Translations from Horace.
By Mr. Marriott, of Trinity-Hall, Cambridge.
Book I. Ode XVIII. Invitation to his Mistress.
Oft Faunus leaves Arcadia's plain,
And to the Sabine hill retreats:
He guards my flocks from rushing rain,
From piercing winds, and scorching heats.
Where lurks the thyme, or shrubs appear,
My wanton kids securely play;
My goats no pois'nous serpent fear,
Safe wand'ring thro' the woodland way.
No hostile wolf the fold invades;
Ustica's pendent rocks rebound
My song; and all the sylvan shades,
By Echo taught, return the sound.
The gods my verse propitious hear,
My head from every danger shield:
For you, o'erflows the bounteous year,
And Plenty's horn hath heap'd my field.
Responsive to the Teian string,
Within the sun-defended vale,
Here, softly warbling you shall sing
Each tender, tuneful, am'rous tale.
No rival, here, shall burst the bands
That wreathe my charmer's beauteous hair,
Nor seize her weakly struggling hands;
But Love and Horace guard the fair.
Ode VI. Book II. Imitated.
Bevil, that with your friend would roam,
Far from your England's happier home,
Should e'er the Fates that friend detain
In gayer France, or graver Spain;
Know, all my wish is to retreat,
When age shall quench my youthful heat,
In Kentish shades sweet peace to find,
And leave the sons of care behind.
But should this pleasing hope be vain,
May I fair Windsor's seat attain,
Where Leddon's gentle waters glide,
And flocks adorn its flowery side.
Sweet groves, I love your silent shades:
Your russet lawns, and op'ning glades,
With fam'd Italia's plains may vie
Your fertile fields, and healthful sky.
Here, let our eve of life be spent;
Here, friend shall live with friend content:
Here, in cold earth my limbs be laid;
And here thy generous tear be paid.
Book II. Ode XII. Translated.
The wars of Numantia and Hannibal dire,
On land, or on ocean the fighting,
Mæcenas, ne'er suited my peaceable lyre,
In subjects much softer delighting.
You love not of centaurs embattled to hear,
Nor of giants, a tale of such wonder,
Who shook all the skies, made Jupiter fear,
'Till drove by Alcides and thunder.
In prose, my good patron, more nobly you write,
As your topic than these is much better,
How Cæsar with glory can govern and fight,
And lead haughty kings in his fetter.
Alone my gay Muse of Licinnia would sing,
The constant, good-natur'd, and pretty,
So graceful to dance with the maids in a ring,
So sparkling, so merry, and witty.
While you play with her hair that is carelessly curl'd,
While this way, now that way she twitches,
Of your teazing so kindly complaining, no world
Could bribe for one lock with its riches.
Thus blest with the nymph, how transporting the joy!
Who whimsical, wanton, amuses;
Who pleasingly forward, or prettily coy,
Oft snatches the kiss she refuses.
