Συντ Έυρος σε Νοτος τ' έπεσε Ζέφυρος τε δύsans,
Και Βορέης αιθρηγενετης μέγα κύμα κυλινδων.

He fpoke, and high the forky trident hurl'd,
Rolls clouds on clouds and ftirs the watʼry world
At once the face of earth and fea deforms,
Swells all the winds, and roufes all the ftorms:
Down rush'd the night: Eaft, Weft together roar,
And South and North roll mountains to the shore.

By Mr. Pope, but not altogether in the fenfe and fpirit of the original.

Thus fpeaking, with his lifted trident arm'd, He troubled Ocean and the clouds alarm'd; Bade all the driving ftorms at once engage, Which all the winds are worth in all their rage: In gloom he fhrouded fea and earth and fky, And night in pow'r descended from on high Eaft, South fell to, and howling West, and last The Spirit of the Hyperborean blast,

Which fwells the boiling wave-and rolls above the maft!

After all, to end this head as we began, there is a littleness in the nobleft poets among the Heathens when compared to the prodigious grandeur and genuine majefty of a David or Ifaiah.

קל

קול יהוה על־ המים

הכבוד הר ע ים

הזה על מים רבים

The Word of infinite command,
Auguft, adorable and grand,

The water-flood controuls;

And in terrific glory breaks
Upon the billows, and he speaks

The thunder, as it rolls.

But (to return to our author) it wou'd be endless to recount all the places that are most beautiful and ftrong for their impreffion in Horace; a few however are neceffary for our prefent purpose: what affectionate tenderness with a caft of melancholy are impressed on this ftanza!

Eheu fugaces, Poftume, Pofthume,
Labuntur anni: nec pietas moram
Rugis, & inftanti fenectæ

Afforet, indomitæque morti.

Ah! Pofthumus, the years, the years
Glide swiftly on, nor can our tears

Or piety the wrinkled age forefend,

Nor for an hour retard th' inevitable end!

What fire and vivacity on these lines:

Quo me, Bacche, rapis, tui

Plenum? quæ nemora & quos agor in fpecus
Velox mente novâ?

Bacchus, with thy fpirit fraught,

Whither, whither am I caught,

To what groves and grots am driv'n,
Quick with thought all fresh from heav'n!

What ftrength and grandeur on these :

Monte decurrens, velut amnis, imbres

Quem fuper notas aluere ripas,
Fervet, immenfufque ruit profundo
Pindarus ore.

Cascading from the mountain's height,
As falls the river swol❜n with fhow'rs,
Deep, fierce, and out of measure great,
His verses Pindar pours!

What amazing sweetness on these :

O teftudinis aureæ

Dulcem quæ ftrepitum, Pieri, temperas !
O mutis quoque pifcibus

Donatura cycni, fi libeat, fonum !

Totum muneris hoc tui eft,

Quod monftror digito prætereuntium

Romanæ fidicen lyræ :

Quod fpiro & placeo, fi placeo, tuum eft.
O mistress of the golden fhell,

Whose filence you command or break,
Thou that canft make the mute excel,
And ev'n the fea-born reptiles fpeak,
And like the fwan, if you apply
Your touch, in charming accents die!
This is thy gift, and only thine,
That as I pafs along, I hear

"There goes the bard, whofe fweet defign "Made Lyricks for the Roman ear."

If life or joy I hold or give,

By thee I please, by thee I live.

What an air of dignity on thefe :

Paulum fepultæ diftat inertia
Celata virtus. Non ego te meis
Chartis inornatum filebo

Totve tuos patiar labores
Impune, Lolli, carpere lividas
Obliviones. Eft animus tibi

Rerumque prudens & fecundis

Temporibus, dubiifque rectus,
Vindex avare fraudis, & abftinens
Ducentis ad fe cuncta pecuniæ:

Confulque non unius anni
Sed quoties bonus atque fidus
Judex honeftum prætulit utili &
Rejecit alto dona nocentium

Vultu, & per obftantes catervas
Explicuit sua vi&or arma.

Virtue conceal'd is next, I deem,
To buried floth- I will not fpare

For ornament, when Lollius is the theme, Nor fuffer fo much merit, fuch a world of care In black oblivion to be hurl'd.

You, Lollius, have a noble mind,

Skilful and fraught with knowledge of the world, Equal for all events or temp'rate, or refign'd. Of greedy fraud the judge severe,

Forbearing all-attractive gold,

A Conful, not elected for a year,
But ftill efteem'd in fact that dignity to hold,

Whene'er the magiftrate prefers

Things honeft to his private ends,

And bribing villains with a look deters,

And draws against the crowd, and his fair fame defends.

And