T Why should not we thefe pageantries defpife, As thou, to whom the Mufe commends Their beams abroad, and bring the darksome foul to Nor fear'd the winds contending roar, day. FROM THE FIFTH BOOK OF LUCRETIU S. "Tum porrò puer, &c." hurl'd Nor billows beating on the fhore; Th' THUS, like a failor by a tempek d on the world: And renal fences over-ndle's deep Naked he lies, and ready to expire; Helpless of all that human wants require; From the first moment of his hapless birth. Straight with foreboding cries he fills the room; wants. THE THIRD ODE OF THE FIRST BOOK No toil, no hardship, can restrain In fwarms th' offending wretch furround, Plung'd through the lake, and fnatch'd the prey Nay fcarce the Gods, or heavenly climes, Are fafe from our audacious crimes; We reach at Jove's imperial crown, } OF THE NINTH ODE OF THE FIRST BOOK H, OR A CE. Infcribed to the Earl of ROSCOMMON, on his intend ed Voyage to Ireland. S And the twin fars the feed of Jove. may th' aufpicious queen of love, And he who rules the raging wind, Enjoy the prefent smiling hour; And put it out of fortune's power: And always in extreme. Now with a noiseless gentle courfe And bears down all before it with impetuous force; Sheep and their folds together drown: Both houfe and homefted into feas are borne; And rocks are from their own foundations torn, And woods, made thin with winds, their scatter'd honours mourn. VIII. Happy the man, and happy he alone, Be fair, or foul, or rain, or thine, hour. Fortune, that, with malicious joy, Is feldom pleas'd to blefs: I can enjoy her while she's kind'; And shakes the wings and will not stay, The little or the much she gave, is quietly refign'd: And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm! X. What is't to me, Who never fail in her unfaithful fea, For his ill-gotten gain; And pray to Gods that will not hear, His wealth into the main. THE SECOND EPODE OF HORACE, TOW happy in his low degree, is he, Who leads a quiet country life; Nor drums difturb his morning fleep, But either to the clasping vine Does the fupporting poplar wed, He views his herds in vales afar, Or in the now-declining year, When bounteous autumn rears his head, He joys to pull the ripen'd pear, And clustering grapes with purple spread, The fairest of his fruit he ferves, Priapus, thy rewards: Sylvanus too his part defervės, Whofe care the fences guards. The ftream that o'er the pebbles flies The golden fleep prolong. And feeks the trufty boar to rear, With well-mouth'd hounds and pointed fpear f Or fpreads his fubtle nets from fight With twinkling glaffes, to betray The larks that in the meshes light, Or makes the fearful hare his prey. No anxious care invades his health, And then produce her dairy ftore, My fober appetite would wish," Nor turbot, or the foreign fish That rolling tempefts overtake,' And hither waft the coftly diff. Not heathpout, or the rarer bird, Which Phafis or Ionia yields, Than the fat olives of my fields; Amidft these feafts of happy fwains, That fit around his chearful hearth, With wholesome food and country mirth. And live retir'd upon his own, He call'd his money in ; But the prevailing love of pelf Soon fplit him on the former fhelf, He put it out again, TO MR. DRYDEN, ON HIS EXCELLENT TRANSLATION OF VIRGIL. "HENE'ER great Virgil's lofty verfe I see, eye: There different beauties in perfection meet; To love, and wifh, to figh, despair, and grieve, Long the rude fury of an ignorant age, Till mangled by a vile tianflating sect, Alike with wonder and delight we view'd Quitted the province Fate referv'd for you. A Work his de tie transform "O had Rofcommon liv'd to hail the day, "And fing loud Pæans through the crowded way; "When you in Roman majesty appear, "Which none know better, and none come fo near:" The happy author would with wonder see, For this great talk our loud applause is due; 11. O could I find it now ;-Would Virgil's fhade But for a while vouchsafe to bear the light; To grace my numbers, and that Mufe to aid, Who fings the Poet that has done him right. III. It long has been this facred Author's fate, To lie at every dull Tranflator's will; Long, long his Mufe has groan'd beneath weight Of mangling Ogleby's presumptuous quill. IV. Dryden, at laft, in his defence arofe; The father now is righted by the fon : And while his Mufe endeavours to disclose That Poet's beauties, the declares her own. V. In your smooth, pompous numbers dreft, line, Each thought, betrays fuch a majestic touch; He could not, had he finish'd his defign, Have wifh'd it better, or have done fo much. VI. You, like his Hero, though yourself were free; And difentangled from the war of wit; You, who fecure might other dangers fee, And fafe from all malicious cenfures fit. VII. Yet because facred Virgil's noble Muse, O'erlay'd by fools, was ready to expire: To risk your fame again, you boldly chufe, Or to redeem, or perish with your fire. VIII. Nature could never fuch expence afford; One Mufe embrac`d, and married for his life. each Ev'n first and last, we owe him half to you, For that his Æneids mifs'd their threaten'd fate, Was-that his friends by fome prediction knew, Hereafter, who correcting should translate. IX: But hold, my Mufe, thy needlefs flight reftrain, Unlefs, like him, thou couldst a verfe indite : To think his fancy to describe is vain, Since nothing can discover light, but light. X. 'Tis want of genius that does more deny : 'Tis fear my praife should make your glory_lefs. And therefore, like the modeft Painter, I Muft draw the veil, where I cannot express. TO HENRY GRAHME. M R. DRYDEN. No wit; undisputed Monarch govern'd yet VIRGIL. IS faid that Phidias gave fuch living gracę You pafs'd that artist, Sir, and all his powers, What Virgil lent, you pay in equal weight, 'Tis certain, were he now alive with us, His old encomium never did appear So true as now; Romans and Greeks, fubmit. Something of late is in our language writ, More nobly great than the fam'd Iliads were. A. WRIGHT. |