The Wiccamical Chaplet a selection of original poetry; comprising smaller poems, serious and comic; classical trifles; sonnets; inscriptions and epitaphs; songs and ballads; mock-heroics, epigrams, fragments, &c. &c. Edited by George Huddesford |
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 | NUGÆ POETICÆ, &c. |
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 | The Wiccamical Chaplet |  |
43
NUGÆ POETICÆ, &c.
47
ANTHOLOGIA.
TRANSLATION.
With simplest fare my cloth is spread;
Nor gold nor silver grace my board;
No tapestry round this humble shed
Enthrones in state its purple lord:—
Nor gold nor silver grace my board;
No tapestry round this humble shed
Enthrones in state its purple lord:—
My Friend, a soul at ease is mine;
I boast to serve a gentle Muse,
And o'er my roof the clust'ring vine
Pours for that friend its mellowest juice.
I boast to serve a gentle Muse,
And o'er my roof the clust'ring vine
Pours for that friend its mellowest juice.
49
TRANSLATION.
[Hail, venerable Deity]
Hail, venerable Deity,Health! O let me live with thee!
Let me with thee life's remnant spend,
Thou, my companion, guest, and friend!
If aught of pleasure here below,
Or wealth or empire can bestow;
Or pledges of the nuptial joys,
Sweet smiling offspring, girls and boys;
If aught in love delightful prove,
The young desires and thefts of love;
If interchange of rest and toil
The rugged cares of life beguile;
Or any other bliss be given,
The grateful boon of bounteous Heaven;
All, all from thee their zest derive,
In thee they flourish, bloom, and live:
Without thee Mirth's an empty theme,
And Happiness an airy dream.
50
ANACREONTIC, FROM JULIANUS ÆGYPTIUS.
TRANSLATION.
As a garland once I wove,I found, amid the roses, Love:
Fast by the wings the rogue I caught,
And drench'd him in a copious draught.
Heedless wretch! I took the cup,
And drank it to the bottom up.
Still I feel his tingling dart
Still he flutters at my heart.
53
TRANSLATION.
[_]
AN INSCRIPTION
For a Wood adjoining a Park of mine, on the Confines of Mount Cithæron, on the left Hand, as you go to Thebes.—
I am no Friend to Hunters, and hate their Noise.
Rash Hunter, hence—nor pass this hallow'd mound,
To Dian's haunt a sacrilegious wrong:
Hence!—know here only chaunts her sacred Hound
In eccho to the wood-nymph's mountain song.
To Dian's haunt a sacrilegious wrong:
Hence!—know here only chaunts her sacred Hound
In eccho to the wood-nymph's mountain song.
By another Hand.
Stop, Hunter! nor this hallow'd wood profane—Where only Dian leads her sacred hounds,
And the sweet shouting of the Oread Train,
In eccho to her full-tongued pack resounds.
EX ANTHOL.
TRANSLATION.
Loving I was belov'd, and I enjoy'd:—Still with strong tide my heady passions flow;—
But who the Lover, or the Love,
Or where the Theft—the Pow'rs above
And you, my Goddess, only know.
55
CARPHYLIDÆ. Ex Anthob. III. i. 6. Brunck. II. 401.
TRANSLATION.
Passing the tomb where my cold relics lie,
Let no tear fall, nor heave the anxious sigh!
Spare these! You need not, traveller, in me
Weep the sad state of frail mortality.
Let no tear fall, nor heave the anxious sigh!
Spare these! You need not, traveller, in me
Weep the sad state of frail mortality.
On one pure altar I still watch'd a flame,
Clear, ardent, unextinguish'd—and the same.
No second worship, with a mix'd controul,
Weaken'd the constant passion of my soul.
My vows were single—to the close of life
I had but one, and she a faithful Wife;
And we grew old together: and I led,
With happiest omen, to the genial bed
Three Children; whose dear babes, to my fond breast
Close folded, oft I've gently sooth'd to rest.
And now, each sad funereal duty paid,
Each rite, each offering to a parent's shade,
They've pass'd me hence, in Godlike ease to take
Sweet slumbers on the soft Elysian lake.
Clear, ardent, unextinguish'd—and the same.
No second worship, with a mix'd controul,
Weaken'd the constant passion of my soul.
My vows were single—to the close of life
I had but one, and she a faithful Wife;
And we grew old together: and I led,
With happiest omen, to the genial bed
Three Children; whose dear babes, to my fond breast
Close folded, oft I've gently sooth'd to rest.
And now, each sad funereal duty paid,
Each rite, each offering to a parent's shade,
They've pass'd me hence, in Godlike ease to take
Sweet slumbers on the soft Elysian lake.
57
ANACREON, ODE I.
PARODY.
The story of King Arthur old,And More, that dragon-slayer bold,
I strove to sing—in vain I strove—
My cat-gut squeak'd “How sweet is Love.”
A thousand ways I turn'd each screw,
And resin'd every string anew.
Again I try'd: “God prosper long—”
Broke in the middle was my song—
I found each faint idea flown
In “Joys of Love are joys alone.”
Adieu each big, each lofty air!
Come, “Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair!’
Adieu each tale so blythe and merry
Of John and the Priest of Canterbury!
My Fiddle now alone can tell
“The charms of beauteous Florimel.”
58
SONG, BY GEORGE WITHER.
Shall I, wasting in despair,Die, because a woman's fair?
Or make pale my cheeks with care,
'Cause another's rosy are?
Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flowery meads in May;
If she be not so to me,
What care I how fair she be! [OMITTED]
Be she meeker, kinder than
Turtle-dove or pelican; [OMITTED]
If she slight me when I woo,
I can scorn and let her go:
For, if she be not for me,
What care I for whom she be!
60
LOOSE TRANSLATION,
The freedom of which has Reference to the Cast and Character of Mr. Crowe's Poem of Lewesdon Hill, to which the above is the Motto.
[Farewell thy printless sands, and pebbly shore!]
Farewell thy printless sands, and pebbly shore!I hear the white surge beat thy coast no more;
Pure, gentle source of the high rapturous mood!
Where'er, like the great flood, by thy dread force
Propell'd, shape Thou my calm, my blameless course,
Heav'n, Earth and Ocean's Lord!—and Father of the Good!
61
EX ANTHOL.
TRANSLATION.
'Twas she—'twas she, the gentle maid,At eve, beneath the myrtle shade,
Kiss'd me with moist and pulpy lip:—
Ev'n yet that rich, ripe, rapturous kiss,
That balmy breath and nectar'd bliss,
Feast of the Gods! I seem to sip!
Love's honied draughts can never cloy:
But, ah! in storms of passion tost,
Now, now, my madd'ning soul is lost,
Drunk with the mighty joy!
65
FROM MILTON's EPITAPHIUM DAMONIS.
TRANSLATION.
O where may I expect relief?What faithful breast will sooth my grief?
Whom may I, undisguised, show
The secret source of every woe?
Whose easy converse will remove,
By tales of Poetry and Love,
Of wintry skies the gloomy power,
And laugh away the evening hour!
While, around the blazing hearth,
Crackling the nut inspireth mirth;
And at the fire the roasting pear
Hissing dissipates each care:
But without an angry cloud,
Borne by the sweeping winds aloud,
Thunders with unrelenting stroke
Upon my friendly sheltering oak.
66
ANACREONTIC.
[Are the white Hours for ever fled]
Are the white Hours for ever fled
That us'd to mark the cheerful day?
And every killing Pleasure dead
That led th'enraptur'd soul away?
Too fast the rosy-footed train,
The blest, delicious moments pass'd;
Pleasure must now give way to Pain,
And Grief succeeds to Joy at last.
That us'd to mark the cheerful day?
And every killing Pleasure dead
That led th'enraptur'd soul away?
Too fast the rosy-footed train,
The blest, delicious moments pass'd;
Pleasure must now give way to Pain,
And Grief succeeds to Joy at last.
O, Daughters of eternal Jove!
Return with the returning year:
Bring Pleasure back again and Love!
With heavenly smiles again appear!
O bring my H---y to my sight!
What happy Hour will then be by?
And while I'm dying with delight,
Her soul shall speak thro' either eye.
Let sacred Friendship too attend;
The man whose soul is most like mine,
Bring B---, my ever dearest Friend,
And fill the bowl with rosy wine:
We'll grasp the minutes as they pass,
Unconscious of all future woes;
Mirth, Love and Joy shall crown each glass,
And cast our sorrows to our foes.
Return with the returning year:
Bring Pleasure back again and Love!
With heavenly smiles again appear!
O bring my H---y to my sight!
What happy Hour will then be by?
And while I'm dying with delight,
Her soul shall speak thro' either eye.
Let sacred Friendship too attend;
The man whose soul is most like mine,
Bring B---, my ever dearest Friend,
And fill the bowl with rosy wine:
We'll grasp the minutes as they pass,
Unconscious of all future woes;
Mirth, Love and Joy shall crown each glass,
And cast our sorrows to our foes.
67
Let every white and happy hour
Which Fate has to my life decreed
With rosy wings its blessings show'r,
And each in order still succeed:
But when the short-liv'd smiling store
No longer can my bliss engage,
Cut off the useless thousands more
And add them to some coward's age!
Which Fate has to my life decreed
With rosy wings its blessings show'r,
And each in order still succeed:
But when the short-liv'd smiling store
No longer can my bliss engage,
Cut off the useless thousands more
And add them to some coward's age!
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