Translations and Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Let Earth-born Souls with groveling Sight,
In Wealth or Power, or Pride delight;
More Transport gives a Ray of thine,
Than Britain's Crown, or India's Mine!

VIII

More from this Joy refin'd I taste,
Than Misers from their Bags increas'd;
From thence more Gladness fills my Heart,
Than all the World can e'er impart.

IX

Fed by thy providential Care,
I take content my little Share;
And humbly on thy Aid depend,
Eternal Father, God, and Friend!

X

When the provided Day is done,
And Night with sable Train comes on;
In Peace my weary'd Limbs I lay,
He guards the Night, who gave the Day.

XI

When breaks the Dawn of rosy Morn,
To thee, the Lord of Life, I turn;
And my awaken'd Senses raise,
Attentive in their Maker's Praise.

XII

Thou great Omniscience! watch my Ways,
Protect my Nights and guide my Days;
Give me thro' Life, obscure or known,
To love and fear but Thee alone!

Part of Psalm XLII.

In Imitation of the Style of SPENSER.

I

Like some faire Deer by Hunters close pursued,
Who bath'd in sweet explores the cooling Flood;
So my poore Soul, by eager Foes subdued,
Looks up to thee, the ever-living God!
When, when shall I approach that happie Place
Where shines thy Glory, and where rests thy Peace?

II

I pass my Days in Sighs, in Grones, and Tears,
While my sad Breast incessant Railings load,
“Who now his Cries, or his Petition hears,
“Where is, they scornful cry, his boasted God?
My Heart oppress'd, with Anguish and Despaire,
Looks up to thee, sole Auditor of Prayer!

III

Oh! let thy heav'nly Beams these Sorrowes cheere,
Dispell these Clouds of Life-consuming Care!
Vouchsafe the Voice of my Distress to heare,
Regard my Sufferings, and attend my Prayer!
While my proud Foes insult me from afar,
Be thou my Refuge from the hostile War!

IV

And see!—my Soul, his glorious Arm display'd!
My Rock of Hope, my high Defence is near;
At length he grants his favourable Aid,
Behold my great Deliverer appear!
Smile then my Soul! nor droop within my Breast,
Trust still in God, and he shall give thee Rest!

Canticles Chap. V. v. 16, Paraphras'd.

Oh how his pointed Language, like a Dart,
Strikes thro' my Breast, and thrills my melting Heart!
Thro' all my Soul the charming Accents slide,
Which from his heav'nly Lips harmonious glide;
And while I the inchanting Sounds admire,
My ravish'd Senses in a Trance expire.

Go, Son of Venus! mourn thy baffled Art,
Thy vainly boasted Pow'r, and pointless Dart;
Thy feebler Rays undazzled now I view,
Thy Altars scorn—and nobler Joys pursue:
As in the Sun the glimm'ring Taper glows,
Compar'd with his thy faint Resemblance shows;
Shalt thou his Rival then presume to prove,
Or vie with him the only God of Love?
Thy idle Flame but plays around the Heart,
His fills the Heav'n-born Soul in every Part;
Thou but imaginary Bliss can'st boast,
And transient Pleasures in Possession lost;

While real Raptures from his Precepts flow,
Such as the Heav'n-born Soul delights to know;
He seeks not to constrain, but to invite,
His Chains are Freedom, and his Yoke Delight;
“Then, ever-lovely Saviour! why in thee
“Do the blind World no Form or Beauty see?

Where is that Radiance, Jesus! so divine,
So brightly splendid, to out-glitter thine?
With whose dear Sight, Mortality once bless'd
Would throw off all its Robes, to be possess'd:
“Then altogether lovely! why in thee
“Do the blind World no Form or Beauty see!

These two Pieces were wrote by a young Gentleman, who died at Glasgow, 1721, in the 18th Year of his Age, universally regretted.

John Chap. XXI. v. 17. Paraphras'd.

By the Same.

Yes , thou that knowest all things, know'st my Love,
And that I prize thy Interest far above
The utmost Joys, this Earth can e'er bestow,
Or all the shining Vanities below:
To thy unerring Censure I appeal,
And thou, who art Omniscience, sure can'st tell.

I love thee more Life or Interest,
No Rival shares with thee this destin'd Breast;

I love thee so, that I can calmly bear
The Laugh of Fools, and bless my happy Ear,
So I from thee but one kind Whisper hear.
I love thee so—that for a Smile of thine,
Were this, and all yon' glittering Planets mine,
I would not pause, but with a sacred Scorn
The mean unequal Offer gladly spurn;
To busy Mortals all their Wish resign,
Nor envy them, while thou, O Lord, wer't mine!

I love thee as my Center, and can find
No Point but thee, to fix my restless Mind;
Wild and uncertain all its Motions were,
Till plac'd in thee, their only proper Sphere;
Urg'd with a thousand specious Forms I stood,
Displeas'd; — and sigh'd, as for some distant Good,
Till thou appear'd —I heard the heav'nly Voice,
And my Soul quickly made its happy Choice!

I love thee so—'tis more than Death to be
Thus pain'd by Absence, and depriv'd of thee;
'Tis all but Darkness and the Shade of Night,
While this poor mortal Veil obstructs the Sight:
Would'st thou but call — I'd kiss the Dart should free
My fluttering Soul, and send her up to thee;

O would'st thou break her Chains! with what Delight
She'd plume her Wings, and bid this World good Night!
Scarce for her bright Conductors would she stay,
But lead thy flaming Ministers the Way,
In their known Passage to eternal Day:
And yet those Realms of Light would seem less fair,
Until she met her bright Redeemer there;
Until she gaz'd upon his radiant Face,
Beheld his Smiles, and liv'd in his Embrace;
Thence should his Praise her heav'nly Song employ,
Delightful Task, a Work of endless Joy!

The Lamentation of David for Saul and Jonathan.

[_]

II Samuel I. v. 17—27. Translated.

“How are the Mighty fall'n upon the Plain?
“Unhappy Israel! mourn thy Beauty slain!

Let none to Askalon the Loss reveal,
Oh, publish not, in Gath, th' accursed Tale!
Lest our insulting Foes, with cruel Pride,
Smile at our Weakness, and our Arms deride,

And as they count the Spoils in Triumph o'er,
Rejoice the Strength of Judah' is no more!
“How are the Mighty fall'n upon the Plain?
“Unhappy Israel! mourn thy Beauty slain!

On Gilboah's Heights let no more Dew be found,
For ever blasted be the fatal Ground!
Let Heav'n displeas'd its kindly Smiles refrain,
Nor send the genial Warmth, nor fruitful Rain!
Nor Grass its Hills, nor Corn its Vallies yield,
Nor Shade nor Streams refresh the barren Field!
For there our antient Glory fell a Prey,
And the Imperial Shield was cast away!
There Saul and Jonathan resign'd their Breath,
The Monarch and the Friend were lost in Death.
“How are the Mighty fall'n upon the Plain?
“Unhappy Israel! mourn thy Beauty slain!

How oft in Arms together have they fought,
And for their Country Deeds heroick wrought?
Bold as the Lion seizes on his Prey,
Swift as the Eagle wings his rapid Way,
So bold in War the conquering Sword they drew,
So swift were wont the Vanquish'd to pursue:
“But now the breathless Warriors press the Plain,
“Unhappy Israel! mourn thy Beauty slain!

Whom Nature join'd, and fond Affection ty'd,
Now sleep in Death, nor can the Grave divide;
United once in Conquest, as in Love,
The same Society in Fate they prove!
By Numbers overwhelm'd they bravely die,
See! red with Wounds the mangled Heroes lie!
In Israel's much lov'd Cause with Honour bleed,
Nor live to see the Woes that must succeed.
“How are the Mighty fall'n upon the Plain?
“Unhappy Israel! mourn thy Beauty slain!

Let Zion's Daughters at the rueful Tale,
In solemn Grief their Monarch's Fate bewail;
For him distress'd in sable Weeds appear,
Raise the sad Song, and shed the pearly Tear!
Who oft, when crown'd with Conquest he return'd,
With foreign Spoils their lovely Charms adorn'd!
“But now he helpless lies upon the Plain,
“Unhappy Israel! mourn thy Beauty slain!

Oh Jonathan! — the Brother and Friend,
How shall I mourn thy too untimely End?
What Language shall express the Grief I feel
For one I lov'd so long, and knew so well!

Thro' every State my chequer'd Life has known,
Still was thy constant Faith unalter'd shewn,
And David's Interest dearer than thy own!
Our Stations different — yet our Hearts the same,
Preserv'd entire the unextinguish'd Flame!
Still were our Joys, and still our Sorrows shar'd,
Mutual our Trust, and equal our Regard;
Such was our sacred Union far above
The common Ties of Friendship or of Love:
Now snatch'd at once — vain thy Loss I mourn,
And pay these fruitless Honours to thy Urn!
“How are the Mighty fall'n upon the Plain?
“Unhappy Israel! mourn thy Beauty slain!

The Speech of Galgacus.

TRANSLATED.

Felices errore suo, quos ille Timorum
Maximus, haud urget Letbi metus, inde ruendi
In Ferrum mens prona Viris, animique capaces
Mortis, & ignavum redituræ parcere vitæ!
Lucan.

When stopp'd beneath the Grampian's rugged Height,
The Roman Eagles check'd their prædal Flight;
While every Pow'r that watch'd Britannia's Fate,
In Silence, seem'd the doubtful Day to wait!
In Terms like these,—great Galgagus address'd
His faithful Few! and eas'd his lab'ring Breast! —

“When round this Camp, I cast my ravish'd Eyes,
“And view the glorious Cause that bids us rise!
“Methinks the long expected Hour is come,
“To stop the Progress of usurping Rome!

“These Arms, my Friends! that never felt their Chain,
“These Arms must Britain's latest Hopes sustain:
“Beneath their Yoke surrounding Nations groan,
“Our Country's Safety lives in us alone!
“On us her longing Eyes impatient wait,
“On us depends her everlasting Fate!
“All further Means of Refuge now are vain,
“And Death or Liberty alone remain;
“In vain amongst these Rocks we hop'd to find,
“Peace and the native Freedom of Mankind;
“Ev'n here, our Foes, our last Retreat have found,
“And envy us th'uncultivated Ground:
“Nor think Submission can prevent our Chain,
“To us, Submission would itself prove vain;
“See from their Hands what Mercy will ye find?
“These civiliz'd Destroyers of Mankind!
“Whose boundless Lust of Riches and of Sway,
“Has ravag'd all the wasted World for Prey;
“And like a marching Plague, by Fraud or Force,
“Has blasted Nature in its deadly Course!
“With specious Arts has veil'd its baneful Face,
“Call'd Rapine Virtue, and Destruction Peace! —
“See! wheresoe'er their conq'ring Arms have gone,
“What Woes attend the vanquish'd and undone?
“View Sons and Brothers from their Dwellings torn,
“In distant Lands their servile Fortune mourn!

“Our faithful Matrons, and our spotless Maids,
“Their Guile seduces, or their Pow'r invades!
“Their Goods and Lands, the haughty Victor's Spoil,
“Themselves reserv'd as Slaves to work the Soil!
“Compell'd, thro' Blows and Hardships to obey,
“And wear in ceaseless Tasks slow Life away:
“Others by Birth, may wear the cursed Chain,
“And drudge for those who do their Life sustain;
“But Britain daily aids the Yoke she scorns,
“And feeds that Insolence and Pride she mourns:
“As in domestic Usage to the rest,
“Still the last Slave becomes a constant Jest;
“So we, the last of uninslav'd Mankind,
“Shall be the Sport and Laughter of our Kind!
“Nor Fields have we to till, nor Mines to drain,
“Nor Ports to open for the Victor's Gain:
“But Rocks and Woods are all the Wealth we boast,
“And yet our all we lose,—when these are lost!
“Let Freedom, then my Friends! your Souls inspire,
“And warm your Bosoms with Heroic Fire!
“If led to Conquest by a Female Hand,
“Rome scarce a Britain Heroine could withstand;
“But to her antient Cunning had recourse,
“And triumph'd by Division, not by Force;
“In us, as yet unalter'd, firm and free,
“Her boasted Sons, let Caledonia see!

“To whose known Virtue she commits her Cause,
“And trusts her future Liberty and Laws:—
“Nor think the Roman Force in Battle try'd
“Equals their home-bred Luxury and Pride;
“In our Dissentions half their Hope they place,
“And raise their Trophies on our own Disgrace;
“From distant Climes they form their venal Bands,
“Whom Plunder arms, and ill Success disbands;
“Nor think or Gauls or German are so blind,
“To waste their Blood, a hated Yoke to bind?
“Terror and Fear are slender Ties of Love,
“Which when your conqu'ring Arms shall once remove,
“Will soon transform'd to nobler Passions glow,
“And aid our Vengeance on the common Foe!
“For us, Success displays its fairest Charms,
“To fire our Hearts, and animate our Arms.
“No Wives the Romans have, no helpless Friends,
“Whose Life and Safety on their own depends;
“No native Land have they — or distant far,
“Unjust their Cause, and unprovok'd the War;—
“See! how surpriz'd they view the Wilds around,
“And trembling tread along the hostile Ground!
“Thro' Woods and Rocks direct their cautious Way,
“And seem distrustful ev'n of Earth and Sea!

“Bewilder'd, thus, to our avenging Hand
“The righteous Gods have given this lawless Band:—
“Dread not their haughty Mien, and glitt'ring Show,
“A weak Defence against a valiant Foe!
“Vain are the Rays their splendid Dresses send,
“Gaudy to shine, but useless to defend;
“Amongst themselves we may on Aid depend,
“And every Briton is our secret Friend;
“For us they wish,—while for the Foe they fight,
“And in their Hearts assist our social Right!
“Once let your Virtue break the Force you see,
“Your injur'd Country is for ever free!
“Before your Eyes, your latest Choice remains,
“Freedom, or Death, or everlasting Chains;
“This to enjoy, or under these to groan,
“Depends, my Friends! upon yourselves alone;
“Think that your generous Ancestors were free!
“If they were so — what must your Children be?
“Undaunted then the Paths of Honour try,
“And live with Freedom, or with Glory die!

Responsio M. Catonis ad Labienum,

De Oraculo Ammonis consulendo. Lucan, lib. V.

TRANSLATED

Victrix Causa Diis placuit, sed victa Catoni. Lucan.

Full of the Pow'r, whose Light inspir'd his Breast,
Great Cato answer'd thus the Chief's Request:—
“What, Labienus? dost thou seek to know?
“Is it our Chance in Arms against the Foe?
“Or shall we doubt all Evils to sustain,
“E're Rome be fetter'd, or a Cæsar reign?
“Is Life then nothing but protracted Breath?
“Or Slavery a slighter Ill than Death?

“Must Virtue take its Colour from Success,
“Or does opposing Fortune make it less?
“While nobly we assert the righteous Cause,
“Of suffering Liberty, and injur'd Laws,
“Do we not act like Romans and like Men?
“Or must precarious Chance direct the Scene?
“All this we know ourselves—nor can the Pow'r
“That rules these hallow'd Shrines inform us more:—
“Tho' dumb the Oracle he speaks his Mind,
“In lively Characters to all Mankind?
“Gilds Life's first Dawn with Reason's heav'nly Rays,
“And takes the Tribute of imperfect Praise!
“Ev'n Nature, here in Silence, sounds his Name,
“And these vast Wilds Omnipotence proclaim!
“The Fire, the Earth, the Seas, and ambient Air
“Point out his Wisdom, and his Pow'r declare!
“In Heaven and virtuous Minds he makes Abode,
“Thro' all her Works Creation owns his Nod;
“Beneath, around us, and display'd above,
“Whate'er we see, where'er we go, is Jove!
“Let others, anxious for their doubtful Fate,
“On the dark Oracle's Decision wait!
“'Tis Death, whom Coward and Hero must obey,
“'Tis certain Death takes all my Cares away;

“Or soon, or late, we all are doom'd to fall,
“Jove speaks by me this Lesson to you all!”—
“So said—the God-like Chief his Legions join'd,
“And left the unconsulted Priest behind.

ODES of Horace.

Book I. Ode XI.

Imitated.

I

Forbear, my Friend! with idle Schemes,
To search into the Maze of Fate;
Your Horoscopes are airy Dreams,
Your Coffee-tossing all a cheat!

II

What adds it to our real Peace,
To know Life's Accidents or Date?
The Knowledge would our Pains encrease,
And make us more unfortunate.

III

Wisely conceal'd in endless Night,
Has Heav'n wrapp'd up its dark Decrees;

The View, too strong for human Sight,
Might else destroy our present Ease!

IV

Then gladly use the courting Hour,
Enjoy, and make it all your own!
And pull with Haste the fairest Flow'r,
E're Time's quick Hand have cut it down.

V

Chearful fill up the genial Bowl,
And crown it with some lovely Toast!
'Till the rich Cordial warm your Soul,
And every Thought in Joy be lost.

VI

The fleeting Moments of Delight,
Improve with an uncommon Care!
For now they urge their destin'd Flight,
And now are mix'd with vulgar Air!

VII

Still, let me taste my Share of Bliss,
Pure and unmix'd with Care and Sorrow!
No more, my Friend, in Life I wish,
'Tis all a Jest to trust To-morrow.

Book I. Ode XXII.

Translated.

I

Cease, Sylvia! cease, as I pursue,
With causeless Haste to shun my View;
Nor deaf to all a Lover's Cry,
Like a young Fawn, affrighted fly.

II

Who wand'ring from its Guardian's Care,
Distracted runs, it knows not where;
And every harmless Noise it hears,
Endures a thousand nameless Fears!

III

With panting Heart and trembling Knees,
Each Object round distrustful sees;
Whether the Leaves the Breezes shake,
Or the green Lizard stirs the Brake!

IV

Then, Sylvia! stop your needless Flight,
I wear no hostile Form to fright;

But only seek my Pains to show
To thee, fair Cause of all my Woe!

V

Then quit a-while your Mother's Side,
To which too long you have been ty'd;
'Tis more than Time to change the Scene,
For Sylvia,—now you're past Fifteen!

Book I. Ode XXVI.

Imitated.

Be gone! ye vain distracting Fears,
I to the Winds resign my Cares,
A Poet should be gay!
Haste then, the flow'ry Chaplet twine,
Fill out, profuse, the generous Wine,
And drive all Pain away!

Let others idly rack their Brain,
With Doubts of France, or Fears from Spain,
Or foreign Jars or Leagues;
To artful Statesmen and their Tools,
That motley Pack of Knaves and Fools,
I leave their own Intrigues.

What is it, Friend, to you or me,
If Carlos reign in Italy,
Or stay at Seville's Court?
Or if cross'd Statesmen in Disgrace,
Still rail with Spite at those in Place,
Tho' ne'er the better for't.

Where some fair spreading Chesnut grows,
And near a murm'ring Fountain flows,
Give me Repose to find!
There with their own celestial Fire,
Let all the Nine my Breast inspire;
And raise my ravish'd Mind!

Then should the Lyre resound thy Praise,
And consecrate its fav'rite Lays
To thee, the Muse's Friend:
Immortaliz'd by these, thy Fame
Should, with their happy Master's Name,
To latest Days descend!

Book I. Ode XXXI.

Translated.

I

While humbly offering at thy Shrine,
I pour the consecrated Wine;
Of thee, bright God of Verse and Day!
What shall thy suppliant Poet pray?

II

I ask not all the Golden Stores,
That wave on rich Sardinia's Shores;
Nor yet the Flocks, a countless Train!
That tread Calabria's verdant Plain.

III

I ask no Heaps of glitt'ring Coin,
Nor Diamonds brought from India's Mine;
Nor yet the Plenty Heav'n bestows,
Where softly winding Lyris flows:

IV

Let the toil'd Merchant yearly stray,
Thro' every Land and every Sea;

And led by Fate in search of Gain,
Explore the Earth, and tempt the Main.

V

Grant me this Wish—a Country Farm,
Where all is fair, and clean, and warm;
The neighb'ring Woods shall yield me Fire,
My Garden feed, my Flocks attire.

VI

And, Phoebus! to confirm me blest,
Still grant me Health those Joys to taste!
And still with Health, let there be join'd
An honest Heart, and chearful Mind.

VII

Then to compleat thy Bard's Desire,
Give me to touch thy sacred Lyre!
Still let the Nine inspire my Lay,
And help to sooth all Care away!

VIII

Untroubled thus, serenely clear,
The Evening of my Life shall wear;
Till Death unfear'd, unheeded come,
And lay me peaceful in the Tomb!

Book I. Ode XXXVIII.

Translated.

I

Away! my Boy, 'tis needless Toil,
I hate your Essences and Oil,
And all th' enervate Train!
Leave the nice Flow'r, th' Autumnal Rose,
Of Myrtle Twigs the Wreath compose,
Both beautiful and plain.

II

With this, beneath the friendly Shade,
Surround thy careless Master's Head,
And then adorn thy own:
The fragrant Plant shall gaily shine,
Shall aid the generous Joys of Wine,
And form a grateful Crown!

Book III. Ode XXVI.

Imitated.

Late unconfin'd, as fleeting Air,
I gaily rov'd amongst the Fair;
And in my yielding Heart
As sov'reign Beauty gave the Law,
From every lovely Face I saw,
Receiv'd the pleasing Dart!

But now, fair Venus! Queen divine!
I hang beside thy honour'd Shrine
The consecrated Lyre!
No more thy charming Wars I prove,
No more the powerful Joys of Love
My feeble Breast can fire!

Yet, Venus! e're thy faithful Slave
Thy Altars quit, thy Service leave;
Let him one Grace implore!
Let stubborn Cælia own thy Sway,
Make her imperious Heart obey!
My Vows shall ask no more! —

Book IV. Ode V.

Imitated.

To the KING. During his Majesty's Stay at Helvoetsluys.

I

Too long, great Monarch! has Britannia's Isle
Persisted sad thy Absence to deplore;
Long miss'd the Sun-shine of thy Royal Smile,
Long wish'd that every Gale might waft thee o'er;
Oh! then no longer let the Nation mourn,
Delay'd the Blessings of thy hop'd Return.

II

Just to our Vows, auspicious speed thy Way,
O Prince belov'd, those kindly Beams restore,
That rule thy Subjects with the gentlest Sway,
And make all Hearts confess thy sovereign Pow'r:
As after Winter blooming Nature springs,
So after Absence shines the Best of Kings.

III

Impatient for thy Sight, across the Main,
Eastward, to wat'ry Belgia's shadowy Coast,
Long has Britannia cast her Eyes in vain,
And griev'd each favourable Wind she lost!
Eager to thee to pay her grateful Vow,
From whom her numerous Blessings constant flow.

IV

For safe the Lab'rer tills the peaceful Plain,
Secure the future Harvest is his own;
The Merchant spreads his Riches o'er the Main,
And pays his chearful Tribute to thy Throne:
And public Faith and joyful Commerce join,
To mark this Golden Age of Britain, thine.

V

Ev'n when thy genial Warmth was felt no more,
When Britain mourn'd, her great Defender gone;
Thy Carolina's soft angelic Power
Supply'd the Absence of thy stronger Sun:
And bless'd we found beneath her guardian Sway,
The Sweets of Peace's soft-continued Day.

VI

Justice maintain'd, and regulated Law,
Freedom at Home, and Safety all around,
From thy acknowledg'd Reign their Source shall draw;
By these thy Name shall be with Glory crown'd:
And future Days that best these Gifts shall see,
Shall point their grateful Eyes to Heav'n and Thee.

VII

Protected thus beneath thy watchful Care,
What People like thy own, great George, is bless'd!
Nothing but for that precious Life we fear,
Lest Fate should rob us of the Bliss possess'd:
Nor potent Gaul we dread, nor haughty Spain;
While thou art safe, they waste their Threats in vain.

VIII

While the glad Artisans, and chearful Swains,
As o'er their native Land they cast their Eye,
Behold her crowded Ports and smiling Plains,
How do their Bosoms swell with honest Joy!
How do they daily wish their King restor'd,
And to his Safety crown the friendly Board!

IX

For this, when free, the social Bowl runs o'er,
Dispelling Fraud and Care from every Heart;
Thy Health, of gracious Heav'n, we first implore,
And speak thy Praise untaught by servile Art:
For this we point the sparkling Glass, and join
Nassau's and great Eliza's Names to thine.

X

Long live, illustrious Prince, our just Delight,
Thy Britain's Shield, the Darling of Mankind!
May Heaven indulgent soon restore thy Sight,
May Britain long thy happy Presence find;
And to thy Godlike Race devolve the Power
To bless this Land, till Time shall be no more!

Book IV. Ode II.

Part Imitated.

I

Who strives, my Friend, with fruitless Toil,
To rise to Prior's matchless Style,
But makes his Folly known:
He, like a first-rate Star sublime,
Shines in a Sphere, where none can climb,
And draws his Light from none!

II

Or like some River swell'd with Rain,
That swift-descending o'er the Plain,
Impetuous shapes its Course;
So his inimitable Lays
Still charm the Heart a thousand Ways,
With irresistless Force!

III

Whether he make his glorious Theme,
Immortal Nassau's godlike Name;
Or pleas'd in Windsor's Groves,

Attunes his Lyre to gentler Sounds,
And with his Notes assembles round
The Graces and the Loves!

IV

Or whether Love his Strains inspire,
To sing the constant Henry's Fire!
Or paint the Nut-brown Fair:
Like the white Swan's expiring Strain,
So soft the dying Notes complain,
And charm the list'ning Ear!

V

Aw'd as his Beauties I explore,
With distant Reverence I adore,
The Bard's exalted Height:
Like the laborious Bee I rove,
And o'er the Field, or thro' the Grove,
Obscurely wing my Flight.—

Claudian. (de Somniis.)

Paraphras'd.

Those Pleasures still in which the Mind delights,
Employ our Dreams, and entertain our Nights!
The Huntsman wearied with his toilsome Sports,
Still haunts the Covert, or the Glade resorts;
In Sleep the Judge hangs o'er the noisy Bar,
In Sleep the Victor drives the rapid Car!
With fancy'd Coursers turns the imagin'd Round,
Whirls o'er the Distance, and attains the Bound!
In Sleep the Lover does his Mistress hold,
In Sleep the Miser trembles o'er his Gold;

In Sleep the Merchant safe secur'd on Shore,
Fancies the Storm, and dreads his ventur'd Store;
Me too, in Sleep, the much-lov'd Muses love,
Point to the Mead, or lead me thro' the Grove;
Where to chaste Minds they all their Charms reveal,
A Joy unknown by all—but those who feel!

Catullus. (de Sepulchro suo.)

Paraphras'd.

The stately Monument let others raise,
And seek by Art to live till future Days;
To Stone or Brass their Hope of Fame intrust,
The flatt'ring Marble, or deceitful Bust!
No pompous Ornaments my Wishes crave,
But simple as my Life, I wish my Grave!

When Fate impartial calls this fleeting Breath,
And every Tie dissolving yields to Death;
To the kind Bosom whence I took my Birth,
Commit the Remnant of returning Earth;
Far from the common Graves, and publick Way,
Peaceful inter th' inanimated Clay,
In some fair Mead, some Wood-enshelter'd Ground,
Or near some bubbling Fountain's soothing Sound,
Where no rude Hand my Ashes may invade,
Disturb my Urn, or fright my watchful Shade;
Green be the Spot beneath, and over Head
Let some fair Tree its guardian Umbrage spread!
Light lie the Earth, and hallow'd be the Ground,
And Flow'rs in sweet Profusion rise around!
Let others servile beat the common Road,
A Poet dead or living scorns a Crowd!

Propertius. (de Uxoribus Indis.)

Happy the Laws that in those Climes obtain,
Where the bright Morning reddens all the Main!
There, whensoe'er the happy Husband dies,
And on the funeral Couch extended lies;
His faithful Wives around the Scene appear,
With pompous Dress and a triumphant Air;
For Partnership in Death, ambitious strive,
And dread the shameful Fortune to survive!
Adorn'd with Flowers the lovely Victims stand,
With Smiles ascend the Pile, and light the Brand!

Grasp their dear Partners with unalter'd Faith,
And yield exulting to the fragrant Death.

Mr. Prior justly observes of this barbarous Indian Custom,

In Europe 'twould be hard to find,
“Of all the Sex, one half so kind.”

Ex Corn. Galli Eleg. II. (Ad Uxorem.)

Paraphras'd.

Since creeping Age has seiz'd us like a Dream,
Then be our State and Sentiments the same;

If now no more to Love my Form invite;
Reflect you once beheld it with Delight?
And let the Merit of preceding Days
Plead for th' Enjoyment of immediate Ease!
Or fruitless if these vain Persuasions fail,
Let Nature, with Experience join'd, prevail!
The Veteran Colony its Worth sustains,
And tho' the Place decays, the Name remains!
The Soldier once dismiss'd—his Labours done,
Retires to Rest, and shews his Trophies won;
The grateful Farmer feeds the feeble Steer,
Whose faithful Toil produc'd his plenteous Year;
And by the honest Master's Hearth is found,
Compos'd to Sleep, the antiquated Hound!
By these instructed, learn to compromise,
Let past attone for want of present Joys!
Nor yet condemn me as disabled quite,
If I can do no more—you see I write:
Still make our former Loves my pleasing Theme,
And, in default of Passion, give you Fame!

Sannazarii Epigramma in Venetiam.

Translated.

As Neptune saw, with fond delighted Eyes,
From Adria's Waves his fav'rite Venice rise!
A Length extended o'er the liquid Plain!
And sit the Sovereign of the subject Main,
“Now vanquish'd Jove! (the God exulting cry'd)
“Extol no more thy Rome's imperial Pride;

“View but this lovely Empress of the Sea,
“Her floating Tow'rs and Palaces survey!
“As well may Tyber with the Ocean vie,
“Or mortal Builders emulate the Sky.

Sannazario received from the Senate of Venice for this Epigram 6000 Chequins, which are about 9s. 6d. sterl. each in Value, and was made a Knight of the Order of St. Mark.

In Mortem Jo. Bapt. Moliere, Histrionis Celeberrimi Epigramma.

Translated.

Hard Fate! within this Urn Moliere's confin'd,
Whose Humour hit the Faults of all Mankind,
Such in his Page the living Picture shown,
That Folly grew asham'd her Sons to own;
But while he mimick'd Death's pretended Rage,
The angry Tyrant snatch'd him off the Stage,
Surpriz'd him in the Height of all his Art,
And forc'd the Player to compleat his Part!

He died Acting his Malade Imaginaire.

In Fontes Lutetiæ. Epigramma Santeuil.

Translated.

Soon as fair Seine the Royal City sees,
She stops her Course, and winds by soft Degrees;
Struck with the wond'rous Beauties she surveys
Along th' Elysian Plain she gently plays,
Thro' the inchanting Town delighted glides;
And gently rolls her Silver-flowing Tides;
Till thence, her Wave a thousand Channels bring,
And the fair River changes to a Spring.

Inscriptio Fontis.

Hid lies the Nymph from whom this Bounty flows,
So let thy Hand conceal, when it bestows.

In Regiam Sagittariorum Cohortem, Anno MDCCXXXII.

Imitated.

See, Sons of Mars! the Warrior Scots appear,
And by their Sides their fatal Weapons bear;
While the same Fires their valiant Breasts inflame,
“No Pow'r unpunish'd shall provoke the Name.”
Who doubts of this, has surely never seen
Their mighty Chief's inimitable Mein,
As with triumphant Air he march'd along,
Distinguish'd Leader of the chosen Throng:
Just to his Worth—his very Looks declare,
That Hamilton's illustrious Hand shall dare
(Whene'er his Country shall the Service claim)
Deeds yet unknown to Envy or to Fame!
Now Phæbus yields, so Stative Jove commands
His Monster-killing Bow to mortal Hands;
And Venus, whom a nearer Passion moves,
With her Son's Arrows arms the Youth she loves;
Such Souls, led on by his conducting Hand,
Wou'd unresisted compass Sea and Land;

Nor Lybia's Sands, nor frozen Scythia's Snows,
Their Arms cou'd baffle, or their March oppoie;
If yet we may in Fate's Decisions Trust,
While Scotsmen are to native Virtue just,
He shall his Country guard from foreign Pow'r,
Assert her Freedom, and her Rights restore;
Do justice to her long forgotten Fame,
And prove the Royal Source from whence he came.

Placet de M. Voiture.
54

Au Madame la Duchesse de Longueville.

Imitated.

To the Right Honourable the Countess of Eglinton.

Will she with condescending Goodness deign
To hear her most unhappy Bard complain?
Beneath whose Empire winding Garnock strays,
Whom every Eye admires, and Heart obeys!

Amidst the Groves that grace her rural Seat,
Say, will she grant the Muse a kind Retreat?
Who, if she fails to gain her wish'd Complacence,
Will in a little time lose all her Patience.

To tell the Truth his Case is very hard,
And from a Breast like yours deserves Regard;
That while his Wishes and his Heart are there,
His Shadow is confin'd to linger here.

To you then, Madam, in this dull Condition,
He humbly thus addresses his Petition;
Hoping your Pity will permit the Favour,
Nor let his Soul and Body longer sever.

Allow him further but a Word to say,
To add some Colour to his slender Plea,

What you'll believe with Ease, for you have seen him,
At least he's harmless, and has little in him!

He begs in Mercy then, and just Compassion,
You'll take his Case into Consideration;
Or if you shou'd reject what he has pray'd,
You'll bid your Porter knock him in the Head.

Chanson de Moliere Dans les Plaisirs de l'Isle Enchantee.
56

Imitated.

I

Ye tall unguarded Trees! ye russet Meads!
Whose Bloom deform'd by frozen Winter lies;
Tho' now your Beauty with the Season fades,
Renew'd by Spring ye soon shall charm the Eyes.

II

But blasted by Dorinda's cold Disdain,
And daily torn with Life-consuming Care;
Its former Peace my Heart can ne'er regain,
But sinks a wretched Victim to Despair.

III

Yes, fair Insensible! my Plaints you hear,
Yet unaffected seem with all my Smart;
Alas, my Sufferings only reach your Ear,
But want the Pow'r to touch your cruel Heart!

ODE De Messire Jaques Chastelard, Savoyard qui fut decapite a Edinbourg, pour l'amour de Marie Reine d'Ecosse.
58

Translated.

I

Ye rocky Cliffs! ye desart pathless Woods,
Where wild I wander wretched and alone;
Ye savage Prospects! ye descending Floods!
That hear the Murmurs of a Heart undone,
In broken Sounds to you I wou'd express
My cruel Anguish, and conceal'd Distress.

II

But oh! what Soul the Torture can conceive,
Which I despairing ever must endure?
Doom'd an ill fated Passion still to grieve,
And hopeless ever to receive a Cure!
Witness this little Streamthat daily flows,
Swell'd with the Burthen of a Lover's Woes!

For a particular Account of this unhappy Foreigner, see Mr. Freebairn's Life of Mary Queen of Scots. I shall only observe the Style of this Ode is very correct, for the Age it was wrote in.

Epigrame de M. Boileau, Addresse a Perrault.

Translated.

Perrault, I hear proclaims it every where
I owe my Life to his Quack-Uncle's Care;
To shew how well he can invent a Lye,
There needs no Proof—for all his Patients die!

The Descent of Orpheus.

[_]

Translated from the Third Book of Boethius.

Sed tu crudelis! crudelis tu magis Orpheu!
Oscula cara petens rupisti Iussa Deorum;
Dignus Amor Venia!—
Ovid.

Bless'd the Man, whose perfect Sight
Views the Rays of heavenly Light!
Happy, he who can unbind
The Chains that clog the fetter'd Mind!
Break from the Ties of Matter forth,
And struggle to a mental Birth?

So his Eurydice's sad Fate
Deploring, wretched Orpheus sate;
And with soft complaining Sound,
Made the ecchoing Vales resound!
Melting Nature own'd his Skill,
Forests mov'd, and Streams were still!

What can Music not asswage?
Savages forgot their Rage,
And submissive at his Feet,
Lambs with harmless Lions meet;
But not the Magic of his Lyre
Which could such a Change inspire,
Nor all the Virtues of his Art,
Could ease the tortur'd Poet's Heart!
Seeking thus in vain Relief,
Restless, raging, wild with Grief!
Higher Pow'rs his Suit disdaining,
Down he went to Hell complaining!
There with all the Skill he took,
From his Mother's sacred Book,
A-new he rais'd the solemn Sound,
Which wak'd the dismal Regions round!
Fix'd, attentive, to the Song
The gliding Ghosts unnumber'd throng;
Form round his Steps an airy Choir,
And hang upon the vocal Lyre!
The Furies, in their gloomy Seat,
Feel their ceaseless Rage abate;
And amidst the Toils of Hell,
Suspended stand to hear the Spell:
The Dog, whose Yell with horrid Fright
Wakes the remotest Cells of Night,

Now charm'd to Silence as he hears,
Wishes his Tongues were chang'd to Ears!
Old Charon, proud of such a Guest,
Taking him in forgets the rest,
Leaves in haste the crowded Shores,
And with softly moving Oars
Steals along the dusky Lake;
Afraid to stir, afraid to speak,
Slow he rows his heavy Boat,
Concern'd to lose the weakest Note!
Tantalus might have eaten now
At large of the suspended Bough;
But he, all Thoughts of Hunger past,
To feed his Hearing, starv'd his Taste.
Ixion felt no more his Wheel,
And Sysiphus for once stood still;
While from Prometheus, endless Prey!
The tort'ring Vulturs turn'd away!
And now at Pluto's awful Throne,
Orpheus arriv'd renews his Moan;
And increasing with his Woe,
More sublime his Numbers flow!
Matchless Numbers! surely blest
Which cou'd touch that Iron Breast,
That ne'er before had Pity felt,
Yet now constrain'd was forc'd to melt;

And yielding to his pow'rful Prayer,
Give him back the long-sought Fair:
Displeas'd to see a Form of Day,
So far intrude beneath his Sway,
“Cease, the sullen Tyrant cry'd,
“Take restor'd your much lov'd Bride!
“But one Restraint a Gift must bind,
“That never shall be match'd in Kind;
“Till you reach the Bounds of Light,
“Command your Looks—avert your Sight:
“For if within our awful Coast
“You once look back—the Prize is lost!
So said the God his Eyes withdrew,
And shunn'd a Mortal's hated View!

But who to Lovers Rules can draw?
Love to himself alone is Law!
As well he might forbear to give,
Since not to look was not to live:
Fond Orpheus now, his Wish bestow'd,
Returns with Joy the gloomy Road;
And now they left the Gloom of Night,
Now saw the distant Glimpse of Light,
When he, no longer able now
To check his Sight, or keep his Vow,

A backward Glance impatient cast,
That Look his fondest—but his last!
For now o'er the retreating Shade
New-gath'ring Clouds of Darkness spread
And now his Eyes in vain explore,
The fleeting Form he saw before,
Eurydice is now no more!
In vain her Name he fondly cries,
Her Name the winding Vault replies;
And wild he leaves the hated Coast,
His Pains, his Hopes, his Treasure lost!

Moral.

The Moral of th' instructive Tale be this;
That all below who seek for certain Bliss;
Whether Ambition, Riches, Love, or Fame
Give the vain Passion its distinguish'd Name!
Will equal Grief and Disappointment find,
And sighing leave the shadowy Joy behind!