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The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore

Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes
  

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HORACE, ODE XXII. LIB. I.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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188

HORACE, ODE XXII. LIB. I.

[_]

FREELY TRANSLATED BY LORD ELD---N.

The man who keeps a conscience pure,
(If not his own, at least his Prince's,)
Through toil and danger walks secure,
Looks big and black, and never winces.
No want has he of sword or dagger,
Cock'd hat or ringlets of Geramb;
Though Peers may laugh, and Papists swagger,
He doesn't care one single d*mn.

189

Whether midst Irish chairmen going,
Or through St. Giles's alleys dim,
'Mid drunken Sheelahs, blasting, blowing,
No matter, 'tis all one to him.
For instance, I, one evening late,
Upon a gay vacation sally,
Singing the praise of Church and State,
Got (God knows how) to Cranbourne Alley.

190

When lo! an Irish Papist darted
Across my path, gaunt, grim, and big—
I did but frown, and off he started,
Scar'd at me, even without my wig.
Yet a more fierce and raw-bon'd dog
Goes not to Mass in Dublin City,
Nor shakes his brogue o'er Allen's Bog,
Nor spouts in Catholic Committee.
Oh! place me midst O'Rourkes, O'Tooles,
The ragged royal-blood of Tara;

191

Or place me where Dick M*rt*n rules
The houseless wilds of Connemara;
Of Church and State I'll warble still
Though ev'n Dick M*rt*n's self should grumble;
Sweet Church and State, like Jack and Jill,
So lovingly upon a hill—
Ah! ne'er like Jack and Jill to tumble!
 
Integer vitæ scelerisque purus.
Non eget Mauri jaculis, neque arcu,
Nec venenatis gravida sagittis,
Fusce, pharetra.
Sive per Syrtes iter æstuosas,
Sive facturus per inhospitalem
Caucasum, vel quæ loca fabulosus
Lambit Hydaspes.?

The Noble Translator had, at first, laid the scene of these imagined dangers of his Man of Conscience among the Papists of Spain, and had translated the words “quæ loca fabulosus lambit Hydaspes” thus—“The fabling Spaniard licks the French;” but, recollecting that it is our interest just now to be respectful to Spanish Catholics (though there is certainly no earthly reason for our being even commonly civil to Irish ones), he altered the passage as it stands at present.

Namque me silvâ lupus in Sabinâ,
Dum meam canto Lalagen, et ultra
Terminum curis vagor expeditis,
Fugit inermem.

I cannot help calling the reader's attention to the peculiar ingenuity with which these lines are paraphrased. Not to mention the happy conversion of the Wolf into a Papist, (seeing that Romulus was suckled by a wolf, that Rome was founded by Romulus, and that the Pope has always reigned at Rome,) there is something particularly neat in supposing “ultra terminum” to mean vacation-time; and then the modest consciousness with which the Noble and Learned Translator has avoided touching upon the words “curis expeditis,” (or, as it has been otherwise read, “causis expeditis,”) and the felicitous idea of his being “inermis” when “without his wig,” are altogether the most delectable specimens of paraphrase in our language.

Quale portentum neque militaris
Daunias latis alit æsculetis,
Nec Jubæ tellus generat leonum
Arida nutrix.
Pone me pigris ubi nulla campis
Arbor æstiva recreatur aura:
Quod latus mundi, nebulæ, malusque
Jupiter urget.

I must here remark, that the said Dick M*rt*n being a very good fellow, it was not at all fair to make a “malus Jupiter” of him.

Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo,
Dulce loquentem.

There cannot be imagined a more happy illustration of the inseparability of Church and State, and their (what is called) “standing and falling together,” than this ancient apologue of Jack and Jill. Jack, of course, represents the State in this ingenious little Allegory.

Jack fell down,
And broke his Crown,
And Jill came tumbling after.