590 TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE.
Give but his horns the slightest touch, His self-collecting power is such, He shrinks into his house with much Displeasure.
Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone, Except himself has chattels none, Well satisfied to be his own
Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads, Nor partner of his banquet needs, And if he meets one, only feeds
Who seeks him must be worse than blind, (He and his house are so combined,)
If, finding it, he fails to find
WITH two spurs or one; and no great matter which, Boots bought, or boots borrow'd, a whip or a switch, Five shillings or less for the hire of his beast, Paid part into hand,-you must wait for the rest; Thus equipt, Academicus climbs up his horse, And out they both sally for better or worse; His heart void of fear, and as light as a feather And in violent haste to go not knowing whither; Through the fields and the towns, (see!) he scam- pers along, [young. And is look'd at, and laugh'd at, by old and by Till at length overspent, and his sides smear'd with
Down tumbles his horse, man and all in the mud. In a waggon or chaise shall he finish his route? Oh! scandalous fate! he must do it on foot.
Young gentlemen, hear ;-I am older than you! The advice, that I give, I have proved to be true. Wherever your journey may be, never doubt it, The faster you ride, you're the longer about it.
TRANSLATIONS
FROM THE LATIN CLASSICS.
RECEIVE, dear friend, the truths I teach, So shalt thou live beyond the reach Of adverse fortune's power; Not always tempt the distant deep, Nor always timorously creep Along the treacherous shore.
He that holds fast the golden mean, And lives contentedly between
The little and the great,
Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, Imbittering all his state.
The tallest pines feel most the power Of wintry blast, the loftiest tower Comes heaviest to the ground; The bolts that spare the mountain's side, His cloud-capt eminence divide
And spread the ruin round. The well-inform'd philosopher Rejoices with a wholesome fear, And hopes in spite of pain; If winter bellow from the north,
Soon the sweet spring comes dancing forth, And nature laughs again.
What if thine heaven be overcast ? The dark appearance will not last, Expect a brighter sky;
The God that strings the silver bow, Awakes sometimes the Muses too, And lays his arrows by.
If hinderances obstruct thy way, Thy magnanimity display,
And let thy strength be seen; But oh! if Fortune fill thy sail With more than a propitious gale, Take half thy canvass in!
A REFLECTION ON THE FOREGOING ODE. AND is this all? Can reason do no more Than bid me shun the deep and dread the shore ? Sweet moralist! afloat on life's rough sea The Christian has an art unknown to thee; He holds no parley with unmanly fears, Where duty bids he confidently steers, Faces a thousand dangers at her call, And trusting in his God, surmounts them all.
FIFTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE,
PRINTED IN DUNCOMBE'S HORACE.
A HUMOROUS DESCRIPTION OF THE AUTHOR'S JOURNEY FROM ROME TO BRUNDUSIUM.
'Twas a long journey lay before us, When I, and honest Heliodorus,
Who far in point of rhetoric
Surpasses every living Greek,
Each leaving our respective home Together sallied forth from Rome. First at Aricia we alight,
And there refresh and pass the night,
Our entertainment rather coarse
Than sumptuous, but I've met with worse. Thence o'er the causeway soft and fair To Appiiforum we repair.
But as this road is well supplied
(Temptation strong!) on either side
With inns commodious, snug, and warm, We split the journey, and perform In two days' time what's often done By brisker travellers in one. Here, rather choosing not to sup Than with bad water mix my cup, After a warm debate, in spite Of a provoking appetite, I sturdily resolved at last
To balk it, and pronounce a fast, And in a moody humour wait, While my less dainty comrades bait.
Now o'er the spangled hemisphere Diffused the starry train appear, When there arose a desperate brawl; The slaves and bargemen, one and all, Rending their throats (have mercy on us!) As if they were resolved to stun us. "Steer the barge this way to the shore! I tell you we'll admit no more! Plague! will you never be content?' Thus a whole hour at least is spent, While they receive the several fares, And kick the mule into his gears. Happy, these difficulties past, Could we have fallen asleep at last!
But, what with humming, croaking, biting, Gnats, frogs, and all their plagues uniting, These tuneful natives of the lake Conspired to keep us broad awake. Besides, to make the concert full, Two maudlin wights, exceeding dull, The bargeman and a passenger, Each in his turn, essay'd an air In honour of his absent fair. At length the passenger, opprest With wine, left off, and snored the rest. The weary bargeman too gave o'er, And hearing his companion snore,
Seized the occasion, fix'd the barge, Turn'd out his mule to graze at large, And slept forgetful of his charge. And now the sun o'er eastern hill, Discover'd that our barge stood still; When one, whose anger vex'd him sore, With malice fraught, leaps quick on shore, Plucks up a stake, with many a thwack Assails the mule and driver's back. Then slowly moving on with pain, At ten Feronia's stream we gain, And in her pure and glassy wave Our hands and faces gladly lave. Climbing three miles, fair Anxur's height We reach, with stony quarries white. While here, as was agreed, we wait, Till, charged with business of the state, Mæcenas and Cocceius come,
The messengers of peace from Rome. My eyes, by watery humours blear And sore, I with black balsam smear. At length they join us, and with them Our worthy friend Fonteius came; A man of such complete desert, Antony loved him at his heart. At Fundi we refused to bait, And laugh'd at vain Aufidius' state, A prætor now, a scribe before, The purple-border'd robe he wore, His slave the smoking censer bore. Tired at Muræna's we repose,
At Formia sup at Capito's.
With smiles the rising morn we greet,
At Sinuessa pleased to meet
With Plotius, Varius, and the bard
Whom Mantua first with wonder heard. The world no purer spirits knows; For none my heart more warmly glows. Oh! what embraces we bestow'd,
And with what joy our breasts o'erflow'd!
« ForrigeFortsett » |