Medulla Poetarum Romanorum Or, the Most Beautiful and Instructive Passages of the Roman Poets. Being a Collection, (Disposed under proper Heads,) Of such Descriptions, Allusions, Comparisons, Characters, and Sentiments, as may best serve to shew the Religion, Learning, Politicks, Arts, Customs, Opinions, Manners, and Circumstances of the Antients. With Translations of the same in English Verse. By Mr. Henry Baker |
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Poetry.
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 | Medulla Poetarum Romanorum |  |
Poetry.
See Poet. Style.
Orpheus
, by Harmony divine, subdu'd
Man's savage Nature, and his Thirst of Blood:
For this the sacred Bard was said t'asswage
The Tyger's Fury, and the Lion's Rage:
And when Amphion built the Theban Wall,
'Twas feign'd the list'ning Stones obey'd his Musick's Call.
Verse was contrived then to make Folks wise,
To cherish Virtue, and discourage Vice:
To sep'rate Actions sacred and prophane,
Suppress wild Lust, and link the nuptial Chain:
Tow'rs it plann'd out, and instituted Laws.
Hence Bards were call'd divine, and Verse acquir'd Applause.—
Man's savage Nature, and his Thirst of Blood:
For this the sacred Bard was said t'asswage
The Tyger's Fury, and the Lion's Rage:
And when Amphion built the Theban Wall,
'Twas feign'd the list'ning Stones obey'd his Musick's Call.
Verse was contrived then to make Folks wise,
To cherish Virtue, and discourage Vice:
To sep'rate Actions sacred and prophane,
Suppress wild Lust, and link the nuptial Chain:
Tow'rs it plann'd out, and instituted Laws.
Hence Bards were call'd divine, and Verse acquir'd Applause.—
253
Poems (like Pictures) are of diff'rent Sorts:
Some better at a Distance, others near:
Some love the Dark, some chuse the clearest Light,
And boldly challenge the most piercing Eye:
Some please for once, some will for ever please.—
Some better at a Distance, others near:
Some love the Dark, some chuse the clearest Light,
And boldly challenge the most piercing Eye:
Some please for once, some will for ever please.—
Now some dispute, to which the greatest Part
A Poem owes, to Nature, or to Art:
But Troth, to speak my Thoughts, I hardly know,
What witless Art, or artless Wit can do.
Each by itself is vain, I'm sure: but join'd,
Their Force is strong, each proves the other's Friend.—
A Poem owes, to Nature, or to Art:
But Troth, to speak my Thoughts, I hardly know,
What witless Art, or artless Wit can do.
Each by itself is vain, I'm sure: but join'd,
Their Force is strong, each proves the other's Friend.—
Whoe'er would form a valuable Poem,
Must rigorously discharge the Censor's Part,
And dare reject whatever Words appear
Or void of Elegance, or Weight, or Worth;
Tho' fashionable, tho' rever'd they be.
Words our Forefathers us'd, if apt and just,
Tho' obsolete, and to our Ears uncouth,
He must revive, and bring to Light again.
Such new Expressions let him authorize
As Custom shall produce: and with fresh Stores
Inrich his Mother Tongue, till it becomes
Like some fam'd River, flowing, full, and clear.
Whate'er's redundant let him wisely prune:
Soften what's harsh; reject what is unfit;
And turn, and wind, and work them ev'ry Way.
Must rigorously discharge the Censor's Part,
And dare reject whatever Words appear
Or void of Elegance, or Weight, or Worth;
Tho' fashionable, tho' rever'd they be.
Words our Forefathers us'd, if apt and just,
Tho' obsolete, and to our Ears uncouth,
He must revive, and bring to Light again.
Such new Expressions let him authorize
As Custom shall produce: and with fresh Stores
Inrich his Mother Tongue, till it becomes
Like some fam'd River, flowing, full, and clear.
Whate'er's redundant let him wisely prune:
Soften what's harsh; reject what is unfit;
And turn, and wind, and work them ev'ry Way.
Some think that Poets may be form'd by Art,
Others maintain that Nature makes them so:
I neither see what Art without a Vein,
Nor Wit, without the Help of Art, can do:
But mutually they need each other's Aid.—
Others maintain that Nature makes them so:
I neither see what Art without a Vein,
Nor Wit, without the Help of Art, can do:
But mutually they need each other's Aid.—
Roscommon.
Soft without Sense, and without Spirit slow:
So smooth and equal that no Sight can find
The Passage where the polish'd Piece was joyn'd.
So even all, with such a steady View,
As if he shut one Eye to level true.
Whether the vulgar Vice his Passion stings,
The People's Riots, or the Rage of Kings:
255
The Reader hopes no Rise, and fears no Fall.—
| Medulla Poetarum Romanorum | |