a

jects; but I never saw a copy better than the original : which indeed cannot be otherwise ; for, men resolving in no cafe to shoot beyond the mark, it is a thousand to one if they noot not short of it. It does not at all trouble me that the grammarians perhaps will not suffer this libertine way of rendering foreign authors to be called Translation ; for I am not so much enamoured of the name Translator, as not to wish rather to be something better, though it want yet a name.. I fpeak not so much all this, in defence of my manner of translating, or imitating (or what other title they please) the two ensuing Odes of Pindar; for that would not deserve half these words ; as by this occasion to rectify the opinion of divers men upon this matter. The Psalms of David (which I believe to have been in their original, to the Hebrews of his ne, though not to our Hebrews of Buxtorfius's making, the most exalted pieces of poesy) are a great example of what I have faid; all the translators of which (even Mr. Sands

1; himself ; for in despite of popular error, I will be bold not to except him) for this very reason, that they have not sought to supply the lost excellencies of another language with new ones in their own, are so far from doing honour, or at least justice, to that divine poet, that methinks they revile him worse than Shimei. And Buchanan himself (though much the best of them all, and indeed a great person) comes in my opinion no less short of David, than his country does of Judea. Upon this ground I have, in these two Odes of Pindar,

I taken, left out, and added, what I please ; nor make it so much my aim to let the reader know precisely what he spoke, as what was his way and manner of speaking ; which has not been yet (that I know of) introduced into English, though it be the noblest and highest kind of writing in verse ; and which might, perhaps, be put into the list of Pancirolus, among the loft inventions of antiquity. This essay is but to try how it will look in an English habit : for which experiment, I have chosen one of his Olympic, and another of his Nemzan Odes; which are as followeth,

1

THE

THE SECOND OLYMPICODE

OF PIND A R.

Written in praise of Theron, prince of Agrigentum (a

famous city in Sicily, built by his ancestors) who, in the seventy-seventh Olympic, won the chariot-prize. He is commended from the nobility of his race (whose story is often toucht on); froin his great riches (an ordinary common-place in Pindar); from his hofpitality, munificence, and other virtues. The Ode (according to the constant cuftom of the Poet) consists more in digressions, than in the main subject : and the Reader must not be choqued to hear him speak fo often of his own Mufe ; for that is a liberty which this kind of poetry can hardly live without.

UEEN of all hårmonious things, ,

Dancing words, and fpeaking itrings ! What God, what Hero, wilt thou fing? What happy man to equal glories bring?

Begin, begin thy noble choice, And let the hills around reflect the image of thy voice.

Pisa does to Jove belong;

Jove and Pisa claim thy fong.
The fair first-fruits of war, thi Olympic games,

Alcides offer’d-up to Jove ;

Alcides too thy ftrings may move ; But, oh! what man to join with these can worthy prove!

BA

Join Join Theron boldly to their facred names ;

Theron the next honour claims;

Theron to no man gives place,
Is first in Pisa's and in Virtue's race;

Theron there, and he alone,
Ev'n his own swift forefathers has outgone,

They through rough ways, o'er many stops they pak,

Till on the fatal bank at last
They Agrigentum built, the beauteous eye

Of fair-fac'd Sicily;
Which does itself i' th' river by

With pride and joy espy.
Then chearful notes their painted years did fing,
And Wealth was one, and Honour th' other, wingi
Their genuine virtues did more sweet and clear,

In Fortune's graceful dress, appear.

To which, great son of Rhea! say
The firm word which forbids things to decay!

If in Olympus' top, where thou
Sitt'st to behold thy facred fhow.;
If in Alpheus' silver flight;
If in my verse, thou dost delight,
My verse, O Rhea's son! which is
Lofty as that, and smooth as this.

For the past fufferings of this noble race (Since things once past, and fled out of thine hand,

Hearken no more to thy command)
Let present joys fill up their place,

And And with Oblivion's filent stroke deface.

Of foregone ills the very trace.

In no illustrious line
Do these happy changes fhine
- More brightly, Theron ! than in thine,

So, in the crystal palaces

Of the blue-ey'd Nereides,
Ino her endless youth does please,
And thanks her fall into the seas.
Beauteous Semele does no less
Her cruel midwife, Thunder, bless ;
Whilft, sporting with the Gods on high,
She' enjoys secure their company;

Plays with lightnings as they fly,
Nor trembles at the bright embraces of the Deity.

a

But death did them from future dangers free ;
What God, alas ! will caution be

For living man's security,
Or will ensure our vessel in this faithless fea?

Never did the sun as yet
So healthful a fair-day beget,
That travelling mortals might rely on it.

But Fortune's favour and her fpite
Roll with alternate waves like day and night :
Vicissitudes which thy great race pursue,
E’er since the fatal son his father flew,

And did old oracles fulfil
Of Gods that cannot lye, for they foretell but their own

Erynnis