_"Go to the ant, thou sluggard[a]_."

Turn on the prudent ant thy heedful eyes, Observe her labours, sluggard, and be wise: No stern command, no monitory voice, Prescribes her duties, or directs her choice; Yet, timely provident, she hastes away, To s.n.a.t.c.h the blessings of the plenteous day; When fruitful summer loads the teeming plain, She crops the harvest, and she stores the grain.

How long shall sloth usurp thy useless hours, Unnerve thy vigour, and enchain thy pow'rs; While artful shades thy downy couch inclose, And soft solicitation courts repose?

Amidst the drowsy charms of dull delight, Year chases year with unremitted flight, Till want now following, fraudulent and slow, Shall spring to seize thee like an ambush'd foe.

[a] First printed in Mrs. Williams's Miscellanies.

HORACE, LIB. IV. ODE VII. TRANSLATED.

The snow, dissolv'd, no more is seen, The fields and woods, behold! are green; The changing year renews the plain, The rivers know their banks again; The sprightly nymph and naked grace The mazy dance together trace; The changing year's successive plan Proclaims mortality to man; Rough winter's blasts to spring give way, Spring yields to summer's sov'reign ray; Then summer sinks in autumn's reign, And winter chills the world again; Her losses soon the moon supplies, But wretched man, when once he lies Where Priam and his sons are laid, Is nought but ashes and a shade.

Who knows if Jove, who counts our score, Will toss us in a morning more?

What with your friend you n.o.bly share, At least you rescue from your heir.

Not you, Torquatus, boast of Rome, When Minos once has fixed your doom, Or eloquence, or splendid birth, Or virtue, shall restore to earth.

Hippolytus, unjustly slain, Diana calls to life in vain; Nor can the might of Theseus rend The chains of h.e.l.l that hold his friend.

Nov. 1784.

The following translations, parodies, and burlesque verses, most of them extempore, are taken from Anecdotes of Dr. Johnson, published by Mrs.

Piozzi.

ANACREON, ODE IX.

Lovely courier of the sky, Whence and whither dost thou fly?

Scatt'ring, as thy pinions play, Liquid fragrance all the way: Is it business? is it love?

Tell me, tell me, gentle dove.

Soft Anacreon's vows I bear, Vows to Myrtale the fair; Grac'd with all that charms the heart, Blushing nature, smiling art.

Venus, courted by an ode, On the bard her dove bestow'd: Vested with a master's right, Now Anacreon rules my flight; His the letters that you see, Weighty charge, consign'd to me: Think not yet my service hard, Joyless task without reward; Smiling at my master's gates, Freedom my return awaits; But the lib'ral grant in vain Tempts me to be wild again.

Can a prudent dove decline Blissful bondage such as mine?

Over hills and fields to roam, Fortune's guest without a home; Under leaves to hide one's head Slightly shelter'd, coa.r.s.ely fed: Now my better lot bestows Sweet repast and soft repose; Now the gen'rous bowl I sip, As it leaves Anacreon's lip: Void of care, and free from dread, From his fingers s.n.a.t.c.h his bread; Then, with luscious plenty gay, Round his chamber dance and play; Or from wine, as courage springs, O'er his face extend my wings; And when feast and frolick tire, Drop asleep upon his lyre.

This is all, be quick and go, More than all thou canst not know; Let me now my pinions ply, I have chatter'd like a pie.

LINES WRITTEN IN RIDICULE OF CERTAIN POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1777.

Wheresor'er I turn my view, All is strange, yet nothing new; Endless labour all along, Endless labour to be wrong; Phrase that time hath flung away, Uncouth words in disarray, Trick'd in antique ruff and bonnet, Ode, and elegy, and sonnet.

PARODY OF A TRANSLATION.

FROM THE MEDEA OF EURIPIDES.

Err shall they not, who resolute explore Times gloomy backward with judicious eyes; And, scanning right the practices of yore, Shall deem our h.o.a.r progenitors unwise.

They to the dome, where smoke, with curling play, Announc'd the dinner to the regions round, Summon'd the singer blithe, and harper gay, And aided wine with dulcet-streaming sound.

The better use of notes, or sweet or shrill, By quiv'ring string or modulated wind; Trumpet or lyre--to their harsh bosoms chill Admission ne'er had sought, or could not find.

Oh! send them to the sullen mansions dun, Her baleful eyes where sorrow rolls around; Where gloom-enamour'd mischief loves to dwell, And murder, all blood-bolter'd, schemes the wound.

When cates luxuriant pile the s.p.a.cious dish, And purple nectar glads the festive hour; The guest, without a want, without a wish, Can yield no room to musick's soothing pow'r.

TRANSLATION FROM THE MEDEA OF EURIPIDES, V. 196[a]

The rites deriv'd from ancient days, With thoughtless reverence we praise; The rites that taught us to combine The joys of musick and of wine, And bade the feast, and song, and bowl O'erfill the saturated soul: But ne'er the flute or lyre applied To cheer despair, or soften pride; Nor call'd them to the gloomy cells Where want repines and vengeance swells; Where hate sits musing to betray, And murder meditates his prey.

To dens of guilt and shades of care, Ye sons of melody repair, Nor deign the festive dome to cloy With superfluities of joy.

Ah! little needs the minstrel's power To speed the light convivial hour.

The board, with varied plenty crown'd, May spare the luxuries of sound[b].

[a] The cla.s.sical reader will, doubtless, be pleased to see the exquisite original in immediate comparison with this translation; we, therefore, subjoin it, and also Dr. J. Warton's imitation of the same pa.s.sage.

[Greek:]

skaious de legon kouden ti sophous tous prosthe brotous, ouk an amartois oitines umnous epi men thaliais, epi d'eilapinais kai para deipnois euronto biou terpnas akoas stugious de broton oudeis pulas eureto mousae kai poluchordois odais pauein, exon thanatoi deinai te tuchai sphallonsi domous kaitoi tade men kerdos akeisthai molpaisi brotous ina d'endeipnoi daites ti mataen teinousi boan to paron gar echei terpsin aph auton daitos plaeroma brotaoisin MEDEA, 193--206. ED. PORS

Queen of every moving measure, Sweetest source of purest pleasure, Music! why thy pow'rs employ Only for the sons of joy; Only for the smiling guests, At natal or at nuptial feasts?

Rather thy lenient numbers pour On those, whom secret griefs devour, Bid be still the throbbing hearts Of those whom death or absence parts, And, with some softly whisper'd air, Sooth the brow of dumb despair.

[b] This translation was written by Johnson for his friend Dr. Burney, and was inserted, as the work of "a learned friend," in that gentleman's History of Musick, vol. ii. p. 340. It has always been ascribed to Johnson; but, to put the matter beyond a doubt, Mr.

Malone ascertained the fact by applying to Dr. Burney himself. J. B.

TRANSLATION OF THE FIRST TWO STANZAS OF THE SONG "RIO VERDE, RIO VERDE," PRINTED IN BISHOP PERCY'S RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY.

AN IMPROMPTU.

Gla.s.sy water, gla.s.sy water, Down whose current, clear and strong, Chiefs confused in mutual slaughter, Moor and Christian roll along.

IMITATION OF THE STYLE OF ****.

Hermit h.o.a.r, in solemn cell Wearing out life's ev'ning grey, Strike thy bosom, sage, and tell What is bliss, and which the way.

Thus I spoke, and speaking sigh'd, Scarce repress'd the starting tear, When the h.o.a.ry sage reply'd, Come, my lad, and drink some beer.

BURLESQUE OF THE FOLLOWING LINES OF LOPEZ DE VEGA.

AN IMPROMPTU.

Se a quien los leones vence Vence una muger hermosa, O el de flaco avergonze, O ella di ser mas furiosa.

If the man who turnips cries, Cry not when his father dies, 'Tis a proof, that he had rather Have a turnip than his father.

TRANSLATION OF THE FOLLOWING LINES AT THE END OF BARETTI'S EASY PHRASEOLOGY.

AN IMPROMPTU.