Season calls for Wine,
Would you a Cup of generous Bacchus taste,
Bring you the Odours, and a Cask is thine.
Yet, since the thirsty Season calls for Wine,
Would you a Cup of generous Bacchus taste,
Bring you the Odours, and a Cask is thine.
Thy little Box of Spikenard shall produce
A mighty Cask, that in the Cellar lies;
Big with large Hopes shall flow th'inspiring Juice,
Powerful to sooth our Griefs, and raise our Joys.
A mighty Cask, that in the Cellar lies;
Big with large Hopes shall flow th'inspiring Juice,
Powerful to sooth our Griefs, and raise our Joys.
If Pleasures such as these can charm thy Soul,
Bring the glad Merchandise, with Sweets replete,
Nor empty-handed shall you touch the Bowl,
Nor do I mean, like wealthy Folk, to treat.
Bring the glad Merchandise, with Sweets replete,
Nor empty-handed shall you touch the Bowl,
Nor do I mean, like wealthy Folk, to treat.
Think on the gloomy Pyle's funereal Flame,
And be no more with sordid Lucre blind;
Mix a short Folly with the labour'd Scheme;
'Tis joyous Folly, that unbends the Mind.
And be no more with sordid Lucre blind;
Mix a short Folly with the labour'd Scheme;
'Tis joyous Folly, that unbends the Mind.
| A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace | |