The Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Warton ... Fifth Edition, Corrected and Enlarged. To which are now added Inscriptionum Romanarum Delectus, and An Inaugural Speech As Camden Professor of History, never before published. Together with Memoirs of his Life and Writings; and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Richard Mant |
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 | The Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Warton |  |
107
TRANSLATIONS AND PARAPHRASES.
109
JOB, CHAPTER XXXIX.
(Published in 1750, in the Student.)
Declare, if heav'nly wisdom bless thy tongue,
When teems the Mountain-Goat with promis'd young;
The stated seasons tell, the month explain,
When feels the bounding Hind a mother's pain;
While, in th' oppressive agonies of birth,
Silent they bow the sorrowing head to earth?
Why crop their lusty seed the verdant food?
Why leave their dams to search the gloomy wood?
When teems the Mountain-Goat with promis'd young;
The stated seasons tell, the month explain,
When feels the bounding Hind a mother's pain;
While, in th' oppressive agonies of birth,
Silent they bow the sorrowing head to earth?
Why crop their lusty seed the verdant food?
Why leave their dams to search the gloomy wood?
Say, whence the Wild-Ass wantons o'er the plain,
Sports uncontrol'd, unconscious of the rein?
'Tis his o'er scenes of solitude to roam,
The waste his house, the wilderness his home:
He scorns the crowded city's pomp and noise,
Nor heeds the driver's rod, nor hears his voice;
At will on ev'ry various verdure fed,
His pasture o'er the shaggy cliffs is spread.
Sports uncontrol'd, unconscious of the rein?
'Tis his o'er scenes of solitude to roam,
The waste his house, the wilderness his home:
He scorns the crowded city's pomp and noise,
Nor heeds the driver's rod, nor hears his voice;
At will on ev'ry various verdure fed,
His pasture o'er the shaggy cliffs is spread.
110
Will the fierce Unicorn obey thy call,
Enslav'd to man, and patient of the stall?
Say, will he stubborn stoop thy yoke to bear,
And thro' the furrow drag the tardy share?
Say, canst thou think, O wretch of vain belief,
His lab'ring limbs will draw thy weighty sheaf?
Or canst thou tame the temper of his blood
With faithful feet to trace the destin'd road?
Who paints the Peacock's train with radiant eyes,
And all the bright diversity of dies?
Whose hand the stately Ostrich has supply'd
With glorious plumage, and her snowy pride?
Thoughtless she leaves amid the dusty way
Her eggs, to ripen in the genial ray;
Nor heeds, that some fell beast, who thirsts for blood,
Or the rude foot, may crush the future brood.
In her no love the tender offspring share,
No soft remembrance, no maternal care:
For God has steel'd her unrelenting breast,
Nor feeling sense, nor instinct mild impress'd,
Bade her the rapid-rushing steed despise,
Outstrip the rider's rage, and tow'r amidst the skies.
Didst thou the Horse with strength and beauty deck?
Hast thou in thunder cloth'd his nervous neck?
Will he, like groveling grashoppers afraid,
Start at each sound, at ev'ry breeze dismay'd?
A cloud of fire his lifted nostrils raise,
And breathe a glorious terror as they blaze.
He paws indignant, and the valley spurns,
Rejoicing in his might, and for the battle burns.
When quivers rattle, and the frequent spear
Flies flashing, leaps his heart with languid fear?
Swallowing with fierce and greedy rage the ground,
“Is this,” he cries, “the trumpet's warlike sound?”
Eager he scents the battle from afar,
And all the mingling thunder of the war.
Flies the fierce Hawk by the supreme command,
To seek soft climates, and a southern land?
Who bade th' aspiring Eagle mount the sky,
And build her firm aerial nest on high?
On the bare cliff, or mountain's shaggy steep,
Her fortress of defence she dares to keep;
Thence darts her radiant eye's pervading ray,
Inquisitive to ken the distant prey;
Seeks with her thirsty brood th' ensanguin'd plain,
There bathes her beak in blood, companion of the slain.
Enslav'd to man, and patient of the stall?
Say, will he stubborn stoop thy yoke to bear,
And thro' the furrow drag the tardy share?
Say, canst thou think, O wretch of vain belief,
His lab'ring limbs will draw thy weighty sheaf?
Or canst thou tame the temper of his blood
With faithful feet to trace the destin'd road?
Who paints the Peacock's train with radiant eyes,
And all the bright diversity of dies?
Whose hand the stately Ostrich has supply'd
With glorious plumage, and her snowy pride?
Thoughtless she leaves amid the dusty way
Her eggs, to ripen in the genial ray;
Nor heeds, that some fell beast, who thirsts for blood,
Or the rude foot, may crush the future brood.
In her no love the tender offspring share,
No soft remembrance, no maternal care:
For God has steel'd her unrelenting breast,
Nor feeling sense, nor instinct mild impress'd,
Bade her the rapid-rushing steed despise,
Outstrip the rider's rage, and tow'r amidst the skies.
Didst thou the Horse with strength and beauty deck?
Hast thou in thunder cloth'd his nervous neck?
111
Start at each sound, at ev'ry breeze dismay'd?
A cloud of fire his lifted nostrils raise,
And breathe a glorious terror as they blaze.
He paws indignant, and the valley spurns,
Rejoicing in his might, and for the battle burns.
When quivers rattle, and the frequent spear
Flies flashing, leaps his heart with languid fear?
Swallowing with fierce and greedy rage the ground,
“Is this,” he cries, “the trumpet's warlike sound?”
Eager he scents the battle from afar,
And all the mingling thunder of the war.
Flies the fierce Hawk by the supreme command,
To seek soft climates, and a southern land?
Who bade th' aspiring Eagle mount the sky,
And build her firm aerial nest on high?
On the bare cliff, or mountain's shaggy steep,
Her fortress of defence she dares to keep;
Thence darts her radiant eye's pervading ray,
Inquisitive to ken the distant prey;
Seeks with her thirsty brood th' ensanguin'd plain,
There bathes her beak in blood, companion of the slain.
112
A PASTORAL IN THE MANNER OF SPENSER.
I
As late I strove Lucilla's lip to kiss,She with discurtesee reprov'd my will;
Dost thou, she said, affect so pleasant bliss,
A simple shepherd, and a losell vile?
Not Fancy's hand should join my courtly lip
To thine, as I myself were fast asleep.
II
As thus she spake, full proud and boasting lasse,And as a peacocke pearke, in dalliance
113
And all disdaining ey'd my shape askaunce:
But I did blush, with grief and shame yblent,
Like morning-rose with hoary dewe besprent.
III
Tell me, my fellows all, am I not fair?Has fell enchantress blasted all my charms?
Whilom mine head was sleek with tressed hayre,
My laughing eyne did shoot out love's alarms:
E'en Kate did deemen me the fairest swain,
When erst I won this girdle on the plain.
114
IV
My lip with vermil was embellished,My bagpipes notes loud and delicious were,
The milk-white lily, and the rose so red,
Did on my face depeinten lively cheere,
My voice as soote as mounting larke did shrill,
My look was blythe as Marg'ret's at the mill.
V
But she forsooth, more fair than Madge or Kate,A dainty maid, did deign not shepherd's love;
Nor wist what Thenot told us swains of late,
That Venus sought a shepherd in a grove;
115
To tend his flock with shepherds did delight.
VI
Ah! 'tis that Venus with accurst despight,That all my dolour and my shame has made!
Nor does remembrance of her own delight
For me one drop of pity sweet persuade!
Aye hence the glowing rapture may she miss,
Like me be scorn'd, nor ever taste a kiss!
116
FROM HORACE, Book iii. Od. 13.
Ye waves, that gushing fall with purest stream,
Blandusian fount! to whom the products sweet
Of richest vines belong,
And fairest flow'rs of Spring;
Blandusian fount! to whom the products sweet
Of richest vines belong,
And fairest flow'rs of Spring;
To thee a chosen victim will I kill,
A Goat, who, wanton in lascivious youth,
Just blooms with budding horn,
And destines future war,
A Goat, who, wanton in lascivious youth,
Just blooms with budding horn,
And destines future war,
Elate in vainest thought: but ah! too soon
His reeking blood with crimson shall pollute
Thy icy-flowing flood,
And tinge thy crystal clear.
His reeking blood with crimson shall pollute
Thy icy-flowing flood,
And tinge thy crystal clear.
Thy sweet recess the Sun in mid-day hour
Can ne'er invade: thy streams the labour'd ox
Refresh with cooling draught,
And glad the wand'ring herds.
Can ne'er invade: thy streams the labour'd ox
Refresh with cooling draught,
And glad the wand'ring herds.
Thy name shall shine with endless honour grac'd,
While on my shell I sing the hanging oak,
That o'er thy cavern deep
Waves his imbowering head.
While on my shell I sing the hanging oak,
That o'er thy cavern deep
Waves his imbowering head.
117
HORACE, Book iii. Od. 18.
AFTER THE MANNER OF MILTON.
Faunus, who lov'st to chase the light-foot Nymphs,
Propitious guard my fields and sunny farm,
And nurse with kindly care
The promise of my flock.
Propitious guard my fields and sunny farm,
And nurse with kindly care
The promise of my flock.
So to thy pow'r a Kid shall yearly bleed,
And the full bowl to genial Venus flow;
And on thy rustic shrine
Rich odours incense breathe:
And the full bowl to genial Venus flow;
And on thy rustic shrine
Rich odours incense breathe:
So thro' the vale the wanton herds shall bound,
When thy December comes, and on the green
The steer in traces loose
With the free village sport:
When thy December comes, and on the green
The steer in traces loose
With the free village sport:
No more the lamb shall fly th' insidious wolf,
The woods shall shed their leaves, and the glad hind
The ground, where once he dug,
Shall beat in sprightly dance.
The woods shall shed their leaves, and the glad hind
The ground, where once he dug,
Shall beat in sprightly dance.
| The Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Warton | |