The poems of George Daniel ... From the original mss. in the British Museum: Hitherto unprinted. Edited, with introduction, notes, and illustrations, portrait, &c. By the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart: In four volumes |
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To Mr. Ogilby:
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 | The poems of George Daniel |  |
127
To Mr. Ogilby:
Vpon his Accurate Translation of incomparable Virgil.
Bee it without offence, that I may give
My humble Verse, with Virgil's name to live;
My verse, which but in Northerne Groves yet sung,
(Cold as the Climate) falters on the Tongve.
Those who enrichéd are with brighter flame,
May Sing a louder Note; I have noe Name,
Nor facultie in Numbers, but what Sad
Thoughts now may vrge, within a private Shade.
Yet, may I say, I was not borne soe dull,
Nor soe Disloyall am; Soe without Soule;
But if my hand be calléd, by this Prince
Of Poets, 'Tis my Witt's Allegiance.
For be Hee Rebel ever to the Chaire
Of Sacred Muses, who can see appeare
His Maister, (long an Exulate) come in,
To claime his proper Right, and doth not bring
His Hand t' assist, and Seat Him in his owne.
All Langvage is but witt's Dominion;
And Virgil doth as gloriouslye advance
To Brittain's now, as to the Romans once.
This to the Conduct of learn'd Ogilby
Wee must Ascribe, who fix'd him happilye
My humble Verse, with Virgil's name to live;
My verse, which but in Northerne Groves yet sung,
(Cold as the Climate) falters on the Tongve.
Those who enrichéd are with brighter flame,
May Sing a louder Note; I have noe Name,
Nor facultie in Numbers, but what Sad
Thoughts now may vrge, within a private Shade.
Yet, may I say, I was not borne soe dull,
Nor soe Disloyall am; Soe without Soule;
But if my hand be calléd, by this Prince
Of Poets, 'Tis my Witt's Allegiance.
For be Hee Rebel ever to the Chaire
Of Sacred Muses, who can see appeare
His Maister, (long an Exulate) come in,
To claime his proper Right, and doth not bring
His Hand t' assist, and Seat Him in his owne.
All Langvage is but witt's Dominion;
128
To Brittain's now, as to the Romans once.
This to the Conduct of learn'd Ogilby
Wee must Ascribe, who fix'd him happilye
In his prædestin'd Chaire. Now Troians All,
Wee know Æneas, and Him Father call.
If I have err'd, Sr; 'tis but to admire
Virgil, as radiant in this Attire
As in his Romane garbe; and (might I give
Freely my owne) I thinke Hee did not Live
Happie in English Letters, whose Swift fate
Call'd, ere This Poet had attain'd This State.
Wee know Æneas, and Him Father call.
If I have err'd, Sr; 'tis but to admire
Virgil, as radiant in this Attire
As in his Romane garbe; and (might I give
Freely my owne) I thinke Hee did not Live
Happie in English Letters, whose Swift fate
Call'd, ere This Poet had attain'd This State.
G. Daniel. June 29th, 1.6.4.9.
| The poems of George Daniel | |