No. XXXII.
June 18, 1798.
We are indebted for the following imitation ofCatullusto a literary correspondent. Whether it will remove the doubts we formerly expressed, ofCitizen Muskein’sacquaintance with the classics, from the minds of our readers, we cannot pretend to say. It is given to us as a faithful translation from the French—as such, we present it to our readers; premising only, that though theCitizen Imitatorseems to haveSans-culottizedthe original in two or three places, yet he everywhere expresses himself with anaïvetéand truth in his verse that we seek for in vain in many of his countrymen who have recorded their victories and defeats in very vulgar prose.
Fairest of cities,[284]which the SeineSurveys ’twixt Paris and the main,SweetHavre! sweetestHavre, hail!How gladly with my tatter’d sail,[285]Yet trembling from this wild adventure,Do I thy friendly harbour enter!Well—now I’ve leisure, let me seeWhat boats are left me; one, two, three—Bravo! the better half remain;And all my heroes are not slain.And if my senses don’t deceive,I too am safe,[286]—yes, I believe,Without a wound I reach thy shore(For I have felt myself all o’er);I’ve all my limbs, and, be it spokenWith honest triumph, no bone broken.How pleasing is the sweet transition[287]From this vile Gun-boat Expedition;From winds and waves, and wounds and scars,From British soldiers, British tars,To his own house, where, free from danger,Muskeinmay live at rack and manger;May stretch his limbs in his own cot,[288]Thankful he has not gone to pot;Nor for the bubble Glory strive,But bless himself that he’s alive!Havre,[289]sweet Havre! hail again,O! bid thy sons (a frolic train,[290]Who underChénierwelcomed in,With dance and song, theGuillotine).In long procession seek the strand;ForMuskeinnow prepares to land,’Scaped, Heav’n knows how, from that cursed crewThat haunt the rocks ofSaint Marcou.
Fairest of cities,[284]which the SeineSurveys ’twixt Paris and the main,SweetHavre! sweetestHavre, hail!How gladly with my tatter’d sail,[285]Yet trembling from this wild adventure,Do I thy friendly harbour enter!Well—now I’ve leisure, let me seeWhat boats are left me; one, two, three—Bravo! the better half remain;And all my heroes are not slain.And if my senses don’t deceive,I too am safe,[286]—yes, I believe,Without a wound I reach thy shore(For I have felt myself all o’er);I’ve all my limbs, and, be it spokenWith honest triumph, no bone broken.How pleasing is the sweet transition[287]From this vile Gun-boat Expedition;From winds and waves, and wounds and scars,From British soldiers, British tars,To his own house, where, free from danger,Muskeinmay live at rack and manger;May stretch his limbs in his own cot,[288]Thankful he has not gone to pot;Nor for the bubble Glory strive,But bless himself that he’s alive!Havre,[289]sweet Havre! hail again,O! bid thy sons (a frolic train,[290]Who underChénierwelcomed in,With dance and song, theGuillotine).In long procession seek the strand;ForMuskeinnow prepares to land,’Scaped, Heav’n knows how, from that cursed crewThat haunt the rocks ofSaint Marcou.
Fairest of cities,[284]which the SeineSurveys ’twixt Paris and the main,SweetHavre! sweetestHavre, hail!How gladly with my tatter’d sail,[285]Yet trembling from this wild adventure,Do I thy friendly harbour enter!
Fairest of cities,[284]which the Seine
Surveys ’twixt Paris and the main,
SweetHavre! sweetestHavre, hail!
How gladly with my tatter’d sail,[285]
Yet trembling from this wild adventure,
Do I thy friendly harbour enter!
Well—now I’ve leisure, let me seeWhat boats are left me; one, two, three—Bravo! the better half remain;And all my heroes are not slain.And if my senses don’t deceive,I too am safe,[286]—yes, I believe,Without a wound I reach thy shore(For I have felt myself all o’er);I’ve all my limbs, and, be it spokenWith honest triumph, no bone broken.
Well—now I’ve leisure, let me see
What boats are left me; one, two, three—
Bravo! the better half remain;
And all my heroes are not slain.
And if my senses don’t deceive,
I too am safe,[286]—yes, I believe,
Without a wound I reach thy shore
(For I have felt myself all o’er);
I’ve all my limbs, and, be it spoken
With honest triumph, no bone broken.
How pleasing is the sweet transition[287]From this vile Gun-boat Expedition;From winds and waves, and wounds and scars,From British soldiers, British tars,To his own house, where, free from danger,Muskeinmay live at rack and manger;May stretch his limbs in his own cot,[288]Thankful he has not gone to pot;Nor for the bubble Glory strive,But bless himself that he’s alive!
How pleasing is the sweet transition[287]
From this vile Gun-boat Expedition;
From winds and waves, and wounds and scars,
From British soldiers, British tars,
To his own house, where, free from danger,
Muskeinmay live at rack and manger;
May stretch his limbs in his own cot,[288]
Thankful he has not gone to pot;
Nor for the bubble Glory strive,
But bless himself that he’s alive!
Havre,[289]sweet Havre! hail again,O! bid thy sons (a frolic train,[290]Who underChénierwelcomed in,With dance and song, theGuillotine).In long procession seek the strand;ForMuskeinnow prepares to land,’Scaped, Heav’n knows how, from that cursed crewThat haunt the rocks ofSaint Marcou.
Havre,[289]sweet Havre! hail again,
O! bid thy sons (a frolic train,[290]
Who underChénierwelcomed in,
With dance and song, theGuillotine).
In long procession seek the strand;
ForMuskeinnow prepares to land,
’Scaped, Heav’n knows how, from that cursed crew
That haunt the rocks ofSaint Marcou.
TranslatedfromCatullus.
TranslatedfromCatullus.
TranslatedfromCatullus.
Sirmio, of all the shores the gem,The isles where circling Neptune strays;Whether the vast and boisterous mainOr lake’s more limpid waves they stem,How gladly on thy waves I gaze!How blest to visit thee again!I scarce believe, while rapt I stand,That I have left the Thynian fieldsAnd all Bithynia far behind,And safely view my favourite land.Oh bliss, when care dispersing yieldsTo full repose the placid mind!Then when the mind its load lays down;When we regain, all hazards past,And with long ceaseless travel tired,Our household god again our own;And press in tranquil sleep at lastThe well-known bed so oft desired—This can alone atonement makeFor every toil. Hail, Sirmio sweet!Be gay, thy lord hath ceased to roam!Ye laughing waves of Lydia’s lake,Smile all around! thy master greetWith all thy smiles, my pleasant home!—Ed.]
Sirmio, of all the shores the gem,The isles where circling Neptune strays;Whether the vast and boisterous mainOr lake’s more limpid waves they stem,How gladly on thy waves I gaze!How blest to visit thee again!I scarce believe, while rapt I stand,That I have left the Thynian fieldsAnd all Bithynia far behind,And safely view my favourite land.Oh bliss, when care dispersing yieldsTo full repose the placid mind!Then when the mind its load lays down;When we regain, all hazards past,And with long ceaseless travel tired,Our household god again our own;And press in tranquil sleep at lastThe well-known bed so oft desired—This can alone atonement makeFor every toil. Hail, Sirmio sweet!Be gay, thy lord hath ceased to roam!Ye laughing waves of Lydia’s lake,Smile all around! thy master greetWith all thy smiles, my pleasant home!—Ed.]
Sirmio, of all the shores the gem,The isles where circling Neptune strays;Whether the vast and boisterous mainOr lake’s more limpid waves they stem,How gladly on thy waves I gaze!How blest to visit thee again!
Sirmio, of all the shores the gem,
The isles where circling Neptune strays;
Whether the vast and boisterous main
Or lake’s more limpid waves they stem,
How gladly on thy waves I gaze!
How blest to visit thee again!
I scarce believe, while rapt I stand,That I have left the Thynian fieldsAnd all Bithynia far behind,And safely view my favourite land.Oh bliss, when care dispersing yieldsTo full repose the placid mind!
I scarce believe, while rapt I stand,
That I have left the Thynian fields
And all Bithynia far behind,
And safely view my favourite land.
Oh bliss, when care dispersing yields
To full repose the placid mind!
Then when the mind its load lays down;When we regain, all hazards past,And with long ceaseless travel tired,Our household god again our own;And press in tranquil sleep at lastThe well-known bed so oft desired—
Then when the mind its load lays down;
When we regain, all hazards past,
And with long ceaseless travel tired,
Our household god again our own;
And press in tranquil sleep at last
The well-known bed so oft desired—
This can alone atonement makeFor every toil. Hail, Sirmio sweet!Be gay, thy lord hath ceased to roam!Ye laughing waves of Lydia’s lake,Smile all around! thy master greetWith all thy smiles, my pleasant home!—Ed.]
This can alone atonement make
For every toil. Hail, Sirmio sweet!
Be gay, thy lord hath ceased to roam!
Ye laughing waves of Lydia’s lake,
Smile all around! thy master greet
With all thy smiles, my pleasant home!—Ed.]