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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A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace | ||
Epist. II. To Lollius.
While You, my Lollius, on some chosen Theme,
With youthful Eloquence at Rome declaim,
I read the Grecian Poet o'er again,
Whose Works the Beautiful and Base contain;
Of Vice and Virtue more instructive Rules,
Than all the sober Sages of the Schools.
Why thus I think, if not engag'd, attend,
And, Lollius, hear the Reasons of your Friend.
With youthful Eloquence at Rome declaim,
I read the Grecian Poet o'er again,
Whose Works the Beautiful and Base contain;
Of Vice and Virtue more instructive Rules,
Than all the sober Sages of the Schools.
Why thus I think, if not engag'd, attend,
And, Lollius, hear the Reasons of your Friend.
273
The well-wrought Fable, that sublimely shows
The Loves of Paris, and the lengthen'd Woes
Of Greece in Arms, presents, as on a Stage,
The giddy Tumults, and the foolish Rage
Of Kings and People. Hear Antenor's Scheme;
“Cut off the Cause of War; restore the Dame:”
But Paris treats this Counsel with Disdain,
Nor will be forc'd in Happiness to reign,
While hoary Nestor, by Experience wise,
To reconcile the angry Monarchs tries.
His injur'd Love the Son of Peleus fires,
And equal Passion, equal Rage inspires
The Breasts of both. When doating Monarchs urge
Unsound Resolves, their Subjects feel the Scourge.
Trojans and Greeks, seditious, base, unjust,
Offend alike in Violence and Lust.
To shew what pious Wisdom's Power can do,
The Poet sets Ulysses in our View,
Who conquer'd Troy, and with sagacious Ken
Saw various Towns and Policies of Men;
While for himself, and for his native Train,
He seeks a Passage through the boundless Main,
In Perils plung'd, the patient Hero braves
His adverse Fate, and buoys above the Waves.
The Loves of Paris, and the lengthen'd Woes
Of Greece in Arms, presents, as on a Stage,
The giddy Tumults, and the foolish Rage
Of Kings and People. Hear Antenor's Scheme;
“Cut off the Cause of War; restore the Dame:”
But Paris treats this Counsel with Disdain,
Nor will be forc'd in Happiness to reign,
While hoary Nestor, by Experience wise,
To reconcile the angry Monarchs tries.
His injur'd Love the Son of Peleus fires,
And equal Passion, equal Rage inspires
The Breasts of both. When doating Monarchs urge
Unsound Resolves, their Subjects feel the Scourge.
Trojans and Greeks, seditious, base, unjust,
Offend alike in Violence and Lust.
To shew what pious Wisdom's Power can do,
The Poet sets Ulysses in our View,
Who conquer'd Troy, and with sagacious Ken
Saw various Towns and Policies of Men;
While for himself, and for his native Train,
He seeks a Passage through the boundless Main,
In Perils plung'd, the patient Hero braves
His adverse Fate, and buoys above the Waves.
The Siren-Songs and Circe's Cups you know,
Which with his Mates, voracious of their Woe,
If he had blindly tasted, he had been
A brutal Vassal to a lustful Queen;
Had liv'd a Dog, debas'd to vile Desire,
Or loathsome Swine, and grovel'd in the Mire.
But we, mere Cyphers in the Book of Life,
Like those, who boldly woo'd our Hero's Wife,
Born to consume the Fruits of Earth; in Truth,
As vain and idle, as Phæacia's Youth;
Mere Outside all, to fill the mighty Void
Of Life, in Dress and Equipage employ'd,
Who sleep till Mid-day, and with melting Airs
Of empty Music sooth away our Cares.
Which with his Mates, voracious of their Woe,
275
A brutal Vassal to a lustful Queen;
Had liv'd a Dog, debas'd to vile Desire,
Or loathsome Swine, and grovel'd in the Mire.
But we, mere Cyphers in the Book of Life,
Like those, who boldly woo'd our Hero's Wife,
Born to consume the Fruits of Earth; in Truth,
As vain and idle, as Phæacia's Youth;
Mere Outside all, to fill the mighty Void
Of Life, in Dress and Equipage employ'd,
Who sleep till Mid-day, and with melting Airs
Of empty Music sooth away our Cares.
Rogues nightly rise to murder Men for Pelf,
Will you not rouse you to preserve yourself?
But though in Health you doze away your Days,
You run, when puff'd with dropsical Disease.
Unless you light your early Lamp, to find
A moral Book; unless you form your Mind
To nobler Studies, you shall forfeit Rest,
And Love or Envy shall distract your Breast.
For the hurt Eye an instant Cure you find;
Then why neglect, for Years, the sickening Mind?
Will you not rouse you to preserve yourself?
But though in Health you doze away your Days,
You run, when puff'd with dropsical Disease.
Unless you light your early Lamp, to find
A moral Book; unless you form your Mind
To nobler Studies, you shall forfeit Rest,
And Love or Envy shall distract your Breast.
For the hurt Eye an instant Cure you find;
Then why neglect, for Years, the sickening Mind?
Who sets about hath half perform'd his Deed;
Dare to be wise, and, if you would succeed,
Begin. The Man, who has it in his Power
To practise Virtue, and protracts the Hour,
Waits till the River pass away: but lo!
Ceaseless it flows, and will for ever flow.
At Wealth, and Wives of Fruitfulness we aim,
We stub the Forest, and the Soil reclaim;
Who hath sufficient, should not covet more:
Nor House, nor Lands, nor Heaps of labour'd Ore
Can give the feverish Lord one Moment's Rest,
Or drive one Sorrow from his anxious Breast;
The fond Possessor must be bless'd with Health,
To reap the Comforts of his hoarded Wealth.
Dare to be wise, and, if you would succeed,
Begin. The Man, who has it in his Power
To practise Virtue, and protracts the Hour,
Waits till the River pass away: but lo!
Ceaseless it flows, and will for ever flow.
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We stub the Forest, and the Soil reclaim;
Who hath sufficient, should not covet more:
Nor House, nor Lands, nor Heaps of labour'd Ore
Can give the feverish Lord one Moment's Rest,
Or drive one Sorrow from his anxious Breast;
The fond Possessor must be bless'd with Health,
To reap the Comforts of his hoarded Wealth.
Demaine and Fortune gratify the Breast,
For Lucre lusting, or with Fear deprest;
As Pictures, glowing with a vivid Light,
Afford Amusement to a blemish'd Sight;
As chasing quells the Gout, or Music chears
The tingling Organs of imposthum'd Ears.
For tainted Vessels sour what they contain;
Then fly from Pleasures, dearly bought with Pain.
He wants for ever, who would more acquire,
Set certain Limits to your wild Desire.
For Lucre lusting, or with Fear deprest;
As Pictures, glowing with a vivid Light,
Afford Amusement to a blemish'd Sight;
As chasing quells the Gout, or Music chears
The tingling Organs of imposthum'd Ears.
For tainted Vessels sour what they contain;
Then fly from Pleasures, dearly bought with Pain.
He wants for ever, who would more acquire,
Set certain Limits to your wild Desire.
The Man, who envies, must behold with Pain
Another's Joys, and sicken at his Gain:
Nor could Sicilia's Tyrants ever find
A greater Torment, than an envious Mind.
Another's Joys, and sicken at his Gain:
Nor could Sicilia's Tyrants ever find
A greater Torment, than an envious Mind.
The Man, unable to controul his Ire,
Shall wish undone, what Hate and Wrath inspire:
To sate his Rage, præcipitate he flies,
Yet in his Breast th' unsated Vengeance lies.
Anger's a shorter Frenzy: then subdue
Your Passion, or your Passion conquers You.
Let lordly Reason hold the guiding Reins,
And bind the Tyrant with coercive Chains,
Shall wish undone, what Hate and Wrath inspire:
To sate his Rage, præcipitate he flies,
Yet in his Breast th' unsated Vengeance lies.
Anger's a shorter Frenzy: then subdue
Your Passion, or your Passion conquers You.
Let lordly Reason hold the guiding Reins,
And bind the Tyrant with coercive Chains,
The Jockey forms the tender Steed with Skill,
To move obedient to the Rider's Will.
Since first the home-taught Hound began to bay
The Buck-skin trail'd, he challenges his Prey
Through woody Wilds. Now pliantly inure
Your Mind to Virtue, while your Heart is pure;
Now suck in Wisdom; for the Vessel, well
With Liquor season'd, long retains the Smell.
But if you lag, or run a-head, my Friend,
I leave the Slow, nor with the Swift contend.
To move obedient to the Rider's Will.
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The Buck-skin trail'd, he challenges his Prey
Through woody Wilds. Now pliantly inure
Your Mind to Virtue, while your Heart is pure;
Now suck in Wisdom; for the Vessel, well
With Liquor season'd, long retains the Smell.
But if you lag, or run a-head, my Friend,
I leave the Slow, nor with the Swift contend.
A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace | ||