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When to the clouds, along th’ æthereal plain,
His airy way the Theban Swan pursues,
Strong rapid gales his founding plumes fustain :
While, wondering at his flight, my timorous Muse

In short excursions tires her feeble wings,
And in fequester'd fhades and flowery gardens fings.

There, like the bee, that, from each odorous bloom,
Each fragrant offspring of the dewy field,
With painful art, extracts the rich perfume,
Solicitous her honied dome to build,

Exerting all her industry and care,
She toils with humble sweets her meaner verse to rear,

The remainder of this Ode has no relation to the present subject, and is therefore omitted.

The following Collection of Poems (to borrow the metaphor made use of by Horace) consists wholly of sweets, drawn from the rich and flowery fields of Greece. And if in these Translations any of the native spirit and fragrancy of the Originals shall appear to be transfused, I fall content myself with the humble merit of the little laborious infect above-mentioned. But I must not here omit acquainting the Reader, that among these, immediately after the Odes of Pindar, is inserted a translation of an Ode * of Horace, done by

a Gen* This Ode, in full conformity to Mr. West's intention, is still (though restored to its proper writer) preserved in the present volume, See above p. 75. N.

a Gentleman, the peculiar excellence of whose genius hath often revealed what his modesty would have kept a secret. And to this I might have trusted to inform the world, that the Translation I am now speaking of, though inserted amongst mine, was not done by me, were I not desirous of testifying the pride and pleasure I take in seeing, in this and some other instances, his admirable pieces blended and joined with mine; an evidence and emblem at the same time of that friendship, which hath long sublifted between us, and which I shall always esteem a singular felicity and honour to myself.

The Authors, from whom the other pieces are translated, are so well known, that I need say nothing of them in this place; neither shall I detain the Reader with any farther account of the translations themfelves, than only to acquaint him, that I translated the Dramatic Poem of Lucian upon the Gout, when I was myself under an attack of that incurable distemper, which I mention by way of excuse; and that all the other pieces, excepting only the Hymn of Cleanthes were written many years ago, at a time when I read and wrote, like most other people, for amusement only. If the Reader finds they give any to him, I shall be very glad of it; for it is doing some service to human society, to amuse innocently; and they know very little of human nature, who think it can bear to be always employed either in the exercise of its duties, or in high and important meditations.




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The Man of Thebes hath in thy vales appear'd!
Hark! with fresh rage and undiminish'd fire,
The sweet enthusiast smites the British lyre;
The sounds that echoed on Alphéus' streams,
Reach the delighted ear of listening Thames;

Lo! swift across the dusty plain
Great Theron's foaming coursers strain!

What mortal tongue e'er roll'd along
Such full impetuous tidles of nervous song?

I. 2.

The fearful, frigid lays of cold and creeping art,

Nor touch, nor can transport th’unfeeling heart;
Pindar, our inmoft bofom piercing, warms
With glory's love, and eager thirst of arms:
When freedom speaks in his majestic strain,
The patriot-passions beat in every vein :

We long to fit with heroes old,
'Mid groves of vegetable gold,

* Where Cadmus and Achilles dwell, And still of daring deeds and dangers tell.

I. 3. Away, * See 2 Olymp. Od.

I. 3.
Away, enervate Bards, away,
Who spin the courtly, filken lay,
* As wreaths for some vain Louis' head,
Or mourn some foft Adonis dead :

No more your polish'd Lyricks boast,
In British Pindar's strength o’erwhelm’d and lost :

As well might ye compare
The glimmerings of a waxen flame

(Emblem of Verse correctly tame)
+ To his own Ætna's sulphur-spouting caves,

When to Heaven's vault the fiery deluge raves,
When clouds and burning rocks dart through the trou-

bled air.

II. I.

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In roaring Cataracts down Andes' channel'd steeps

Mark how enormous Orellana sweeps!
Monarch of mighty Floods ! supremely strong,
Foaming from cliff to cliff he whirls along,
Swoln with an hundred hills' collected fnows :
Thence over nameless regions widely flows,

Round fragrant isles, and citron-groves,
Where still the naked Indian roves,

And safely builds his leafy bower,
From slavery far, and curst Iberian power ;

II. 2. So

K 2

Alluding to the French and Italian Lyrick Poets. + See 1 Pyth. Od.

II. 26

So rapid Pindar flows. Parent of the Lyre,

Let me for ever thy sweet fons admire!
O ancient Greece, but chief the Bard whose lays
The matchless tale of Troy divine-emblaze;
And next Euripides, soft pity's priest,
Who melts in useful Woes, the bleeding breast;

And him, who paiņts th' incestuous king,
Whose soul amaze and horror wring;

Teach me to taste their charms refin'd,
The richest banquet of th' enraptur'd mind:

II. . -3.
For the blest man, the Muse's child
On whose auspicious birth the smild,
Whose foul she formd of purer fire,
For whom the tun'd a golden lyre,

Seeks not in fighting fields renown :
No widows' midnight shrieks, nor burning town,

The peaceful Poet please :
Nor ceaseless toils for fordid gains,

Nor purple pomp, nor wide domains,
Nor heaps of wealth, nor power, nor statesman's

schemes, Nor all deceiv'd ambition's feverifh dreams, Lure his contented heart from the sweet, vale of ease.

Hor. lib. IV. Od. iii.


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