WITH THE TRANSLATION BY PITT.
IVE me, ye sacred Muses, to impart
The hidden secrets of your tuneful art;
Give me your awful mysteries to sing,
Unlock and open wide your sacred spring;
While from his infancy the bard I lead
And set him on your mountain's lofty head,
Direct his course, and point him out the road
To sing in epic strains a hero or a god.
What youth, whose generous bosom pants for praise,
Will dare with me to beat those arduous ways,
O'er high Parnassus' painful steeps to go,
And leave the groveling multitude below,—
Where the glad Muses sing and form the choir,
Where bright Apollo strikes the silver lyre?
IT fas vestra mihi vulgare arcana per orbem,
Pierides, penitusque sacros recludere fontes,
Dum vatem egregium teneris educere ab annis,
Heroum qui facta canat, laudesve Deorum,
Mente agito, vestrique in vertice sistere montis.
Ecquis erit juvenum, segni qui plebe relicta
Sub pedibus, pulchræ laudis succensus amore,
Ausit inaccessæ mecum se credere rupi,
Lætæ ubi Pierides, cithara dum pulcher Apollo
Personat, indulgent choreis, et carmina dicunt?
Approach thou first, great Francis, nor refuse
To pay due honors to the sacred Muse;
While Gallia waits for thy auspicious reign,
Till age completes the monarch in the man.
Meantime the Muse may bring some small relief,
To charm thy anguish and suspend thy grief,
While guilty fortune's stern decrees detain
Thee and thy brother in the realms of Spain,
Far, far transported from your native place,
Your country's, father's, and your friends' embrace!
Such are the terms the cruel fates impose
On your great father, struggling with his woes,
Such are their hard conditions:- they require
The sons to purchase and redeem the sire.
But yet, brave youth, from grief, from tears, abstain,
Fate may relent and Heaven grow mild again;
At last, perhaps, the glorious day may come,
The day that brings our royal exile home;
When, to thy native realms in peace restored,
The ravished crowds shall hail their passing lord;
When each transported city shall rejoice,
And nations bless thee with a public voice;
Primus ades, Francisce, sacras ne despice Musas,
Regia progenies, cui regum debita sceptra
Gallorum, cum firma annis accesserit ætas.
Hæc tibi parva ferunt jam nunc solatia dulces,
Dum procul a patria raptum, amplexuque tuorum,
Ah dolor! Hispanis sors impia detinet oris,
Henrico cum fratre. Patris sic fata tulerunt
Magnanimi, dum fortuna luctatur iniqua!
Parce tamen puer o lachrymis; fata aspera forsan
Mitescent, aderitque dies lætissima tandem,
Post triste exilium, patriis cum redditus oris,
Lætitiam ingentem populorum, omnesque per urbes
Accipies plausus, et lætas undique voces,
To the thronged fanes the matrons shall repair;
Absolve their vows, and breathe their souls in prayer.
Till then, let every Muse engage thy love,
With me at large o'er high Parnassus rove,
Range every bower, and sport in every grove.
First then observe, that verse is ne'er confined
To one fixed measure or determined kind,
Though at its birth it sung the gods alone,
And then religion claimed it for her own,
In sacred strains addressed the deity,
And spoke a language worthy of the sky.
New themes succeeding bards began to choose,
And in a wider field engaged the Muse
The common bulk of subjects to rehearse
In all the rich varieties of verse.
Yet none of all with equal honors shine
(But those which celebrate the Power Divine)
To those exalted measures, which declare
The deeds of heroes and the sons of war;
From hence posterity the name bestowed
On this rich present of the Delphic god;
Fame says, Phemonoe in this measure gave
Votaque pro reditu persolvent debita matres.
Interea te Pierides comitentur; in altos
Jam te Parnassi mecum aude attollere lucos.
Jamque adeo in primis ne te non carminis unum
Prætereat genus esse, licet celebranda reperti
Ad sacra sint tantum versus, laudesve Deorum
Dicendas, ne relligio sine honore jaceret;
Nam traxere etiam paulatim ad cætera Musas,
Versibus et variis cecinerunt omnia vates.
Sed nullum e numero carmen præstantius omni,
Quam quo, post Divos, heroum facta recensent,
Versibus unde etiam nomen fecere minores.
Munere concessum Phoebi venerabile donum
Apollo's answers from the Pythian cave.
But ere you write, consult your strength, and choose
A theme proportioned justly to your Muse.
For though in chief these precepts are bestowed
On him who sings a hero or a god,
To other themes their general use extends,
And serves in different views to different ends.
Whether the lofty Muse, with tragic rage,
Would proudly stalk in buskins on the stage;
Or in soft elegies our pity move,
And show the youth in all the flames of love;
Or sing the shepherd's woes in humble strains,
And the low humors of contending swains;
These faithful rules shall guide the bard along
In every measure, argument, and song.
Be sure, whatever you propose to write,
Let the chief motive be your own delight
And well-weighed choice. A task enjoined refuse,
Unless a monarch should command your Muse
Phemonoes, quæ prima dedit, si vera vetustas,
Ex adyto haud aliis numeris responsa per orbem.
Tu vero ipse humeros explorans consule primum,
Atque tuis prudens genus elige viribus aptum.
Nam licet hic Divos, ac Diis genitos heroas
In primis doceam canere, et res dicere gestas,
Hæc tamen interdum mea te præcepta juvabunt,
Seu scenam ingrediens populo spectacula præbes,
Sive elegis juvenum lachrymas quibus igne medullas
Urit amor, seu pastorum de more querelas
Et lites Siculi vatis modularis avena;
Sive aliud quodcunque canis, quo carmine cunque,
Nunquam hinc, ne dubita, prorsum inconsultus abibis.
Atque ideo quodcunque audes, quodcunque paratus
Aggrederis, tibi sit placitum, atque arriserit ultro
Ante animo; nec jussa canas, nisi forte coactus
Magnorum imperio regum, siquis tamen usquam est
(If we may hope those golden times to see,
When bards become the care of majesty).
Free and spontaneous the smooth numbers glide,
Where choice determines and our wills preside;
But, at command, we toil with fruitless pain,
And drag the involuntary load in vain.
Nor, at its birth, indulge your warm desire,
On the first glimmering of the sacred fire;
Defer the mighty task, and weigh your power,
And every part in every view explore ;
And let the theme in different prospects roll
Deep in your thoughts, and grow into the soul.
But ere with sails unfurled you fly away,
And cleave the bosom of the boundless sea,
A fund of words and images prepare,
And lay the bright materials up with care,
Which, at due time, occasion may produce,
All ranged in order for the poet's use.
Some happy objects by mere chance are brought
From hidden causes to the wandering thought,
Primores inter nostros qui talia curet.
Omnia sponte sua, quæ nos elegimus ipsi,
Proveniunt, duro assequimur vix jussa labore.
Sed neque cum primum tibi mentem inopina cupido,
Atque repens calor attigerit, subito aggrediendum est
Magnum opus; adde moram, tecumque impensius ante
Consule, quicquid id est, partesque expende per omnes
Mente diu versans, donec nova cura senescat.
Ante etiam pelago quam pandas vela patenti,
Incumbasque operi incipiens, tibi digna supellex
Verborum rerumque paranda est, proque videnda
Instant multa prius, quorum vatum indiget usus;
Illis tempus erit mox cum lætabere partis.
Sponte sua, dum forte etiam nil tale putamus,
In mentem quædam veniunt, quæ forsitan, ultro
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