Translation from Horace


When he, that shepherd false, ’neath Phrygian sails,
Carried his hostess Helen o’er the seas,
In fitful slumber Nereus hush’d the gales,
That he might sing their future destinies.
A curse to your ancestral home you take
With her, whom Greece, with many a soldier bold
Shall seek again, in concert sworn to break
Your nuptial ties and Priam’s kingdom old.
Alas! what sweat from man and horse must flow,
What devastation to the Trojan realm
You carry, even now doth Pallas show
Her wrath, preparing buckler, car, and helm.
In vain, secure in Aphrodite’s care,
You comb your locks, and on the girlish lyre
Select the strains most pleasant to the fair;
In vain, on couch reclining, you desire
To shun the darts that threaten, ...

Why should such gloomy silence reign;
And why is all the house so drear,
When neither danger, sickness, pain,
Nor death, nor want have entered here?

We are as many as we were
That other night, when all were gay,
And full of hope, and free from care;
Yet, is there something gone away.

The moon without as pure and calm
Is shining as that night she shone;
but now, to us she brings no balm,
For something from our hearts is gone.

Something whose absence leaves a void,
A cheerless want in every heart.
Each feels the bliss of all destroyed
And mourns the change - but each apart.

The fire is burning in the grate
As redly as it used to burn,
But still the hearth is desolate
Till Mirth and Love with Peace return.

'Twas P...

Out of the window a sea of green trees
Lift their soft boughs like the arms of a dancer,
They beckon and call me, "Come out in the sun!"
But I cannot answer.

I am alone with Weakness and Pain,
Sick abed and June is going,
I cannot keep her, she hurries by
With the silver-green of her garments blowing.

Men and women pass in the street
Glad of the shining sapphire weather,
But we know more of it than they,
Pain and I together.

They are the runners in the sun,
Breathless and blinded by the race,
But we are watchers in the shade
Who speak with Wonder face to face.

Doubt me, my dim companion!
Why, God would be content
With but a fraction of the love
Poured thee without a stint.
The whole of me, forever,
What more the woman can, --
Say quick, that I may dower thee
With last delight I own!

It cannot be my spirit,
For that was thine before;
I ceded all of dust I knew, --
What opulence the more
Had I, a humble maiden,
Whose farthest of degree
Was that she might,
Some distant heaven,
Dwell timidly with thee!

Broken in fortune, but in mind entire
And sound in principle, I seek repose
Where ancient trees this convent-pile enclose,
In ruin beautiful. When vain desire
Intrudes on peace, I pray the eternal Sire
To cast a soul-subduing shade on me,
A grey-haired, pensive, thankful Refugee;
A shade, but with some sparks of heavenly fire
Once to these cells vouchsafed. And when I note
The old Tower's brow yellowed as with the beams
Of sunset ever there, albeit streams
Of stormy weather-stains that semblance wrought,
I thank the silent Monitor, and say
"Shine so, my aged brow, at all hours of the day!"

As I look from the isle, o'er its billows of green,
To the billows of foam-crested blue,
Yon bark, that afar in the distance is seen,
Half dreaming, my eyes will pursue
Now dark in the shadow, she scatters the spray
As the chaff in the stroke of the flail;
Now white as the sea-gull, she flies on her way,
The sun gleaming bright on her sail.

Yet her pilot is thinking of dangers to shun, -
Of breakers that whiten and roar;
How little he cares, if in shadow or sun
They see him who gaze from the shore!
He looks to the beacon that looms from the reef,
To the rock that is under his lee,
As he drifts on the blast, like a wind-wafted leaf,
O'er the gulfs of the desolate sea.

Thus drifting afar to the dim-vaulted caves
Where life and its ventures are l...

How oft I've longed to gaze on thee,
    Thou proud and mighty deep!
Thy vast horizon, boundless, free,
    Thy coast so rude and steep;
And now entranced I breathless stand,
    Where earth and ocean meet,
Whilst billows wash the golden sand,
    And break around my feet.

Lovely thou art when dawn's red light
    Sheds o'er thee its soft hue,
Showing fair ships, a gallant sight,
    Upon thy waters blue;
And when the moonbeams softly pour
    Their light on wave or glen,
And diamond spray leaps on the shore,
    How lovely art thou then!

Still, as I look, faint shadows steal
    O'er thy calm heaving breast,
And there are times, I sadly feel,
    Thou art not thus at rest;
And I bethink me of past tales,
    Of ships that ...

        [The dominical letters attached to the first days of the several months are remembered by the following lines.]

    At Dover Dwells George Brown Esquire,
    Good Christopher Finch, And David Friar.

        [An ancient and graver example, fulfilling the same purpose, runs as follows.]

    Astra Dabit Dominus, Gratisque Beabit Egenos,
    Gratia Christicolæ Feret Aurea Dona Fideli.

            Early on Christmas Day,
            Love, as awake I lay,
And heard the Christmas bells ring sweet and clearly,
            My heart stole through the gloom
            Into your silent room,
And whispered to your heart, 'I love you dearly.'

            There, in the dark profound,
            Your heart was sleeping sound,
And dreaming some fair dream of summer weather.
            At my heart's word it woke,
            And, ere the morning broke,
They sang a Christmas carol both together.

            Glory to God on high!
            Stars of the morning sky,
Sing as ye sang upon the first creation,
            When all the Sons of God
            Shouted for joy abroad,
And earth was laid upon a sure foundation.

    ...

Qual paura ho, quando mi torna a mente.

MELANCHOLY RECOLLECTIONS AND PRESAGES.


    O Laura! when my tortured mind
The sad remembrance bears
Of that ill-omen'd day,
When, victim to a thousand doubts and fears,
I left my soul behind,
That soul that could not from its partner stray;
In nightly visions to my longing eyes
Thy form oft seems to rise,
As ever thou wert seen,
Fair like the rose, 'midst paling flowers the queen,
But loosely in the wind,
Unbraided wave the ringlets of thy hair,
That late with studious care,
I saw with pearls and flowery garlands twined:
On thy wan lip, no cheerful smile appears;
Thy beauteous face a tender sadness wears;
Placid in pain thou seem'st, serene in grief,
As conscious of thy fate, and h...

In the minister's morning sermon
He had told of the primal fall,
And how thenceforth the wrath of God
Rested on each and all.

And how of His will and pleasure,
All souls, save a chosen few,
Were doomed to the quenchless burning,
And held in the way thereto.

Yet never by faith's unreason
A saintlier soul was tried,
And never the harsh old lesson
A tenderer heart belied.

And, after the painful service
On that pleasant Sabbath day,
He walked with his little daughter
Through the apple-bloom of May.

Sweet in the fresh green meadows
Sparrow and blackbird sung;
Above him their tinted petals
The blossoming orchards hung.

Around on the wonderful glory
The minister looked and smiled;
"How good is the Lord who g...

O Lord, I cannot but believe
The birds do sing thy praises then, when they sing to one another,
And they are lying seed-sown land when the winter makes them grieve,
Their little bosoms breeding songs for the summer to unsmother!

If thou hadst finished me, O Lord,
Nor left out of me part of that great gift that goes to singing,
I sure had known the meaning high of the songster's praising word,
Had known upon what thoughts of thee his pearly talk he was stringing!

I should have read the wisdom hid
In the storm-inspired melody of thy thrush's bosom solemn:
I should not then have understood what thy free spirit did
To make the lark-soprano mount like to a geyser-column!

I think I almost understand
Thy owl, his muffled swiftness, moon-round eyes, and intoned hoo...

"It is the voice of years, that are gone! they roll before me, with all their deeds."

Ossian.



1.

NEWSTEAD! fast-falling, once-resplendent dome!
Religion's shrine! repentant HENRY'S [2] pride!
Of Warriors, Monks, and Dames the cloister'd tomb,
Whose pensive shades around thy ruins glide,


2.

Hail to thy pile! more honour'd in thy fall,
Than modern mansions, in their pillar'd state;
Proudly majestic frowns thy vaulted hall,
Scowling defiance on the blasts of fate.


3.

No mail-clad Serfs, [3] obedient to their Lord,
In grim array, the crimson cross [4] demand;
Or gay assemble round the festive board,
Their chief's retainers, an immortal band.


4.
...

I stand beneath the tree, whose branches shade
    Thy western window, Chapel of St. John!
    And hear its leaves repeat their benison
    On him, whose hand if thy stones memorial laid;
Then I remember one of whom was said
    In the world's darkest hour, "Behold thy son!"
    And see him living still, and wandering on
    And waiting for the advent long delayed.
Not only tongues of the apostles teach
    Lessons of love and light, but these expanding
    And sheltering boughs with all their leaves implore,
And say in language clear as human speech,
    "The peace of God, that passeth understanding,
    Be and abide with you forevermore!"

Soft stealing through the shade, and skirting swift
The walls of Paradise, through night's dark rift
Lilith fled far; nor stopped lest deadly snare
Or peril by the wayside lurked.
The air
Grew chill. Loud beat her heart, as through the wind
Echoed, unseen, pursuing feet, behind.

Adown the pathway of the mist she passed,
And reached a weird, strange land at last.
When morning flecked the dappled sky with red,
And odors sweet from waking flowers were shed,
Lilith beheld a plain, outstretching wide,
With distant mountains seamed.
Afar, a silvery tide
The blue shore kissed.    And in that tropic glow
Dim islands shone, palm-fringed, and low.
In nearer space, like scarlet arrows flew
Strange birds, or 'mong the reedy fens, or through
Tall trees, of ...

Occasion'd by the Insults of the Spaniards, and the present Preparations for War, 1738.


Whence this unwonted Transport in my Breast?
Why glow my Thoughts, and whither would the Muse
Aspire with rapid Wing? Her Country's Cause
Demands her Efforts; at that sacred Call
She summons all her Ardor, throws aside
The trembling Lyre, and with the Warrior Trump
She means to thunder in each British Ear.
And if one Spark of Courage, Sense of Fame,
Disdain of Insult, Dread of Infamy,
One Thought of public Virtue yet survive,
She means to wake it, rouze the gen'rous Flame,
With Patriot Zeal inspirit ev'ry Breast,
And fire each British Heart with British Wrongs.

Alas the vain Attempt! what Influence now
Can the Muse boast? Or what Attention now
Is paid to F...

CORYDON

A PASTORAL

SCENE: A roadside in Arcady

SHEPHERD.

Good sir, have you seen pass this way
A mischief straight from market-day?
You'd know her at a glance, I think;
Her eyes are blue, her lips are pink;
She has a way of looking back
Over her shoulder, and, alack!
Who gets that look one time, good sir,
Has naught to do but follow her.


PILGRIM.

I have not seen this maid, methinks,
Though she that passed had lips like pinks.


SHEPHERD.

Or like two strawberries made one
By some sly trick of dew and sun.


PILGRIM.

A poet!


SHEPHERD.

Nay, a simple swain
That tends his flock on yonder plain,
Naught else, I swear by book and bell.
Bu...

Fare-thee-well:
On my soul the toll of bell
Trembles. Thou art calmly sleeping
While my weary heart is weeping:
I cannot listen to thy knell:
Fare-thee-well.

Sleep and rest:
Sorrow shall not pain thy breast,
Pangs and pains that pierce the mortal
Cannot enter at the portal
Of the Mansion of the Blest:
Sleep and rest.

Slumber sweet,
Heart that nevermore will beat
At the footsteps of thy lover;
All thy cares and fears are over.
In thy silent winding-sheet
Slumber sweet.

Fare-thee-well:
In the garden and the dell
Where thou lov'dst to stroll and meet me,
Nevermore thy kiss shall greet me,
Nevermore, O Isabel!
Fare-thee-well.

We shall meet
Where the wings of angels beat:
When my toils and ca...