 | Imitations of Horace |  |
96
IMITATIONS OF HORACE.
97
ODE III. BOOK II. To Walter Scott.
Æquam memento rebus in arduis.
Though fortune crown the labors of thy Muse
With present fame, and profit to excess,
Though Hypercritics hail, and Scotch Reviews,
Thy heavy quartos issuing from the press:
With present fame, and profit to excess,
Though Hypercritics hail, and Scotch Reviews,
Thy heavy quartos issuing from the press:
Though prudent L---g---ns puff with all their might,
Each trick revive, each low expedient try,
Short is their passage to eternal night,
For Rokeby, spite of all, was born to die.
Each trick revive, each low expedient try,
Short is their passage to eternal night,
For Rokeby, spite of all, was born to die.
104
Yet some applause is due—nor let thy pride
From unbought, honest, approbation shrink;
I love thy open type, thy margin wide,
And much admire the color of thine ink;
From unbought, honest, approbation shrink;
I love thy open type, thy margin wide,
And much admire the color of thine ink;
For one am I, in these degen'rate days,
Who give the palm to Dryden's magic shell;
Yet own thy splendid volume (meagre praise!)
Like Peter Pindar's razors—made to sell.
Who give the palm to Dryden's magic shell;
Yet own thy splendid volume (meagre praise!)
Like Peter Pindar's razors—made to sell.
Whether, a deep recluse, you strike the lyre
In Scotland's bleak inhospitable land;
Or, Brother of the ancient Grub-street choir,
You warble from a garret in the Strand;
In Scotland's bleak inhospitable land;
Or, Brother of the ancient Grub-street choir,
You warble from a garret in the Strand;
Still rhyme, and print, nor heed what Critics say,
Let perseverance prompt the golden hour;
Infatuation's charm will soon decay,
And fame and fortune now are in your pow'r.
Let perseverance prompt the golden hour;
Infatuation's charm will soon decay,
105
Let Pope, in notes so musically clear,
In virtue's cause the moral strain prolong;
Let Prior's flowing numbers charm the ear,
And nature bloom again in Thomson's song;
In virtue's cause the moral strain prolong;
Let Prior's flowing numbers charm the ear,
And nature bloom again in Thomson's song;
Let Goldsmith tell of Auburn's simple train,
And Churchill's manly sense our wonder raise;
Do thou, my Scott, pursue thy northern strain,
Be thine the profit, theirs the empty praise.
And Churchill's manly sense our wonder raise;
Do thou, my Scott, pursue thy northern strain,
Be thine the profit, theirs the empty praise.
'Twas Darwin's fate, with Della-Cruscan verse,
To please the varying whimsy of the town,
A huge imperial quarto fill'd his purse,
And fashion gave the laurell'd Bard renown.
To please the varying whimsy of the town,
A huge imperial quarto fill'd his purse,
And fashion gave the laurell'd Bard renown.
But Fame, capricious being! comes and goes,
For mark, Oblivion steals o'er ev'ry line;
On dusty shelves his pond'rous works repose,
With Blackmore, Godwin, Carr—and so shall thine.
106
On dusty shelves his pond'rous works repose,
With Blackmore, Godwin, Carr—and so shall thine.
107
On reading Doctor Busby's List of Subscribers to his pompous translation of Lucretius.
Homunculi quanti sunt, cum recogito!
Plautus. Now I recollect, how considerable are these little men!—
Plautus. Now I recollect, how considerable are these little men!—
Good Doctor! what a motley tribe,
Thy zeal has tempted to subscribe;
(Cry'd Phœbus, in amaze,)
A host of wits, who murder time
As dullness prompts, in prose and rhyme,
For profit, pride, or praise.
Thy zeal has tempted to subscribe;
(Cry'd Phœbus, in amaze,)
A host of wits, who murder time
As dullness prompts, in prose and rhyme,
For profit, pride, or praise.
What mortal ever heard the names
Of Carysfort,
or Major James,
Twin brethren of the quill?
Who, (harmless scribblers!) strange to tell,
Were never prais'd for writing well,
Or d---d for writing ill.
125
Twin brethren of the quill?
Who, (harmless scribblers!) strange to tell,
Were never prais'd for writing well,
Or d---d for writing ill.
Curse on thy sacrilegious prose,
For thus disturbing their repose!
Yet, spite of this, I'll wager
Not all the bustle thou canst make,
From their eternal sleep shall wake
The musings of the Major.
For thus disturbing their repose!
Yet, spite of this, I'll wager
Not all the bustle thou canst make,
From their eternal sleep shall wake
The musings of the Major.
If thou wert bent, with heart so hard,
To crucify the Roman bard,
And sacrifice his fame,
What need hadst thou, devoid of grace,
To summon all the Grub-street race,
To testify his foul disgrace,
And glory in his shame?
126
And sacrifice his fame,
What need hadst thou, devoid of grace,
To summon all the Grub-street race,
To testify his foul disgrace,
And glory in his shame?
So Vulcan, in a jealous pet,
Caught Mars and Venus, in a net,
And then, their fame to ruin,
Invited (rude uncivil bear!)
The Gods and Goddesses to stare,
And laugh at their undoing.
Caught Mars and Venus, in a net,
And then, their fame to ruin,
Invited (rude uncivil bear!)
The Gods and Goddesses to stare,
And laugh at their undoing.
Lord Carysfort has promised Doctor Busby, that his translation of Lucretius is destined to prove the intimate companion of Pope's Homer, in his Lordship's Library! “Man praises Man,” says Cowper, and we may add “Dunce flatters Dunce!”
THE END.
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