Poetical Works of Johnson, Parnell, Gray, and Smollett Part 7

Gla.s.sy water, gla.s.sy water, Down whose current, clear and strong, Chiefs confused in mutual slaughter, Moor and Christian, roll along.

TO MRS THRALE,

ON HER COMPLETING HER THIRTY-FIFTH YEAR. AN IMPROMPTU.

Oft in danger, yet alive, We are come to thirty-five; Long may better years arrive, Better years than thirty-five.

Could philosophers contrive Life to stop at thirty-five, Time his hours should never drive O'er the bounds of thirty-five.

High to soar, and deep to dive, Nature gives at thirty-five; 10 Ladies, stock and tend your hive, Trifle not at thirty-five; For, howe'er we boast and strive, Life declines from thirty-five; He that ever hopes to thrive, Must begin by thirty-five; And all who wisely wish to wive Must look on Thrale at thirty-five.

IMPROMPTU TRANSLATION

OF AN AIR IN THE 'CLEMENZA DE t.i.tO' OF METASTASIO, BEGINNING, 'DEH! SE PIACERMI VUOI.'

Would you hope to gain my heart, Bid your teasing doubts depart.

He who blindly trusts will find, Faith from every generous mind; He who still expects deceit, Only teaches how to cheat.

LINES

WRITTEN UNDER A PRINT REPRESENTING PERSONS SKAITING.

O'er crackling ice, o'er gulfs profound, With nimble glide the skaiters play; O'er treacherous Pleasure's flowery ground Thus lightly skim, and haste away.

TRANSLATION

OF A SPEECH OF AQUILEIO IN THE 'ADRIANO' OF METASTASIO, BEGINNING, 'TU CHE IN CORTE INVECCHIASTI.'

Grown old in courts, thou art not surely one Who keeps the rigid rules of ancient honour: Well skill'd to soothe a foe with looks of kindness, To sink the fatal precipice before him, And then lament his fall with seeming friendship: Open to all, true only to thyself, Thou know'st those arts which blast with envious praise, Which aggravate a fault with feign'd excuses, And drive discountenanced Virtue from the throne That leave the blame of rigour to the prince, 10 And of his every gift usurp the merit; That hide in seeming zeal a wicked purpose, And only build upon each other's ruin.

IMPROMPTU

ON HEARING MISS THRALE CONSULTING WITH A FRIEND ABOUT A GOWN AND HAT SHE WAS INCLINED TO WEAR.

Wear the gown, and wear the hat, s.n.a.t.c.h thy pleasures while they last; Hadst thou nine lives, like a cat, Soon those nine lives would be past.

TRANSLATION OF VIRGIL.

PASTORAL I.

_Mileboeus_. Now, t.i.tyrus, you supine and careless laid, Play on your pipe beneath yon beechen shade; While wretched we about the world must roam, And leave our pleasing fields, and native home; Here at your ease you sing your amorous flame, And the wood rings with Amaryllis' name.

_t.i.tyrus_. Those blessings, friend, a deity bestow'd, For I shall never think him less than G.o.d; Oft on his altars shall my firstlings lie, Their blood the consecrated stones shall dye: 10 He gave my flocks to graze the flowery meads, And me to tune at ease the unequal reeds.

_Mileboeus._ My admiration only I express'd, (No spark of envy harbours in my breast), That when confusion o'er the country reigns, To you alone this happy state remains.

Here I, though faint myself, must drive my goats, Far from their ancient fields and humble cots.

This scarce I lead, who left on yonder rock Two tender kids, the hopes of all the flock. 20 Had we not been perverse and careless grown, This dire event by omens was foreshown; Our trees were blasted by the thunder stroke, And left-hand crows, from an old hollow oak, Foretold the coming evil by their dismal croak.

TRANSLATION OF HORACE.

BOOK I. ODE XXII.

1 The man, my friend, whose conscious heart With virtue's sacred ardour glows, Nor taints with death the envenom'd dart, Nor needs the guard of Moorish bows:

2 Though Scythia's icy cliffs he treads, Or horrid Afric's faithless sands; Or where the famed Hydaspes spreads His liquid wealth o'er barbarous lands.

3 For while, by Chloe's image charm'd, Too far in Sabine woods I stray'd; Me singing, careless and unarm'd, A grisly wolf surprised, and fled.

4 No savage more portentous stain'd Apulia's s.p.a.cious wilds with gore; None fiercer Juba's thirsty land, Dire nurse of raging lions, bore.

5 Place me where no soft summer gale Among the quivering branches sighs; Where clouds condensed for ever veil With horrid gloom the frowning skies:

6 Place me beneath the burning line, A clime denied to human race; I'll sing of Chloe's charms divine, Her heavenly voice, and beauteous face.

TRANSLATION OF HORACE.

BOOK II. ODE IX.

1 Clouds do not always veil the skies, Nor showers immerse the verdant plain; Nor do the billows always rise, Or storms afflict the ruffled main.

2 Nor, Valgius, on the Armenian sh.o.r.es Do the chain'd waters always freeze; Not always furious Boreas roars, Or bends with violent force the trees.

3 But you are ever drown'd in tears, For Mystes dead you ever mourn; No setting Sol can ease your cares, But finds you sad at his return.