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Horace in London

Consisting of imitations of the first two books of the odes of Horace. By the authors of the rejected addresses, or the new theatrum poetarum [Horace and James Smith]
Smith, Horace (1779-1849)

collapse sectionI. 
BOOK I.
 I. 
ODE I. To John Bull, Esq.
 II. 
ODE II. HURLY BURLY!
 III. 
ODE III. THE BARONET'S YACHT.
 IV. 
ODE IV. BRIGHTON.
 V. 
ODE V. THE JILT.
 VI. 
ODE VI. WALTER SCOTT.
 VII. 
ODE VII. THE OUSTED TREASURER.
 VIII. 
ODE VIII. To HUNTINGDON, the Preacher.
 IX. 
ODE IX. WINTER.
 X. 
ODE X. TRIBUTARY STANZAS to GRIMALDI THE CLOWN.
 XI. 
ODE XI. FORTUNE TELLING.
 XII. 
ODE XII. To Emanuel Swedenborg.
 XIII. 
ODE XIII. THE JEALOUS LOVER.
 XIV. 
ODE XIV. To Mr. KEMBLE,
 XV. 
ODE XV. THE PARTHENON.
 XVI. 
ODE XVI. The EDINBURGH REVIEWERS.
 XVII. 
ODE XVII. THE WELCH COTTAGE.
 XVIII. 
ODE XVIII. MERRY AND WISE.
 XIX. 
ODE XIX. PLEASING PETULANCE.
 XX. 
ODE XX. THE BARD'S BANQUET.
 XXII. 
ODE XXII. THE BAILIFF.
 XXIII. 
ODE XXIII. CUPID'S INVITATION.
 XXIV. 
ODE XXIV. HORNE TOOKE's EPITAPH.
 XXV. 
ODE XXV. MY GODWIN!
 XXVI. 
ODE XXVI. THE STRAW BONNET.
 XXVII. 
ODE XXVII. THE BUMPER TOAST.
 XXVIII. 
ODE XXVIII. LUCRETIUS AND DR. BUSBY.
 XXIX. 
ODE XXIX. The TERMAGANT.
 XXX. 
ODE XXX. PRIVATE BOXES.
 XXXI. 
ODE XXXI. TO APOLLO.
 XXXII. 
ODE XXXII. To the COMIC MUSE.
 XXXIII. 
ODE XXXIII. CROSS PURPOSES.
 XXXIV. 
ODE XXXIV. CŒLEBS IN SEARCH OF A WIFE.
 XXXV. 
ODE XXXV.
 XXXVI. 
ODE XXXVI. THE GAOL DELIVERY.
 XXXVII. 
ODE XXXVII. LOB'S POUND.
 XXXVIII. 
ODE XXXVIII. THE BILL OF FARE.
expand sectionII. 
BOOK II.

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87

ODE XXVIII. LUCRETIUS AND DR. BUSBY.

Te maris et terræ numeroque carentis arence.

Lucretius, tho' thy numbers could embrace,
(Thus Busby spoke) the secret plans of Fate,
Lay bare the haunts of matter, form, and space,
And all creation in thy song create;
O'er thy dead stanzas now Arachne weaves
Her web to hide thee from a buzzing croud;
Dishonourable dust o'erspreads thy leaves,
And Hermes wraps thee in oblivion's shroud.
To whom, Lucretius—fugitive and fleet,
Religion's dogmas yield to Age's tooth;
Like the loose sand beneath Achilles' feet,
They melt or crumble at the touch of Truth.
88

Each mystic zealot, heavenward points the way,
Heav'n mocks alike the artist and the art:
Where is thy solar system, Tycho Brahe?
Where now thy eddying vortices, Des Cartes?
Some dreaming seers, with angels converse hold,
Some, teiz'd by Satan, Faith's palladium guard.
Paine, Priestley, sleep in transatlantic mould,
And Godwin slumbers in Saint Paul's Church Yard.
One night o'ershadows systems old and new,
Death to one fatal ferry all consigns,
And not a head amid the sapient crew,
But whispers, tête a tête, with Proserpine's.
Me too, death summons to my kindred soil,
Philosophy's new lamp outdazzles mine:
Outdazzles! no, dipp'd in thy midnight oil
My glimmering taper yet again may shine.
Arouse thee, rhymster, bid thy boy rehearse:
And, whilst around thy drowsy audience nod,
Lest the pale urchin mar thy labour'd verse,
Wield o'er his trembling head thy grandsire's rod.
89

So may Apollo in Queen Ann Street West
Full o'er thy muse his warbling choir uncage,
Names fill thy index, Plutus fill thy chest,
And dedication smooth thy hot press'd page.
Hah! doubt'st thou, recreant? does thy lazy wit
To snatch from Lethe's pit my verse refuse?
Then may new Drury's widely yawning pit,
O'erwhelm thy urchin, and engulph thy muse.
That threat prevails, thou sweep'st thy classic chords;
Laud we the Gods! Lucretius now is free;
Come affluent Commoners, come pursy Lords,
Down with your dust, to shake the dust from me.
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