University of Virginia Library

4. PART the Fourth, CONTAINING PARAPHRASES, IMITATIONS, AND TRANSLATIONS, Of several Parts of the Antients.

THE Lamentation of David for Saul and Jonathan,

From the first Chapter of the Second Book of Samuel, paraphrased.

Psalm the 97th paraphrased.

Psalm the 137th paraphrased.

A HYMN, From Psalm the 145th.

Simonides on Human Life Paraphrased.

To a Friend, In Imitation of Horace to Martius Censorinus, Book IV, Ode VIII.

On those I love I would bestow
The Gems in Indian Mines which grow,
Or, could my Pow'r my Will attend,
With antique Medals greet my Friend,
Stamp'd, to record the Hero's Fame,
With Brutus, or with Cæsar's Name:
If these, or such-like Gifts, were mine,
The foremost, Henley, should be thine,
What Angelo has wrought, whose Hand,
Pencil, or Chisel, could command,
On Brass could make the Parent moan,
Or bid the Virgin bleed in Stone:
But these of my Possessions are
No Part, nor of your Wants a Share.
On Verse you with Delight can dwell,
And Verse but few deserve so well;
Verse I can give, since Verse you prize,
And tell in what the Value lys.
Not Statues rais'd at public Cost,
Not Edward's Star with Rays emboss'd,
Can the Remembrance keep so long,
Of Edward's Acts, as sacred Song.
When Blenheim's Palace shall decay,
And the proud Column mould away,
The Chief shall live in Verse alone,
More durable than Brass or Stone:
And should the Muse her Aid deny,
With you, my Friend, your Virtues dy.
Where now had been that Son of War,
Who spread the British Name so far,
He who both Indias made his own,
How long would Cromwell's Name be known,
Of Fame had Silence clip'd the Wing,
And Waller's Muse refus'd to sing?
The Muse beholds the great Nassau,
The Prop of Liberty and Law:
While Tyranny beneath him bleeds,
She consecrates the Hero's Deeds.
On whom the Muses smile we see
The Stamp of Immortality;
To all who merit Praise they give
To triumph o'er the Grave and live:
Alcides they convey'd above,
And plac'd him at the Feasts of Jove;
The Sons of Tyndarus they gave
To shine as Stars, and check the Wave;
His Honours Bacchus to them owes,
Propitious ever to our Vows.

An Imitation of the same. To a Foe.

To those I hate I would decree
The Whipping-Post, or Tyburn-Tree,
To Britain's Sons, who are her Foes,
The Hemp in British Fields that grows:
On one I would bestow, 'e're long,
A silken Halter, wide and strong,
Wove, to record the Villain's Shame,
With the sev'n Letters of his Name:
This, were the Laws within my Pow'r,
Should, Wretch, be thine before an Hour;
But such a Rope is wanted not,
A hempen one will be your Lot.
'Tis not in me to make you swing;
But you can read what now I sing.
All Verse, all Harmony, you hate;
They suit not with your gloomy State;
Therefore the Muse, her Wrongs to right,
Shall paint a Monster black as Night.
Not Shepherd, who could shift the Scene,
From Jail to Jail, like Harlequin,
Nor Wild, great Man! who had his Day,
And keep'd the lesser Rogues in Pay,
Can live in Newgate's Rolls so long
As thou, thou greater Rogue, in Song.
Chartres perhaps would be forgot,
Had Pope not writ, or Arbuthnot.
The Muses, impious Man! behold
Thee fortify'd with Brass and Gold;
They've long the human Vermin spy'd
Which swarm about thy filthy Hyde;
They see the Dogs around thy Stall,
Licking the Crums which from thee fall;
And they to thee, and them, will give,
Thro Ages hence, to stink and live:
They long ago, as Fables tell,
Sent Tantalus to fast in Hell;
And lately they, in Phrase most civil,
Poor Johnny Comb sent to the Devil:
And they, however you despise
The Pow'r in Verse, like mine, that lys,
Shall to Posterity your Name
Deliver down with endless Shame:
This Curse you to the Muses owe,
As Virtue's, as your Country's, Foe.

Ode the 4th of the Epodes, On Menas, Imitated.

Not Wolves and Lambs can less agree
Than I by Nature can with thee,
With thee so often bought and sold,
And shackled down with Spanish Gold.
Tho now you strut with Wealth elate,
The Bane, the Scandal, of the State,
Tho to you Fortune proves too kind,
She can not change your dirty Mind.
Where'er you walk, where'er you ride,
The Ribband dangling down your Side,
Do you not, booby Statesman, see
The Lips of all turn'd up at thee?
With gen'rous Indignation stung,
Aside the Mouths of all are wrung.
Oft' kick'd, and cuff'd, if Fame says true,
(But Fame is not a Friend to you,)
What Tracts of Land your Tenants till!
What gallant Steeds your Stables fill!
Oft' at the Play with aukward Grace,
Or say some other public Place,
This Piece of Knighthood has been seen,
Close at the Elbow of the Queen.
O! what avail the Honours gain'd
When William, or when Anna, reign'd!
What at La Hogue the Glory won!
Or what beneath the Flandrian Sun!
If such a Thing as this presides
In Council, and the Navy guides!

THE EPISODE of Thersites, Translated From the second Book of the ILIAD of HOMER.

THERSITES, From the second Book of the Iliad.

TYRTÆUS on MARTIAL Virtue.

To the Duke of Marlborough.

ANACREON. Ode the First.

On his Lyre.

Cadmus or th'Atrides I
Fain would sing, but when I try,
Strains, which flow from soft Desire,
Warble from the wanton Lyre.
The rebellious Strings I chang'd:
O'er them quick my Fingers rang'd.
I th'heroic Theme renew'd,
Hercules, thy Toils, pursued:
Lo! the Strings rebel again,
And return a softer Strain.
Farewel Heros, Arms adieu:
Love to thee my Lyre is true.

ANACREON To the Grasshopper.

Grasshopper, we hail thee bless'd,
In thy lofty shady Nest,
Happy, merry, as a King,
Siping Dew, you sip and sing.
Cast an Eye around the Field;
All is thine the Seasons yield.
Lo! the Husbandmen rejoice,
When they hear thy friendly Voice;
Mortals to thee Homage pay,
Prophet of the Summer's Day.
Fav'rite of the tuneful Throng,
Of the Nine, and God of Song,
Phœbus gives thee, such his Will,
Voice to sing so sweetly shrill.
Ever young, with Plenty bless'd,
Like the Gods thy State of Rest.

An EPIGRAM From the GREEK.

From Beauty's Queen, and Bacchus ever young,
The Gout an Offspring maim'd and crippled sprung.

ACCIUS.

A Fragment of Accius, preserved in Cicero's second Book concerning the Nature of the Gods. A Shepherd, who never saw a Ship before, is represented as seeing, from a Mountain where he stood, the Vessel of the Argonauts.

What horrid Bulk is that before my Eyes,
Which o'er the Deep with Noise and Vigour flys!
It turns the Whirlpools up, its Force so strong,
And drives the Billows as it rolls along.
The Ocean's Violence it fiercely braves,
Runs furious on, and throws about the Waves,
Swiftly impetuous in its Course, and loud,
Like the dire bursting of a show'ry Cloud,
Or like a Rock, forc'd by the Winds and Rain,
Now whirl'd aloft, then plung'd into the Main:
But hold, perhaps the Earth and Neptune jar,
And fiercely wage an elemental War,
Or Triton with his Trident has o'erthrown
His Den, and loosen'd from the Roots the Stone,
The rocky Fragment from the Bottom torn,
Is lifted up, and on the Surface borne.

TRANSLATIONS From CATULLUS.

To Cornelius Nepos.

My Friend, where shall the Poet chuse
One worthy his facetious Muse?
To whom's the gilded Volume due,
Adorn'd with polish'd Leaves, and new?
To whom, my best of Friends, but you?
For you Cornelius, you my Friend,
Would oft' my trifling Song commend,
You who, of all our Land, would dare,
(A Task, O! Jove, he well could bear!)
To swell the learn'd and labour'd Page
With Worthys pass'd of ev'ry Age.
Accept this Verse, whate'er it be,
Such as it is, 'tis due to thee;
Which, Maid of Arts the Guardian, give
To future Times the Pow'r to live.

To Himself.

Catullus give your Follys o'er,
And wretched seek what's loss'd no more:
Propitious Days 'e'rewhile were thine,
When I could call the fair one mine,
When eager of the Chace I view'd
Her Steps with Joy, and quick pursu'd:
Such was my Love, and such my Pain,
As none shall ever cause again.
Too swiftly did the Moments glide
In Sports you sought, nor she deny'd.
Propitious Days were truly thine,
When I could call the fair one mine.
No more in vain your Hours employ;
The Nymph to all you wish is coy;
No longer watch her Steps in vain,
Nor make your Life a Life of Pain;
Resolve to act the manly Part,
And drive the Poyson from your Heart.
Farewel my Love, here ends your Reign,
Catullus is himself again;
With his Consent unsought you fly;
He'll ask no more what you'd deny;
But think, now thou art false to me,
What Sorrow is reserv'd for thee.
What Gallant will receive you now?
Or who prefer of Love the Vow?
Who now shall court the treach'rous Kiss,
That leaves the Token of the Bliss?
Catullus act the manly Part,
And keep the Poyson from your Heart.

To Alphenus.

Alphenus say can you a Friend deceive,
And him, tho true, without Reluctance leave?
Tell me, perfidious Man, Alphenus say,
Can you a Friend forsake, and then betray?
Have not the Pangs of Guilt your Bosom seiz'd?
Think not with impious Acts the Gods are pleas'd;
But these are Thoughts which never plagu'd thy Breast,
Who basely left me, and when much distress'd.
What can we do amidst a Race unjust,
Where find a Man regardful of his Trust?
The Heart of Friendship you seduc'd from me,
As if no Danger could arise from thee;
But now, a Traytor to the social Ty,
Your Actions give your former Vows the Ly;
Nor Words, nor Deeds, retracted longer bind,
Your Words retracted, and your Deeds, are Wind.
You may forget, and live a Wretch abhor'd,
But know the Gods remember, and record;
Faith well remembers, rev'rend Deity,
Who will exact due Penitence from thee.

Of Lesbia.

To Lesbia when I speak she turns away,
And always answers short to what I say;
Oft' as we meet to chide she never fails,
And in her Visits at Catullus rails:
I from my Soul believe, or let me dy,
That Lesbia views me with a Lover's Eye:
But I am ask'd, whence I so vain am grown:
I judge of her Behaviour from my own;
I always rail at her, but let me dy,
If I don't view her with a Lover's Eye.

To Lesbia.

You wish, my Life, in the soft Hours of Love,
Our Flame may constant burn, and mutual prove;
Ye Gods, if from her Heart her Wishes came,
Grant it to end but with our vital Flame.

From the Epithalamium On the Nuptials of Thetis and Peleus.

Ye Fair attend not with a faithful Ear,
Nor hope the Words of Man can be sincere;
He vows, he swears, and begs to be believ'd;
And ye too easy trust, and are deceiv'd;
He in the Gust of Love will Truth defy,
Will promise all he can, and dread no Ly,
Till he has slak'd the Raging of his Mind;
When that is over all his Vows are Wind.

Of ARRIUS.

When Arrius should the Word commodious name,
From his distended Jaws chommodious came:
Whene'er he spoke of an insidious Slave,
He surely call'd him an hinsidious Knave;
And, when he spoke, he thought 'twas wond'rous well,
If he pronounc'd hinsidious with a Swell:
So would his Mother, and her Sire, have spoke,
And so his Grandame, when she Silence broke,
So all his Race would, I believe indeed,
Down to his Uncle, who, a Slave, was freed.
When Arrius into Syria was sent,
All Ears, which us'd to hear him, were content:
Those horrid Sounds no longer now they fear;
Those Words flow smoothly, nor offend the Ear:
But, when he cross'd th'Ionian Seas again,
I've plow'd, says Arrius, the Hionian Main.

[Translations from Virgil.]

A Description of Spring from the second Book of Virgil's Georgics.

Joy to the Groves the vernal Seasons bring,
The Woods receive the Benefits of Spring:
Spring swells, indulgent of the future Birth,
With genial Seeds the gladly teeming Earth:
Then Æther, then th'almighty Father, pours
Into his joyful Bride the fruitful Show'rs;
He blends his mighty Limbs with her, and brings,
For her to cherish, all the Seeds of Things:
Then with a pleasing Smart the Herds are stung;
And by the Birds the nuptial Songs are sung:
Then bud the Trees; and open ly the Plains
To tepid Zephyrs and refreshing Rains:
Beneath new Suns the Blades with Safety rise,
And dare expose themselves to vernal Skys;
Nor dreads the tender Vine the southern Blast,
Nor stormy Clouds which northern Winds o'ercast;
But out she thrusts her Shoots, nor fears the Colds,
And all her Leafs to the soft Air unfolds.
Such was the State of Things I must believe,
Such and no other can I well conceive,
When blooming first the infant World was seen;
The Days were such as these, like these serene:
Then was it Spring, Spring was the World all o'er,
And then the Eastern-Winds refus'd to roar,
When first the Beasts began to draw the Light,
And Men, an iron Race, first walk'd upright,
When Woods the Province of the Brutes were giv'n,
And Stars flew upwards to illumine Heav'n.

The 6th Ode of the 1st Book of Horace. To Varius.

Of the Instability of Things.

From the fourth Book of the Astronomicon of MANILIUS.

Nothing remains, in Time's unbounded Space,
Always the same, in Beauty or in Place;
A diff'rent Face of Things with Age appears;
And all Things vary in a Course of Years.
The fruitful Glebe will, weary'd out, decay,
And its prolific Virtues wear away:
While this continual Crops of Grain denys,
On the once barren Heath the Harvests rise;
Nature, by slow Degrees, improves the Soil,
And the Corn springs without the Farmer's Toil.
Now shakes the Earth, before tho firmly bound,
And from the Feet withdraws the treach'rous Ground:
In her own Orbit swims the Globe: the Main
Spues up a Sea, and sucks it in again:
Nor could the Deep within itself contain.
So 'twas of old when, whelm'd beneath the Waves,
Citys immerg'd into their watry Graves:
Deucalion only then remain'd behind,
The solitary Heir of all Mankind;
He on one Rock, one little Spot of Ground,
Then stood possess'd of all the Sun goes round.
When Phaeton, inflam'd with foolish Pride,
Weakly presum'd his Father's Car to guide,
Changes were wrought from what his Rashness fir'd,
And Men and Nations in the Flame expir'd.

MARTIAL.

PAUL.

Paul fond of the Name of a Poet is grown;
With Gold he buys Verses, and calls them his own.
Go on, Master Paul, nor mind what the World says;
They are surely his own for which a Man pays.