4: Tawny Olive. It was believed that Minerva presented the seed of the olive-tree to the Athenians.
4: Tawny Olive. It was believed that Minerva presented the seed of the olive-tree to the Athenians.
5:Larissa, a beautiful City, upon one of the hills in Thessaly.
5:Larissa, a beautiful City, upon one of the hills in Thessaly.
6: This surely must be the Poet's meaning in mentioning hisownvilla, when he is endeavouring to awaken in Munatius a taste for the surrounding beauties of his more magnificent seat. Commentators rationally conclude that someconnectinglines have been lost from the latin of this Ode. It appears to me, that the idea which those dismembered lines conveyed, must necessarily have been the comparisonaddedin the four ensuing lines, which makes the transition easy.
6: This surely must be the Poet's meaning in mentioning hisownvilla, when he is endeavouring to awaken in Munatius a taste for the surrounding beauties of his more magnificent seat. Commentators rationally conclude that someconnectinglines have been lost from the latin of this Ode. It appears to me, that the idea which those dismembered lines conveyed, must necessarily have been the comparisonaddedin the four ensuing lines, which makes the transition easy.
BOOK THE FIRST, ODE THE EIGHTH.
O, Lydia! I conjure thee tellWhy, with persisting zeal, thou dost employThe strongest power of amorous spellOn Sybaris, belov'd too well,Wounding his fame amid voluptuous joy?
Why shuns he now the noon-tide glare,Inur'd to whirling dust, and scorching heat?Ceases the Warrior-vest to wearIn which he us'd, with graceful air,Aspiring Youths, all emulous, to meet?
Why is it now no more his prideTo rein the ardent horse with agile arm?With new-strung sinews to divideThe yellow Tyber's angry tide,When the tempestuous showers its rage alarm?
Why hates he, as the viper's gore,The Wrestler's oil, that supples every vein?Why do we see his arms no moreWith livid bruises spotted o'er,Of manly sports the honorable stain?
'T was his to whirl, with matchless skill,The glancing quoit, the certain javelin throw,While Crowds, with acclamations shrill,The lofty Circus joy'd to fill,And all the honors of the Day bestow.
Such fond seclusion why desire?—Thus Thetis' care her blooming Son conceal'd,Ere yet commenc'd that Contest dire,When mournful gleam'd the funeral pyre,Thro' ten long years, on Ilium's purpled field.
In vain the female vest he wore,That Love maternal might avert his fate;Lest his spear drink the Lycian gore,Lest sinking Troy his force deplore,AndDeathwithGlorymeet him at her gate.
BOOK THE FIRST, ODE THE NINTH.
In dazzling whiteness, lo! Soracte towers,As all the mountain were one heap of snow!Rush from the loaded woods the glittering showers;The frost-bound waters can no longer flow.
Let plenteous billets, on the glowing hearth,Dissolve the ice-dart ere it reach thy veins;Bring mellow wines to prompt convivial mirth,Nor heed th' arrested streams, or slippery plains.
High Heaven, resistless in his varied sway,Speaks!—The wild elements contend no more;Nor then, from raging seas, the foamy sprayClimbs the dark rocks, or curls upon the shore.
And peaceful then yon aged ash shall stand;In breathless calm the dusky cypress rise;To-morrow's destiny the Gods command,To-day is thine;—enjoy it, and be wise!
Youth's radiant tide too swiftly rolls away;Now, in its flow, let pleasures round thee bloom;Join the gay dance, awake the melting lay,Ere hoary tresses blossom for the tomb!
Spears, and the Steed, in busy camps impel;And, when the early darkness veils the groves,Amid the leafless boughs let whispers steal,While frolic Beauty seeks the near alcoves.
Soft as thy tip-toe steps the mazes rove,A laugh, half-smother'd, thy pleas'd ear shall meet,And, sportive in the charming wiles of love,Betray the artifice of coy retreat;
And then the ring, or, from her snowy arm,The promis'd bracelet may thy force employ;Her feign'd reluctance, height'ning every charm,Shall add new value to the ravish'd toy.
1: This Ode was probably written at the Country Seat of that Nobleman, near the mountain Soracte, in Tuscany, twenty-six miles from Rome.
1: This Ode was probably written at the Country Seat of that Nobleman, near the mountain Soracte, in Tuscany, twenty-six miles from Rome.
BOOK THE FIRST, ODE THE ELEVENTH.
Leuconoe, cease presumptuous to inquireOf grave Diviner, if successive yearsOnward shall roll, ere yet the funeral pyre,For thee and me, the hand of Friendship rears!Ah rather meet, with gay and vacant brow,Whatever youth, and time, health, love, and fate allow;
Ifmanywinters on the naked treesDrop in our sight the paly wreaths of frost,Or this for us thelast, that from the seasHurls the loud flood on the resounding coast.—Short since thou know'st the longest vital line,Nurse thenearhope, and pour the rosy wine.
E'en while we speak our swiftly-passing YouthStretches its wing to cold Oblivion's shore;Then shall the Future terrify, or sooth,Whose secrets no vain foresight can explore?The Morrow's faithless promise disavow,And seize, thy only boast, thegolden Now.
BOOK THE FIRST, ODE THE THIRTY-FIRST.
What asks thePoet, when he poursHis first libation in the Delphic Bowers?Duteous before the altar standing,With lively hope his soul expanding,O! what demands he, when the crimson wineFlows sparkling from the vase, and laves the golden shrine?
Not the rich and swelling grainThat yellows o'er Sardinia's isle;Nor snowy herds, slow winding thro' the plain,When warm Calabria's rosy mornings smile;Nor gold, nor gems, that India yields,Nor yet those fair and fertile fields,Which, thro' their flow'ry banks as calm he glides,The silent[1]Liris' azure stream divides.
Let those, for whom kind fortune stillLeads lavish tendrils o'er the sloping hill,Let such, with care their vineyard dressing,Their bursting grapes assiduous pressing,Gather, self-gratulant, the costly store,And of the future year propitious suns implore!
May luscious wines, in cups of gold,Oft for the wealthy Merchant flow!Nor let cold Thrift those plenteous draughts withholdThat prosperous Commerce shall again bestow.The flowing bowl he safely drains,Since every favouring God ordainsThat more than[2]once, within the circling year,His prow shall o'er the smooth Atlantic steer.
Me, let tawny olives feed!Me, lenient mallows from the simple mead!Son of Latona, grant the blessing,That, a cloudless mind possessing,And not infirm of frame, in soft decay,Cheer'd by the breathing lyre, my life may pass away!
1:Liris—a beautiful river of remarkably placid current. It rises near Sora, a city of Latium, which it divides from Campania.
1:Liris—a beautiful river of remarkably placid current. It rises near Sora, a city of Latium, which it divides from Campania.
2: The Poet deems it a peculiar mark of the favor of the Deities when the Merchant is enabled safely to make repeated voyages in one year through hazardous seas.
2: The Poet deems it a peculiar mark of the favor of the Deities when the Merchant is enabled safely to make repeated voyages in one year through hazardous seas.
BOOK THE FIRST, ODE THE THIRTY-EIGHTH.
Boy, not in these Autumnal bowersShalt thou the Persian Vest dispose,Of artful fold, and rich brocade;Nor tie in gaudy knots the sprays and flowers.Ah! search not where the latest roseYet lingers in the sunny glade;Plain be the vest, and simple be the braid!I charge thee with the myrtle wreathNot one resplendent bloom entwine;We both become that modest band,As stretch'd my vineyard's ample shade beneath,Jocund I quaff the rosy wine;While near me thou shalt smiling stand,And fill the sparkling cup with ready hand.
BOOK THE SECOND, ODE THE SECOND.
Dark in the Miser's chest, in hoarded heaps,Can Gold, mySallust, one true joy bestow,Where sullen, dim, and valueless it sleeps,Whose worth, whose charms, from circulation flow?Ah!thenit shines attractive on the thought,Rises, with such resistless influence fraughtAs puts to flight pale Fear, and Scruple cold,Till Life, e'en Life itself, becomes less dear than Gold.
Rome, of this power aware, thy honor'd nameO Proculeius! ardently adores,Since thou didst bid thy ruin'd Brothers claimA filial right in all thy well-earn'd stores.—To make thegooddeed deathless as thegreat,Yet fearing for her plumes[1]Icarian fate,This Record, Fame, of precious trust aware,Shall long, on cautious wing, solicitously bear.
And thou, mySallust, more complete thy sway,Restraining the insatiate lust of gain,Than should'st thou join, by Conquest's proud essay,Iberian hills to Libya's sandy plain;Than if the Carthage sultry Afric boasts,With that which smiles on Europe's lovelier coasts,Before the Roman arms, led on by thee,Should bow the yielding head, the tributary knee.
See bloated Dropsy added strength acquireAs the parch'd lip the frequent draught obtains;Indulgence feeds the never-quench'd desire,That loaths the viand, and the goblet drains.Nor could exhausted floods the thirst subdueTill that dire Cause, which spreads the livid hueO'er the pale Form, with watry languor swell'd,From the polluted veins, by medicine, be expell'd.
Virtue, whate'er the dazzled Vulgar dream,Denies Phraätes, seated on thy throne,Immortal Cyrus, Joy's internal gleam,And thus she checks the Crowd's mistaken tone;“He, only he, who, calmly passing by,Not once shall turn the pure, unwishing eyeOn heaps of massy gold, that near him glare,My amaranthine wreath, my diadem shall wear.”
1:Penna metuente solvimust surely be allusive to the dissolving pinions of Icarus—and mean, that deeds of private generosity are apt to melt from the recollection of mankind; while those of what is called heroic exertion go down to Posterity. For this idea of the passage the Translator was indebted to a learned Friend.
1:Penna metuente solvimust surely be allusive to the dissolving pinions of Icarus—and mean, that deeds of private generosity are apt to melt from the recollection of mankind; while those of what is called heroic exertion go down to Posterity. For this idea of the passage the Translator was indebted to a learned Friend.
HORACE, BOOK THE SECOND, ODE THE THIRD, IMITATED.
OCTOBER 1796.
Conscious the mortal stamp is on thy breast,O,Erskine! still an equal mind maintain,That wild Ambition ne'er may goad thy rest,Nor Fortune's smile awake thy triumph vain,
Whether thro' toilsome tho' renowned years'T is thine to trace the Law's perplexing maze,Or win theSACRED SEALS, whose awful caresTo high decrees devote thy honor'd days.
Where silver'd Poplars with the stately PinesMix their thick branches in the summer sky,And the cool stream, whose trembling surface shines,Laboriously oblique, is hurrying by;
There let thy duteous Train the banquet bring,In whose bright cups the liquid ruby flows,As Life's warm season, on expanded wing,Presents her too, too transitory rose;
While every Muse and Grace auspicious wait,As erst thy Handmaids, when, with brow serene,Gay thou didst rove where Buxton views elateA golden Palace deck her savage scene[1].
At frequent periods woo th' inspiring BandBefore thy days their summer-course have run,While, with clos'd shears, the fatal Sisters stand,Nor aim to cut the brilliant thread they spun.
Precarious Tenant of that gay Retreat,Fann'd by pure gales on Hampstead's airy downs,Where filial troops for thee delighted wait,And their fair Mother's smile thy banquet crowns!
Precarious Tenant!—shortly thou may'st leaveThese, and propitious Fortune's golden hoard;Then spare not thou the stores, that shall receive,When set thy orb, a less illustrious Lord.
What can it then avail thee that thy pleasCharm'd every ear withTully's periods bland?Or that the subject Passions they could seize,And with the thunder of theGreekcommand?
What can it then avail thee that thy fameThrew tenfold lustre on thy noble Line?Since neither birth, nor self-won glory, claimOne hour's exemption from the sable shrine.
E'en now thy lot shakes in the Urn, whence FateThrows her pale edicts in reverseless doom!Each issues in its turn, or soon, or late,And lo! the great Man's prize!—asilent Tomb!
1: The Author had the pleasure of passing a fortnight with Mr. and Mrs. Erskine at Buxton in August 1796.
1: The Author had the pleasure of passing a fortnight with Mr. and Mrs. Erskine at Buxton in August 1796.
BOOK THE SECOND, ODE THE EIGHTH.
Barine, to thy always broken vowsWere slightest punishment ordain'd;Hadst thou less charming beenBy one grey hair upon thy polish'd brows;If but a single tooth were stain'd,A nail discolour'd seen,Then might I nurse the hope that, faithful grown,TheFuturemight, at length, the guiltyPastatone.
But ah! no sooner on that perjur'd head,With pomp, the votive wreaths are bound,In mockery of truth,Than lovelier grace thy faithless beauties shed;Thou com'st, with new-born conquest crown'd,The care of all our Youth,Theirpubliccare;—and murmur'd praises riseWhere'er the beams are shot of those resistless eyes.
Thy Mother's buried dust;—the midnight train,Of silent stars,—the rolling spheres,Each God, that list'ning bows,With thee it prospers, false-One! to profane.The Nymphs attend;—gay Venus hears,And all deride thy vows;And Cupid whets afresh his burning dartsOn the stone, moist with blood, that dropt from wounded hearts.
For thee our rising Youth to Manhood grow,Ordain'd thy powerful chains to wear;Nor do thy former SlavesFrom the gay roof of their false Mistress go,Tho' sworn no more to linger there;TriumphantBeautybravesThe wise resolve;—and, ere they reach the door,Fixes the faltering step to thy magnetic floor.
Theethe sage Matron fears, intent to warnHer Striplings;—theethe Miser dreads,And, of thy power aware,Brides from the Fane with anxious sighs return,Lest the bright nets thy beauty spreads,Their plighted Lords ensnare,Ere fades the marriage torch; nay even now,While undispers'd the breath, that form'd the nuptial vow!
BOOK THE SECOND, ODE THE NINTH.
Not ceaseless falls the heavy showerThat drenches deep the furrow'd lea;Nor do continual tempests pourOn the vex'd[2]Caspian's billowy sea;Nor yet the ice, in silent horror, standsThro'allthe passing months on pale[3]Armenia's Lands.
Fierce storms do not foreverbendThe Mountain's vast and labouring oak,Nor from the ash its foliage rend,With ruthless whirl, and widowing stroke;But, Valgius, thou, with grief's eternal laysMournest thy vanish'd joys inMystes' shorten'd days.
When[4]Vesper trembles in the west,Or flies before the orient sun,Rise the lone sorrows of thy breast.—Not thus did aged Nestor shunConsoling strains, nor always sought the tomb,Where sunk his[5]filial Hopes, in life and glory's bloom.
Not thus, the lovely Troilus slain,His Parents wept the Princely Boy;Nor thus his Sisters mourn'd, in vain,The blasted Flower of sinking Troy;Cease, then, thy fond complaints!—Augustus' fame,The new Cesarian wreaths, let thy lov'd voice proclaim!
So shall the listening World be told[6]Medus, and cold Niphates guide,With all their mighty Realms controul'd,Their late proud waves in narrower tide;That in scant space their steeds the[7]Scythians rein,Nor dare transgress the bounds our Victor Arms ordain.
1: This Ode is addressed to his Friend, an illustrious Roman, who had lost a beloved Son. The poetic literature of Titus Valgius is ascertained by the honourable mention made of him by Horace, in his Tenth Satire, Book the First. Valgius, like Sir Brooke Boothby, in these days, had poured forth a train of elegiac Sorrows over the blight of his filial hopes. Horace does not severely reprove these woes, he only wishes they may not be eternal, and that he will, at least, suspend them and share the public joy; for this Ode was composed while the splendid victories, which Augustus had obtained in the East, were recent.
1: This Ode is addressed to his Friend, an illustrious Roman, who had lost a beloved Son. The poetic literature of Titus Valgius is ascertained by the honourable mention made of him by Horace, in his Tenth Satire, Book the First. Valgius, like Sir Brooke Boothby, in these days, had poured forth a train of elegiac Sorrows over the blight of his filial hopes. Horace does not severely reprove these woes, he only wishes they may not be eternal, and that he will, at least, suspend them and share the public joy; for this Ode was composed while the splendid victories, which Augustus had obtained in the East, were recent.
2: TheCaspianis a stormy and harbourless Sea—Yet the Poet observes that not even theCaspianisalwaystempestuous—insinuating, that inevitable as his grief must be for such a loss, it yet ought not to be incessant.
2: TheCaspianis a stormy and harbourless Sea—Yet the Poet observes that not even theCaspianisalwaystempestuous—insinuating, that inevitable as his grief must be for such a loss, it yet ought not to be incessant.
3: The coldness ofArmeniais well known, surrounded as it is by the high mountains ofNiphates,Taurus,Pariades,Antiaurus, andArarat, which are always covered with snow.
3: The coldness ofArmeniais well known, surrounded as it is by the high mountains ofNiphates,Taurus,Pariades,Antiaurus, andArarat, which are always covered with snow.
4:Vesper—alike the Evening and Morning Star—appearingfirstand remaining last in the Horizon, it ushers in both the Evening and the Dawn. In the first instance it is called Vesper, or Hesperus, in the last Lucifer, or Phospher.
4:Vesper—alike the Evening and Morning Star—appearingfirstand remaining last in the Horizon, it ushers in both the Evening and the Dawn. In the first instance it is called Vesper, or Hesperus, in the last Lucifer, or Phospher.
5:Filial Hopes.Antilochus, the Son of Nestor, observing his Father likely to fall in Battle, by the sword of his Adversary, threw himself between the Combatants, and thus sacrificed his own life to preserve that of his Parent.
5:Filial Hopes.Antilochus, the Son of Nestor, observing his Father likely to fall in Battle, by the sword of his Adversary, threw himself between the Combatants, and thus sacrificed his own life to preserve that of his Parent.
6: By the RiversMedus, andNiphates, are meant theParthians, orScythians, for they are the same people, and theArmenians. The River Tigris, rising in the cold Mountain, Niphates, Horace gives its name to the Stream, as he does that of Medus to the Euphrates, which Plato asserts to have been formerly so called. Uniting those Rivers in his verse, the Poet means to denote the Roman Conquest over two Enemies widely distant from each other.
6: By the RiversMedus, andNiphates, are meant theParthians, orScythians, for they are the same people, and theArmenians. The River Tigris, rising in the cold Mountain, Niphates, Horace gives its name to the Stream, as he does that of Medus to the Euphrates, which Plato asserts to have been formerly so called. Uniting those Rivers in his verse, the Poet means to denote the Roman Conquest over two Enemies widely distant from each other.
7: The Scythians, or Parthians, were a warlike People, famous for their Equestrian prowess, for the speed of their horses, and for the unerring aim of their arrows, shot when flying on full speed. Augustus obliged their King, Phraätes, not only to restore the Roman Standards and Prisoners, taken many years before, but to withdraw his Troops from Armenia.
7: The Scythians, or Parthians, were a warlike People, famous for their Equestrian prowess, for the speed of their horses, and for the unerring aim of their arrows, shot when flying on full speed. Augustus obliged their King, Phraätes, not only to restore the Roman Standards and Prisoners, taken many years before, but to withdraw his Troops from Armenia.
BOOK THE SECOND, ODE THE TENTH.
Not always, dear Licinius, is it wiseOn the main Sea to ply the daring Oar;Nor is it safe, from dread of angry Skies,Closely to press on the insidious Shore.To no excess discerning Spirits lean,They feel the blessings of the golden mean;They will not grovel in the squalid cell,Nor seek in princely domes, with envied pomp, to dwell.
The pine, that lifts so high her stately boughs,Writhes in the storms, and bends beneath their might,Innoxious while the loudest tempest blowsO'er trees, that boast a less-aspiring height.As the wild fury of the whirlwind pours,With direst ruin fall the loftiest towers;And 't is the mountain'ssummitthat, oblique,From the dense, lurid clouds, the baleful lightnings strike.
A mind well disciplin'd, when Sorrow lours,Not sullenly excludes Hope's smiling rays;Nor, when soft Pleasure boasts of lasting powers,With boundless trust the Promiser surveys.It is the same dread Jove, who thro' the skyHurls the loud storms, that darken as they fly;And whose benignant hand withdraws the gloom,And spreads rekindling light, in all its living bloom.
To-day the Soul perceives a weight of woe;—A brighter Morrow shall gay thoughts inspire.Does[2]Phœbus always bend the vengeful bow?Wakes he not often the harmonious lyre?Be thou, when Danger scowls in every wave,Watchful, collected, spirited, and brave;But in the sunny sky, the flattering gales,Contract, with steady hand, thy too expanded sails.
1: Licinius Murena was a Patrician of high rank, one of the Brothers of Proculeius, whose fraternal generosity is celebrated in the Ode to Sallust, the ninth of these Paraphrases. The property of Licinius had been confiscated for having borne arms against the second Triumvirate. Upon this confiscation Proculeius divided two thirds of that large fortune, with which the Emperor had rewarded his valor and fidelity in the royal cause, between Licinius, and his adopted Brother, Terentius, whose fortunes had suffered equal wreck on account of the Party he had taken. Horace wrote this Ode soon after the affectionate bounty of Proculeius had restored his Friend to affluence. It breathes a warning spirit towards that turbulent, and ambitious temper, which Horace perceived in this young Nobleman. The Poet, however, has used great address and delicacy, making the reflections not particular but general; and he guards against exciting the soreness People feel from reprehension for their prevailing fault, by censuring with equal freedom the opposite extreme. That kind caution insinuated in this Ode, proved eventually vain, as did also the generosity of the Emperor, who soon after permitted Licinius to be chosen Augur;—probably at the intercession of his Favorite Mæcenas, who had married Terentia, a Daughter of that House, and whom Horace calls Licinia in the Ode which is next paraphrased. Upon the election of Licinius to this post of honor, trust, and dignity, we perceive the spirits of Horace greatly elevated; probably as much from the pleasure he knew Mæcenas would take in the promotion of his Brother-in-law, as from the attachment himself bore to Licinius. A peculiar air of hilarity shines out in the Ode addressed to Telephus, written the evening on which this Licinius, then newly chosen Augur, gave his first supper to his Friends. The Reader will find it somewhat lavishly paraphrased in the course of this Selection. By theaboveOde the Poet seems to have feared the seditious disposition of Licinius:—but when he afterwards strung his lyre to notes of triumph for the honors of his Friend, he little imaginedthatFriend would finally suffer death for ungratefully conspiring against the Monarch, who had so liberally overlooked his former enmity.
1: Licinius Murena was a Patrician of high rank, one of the Brothers of Proculeius, whose fraternal generosity is celebrated in the Ode to Sallust, the ninth of these Paraphrases. The property of Licinius had been confiscated for having borne arms against the second Triumvirate. Upon this confiscation Proculeius divided two thirds of that large fortune, with which the Emperor had rewarded his valor and fidelity in the royal cause, between Licinius, and his adopted Brother, Terentius, whose fortunes had suffered equal wreck on account of the Party he had taken. Horace wrote this Ode soon after the affectionate bounty of Proculeius had restored his Friend to affluence. It breathes a warning spirit towards that turbulent, and ambitious temper, which Horace perceived in this young Nobleman. The Poet, however, has used great address and delicacy, making the reflections not particular but general; and he guards against exciting the soreness People feel from reprehension for their prevailing fault, by censuring with equal freedom the opposite extreme. That kind caution insinuated in this Ode, proved eventually vain, as did also the generosity of the Emperor, who soon after permitted Licinius to be chosen Augur;—probably at the intercession of his Favorite Mæcenas, who had married Terentia, a Daughter of that House, and whom Horace calls Licinia in the Ode which is next paraphrased. Upon the election of Licinius to this post of honor, trust, and dignity, we perceive the spirits of Horace greatly elevated; probably as much from the pleasure he knew Mæcenas would take in the promotion of his Brother-in-law, as from the attachment himself bore to Licinius. A peculiar air of hilarity shines out in the Ode addressed to Telephus, written the evening on which this Licinius, then newly chosen Augur, gave his first supper to his Friends. The Reader will find it somewhat lavishly paraphrased in the course of this Selection. By theaboveOde the Poet seems to have feared the seditious disposition of Licinius:—but when he afterwards strung his lyre to notes of triumph for the honors of his Friend, he little imaginedthatFriend would finally suffer death for ungratefully conspiring against the Monarch, who had so liberally overlooked his former enmity.
2: Epidemic Diseases were, by the Pagans, believed to be the effect of having offended Apollo. The arrows he shoots among the Greeks in the first Book of the Iliad, produce the Pestilence, which follows the rape of his Priest's Daughter, Chryseis. When we consider the dependence of the human constitution upon the temperate, or intemperate influence of the Sun, the avenging bow of Phœbus appears an obvious allegory;—and since it is in the hours of health that the fine Arts are sought and cultivated, the Sun, under the name of Phœbus, Apollo, &c. is with equal propriety of fable, supposed their Patron, as well as the Avenger of crimes by the infliction of diseases.
2: Epidemic Diseases were, by the Pagans, believed to be the effect of having offended Apollo. The arrows he shoots among the Greeks in the first Book of the Iliad, produce the Pestilence, which follows the rape of his Priest's Daughter, Chryseis. When we consider the dependence of the human constitution upon the temperate, or intemperate influence of the Sun, the avenging bow of Phœbus appears an obvious allegory;—and since it is in the hours of health that the fine Arts are sought and cultivated, the Sun, under the name of Phœbus, Apollo, &c. is with equal propriety of fable, supposed their Patron, as well as the Avenger of crimes by the infliction of diseases.
BOOK THE SECOND, ODE THE TWELFTH.
Mæcenas, I conjure thee ceaseTo wake my harp's enamour'd stringsTo tones, that fright recumbent Peace,That Pleasure flies on rapid wings!
Slow conquest on Numantia's plain,Or Hannibal, that dauntless stood,Tho' thrice he saw Ausonia's mainRedden with Carthaginian blood;
The Lapithæ's remorseless pride,Hylæus' wild inebriate hours;The Giants, who the Gods defied,And shook old Saturn's splendid towers;
These, dear Mæcenas,thoushould'st paint,Each glory of thy Cæsar's reign,In eloquence, that scorns restraint,And sweeter than the Poet's strain;
Show captive Kings, who from the fightDrag at his wheels their galling chain,And the pale lip indignant biteWith mutter'd vengeance, wild and vain.
Enraptur'd by Licinia's grace,My Muse would these high themes decline,Charm'd that the heart, the form, the faceOf matchless Excellence is thine.
Ah, happy Friend! for whom an eye,Of splendid, and resistless fire,Lays all its pointed arrows by,For the mild gleams of soft desire!
With what gay spirit does she foilThe Pedant's meditated hit!What happy archness in her smile!What pointed meaning in her wit!
Her cheek how pure a crimson warms,When with the Nymphs, in circling line,Bending she twines her snowy arms,And dances round Diana's shrine[2]!
Mæcenas, would'st not thou exchangeThe treasures gorgeous Persia pours,The wealth of Phrygia's fertile range,Or warm Arabia's spicy shores,
For one light ringlet of the hair,Which shades thy sweet Licinia's face,In that dear moment when the Fair,In flying from thy fond embrace,
Relenting turns her snowy neck,To meet thy kisses half their way,Or when her feign'd resentments checkThe ardors thy warm lips convey?
While in her eyes the languid lightBetrays a yielding wish to prove,Amid her coy, yet playful flight,The pleasing force of fervent Love;
Or when, in gaily-frolic guise,She snatches her fair self the kiss,E'en at the instant she deniesHer Lover the requested bliss.
1: Of that artful caution, which marks the character of Horace, this Ode forms a striking instance. He declines the task appointed by his Patron, that of describing the Italian Wars, because he foresees that in its execution he must either disoblige the Emperor, and his Minister, by speaking too favorably of their Enemies, or offend some Friends, whom he yet retained amongst those, who had exerted themselves against the Cæsars. Horace endeavours to soften the effect of this non-compliance by a warm panegyric upon Licinia, the betrothed bride of Mæcenas. She is in other places called Terentia. Both these names have affinity to those of her Brothers, Licinius, afterwards Augur, and her adopted Brother, Terentius.Horace mentionsplainlythe Numantian Wars, and those with Hannibal, but artfully speaks of those of Brutus, and Cassius, and of the Character of Antony, underfabulousdenomination, sufficiently understood by Augustus, and his Minister. Dacier justly observes how easy it is to discern, that by the Lapithæ, and Giants, defeated by Hercules on the plains of Thessaly, the Poet means the Armies of Brutus, and Cassius, defeated by Augustus, almost in the same place, at the Battle of Philippi. He concludes also that by Hylæus is meant Mark Antony, who assumed the name of Bacchus, and ruined himself by his profligate passion for Cleopatra. Another Commentator observes, that as the Giants, and Lapithæ, are said to have made the Palace of Saturn shake, so also did Brutus, and Cassius, and afterwards Mark Antony, make all Italy tremble, and that it is Rome itself that Horace would have to be understood by themagnificent Palace of Saturn. Some Critics seek to destroy all the common sense, beauty, and character of this Ode, by denying the allegoric interpretation; and also by insisting that Licinia was the Poet'sownMistress, and not the mistress of his Patron. It had been absurd, and inconceivably unmeaning, if, when he was requested to sing the triumphs of Augustus in the Italian Wars, he should, during the brief mention of them, have adverted to old fables, uniting them, not as a simile, but in a line of continuation with the Numantian, and Carthaginian Wars; unless, beneath those fables, he shadowed forth theRomanEnemies of Augustus.The idea that Licinia was the Mistress of Horace, has surely little foundation:—for it were strange indeed if he could take pleasure in describing amorous familiarities between Mæcenas, and the Person with whomhimselfwas in love. One of these Critics alledges, as the reason why this Lady couldnotbe the destined Bride ofMæcenas, that it would have been as indiscreet inhimto have admitted Horace to be a witness of his passion for Licinia-Terentia, as it would have been impertinent in thePoet, to have invaded the privacies of his Patron. It is not necessary, from this Ode, to conclude that Horace hadwitnessedthe tender scene he describes. He might, without any hazard of imputed impertinence, venture to paint, from his imagination, the innocently playful endearments of betrothed Lovers. The picture was much more likely toflatterthan todisgustthe gay, and gallant Mæcenas.
1: Of that artful caution, which marks the character of Horace, this Ode forms a striking instance. He declines the task appointed by his Patron, that of describing the Italian Wars, because he foresees that in its execution he must either disoblige the Emperor, and his Minister, by speaking too favorably of their Enemies, or offend some Friends, whom he yet retained amongst those, who had exerted themselves against the Cæsars. Horace endeavours to soften the effect of this non-compliance by a warm panegyric upon Licinia, the betrothed bride of Mæcenas. She is in other places called Terentia. Both these names have affinity to those of her Brothers, Licinius, afterwards Augur, and her adopted Brother, Terentius.
Horace mentionsplainlythe Numantian Wars, and those with Hannibal, but artfully speaks of those of Brutus, and Cassius, and of the Character of Antony, underfabulousdenomination, sufficiently understood by Augustus, and his Minister. Dacier justly observes how easy it is to discern, that by the Lapithæ, and Giants, defeated by Hercules on the plains of Thessaly, the Poet means the Armies of Brutus, and Cassius, defeated by Augustus, almost in the same place, at the Battle of Philippi. He concludes also that by Hylæus is meant Mark Antony, who assumed the name of Bacchus, and ruined himself by his profligate passion for Cleopatra. Another Commentator observes, that as the Giants, and Lapithæ, are said to have made the Palace of Saturn shake, so also did Brutus, and Cassius, and afterwards Mark Antony, make all Italy tremble, and that it is Rome itself that Horace would have to be understood by themagnificent Palace of Saturn. Some Critics seek to destroy all the common sense, beauty, and character of this Ode, by denying the allegoric interpretation; and also by insisting that Licinia was the Poet'sownMistress, and not the mistress of his Patron. It had been absurd, and inconceivably unmeaning, if, when he was requested to sing the triumphs of Augustus in the Italian Wars, he should, during the brief mention of them, have adverted to old fables, uniting them, not as a simile, but in a line of continuation with the Numantian, and Carthaginian Wars; unless, beneath those fables, he shadowed forth theRomanEnemies of Augustus.
The idea that Licinia was the Mistress of Horace, has surely little foundation:—for it were strange indeed if he could take pleasure in describing amorous familiarities between Mæcenas, and the Person with whomhimselfwas in love. One of these Critics alledges, as the reason why this Lady couldnotbe the destined Bride ofMæcenas, that it would have been as indiscreet inhimto have admitted Horace to be a witness of his passion for Licinia-Terentia, as it would have been impertinent in thePoet, to have invaded the privacies of his Patron. It is not necessary, from this Ode, to conclude that Horace hadwitnessedthe tender scene he describes. He might, without any hazard of imputed impertinence, venture to paint, from his imagination, the innocently playful endearments of betrothed Lovers. The picture was much more likely toflatterthan todisgustthe gay, and gallant Mæcenas.
2: The Roman Ladies, according to ancient custom, danced with entwined arms, around the Altar of Diana, on the day of her Festival.
2: The Roman Ladies, according to ancient custom, danced with entwined arms, around the Altar of Diana, on the day of her Festival.
BOOK THE SECOND, ODE THE FOURTEENTH.
Alas! my Posthumus, the YearsUnpausing glide away;Nor suppliant hands, nor fervent prayers,Their fleeting pace delay;Nor smooth the brow, when furrowing lines descend,Nor from the stoop of Age the faltering Frame defend.
Time goads us on, relentless Sire!On to the shadowy Shape, that standsTerrific on the funeral pyre,Waving the already kindled brands.—Thou canst not slacken this reluctant speed,Tho' still on Pluto's shrine thy Hecatomb should bleed.
Beyond the dim Lake's mournful flood,That skirts the verge of mortal light,He chains the Forms, on earth that stoodProud, and gigantic in their might;That gloomy Lake, o'er whose oblivious tideKings, Consuls, Pontiffs, Slaves, in ghastly silence glide.
In vain the bleeding field we shun,In vain the loud and whelming wave;And, as autumnal winds come on,And wither'd leaves bestrew the cave,Against their noxious blast, their sullen roar,In vain we pile the hearth, in vain we close the door.
The universal lot ordainsWe seek the black Cocytus' stream,That languid strays thro' dreary plains,Where cheerless fires perpetual gleam;Where the fell Brides their fruitless toil bemoan,And Sisyphus uprolls the still-returning stone.
Thy tender wife, thy large domain,Soon shalt thou quit, at Fate's command;And of those various trees, that gainTheir culture from thy fost'ring hand,The Cypress only shall await thy doom,Follow its short-liv'd Lord, and shade his lonely tomb!
ON HER REFUSING TO ADMIT HIS VISITS.
BOOK THE THIRD, ODE THE TENTH.
Now had you drank cold Tanais' wave,Whose streams the drear vale slowly lave,A barbarous Scythian's Bride,Yet, Lyce, might you grieve to hearYour Lover braves the winds severe,That pierce his aching side.
O listen to the howling groves,That labour o'er your proud alcoves,And hear the jarring door!Mark how the star, at eve that rose,Has brightly glaz'd the settled snows,While every leaf is hoar!
Gay Venus hates this cold disdain;—Cease then its rigors to maintain,That sprightly joys impede,Lest the strain'd cord, with which you bindThe freedom of my amorous mind,In rapid whirl recede!
Born of a jocund Tuscan Sire,Did he transmit his ardent fireThat, like Ulysses' Queen,His beauteous Daughter still should proveRelentless to the sighs of Love,With frozen heart and mien?—
If nor blue cheek of shivering Swain,Nor yet his richest gifts obtainYour smile, and soft'ning brow;Nor if a faithless Husband's rageFor a gay Syren of the stage,And broken nuptial vow;
If weak e'enJealousyshould proveTo bend your heart to truer love,Yet pity these my pains,O Nymph, than oaks more hard, and fierceAs snakes, that Afric's thickets pierce,Those terrors of the plains!
When heavy falls the pattering shower,And streaming spouts their torrents pourUpon my shrinking head,Not always shall wild Love commandThese limbs obsequiously to standBeneath your dropping shed.
BOOK THE THIRD, ODE THE THIRTEENTH.
Nymph of the stream, whose source perpetual poursThe living waters thro' the sparkling sand,Cups of bright wine, enwreath'd with summer flowers,For rich libation, round thy brink shall stand,When on the morrow, at thy Bard's decree,A young and spotless Kid is sacrificed to thee.
He, while his brows the primal antlers swell,Conscious of strength, and gay of heart preparesTo meet the female, and the foe repel.—In vain he wishes, and in vain he dares!His ardent blood thy pebbly bed shall stain,Till each translucent wave flows crimson to the plain.
In vain shall Sirius shake his fiery hairsO'er thy pure flood, with waving poplars veil'd,For thou, when most his sultry influence glares,Refreshing shade, and cooling draughts shalt yieldTo all the flocks, that thro' the valley stray,And to the wearied steers, unyok'd at closing day.
Now dear to Fame, sweet Fountain, shalt thou flow,Since to my lyre those breathing shades I singThat crown the hollow rock's incumbent brow,From which thy soft, loquacious waters spring.To vie with streams Aonian be thy pride,As thro' Blandusia's Vale thy silver currents glide!