The Works, In Verse and Prose, of Leonard Welsted ... Now First Collected. With Historical Notes, And Biographical Memoirs of the Author, by John Nichols |
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| PROPOSALS for translating HORACE. |
 | The Works, In Verse and Prose, of Leonard Welsted |  |
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PROPOSALS for translating HORACE.
HORACE, BOOK I. ODE I.
To the Right Honourable George Dodington.
I
Descended from old British sires!Great Dodington, to kings allied;
My Patron thou! my laurel's pride;
There are, whom thirst of fame inspires.
II
To win the lordly Grecian prize;And the proud dust, and wheels, that roll,
Swift as the lightning, round the goal,
Uplift Earth's Sovereigns to the skies:
III
These struggle, with ambitious pains,To be by wavering crowds ador'd;
Those, in their granaries, uphoard
The harvests mow'd on Libya's plains:
IV
While others, pleas'd with rural arts,Manure their own paternal fields;
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Persuade them, with desponding hearts,
V
To cross in ships th' Ægean seas:The Merchant, when the south-west blast,
With surges struggling, drives the mast,
Most happy calls a life of ease;
VI
Most happy his sweet native air!Yet, straight, he hastens to reform
His vessel, shatter'd in the storm;
Ill-nurtur'd poverty to bear!
VII
There are, who quaff, throughout the day,Old Massic wine, or careless laid
Beneath the wilding-apple's shade,
Or where the rising fountains play:
VIII
And many be, whom camps delight,Who in the rife's, and clarion's voice,
The symphony of war, rejoice,
And battles, that fond mothers fright:
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IX
The Hunter bears bleak cold, and wet,Unmindful of his lovely spouse;
Whether the stag the beagles rouze,
Or the wild boar has broke the net:
X
To thee the ivy crown belongs;For thee alike and Phœbus wove!
Thee, Dodington, the gelid grove,
And the light nymphs, and Druid-throngs,
XI
Shall o'er the vulgar greatly blaze;If Clio not restrain the lyre,
Nor she, that does the flute inspire,
Refuse the Lesbian note to rase:
XII
I too the golden harp, my pride,And fair distinction, fain would claim;
Give me a Lyric Poet's name,
And I'll look down on all beside.
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HORACE, BOOK I. ODE III.
To the Yacht that is to bring over the Marquis of Blandford.
May Beauty's Goddess guide thy way!
The bright twin-stars dispense their ray!
The Sire of winds the winds compose,
All but the gale that northward blows!
O Yacht, that all my hopes dost bear,
Entrusted with great Marlborough's heir!
O guard the darling of the land,
And give him safe to Dover's strand!
The bright twin-stars dispense their ray!
The Sire of winds the winds compose,
All but the gale that northward blows!
O Yacht, that all my hopes dost bear,
Entrusted with great Marlborough's heir!
O guard the darling of the land,
And give him safe to Dover's strand!
Oak was his heart, his breast with steel
Thrice mail'd, that first the brittle keel
Committed to the murtherous deep;
Nor dreaded battling winds, that sweep
The flood, the Hyads stormy train,
Nor furious South, of Adria's main
The lawless monarch, be his will
T' enrage the gulphy wave, or still:
All fear of death did he repell,
Who, tearless, saw the billows swell;
Saw the fell monsters floating by,
And rocks, deaf to the seaman's cry!
Vain has Almighty Wisdom plac'd,
For earth's fix'd bourne, the watery waste;
If impious men the art have found
T' o'erleap th' inviolable mound:
Bold man, that all things dares assay,
Through crimes forbidden makes his way.
Bold Japhet's race, of human-kind
The curse, celestial fire purloin'd;
The fire celestial ill-obtain'd,
Straight, the wan lingering Phthisis reign'd;
Came Fevers, with pestiferous breath,
A spotted legion! and slow Death,
Far off before, though sure decreed,
Catch'd up his steps, and march'd with speed.
Presuming Dædalus! he tried
Through air, with wings to man deny'd,
To journey; rash Alcmena's son
The barriers broke of Acheron.
To deeds stupendous mortals rise;
We ev'n in folly brave the skies,
Nor suffer Jove, through stubborn pride,
To lay th' uplifted bolt aside.
Thrice mail'd, that first the brittle keel
Committed to the murtherous deep;
Nor dreaded battling winds, that sweep
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Nor furious South, of Adria's main
The lawless monarch, be his will
T' enrage the gulphy wave, or still:
All fear of death did he repell,
Who, tearless, saw the billows swell;
Saw the fell monsters floating by,
And rocks, deaf to the seaman's cry!
Vain has Almighty Wisdom plac'd,
For earth's fix'd bourne, the watery waste;
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T' o'erleap th' inviolable mound:
Bold man, that all things dares assay,
Through crimes forbidden makes his way.
Bold Japhet's race, of human-kind
The curse, celestial fire purloin'd;
The fire celestial ill-obtain'd,
Straight, the wan lingering Phthisis reign'd;
Came Fevers, with pestiferous breath,
A spotted legion! and slow Death,
Far off before, though sure decreed,
Catch'd up his steps, and march'd with speed.
Presuming Dædalus! he tried
Through air, with wings to man deny'd,
To journey; rash Alcmena's son
The barriers broke of Acheron.
To deeds stupendous mortals rise;
We ev'n in folly brave the skies,
Nor suffer Jove, through stubborn pride,
To lay th' uplifted bolt aside.
HORACE, BOOK I. ODE V.
Who, Amoret, is now the joyOf thy fond heart? what blooming boy,
Rich-essenc'd, and on rose-beds laid,
Pants o'er thee on the grotto's shade?
For whom, like rural maidens fair,
Wreath'st thou with flowers thy flaxen hair?
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Of the chang'd Gods how oft complain?
With what surprize, unwont, survey
The lowring heavens and clouded day?
The youth who, now with smiles carest,
Trusts in the charms that make him blest;
Who paints thee vacant, lovely, kind;
Unweening of the faithless wind!
Curs'd! who to those false smiles confide;
Doat on that darling face untry'd!
In yonder tablet 'tis exprest,
That I have hung my sea-dank vest,
An offering, in his sacred-shrine,
To the great Power that rules the brine.
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HORACE, BOOK I. ODE XXII.
To the Right Honourable the Earl of Pembroke.
From Virtue's laws who never parts,O Pembroke, safe may go
Without the Moorish lance or bow,
Or quiver stor'd with poison'd darts,
The womb of woe!
Whether through Libya's scorching land
To journey he provides,
By savage Caucas' rocky sides,
Or where the stream, o'er golden sand,
Of Indus glides:
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To my sweet lute I play'd,
And, wrapt in Harriot, carless stray'd,
A wolf espy'd me all unarm'd,
And fled dismay'd:
A direr portent, nor a worse,
Has warlike Daunia view'd,
Through her vast wilds and forests rude:
Nor Juba's arid realms, that nurse
The lion-brood:
Bear me to cold and wintery plains,
Where no fair-blossom'd trees
Adduce the soft-aspiring breeze;
But fogs abound, and chilly rains,
With dews that freeze:
In the burnt climate let me reek;
The houseless desart Isle!
There Harriot shall my cares beguile;
My Harriot, that does sweetly speak,
And sweetly smile!
| The Works, In Verse and Prose, of Leonard Welsted | |