THE FIRST ODE OF HORACE. *
Patron, whose ancestors were kings,
Protector, pride, of him who sings,
How variously our tastes incline,
Hear me declare ;—and what are mine.
Some pant Olympian dust to raise ;
And revel on Olympic praise:
The goal, on glowing axle turn'd,
The noble palm, by Victory earn'd,
Exalt them to the bless'd abodes,
And dazzling fellowship of Gods.
Ambition this shall tempt to rise;
Soaring to catch its meteor prize,
He combats in a different game ;†
And takes an arduous road to fame.
The crowd's inconstant homage cheers;
And pinnacle, to which it rears,
('Till from its dizzy summit driven,)
Hath lifted to a tottering Heaven.
Another, grasping in his store,
The grain that golden Libya bore,
* It appeared to me that the Odes of Horace were, in general, but poorly translated; and that, of some of them, even I myself could give a better version. To the first part of this opinion I (perhaps ungraciously) adhere. The second part of it-the above unsuccessful attempt has taught me to abandon.
+ Different from the Olympic contest.
Cries," Statesman, power and honours thine, Be less precarious blessings mine."
While such their groaning coffers fill,
Some, who paternal acres till,
Would scarce their rural fortunes leave,
For all that Attalus could give.
The merchant mariners, who flee,
From firm-set earth, to billowy sea,'
Find, as it heaves, what others miss,
Upon its swelling bosom, bliss;
Save when, rich cargo tempest-tost,
And labouring vessel all but lost,
Fear asks of Avarice," why roam,
From the safe competence of Home?"
But, harbour reach'd, keen Love of gain
Refits the shatter'd bark again.
Such charm may lurk in Ocean's roar :-
Bright Fame the soldier courts on shore ;
Craving what Matron hearts abhor;
Trumpet, and Bugle, Camps and War.
By fountain brim, in forest glade,
Where Arbutes spread an emerald shade,
Some joy to rest; and as they loll,
For aid, on sparkling goblet call,
To cheat the lingering length of Day.
Keen hunter bivouacs Night away;
By glimpse of silver-shafted Queen,
If tusk or antler, dimly seen,
*Thou sound and firm-set Earth.-Shakspeare.
To dangerous quest, in forest gloom,
Allure from winning charms at home.
My brows, if ivy fillet bound,
While Nymph and Satyr, gathering round,
My life from vulgar eye conceal'd-
In twinkling grove, secluding, held,
Listening Euterpe's warbling flute,*
Or Polyhymnia's Lesbian lute,
What further need the Bard desire ?-
But pointing to the lyric choir,
If my great patron but declare
That I may claim admission there,
Nymph-haunted grove no longer charms;
My soul a new ambition warms :
Admit me stars! at once I rise
Elate and buoyant, to the skies!
Like echo I am a mere empty sound;
In me the strength of knotted oak is found;
Even when I roam at large, I still am bound;
From Statesman Pitt, I never could proceed;
From Talbot, or from Fox, I might indeed.
* Listening their fear.-Shakspeare.
A Bark must be an empty sound;
Within its Bark the oak is found:
The gallant Bark, with loosen'd sail,
Bound for some port, invokes the gale :
A Bark from Pitt were strange indeed;
Though common to the canine breed.
Sans moi il n'y a ni fruit ni fleur;
Mais c'est à mes feuilles que le Genie fait sa cour:-
Je suis enterré, (plaignez mon sort;)
Je suis enterré, sans etre mort.
Mourir ! moi! je suis Auteur;
Et je dois vivre pour toujours.†
My motions are graceful; my figure is good ;
By fair damsels admired,—and may I say woo'd?
* By the Author of " A True Story." A dog's bark is an empty sound.
+ By the Irish Author of this collection. Therefore be indulgent to his French. Do not fancy that Auteur is offered as rhyme for toujours. It is rhyme to fleur: cour to toujours.
My good graces the fortunate girl who obtains,
Holds her pretty head high, and delights in my chains :
Lo! she gives her soft hand, without coyness or strife;
And in me finds a partner, tho' not one for life.
How acts upon this the competitor fair?
There is no cap to pull; and no pulling of hair;
For wherever we are, there is harmony there :
As I'm not of the Fancy, no bruisings ensue ;
Tho' I cannot deny that I have my set-to.
This, you'll say, is à l'Anglaise; and yet I proclaim
That I am of foreign extraction, and name.
Girls, you think that you know me; but be on your guards, And take this short hint; you will find me at cards.
In a deer-herd, a watch, and a year, I am found;
Now scarce, then abundant, yet always a bound:
Blue, colourless, green,—like a rainbow am I,
Bright, many-hued, transient, and child of the sky.'
Contradictions unnumber'd my nature environ;
I am yielding as down; I am harder than iron ;
As flowery as North, and as fluent as Byron :
I am late, I am early; am cold and am warm;
Now blushing; my beauties now rifled by storm :
Like diamonds I sparkle; like silver am current ;
As emeralds green,—and urge headlong the torrent:
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