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The loves thou never can'st enjoy, resign;

In fires of Hell Typhens glows, Nor rashly lose another life with thine.

Imprison'd by the wrath of Jore; Then will we, eager as our joys, remove

No ease his restless fury knows,
To Dian's shrine, the patroness of love!

Nor sounds of joy, nor pleasing love.
Higb o'er ber head in triumph shall be plac'd Where, glittring faintly on the eye,
The golden fruit, with this inscription grac'd; Sicilian Ätna props the sky
« Ye hapless lovers, hence, for ever know

With mountains of eternal snow ;
Acontius gain'd the nymph who caus’d his woe!” He darts his fiery eyes in vain,
Here cease my 'hand- I tremble, lest each line And heaves, and roars, and bites his chais
Should wound a soul so griev'd, so touch'd asthine. la impotence of woe.
No more my thoughts th’ungrateful toil pursue ;

STROPHE II. Pleasure farewell, and thou, my dear, adieu !

Angry flames like scarlet glowing.

Fiery to rents ever flowing, PART OF PINDAR'S FIRST PYTHIAN Smoke along the with’ring plain ODE PARAPHRASED.

Ere they rush into the main.

When the sable veil of night
Χρυσέα φόρμιξ Απολλω

Stretches o'er the shaded sky,

Fires of sulphur gleam with light, This ode is address'd to Hieron king of Sicily, as

Burning rucks disparted fly. is also the first of the Olympics. Pindar takes Sudden, by turns the flashing fames arise, occasion to begin with an encomium on music, Pour down the winds, or tremble up the skies. finely describing its effects upon the passions.

ANTISTROPHE II. We must suppose this art to be one of his hero's

In fair Sicilia's rich domain, more distinguishable excellencies ; as it ap

Where flow'rs and fruits eternal blow, pears from several passages in the ode above.

Where Plenty spreads her peaceful reign, From thepce be expatiates in the praise of

And seas surround, and fountains low, poetry; and inveighs very severely upon those

Bright Religion lifts her eye, who either contemn, or have no taste for that divine science. Their misfortunes and punish

Wand'ring through the kindred-sky.

Hail thou, everlasting Jove, ments are instanc'd by those of Typhæus :

Parent of th’Aonian quire ; whom the poets imagine to be imprisoned by Jupiter under mount Ætna. The digres

Touch my raptur'd soul with love,

Warm me with celestial fire !
sions in this ode are the most inartificial and
surprising of any in the whole author. We

are once more in the hero's native country; The pious mariner when first he sweeps
every thing opens agreeably to the eye, and The foaming billows, aud exalts his sails,
the poem proceeds after Pindar's usual man- Propitiates ev'ry pow'r that rules the deeps,

Led by new hopes, and borne by gentle galės.

So ere the Muse, disus'd to sing,

Emblazons her fair hero's praise :
Gentle lyre, begin the strain;

(What time she wakes the trenibling string, Wake the string to voice again.

Attemperd to the vocal lays)
Music rules the world above;

Prostrate in humble guise she bends,
Music is the food of love.

While some celestial pow'r descends
Soft'ned by the pow'r of sound,

To guide her airy flights along :
Human passions melt away :

God the silver bow, give ear;
Melancholy feels no wound,

(Whom Tenedus, and Chrysa fear)
Envy sleeps, and fears decay.

Vosen vant of the song ! Entranc'd in pleasure Jove's dread eagle lies,

Nor grasps the bolt, nor darts his fiery eyes.

Gentle wishes, chaste desires,

Holy Hymen's purer fires :
See, Mars awak'd by loud alarms

Lives of innocence and pleasure,
Rolls o'er the field his sanguine eyes,

Moral virtue's mystic treasure;
His heart tumultuous beats to arms,

Wisdom, eloquence, and love,
And terrours glare, and furies rise !

All are blessings from above.
Hark the pleasing lutes complain,

Hence regret, distaste, dispraise,
In a softly-breathing strain;

Guilty nights, uneasy days :
Love and slumber seal his eye

Repining jealousies, calm friendly wrongs,
By the gentle charms opprest:

And fiercer envy, and the strife of tongues.
From his rage he steals a sigh,

Sinking on Dione's breast.

When Virtue bleeds beneath the laws,

Or ardent nations rise in arms,
Verse,gentle Verse from Heav'n descending came, Thy mercies judge the doubtful cause,
Curt by the wicked, hateful to the vajn:

Thy courage ev'ry breast alarms,
Tyrants and slaves profane his sacred name,

Kindling with heroic fire
Deaf to the teader lay, or yocal strain....

Once again I sweep the lyre.


Fair as summer's evening skies,

Beneath his feet eternal snows were spread,
Fuis thy life serene, and glorious ;

And airy rocks hang nodding o'er his head,
Happy hero, great and wise,

The savage beasts in circles round him play,
O'er thy foes, and self victorious.

And rapid streams stand list’ning to the lay.

So when the shepherd swaiu with curious eyes Marks the fair nest, and makes the young bis

Sad Philomel, in poplar shades alone, (prize: THE EPISODE OF ORPHEUS AND In vain renews her lamentable moan. EURYDICE,

From night to morn she chants her tender lore, TRANSLATED FROM THE FOURTH GEORGIC OF

And mournful music dies along the grove.

No thoughts of pleasure now his soul employ,

Averse to Venus and the nuptial joy :
At chorus æqualis Dryadum-

Wild as the winds o'er Thracia's plains he roves,

O'er the bleak mountains, and the leafless groves. Her sadden death the mountain-Dryads mourn'd When stung with rage the Bacchanalian train And Rbodope's high brow the dirge return'd: Rush'd to the bard, and stretch'd him on the Bleak Orythya trembled at their woe,

plain; And silver Hebrus inurmur'd in his flow.

(Nor sounds, nor pray’rs their giddy fury move, While to his mournful barp, unseen, alone, And he must cease to live, or learn to love) Despairing Orpheus warbled out his moan. See, from his shoulders in a moment flies With rosy dawn his plaintive lays begun,

His bleeding head, and now, ah now he dies! His plaintive voice sung down the setting Sun. Yet as he dy'd, Eurydice he mourn’d, Now in the frantic bitterness of woe

Eurydice, the treinbling banks return'd; Silent he treads the dreary realms below,

Eurydice, with hollow voice be cry'd, His loss in tender numbers to deplore,

Eurydice, ran murm’ring down the tidea And touch'd the souls who ne'er were touch'd

before. Mov'd with the pleasing harmony of song, The shadowy spectres round the poet throng:

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY Num'rous as birds that o'er the forest play,

HERTFORD, (When evening Phæbus rolls the light away:

UPON THE BIRTH OF LORD BEAUCHAMP. Or when high Jove in wintry seasons pours A sudden deluge from descending show'rs.) Once more inspir'd, I touch the trembling The mother's ghost, the father's rev'rend shade,

string; The blooming hero, and th' uumarry'd maid:

What Muse for Hertford will refuse to sing ? The new-born heir who soon lamented dies, Thine are the fav’rite strains, and may they be And feeds the flames before his parent's eyes;

Sacred to praise, to beauty, and to thee! All whom Cocytus' sable water bounds,

Sudden, methinks, in vision I survey And Styx with thrice three wand'ring streams The glorious triumphs of th' expected day: surrounds.

Fair lovely sights in opening scenes appear,
See, the dread regions tremble and admire! And airy music trembles on my ear;
Ev'o Pain unmov'd stands heark’ning to the lyre. Surrounding eyes devour the beauteous boy,
Intent, Ixion stares, nor seems to feel

And ev'ry bosom beats with sounds of joy.
The rapid motions of the whirling wheel.

Rise from thy slumbers, gentle infant, rise! Th' unfolding snakes around the furies play, Lift thy fair head, unfold thy radiant eyes, As the pale sisters listen to the lay.

Whose lovely light must other counts adorn, Nor was the poet's moving suit deny’d, And wound the hearts of beauties yet unborn, Agaiu to realms abore he bears his bride,

Subdue the sex, that triumphs in its pride, When (stern decree !) he turns his longing eyes... And humble thuse, who charm the world beside, 'Tis done, she's lost, for ever ever fliese

Descend, ye geutle Nine! descend, and spread Too small the fault, too lasting was the pain,

Laurels and bays around his infant-head.
Could love but judge, or Hell relent again ! Bid noble passions in his bosom roll,
Amaz'd he stands, and by the glimpse of day And beams of fancy dawn upon his soul;
Just sees th’ unbody'd shadow fit away.

In soften'd music bid bis accents flow,
When thus she cry'd "Ah, too unthoughtful Piercing, and gentle as descending snow :
Thus for one look to violate thy vows ! (spouse, Bid bim be all that can his birth commend;
Fate bears me back, again to Hell I fly,

The daring patriot, and unshaken friend;
Eternal darkness swims before my eye!

Admir'd, yet humble, modest, though severe, Again the melancholy plains I see, (thee!” Abroad obliging, and at home sincere; Ravish'd from life, from pleasure, and from Good, just, and affable in each degree: She said, and sinking into endless night, Such is the father, such the son shall be! Like exhalations vanish'd from the sight.

These humble strains, indulgent Hertford, In vain he sprung to seize her, wept, or pray'd,

spare ; Swift glides away the visionary shade.

Forgive the Muse, O fairest of the fair! How wilt thou now, unhappy Orpheus, tell First in thy shades (where silver Kennet glides, Thy second loss, and melt the pow'rs of Hell? Fair Marlbro's turrets trembling in his tides: Cold are those lips that blest thy soul before, Where Peace and Plenty hold their gentle reign, And her fair eyes must roll on thine no more. And lavish Nature decks the fruitful plain: Sev'n tedious moons despairing, wild he stood, Where the fam'd mountain lifts its walks on high And told his woes to Strymon's freezing food. As varying prospects open on the eye)


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To love's soft theme I tun'd the warbling lyre, The dapper elfins theyr queint festes bedight
And borrow'd from thy eyes poetic fire.

Wyth mickle plesaunce on a mushroom lite:
September the

In acorne cuppes they quaffen daint liquere, 30th, 1725.

And rowle belgardes, and delfie daunce yfere;
Ful everidele they makin muskie sote,

And sowns aeriall adowne the grene woode flote.


Jamque snos circum-

Happy insect! ever blest

With a more than mortal rest, Around the pomp in mourning weeds array'd,

Rosy dews the leaves among, Weeps the pale father, and the trembling maid:

Humble joys, and gentle song! The screaming infants at the portals stand,

Wretched poet! ever curst, And clasp, and stop the slow-proceeding band.

With a life of lives the worst, Each parting face a settled horrour wears,

Sad despondence, restless fears,
Each low-held shield receives a flood of tears.

Endless jealousies and tears.
Some with a kiss (sad sign of future harms)
Round the clos'd beaver glue their clasping arms, Warblest on the verdant bough,

In the burning summer, thou
Hang on the spear, detain 'em as they go.

Meditating chearful play,
With lifter eyes, and eloquence of woe.
Those warlike chiefs, whom dread Bellona steeld, Scorch'd in Cupid's fervours, I

Mindless of the piercing ray;
And arm'd with souls unknowing once to yield,

Ever weep and ever die. Now touch'd with sorrows, hide their tearful

Proud to gratify thy will, eyes,

Ready Nature waits thee still: And all the hero melts away and dies.

Balmy wines to thee she pours, So the pale sailor lanching from the shore,

Weeping through the dewy flow'rs: Leaves the dear prospects that must charm no

Rich as those by Hebe giv'n

To the thirsty sons of Heav'n. Here shrieks of anguish pierce his pitying ears

Yet alas, we both agree, There strangely wild, a floating world appears Miserable thou like me! Swift the fair vessel wings her watry flight,

Each alike in youth rehearses
And in a mist deceives the aking sight:

Gentle strains, and tender verses;
The native train in sad distraction weep,
Now beat their breasts, now trembleo'er the deep, Mindless of the days to come,

Ever wand'ring far from home;
Curse ev'ry gale that wafts the fleet from land,

(Such as aged Winter brings Breathe the last sigh, and wave tbe circling hand.

l'rembling on his icy wings) You now, fair ancient Truth! conduct along

Both alike at last we die;
Th' advent'rous bard, and animate his song:

Thou art staru'd, and so am I !
Each godlike man in proper lights display,
And open all the war in dread array.
You too, bright mistress of th’ Aonian quire,
Divine Calliopel resume the lyre :

The lives and deaths of mighty chiefs recite,
The waste of nations, and the rage of fight.



Connection to the former.

The poet describes Ceres wandering over the

world in great aflliction, to search after her

daughter Proserpina, who was then lost. At UPON A SET OF TEA-DRINKERS.

last Arethusa (a river of Sicily) informs the So fairy elves their morning-table spread

goddess that her daughter was stolen away by O’er a white mushroom's hospitable head :

Pluto, and carried down into Hell. Now it In acorn cups the merry goblins quaff,

was ordained by fate, that Prosperine should The pearly dews, they sing, they love, they laugh;

return again, if she tasted not of any fruit in Melodious music trembles through the sky,

the other world. But temptations were strong, And airy sounds along the green-wood die.

and the woman could pot resist eating six of
seven kernels of a pomegranate. However,
to mitigate the sentence, Jupiter decreed that

she should reside but lalf the year with Pluto,

and pass the rest with her mother. Upon these

terms Сeres is very well pacified, and in com, DIVEF SIFYED IN AUNCIENT MBTR E.

plaisance desires Arethusa to relate her lise, So, yf deepe clerkes in tymes of yore saine trew,

and for what reasons she was changed into a Or poets egne, perdie, muught sothly vew,


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“ The god soon saw me floating o'er the plain, Husaid in suspence the gath’ring waters stood,

And straight resum'd his warry form againWhen thus began the parent of the food;

Instant, Diana smote the trembling ground; What time emerging from the wave, she prest

Down rush iny waters with a murm'ring sound; Her verdant tresses dropping on her breast. “Of all the nymphs Achaia boasts,” (she said) Thence darkling thro’ th' infernal regions stray,

And in the Delian plains review the day.”
"Was Arethusa once the fairest maid.
None lov'd so well, to spread in early dawn
The trembling meshes o'er the dewş lawn:
Tho' dress and beauty scarce deserv'd my care, ANGERIANUS DE CÆLIA,
Yet ev'ry tongue confess'd me to be fair.
The charms which others strive for, I resign,

(EPIG. 40.)
And think it ev'n a crime to find them mine!
“ It chanc'd one morn, returning from the

Quum dormiret Amor, rapuit clam pulchra

pharetram Weary I wander'd by a silver flood: fwood,

Cælia, surreptâ flevit Amor pharetra. The gentle waters scarce were seen to glide,

“ Noli (Cypris ait) sic fere Cupido ; pharetram And a calm silence still'd the sleeping tide;

Pulchra tibi rapuit Cælia, restituet, High o'er the banks a grove of watry trees

Non opus est illi calamis, non ignibus : urit Spread its dark shade that trembled to the breeze. (My vest suspended on the boughs) I lave

Vuce, manu, gressu, pectore, fronte, oculis.”
My chilly feet, then plunge beneath the wave;
A ruddy light my blushing limbs dispread,
And the clear stream half glows with rosy-red.

When from beneath in awful murmurs broke
A hollow voice, and thus portentous spoke:

FROM THE SPOR IS OF CUPID, WRITTEN BY ANS "My lovely nymph, my Arethusa stay, Alpheüs calls;" it said, or seem'd to say— "Naked and swift I few, (my clothes behind)

As fast beside a murm'ring stream, Fear strung my nerves, and shame enrag'd my miod :

In blissful visions Cupid lay, So wing'd with hunger the fierce eagle fies,

Chloë, as she softly came, To drive the trembling turtles through the skies:

Snatch'd his go!den shafts away. So wing'd with fear the trembling turtles spring, From place to place in sad surprize When the fierce eagle shoots upon the wing. The little angry godhead Aew:

'Swift-bounding froin the god, I now survey Trembling his ruddy eyes Where breezy Psophis and Cyllene lay.

Hung the pearly drops of dew,
Elis' fair structures open'd on my eyes;

So on the rose (in blooming May,
And waving Erymanthus cools the skies.
At length unequal for the rapid chase

When purple Phæbus rises bright)
Tremble my limbs, the god maintains the race:

Liquid gems of silver lay, O'er hills and vales with furious haste I flew :

Pierc'd with glitt'ring streams of light, O'er hills and vales the god behind me drew. Fair Venus with a tender languish Now hor'ring o'er, bis length’ning shadow bends, Smiling, thus her son addrest, (His length'ning shadow the low Sun extends) As he murmur'd out bis anguish And sudden now, his sounding steps drew near; Trembling on her soowy breast : At least I seemn'd his sounding steps to hear.

“ Peace, gentle infant, I implore, Now sinking, in short sobs I gasp'd for breath,

Nor lavish precious tears in vain; Just in the jaws of violence and death.

Chloë, when the jest is o'er, Ah,Cynthia help!'('twas thus in thought I pray'd)

Brings the useless shafts again, "Ah, help a ravish'd, miserable maid !! The virgin-pow'r consenting to my pray'r,

“ Can Chloë need the shafts of love, Diffus'd around a veil of clouded air:

Young, blooming, witty, plump, and fair? Lost in the gloom he wanders o'er the plain,

Charms and raptures round her more,
And Areth'ısa calls, but calls in vain;

Murm'ring sighs, and deep despair,
In misty steams th’impervious vapours rise, “ Millions for her unheeded die,
Perplex his guesses, and deceive his eyes. Millions to her their blessings owe;
“What fears I felt as thus enclos'd I stood,

Ev'ry motion of her eye
What chilling horrours trembled thro' my blood?

Murders more than Cupid's bow."
So pants the fawn in silence and despair,
When the grim wolf runs howling thro' the lair :
So sits the lev'ret, when the hound pursues

His trembling prey, and winds the tainted dews.
"Sudden my cheek with flashing colour burns,

WITH MR. FENTON'S MISCELLANY. Pale swoons, and sickly fears succeed oy turns: Cold creeps my blood, its pulses beat no more: These various strains, where ev'ry talent charms, Big drops of sweat ascend from ev'ry pore; Where humour pleases, or where passion warms: Adown my locks the pearly dews distill, (Strains ! where the tender and sublime conspire, And each full eye pours forth a gushing rill; A Sappho's sweetness, and a Homer's fire Now all at once my melting limbs decay, Attend their doom, and wait with glad surprise la one clear stream dissolving fast away." Th' impartial justice of Cleora's eyes

"Tis hard to say, what mysteries of fate, 'Tis yours, like these, with curious toil to trace What turns of furtune 07-goud writers wait. The pow'rs of language, harmony, and grace, The party-slave will wound 'en as he cau, How nature's self with living lustre shines; And damns the merit, if he lates the man. How judgment strengthens, and how art refines; Nay, ev'n the bards with wit and laurels crown'd, How to grow bold with conscious sense of fame, Bless'd in each strain, id ev'ry art renown'd, And force a pleasure wbich te dare not blame: Misled by pride, and taught to sin by pow'r, To charm us more thro' negligence than pains, Still search around for those they may derour; And give ev'n life and action to the strains : Like savage monarchs on a guilty throne, Led by some law, wbose pow'rful impulse guides Who crush all might that can invade their own. Each happy stroke, and in the soul presides :

Others who hate, yet want the soul to dare, Some fairer image of perfection, gir'n So ruin bards-as beaus deceive the fair: T'inspire mankind, itself deriv'd from Hearin. On the pleas'd ear their soft deceits employ; O ever worthy, ever crown'd with praise ; Smiling they wound, and praise but to destruy. Blest in thy life, and blest in all thy lays! These are th' unhappy crimes of modern days, Add that the sisters ev'ry ihought refine: Aud can the best of poets hope for praise ? Or er'n thy life be faultless as thy line;

How small a part of human blessings share Yet envy still with fiercer rage pursues, The wise, the good, the noble, or the fair ! Obscures the virtue, and defames the Muse. Short is the date unhappy wit can boast, A soul like thine, in pains, in grief resign'd, A blaze of glory in a moment lost,

Views with vain scorn the malice of mankind: Fortune, still envious of the great man's praise, Not critics, but their planets prove unjust : Curses the coxcomb with a length of days. And are they blam'd who sin because they most! So (Hector dead) amid the female quire,

Yet sure not so must all peruse thy lays; Unmanly Paris tun'd the silver lyre,

I cannot rival--and yet dare to praise. Attend ye Britons! in so just a cause

A thousand charms at once my thoughts engage, Tis sure a scandal, to withhold applause ; Sappho's soft sweetness, Pindar's warmer rage, Nor let posterity reviling say,

Staljus' free vigour, Virgil's studious care, Thus unregarded Fenton pass'd away!

And Homer's force, and Ovid's easier air. Yet if the Muse may faith or merit claim,

So seems some picture, where exact design, (A Muse too just to bribe with venal fame) And curious pains, and strength and sweetness Soon shalt thou shine “in inajesty avow'd ;

join :

(tous, As thy own goddess breaking thro' a cloud.”'

Where the free thonght its pleasing grace bes. Fame, like a nation-debt, tho' long delay'd, And each warm stroke with living colour glows: With mighty int'rest must at last be paid. Soft without weakness, without labour fair;

Like Vinci's strokes, thy verses we behold; Wrought up at once with happiness and care ! Correctly graceful, and with labour bold.

How blest the man that from the world remores At Sappho's woes we breathe a tender sigh,

To joys that Mordaunt, or his Pope approves; And the soft sorrow steals from ev'ry eye. Whose taste exact each author can explore, Here Spenser's thoughts in solemn numbers roll, And live the present and past ages o’er: Here lofty Milton seems to lift the soul.

Who free from pride, from penitence, or strife, There sprightly Chaucer charms our hours away Move calmly forward to the verge of life. With stories quaint, and gentle roundelay. Such be my days, and such my fortunes be, Muse! at that name each thought of pride To live by reason, and to write by thee! recall,

Nor deem this verse, tho' humble, thy disgrace; Ah, think how soun the wise and glorious fall! All are vot born the glory of their race : What though the sisters ev'ry grace impart, Yet all are born t'adore the great man's name, To smooth thy verse, and captivate the heart : And trace liis footsteps in the paths to fame. What though your charms, my fair Cleora ! shine The Muse, who now this early homage pays, Pright as your eyes, and as your sex divine : First learn'd from thee to animate ber lays: Yer shall the verses, and the charms decay, A Muse as yet unhonour'd, but upstain'd, The boast of youth, the blessing of a day! Who prais'd no vices, no preferment gain'd; Not Chaucer's beauties could survive the rage Unbiass'd or to censure or commend, Of wasting envy, and devouring age:

Who kvows no envy, and who grieves no frierd; One mingled heap of ruin now we see:

Perhaps too fond to make those virtues known, Thus Chaucer is, and Fenton thus shall be ! And fix her fame immortal on thy own.


THE SIXTH THEBAID OF STATITS. To move the springs of nature as we please,

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH ; wrth NOTES To think with spirit, but to write with ease: With living words to warm the conscious heart, Thebajdos, lætam fecit eum Statius urbem,

Curritur ad vocem jucundam, & carmen amicæ
Or plcase ihe soul with nicer charms of art,
For this the Grecian soar'd in epic strains,

Promisitque diem : tantâ dulcedine captos
Afficit ille animos-

Juv. Sat.
And softer Maro left the Mantuan plains :
Melodious Spenser felt the lover's fire,
Aud awful Milton strung bis Heav'nly lyre.

ARGUMENT TO THE WHOLE TUEBAID. . Epistle to Southerne.

OEDIPUs the son of Laius, king of Thebes, was

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