[Ill.u.s.tration]

PARAPHRASES AND IMITATIONS OF HORACE.

PREFACE.

Translations scrupulously faithful are apt to be stiff, vapid and obscure, from the often irreconcilably different nature of languages, from local customs, and from allusions to circ.u.mstances over which time has drawn a veil. In attempting to put the most admired and interesting of Horace's Odes into English Verse, I have taken only the Poet's general idea, frequently expanding it, to elucidate the sense, and to bring the images more distinctly to the eye; induced by the hope of thus infusing into these Paraphrases the spirit of original composition. Neither have I scrupled to follow the example of Dryden and Pope, by sometimes adding ideas and imagery congenial to the subject, and thus to translate Horace like a Poet, rather than a Versifier.

The trust, whether partial or not, that it was in my power _so_ to paraphrase the Odes of Horace, prompted the late Mr. Grove of Lichfield, and the late Mr. Dewes of Wellsburn in Warwickshire, to request that I would undertake the task respecting those whose subjects best pleased me. Not acquainted with each other, the coincidence of their opinion and request was flattering. They were extensively known to be Gentlemen of distinguished virtues, much cla.s.sic erudition, and poetic taste;

"Blest with each talent, and each art to please, And born to write, converse, and live at ease."

Mr. Dewes was the highly esteemed Friend of Dr. Parr, Mr. Grove of Lord Sheffield. A beautiful epitaph in verse, written by Mr. Grove, on his beloved Wife, is one of the chief ornaments of Lichfield Cathedral.

The imitation of the Ode to Delius, applied to Mr. Erskine, was written since the lamented death of those Gentlemen, which happened in the meridian of their days. All the other Paraphrases had been submitted to their revision and correction, and had been honoured by their warm praise. That consciousness makes me indifferent to the expected cavils of illiberal criticism.

Men of letters have often observed to me, that in paraphrasing Horace, my s.e.x would be an unpardonable crime with every Pedant, whether within, or without the pale of professional criticism. It is not in their power to speak or write more contemptuously of my Horatian Odes than the Critics of Dryden's and Pope's time, in the literary journals of that Period, wrote of their Translations from Homer, Virgil, Horace, Boccace, and Chaucer. Instances of that _public abuse_ are triumphantly inserted by Warburton in his Edition of Pope's works. See Appendix to the Dunciad. It is re-published there, to justify some of the personal severities of Pope's celebrated Satire.

Most of the notes to the ensuing Paraphrases are addressed to their unlearned Readers, since no allusion can interest which is not perfectly comprehended.

ODES FROM HORACE.

TO MaeCENAS.

BOOK THE FIRST, ODE THE FIRST.

I.

Maecenas, from Etrurian Princes sprung, For whom my golden lyre I strung, Friend, Patron, Guardian of its rising song, O mark the Youth, that towers along, With triumph in his air; Proud of Olympic dust, that soils His burning cheek and tangled hair!

Mark how he spreads the palm, that crown'd his toils!

Each look the throbbing hope reveals That his fleet steeds and kindling wheels, Swept round the skilfully-avoided goal, Shall with ill.u.s.trious Chiefs his echo'd name enrol.

II.

Who the civic crown obtains, Or bears into his granaries large The plenteous tribute of the Libyan Plains; Or he, who watches still a rural charge, O'er his own fields directs the plough, Sees his own fruitage load the bough; These would'st thou tempt to brave the faithless main, And tempt with regal wealth, thy effort should be vain.

I.

The stormy South howls thro' the sullen cloud, Contending billows roar aloud!

The Merchant sees the gathering danger rise, And sends a thousand yearning sighs To his dear shelter'd home.-- Its shades receive him;--but the tides Grow smooth;--the wild winds cease to roam; And see!--his new-trimm'd vessel gaily rides!-- Fir'd with the hope of wealth, once more He quits, so hardly gain'd, the sh.o.r.e; Watches, with eager eye, th' unfurling sail, Nor casts one look behind to the safe, sylvan vale.

II.

[1]The youth of gay, luxurious taste, Breaks, in the arbutus' soft shade, The precious day with interrupting feast; Or quaffs, by some clear fountain in a glade, The mellow wine of ruby gleam, While in vain the purer stream Courts him, as gently the green bank it laves, To blend th' enfevering draught with its pellucid waves.

I.

Th' uplifted trumpet, and the clarion, send, Confus'd, the mingled clang afar; Lo! while the Matron's tender breast they rend, Her Soldier hails that din of war.-- The wood-land _Chase_ desired, Far other sounds the Hunter charms; By the enlivening shout inspired, He breaks from his young Bride's encircling arms; Nor heeds the morning's wintry gale, While his deep-mouth'd hounds inhale The tainted breeze, or hold the stag at bay, Or while, from his strong toils, the wild boar bursts away.

II.

[2]THEE bright Learning's ivy crown Exalts above a mortal fate; _Me_ shady Groves, light Nymphs, and Satyrs brown, Raise o'er the Crowd, in sweet sequester'd state.

And there is heard the Lesbian lute, And there Euterpe's Dorian flute; But, should'st thou rank me with the LYRIC CHOIR, To GLORY's starry heights thy Poet would aspire.--

1: The Romans, in general, made no regular meal till the business of the day was over. They considered a mid-day feast as a mark of indolence and luxury.

2: "_Diis miscent superis._] A manner of expression not unusual amongst the Greeks and Latins, for any eminent degree of happiness.

Unless we adopt this explanation of the words, says Dacier, we shall make Horace guilty of a manifest contradiction, since a few lines farther he tells his Patron, that _his suffrage_, not the _ivy crown_ is that, which will exalt him to the skies. The judicious emendation of the late Bishop of Chichester, who for _Me doctarum_, reads _Te doctarum_, removes all objection; and adds beauty to the Ode by the fine compliment it contains to Maecenas." BROM. HOR.

TO PYRRHA.

BOOK THE FIRST, ODE THE FIFTH.

Where roses flaunt beneath some pleasant cave, Too charming Pyrrha, what enamour'd Boy, Whose shining locks the breathing odors lave, Woos thee, exulting in a transient joy?

For whom the simple band dost thou prepare, That lightly fastens back thy golden hair?

Alas! how soon shall this devoted Youth Love's tyrant sway, and thy chang'd eyes deplore, Indignant curse thy violated truth, And count each broken promise o'er and o'er, Who hopes to meet, unconscious of thy wiles, Looks ever vacant, ever facile smiles!

He, inexperienc'd Mariner! shall gaze In wild amazement on the stormy deep, Recall the flattery of those sunny days, That lull'd each ruder wind to calmest sleep.

'T was then, with jocund hope, he spread the sail, In rash dependence on the faithless gale.

Ah Wretch! to whom untried thou seemest fair!

By me, who late thy halcyon surface sung, [1]The walls of Neptune's fane inscrib'd, declare That I have dank and dropping garments hung, Devoted to the G.o.d, whose kind decree s.n.a.t.c.h'd me to sh.o.r.e, from an o'erwhelming sea.

1: Horace alludes to the custom of the Roman Mariners after a shipwreck--that of suspending their garments, which had been drenched in the storm, in the temple of Neptune, together with a votive tablet, on which the circ.u.mstances of the danger and escape, were painted.