University of Virginia Library

Metrodorus was a rare old blade,
His wine he drank, his prayers he said,
And did his duty duly;
But with grave affairs of Church and State
He never fretted his smooth pate,
For he said, and he said full truly,
If a man about and about will go,
To mend all matters high and low,
He'll find no rest full surely.
In his chair of ease a thorn will grow,
The gall will in his bladder flow,
Thick seeds of sorrow he will sow,
And make his dearest friend a foe,
And go to the grave prematurely.
One day he sate beside the fire,
With all things square to his desire,
—A wintry day, when Boreas blew
Through the piping hills with wild halloo—
Just after dinner, when the wine
On the tip of his nose was glowing fine.
A pleasant vapour 'fore him floats,
The logs are blazing brightly,
And in his brain the happy thoughts
Begin to move full lightly.
He never wrote a verse before,
Though now he counted good threescore,
And scarcely knew what poets meant,
When in their high conceited bent
They talked of inspiration.
But now his soul a fancy stirred;
He trilled and chirped like any bird;
His bright imagination
Poured forth a pleasant flowing verse,
Which, if you please, I will rehearse
For gentle meditation.
'Twas Greek of course, but by the skill
Made English, of my classic quill,
As good, or better, if you will,
In this my free translation.

I.

They may rail at this world, and say that the devil
Rules o'er it, usurping the mace of the Lord;
In my soul I detest all such impious cavil,
While I sit as a guest at life's bountiful board.
I was young; I am old, and my temples are hoary,
On Time's rocking tide I have gallantly oared;
This wisdom I learned, 'tis the sum of my story,
With blessings God's earth like a garner is stored.

II.

You blame your condition; by Jove I was never
So placed that I could not with pride be a man;
At rest or afloat on life's far-sounding river,
Content was my watchword, enjoyment my plan.
Where busy men bustle, to elbow and jostle
What sport! then at home how delightful repose!
What comfort and pleasure your body to measure
At large in the elbow-chair, toasting your toes!

III.

A soldier? how gallant through smoke and through thunder
To ride like the lightning, when Jupiter roars;
A farmer? to gaze on the green leafy wonder
Of April how sweet, and to think on the stores
Of golden-sheaved Autumn!—to dash through the billow
Is dear to the merchant who carries his gains;
How sweet to the poet on green grassy pillow,
To lie when spring zephyrs are fanning his brains!

IV.

When you find a good wife, Nature urges to marry;
But art thou a bachelor, never complain;
Less sail you display, but less burden you carry,
And over yourself like a king you may reign.
'Tis pleasant to hear children prattling around you,
Thank Heaven you've arrows enough for your bow;
But if you love quiet, they'll only confound you,
So if now you have none—may it ever be so!

V.

Art young? then rejoice in thy youth,—give the pinion
Of passion free play—love and hate like a man;
And gather around thee a mighty dominion
Of venturous thoughts, like the crest-waving van
Of a conquering host. Art old? reputation
And honour shall find thee and pleasures serene,
And a power like to Jove's, when the fate of the nation
Shall wait on thy word in the hall of the queen.

VI.

Blow hot or blow cold, with hearty endeavour
Still witch out a virtue from all that you see;
Use well what you get, giving thanks to the Giver,
And think everything good in its place and degree.
I've told you my thoughts, and I think you're my debtor,
And if you don't think so, I wish you were dead;
The sooner you rot on a dunghill the better,
You're not worth the straw that they shake for your bed.