Original sonnets on various subjects; and odes paraphrased from Horace Part 13

TO [1]MUNATIUS PLANCUS.

BOOK THE FIRST, ODE THE SEVENTH.

Be far-fam'd [2]RHODES the theme of loftier strains, Or [3]MITYLENE, as their Bard decrees; Or EPHESUS, where great DIANA reigns, Or CORINTH, towering 'twixt the rival seas; Or THEBES, ill.u.s.trious in thy birth divine, Purpureal BACCHUS;--or of PHBUS' shrine DELPHOS oracular; or warbling hail Thessalian TEMPE's flower-embroider'd vale.

The Art-crown'd City, chaste MINERVA's pride, There are, whose endless numbers have pourtray'd; They, to each tree that spreads its branches wide, Prefer the [4]tawny Olive's scanty shade.

Many, in JUNO's honor, sing thy meads, Green ARGOS, glorying in thy agile steeds; Or opulent MYCENE, whose proud fanes The blood of murder'd AGAMEMNON stains.

Nor patient LACEDaeMON wakes my lyre, Who trains her Sons to all the Warrior's toil; Nor me [5]LARISSA's airy graces fire, Tho' round her hills the golden vallies smile: But my lov'd mansion, 'mid the circling wood, On the green bank of clear Albunea's flood, Its walls resounding with the echo'd roar, As Anio's torrents down the mountain pour.

Amid my blooming orchards pleas'd I rove, Guiding the ductile course of murmuring rills; Or mark the curtains of the sacred grove Sink in the vales, or sweep along the hills.

[6]Ah Friend! if round my cell such graces s.h.i.+ne, The PALACE of Tiburnian Shades is thine; She every feature of the Scene commands, And Empress of its varied beauty stands.

Tho' frequent mists the young Favonius shroud, Bending his flagging wing with heavy rains, Yet oft he chases every showery cloud, Winnowing, with pinion light, th' aerial plains; Ah! thus from thee let each dark vapor roll, That rash Ambition gathers on the soul; The jocund Pleasures in her absence rise, Glow in the breast, and sparkle in the eyes.

And thou, MUNATIUS, whether Fate ordain The Camp thy home, with glancing javelins bright; Or if the graces of that fair domain, Umbrageous Tivoli, thy steps invite; If trumpets sound the clang that Warriors love, Or round thee trill the choirings of the grove, In flowing bowls drown every vain regret, Enjoy the PRESENT, and the PAST forget!

The walls of SALAMIS when TEUCER fled, Driven by a Parent's unrelenting frown, Hope from his spirit chas'd each anxious dread, While on his brow he bound the poplar crown; In rich libation pour'd the generous wine, Then bath'd his temples in the juice divine; And thus, with gladden'd eye, and air sedate, Address'd the drooping Followers of his fate.

"Wherever Destiny, a kinder friend Than he who gave me birth, may point the way, Thither resolv'd our duteous steps shall bend, Nor know presaging fear, nor weak delay.

Doubt flies when Teucer leads, and cold despair, In Teucer's auspices, shall melt to air; Phbus ordains that, in more favoring skies, Another prosp'rous SALAMIS shall rise.

"So much alike her fountains, fanes, and bowers, That e'en her name shall dubious meaning bear;-- Then, my lov'd Friends, who oft, in darker hours, Have shar'd with me a conflict more severe, O! let us lose in wine our sorrow's weight, And rise the masters of our future fate!

This night we revel in convivial ease, To-morrow seek again the vast and pathless seas."

1: He had twice been Consul; was of Brutus' and Ca.s.sius' party, but went over to Augustus, who received him with kind respect. However he revolted from him, persuaded by the Friends of Marc Antony, that the Battle of Actium would decree the Empire to that General. The event, so contrary, brought Munatius back to the feet of Augustus, but he was not received with former kindness, nor did he deserve it, and retired, chagrined, to his fine seat at Tivoli, in the wood of Tiburnus, so called from the neighbouring city, Tibur. There also, and near the falls of Tivoli, described at full in Mr. Gray's letters, Horace had a villa. The Poet, perceiving the spirits of Munatius dejected, writes this Ode to reconcile him to his destiny, and to inspire him with delight in the beautiful Scenery by which he was surrounded; insinuating, that should Augustus _banish_ him, which was no improbable event, he ought not to despond, but to form his conduct upon the spirited example of Teucer; who, together with his Friends and Followers, was banished from his native City, Salamis, by his Father, because he had not revenged upon the Greeks the death of his Brother Ajax.--The disinterested design of this Ode, and the humane attention it pays to a disgraced n.o.bleman, are much to the Poet's honor, who was perhaps, in general, more disposed to gratulate the Powerful, than to sooth the Unfortunate.

2: _Rhodes_, the Capital of an Island of the same name in the Mediterranean, and famous for the Colossal Statue.

3: _Mitylene_, the chief City of Lesbos, praised by Cicero for its advantageous situation, elegant buildings, and fertile soil.

4: Tawny Olive. It was believed that Minerva presented the seed of the olive-tree to the Athenians.

5: _Larissa_, a beautiful City, upon one of the hills in Thessaly.

6: This surely must be the Poet's meaning in mentioning his _own_ villa, when he is endeavouring to awaken in Munatius a taste for the surrounding beauties of his more magnificent seat. Commentators rationally conclude that some _connecting_ lines have been lost from the latin of this Ode. It appears to me, that the idea which those dismembered lines conveyed, must necessarily have been the comparison _added_ in the four ensuing lines, which makes the transition easy.

TO LYDIA.

BOOK THE FIRST, ODE THE EIGHTH.

O, Lydia! I conjure thee tell Why, with persisting zeal, thou dost employ The strongest power of amorous spell On Sybaris, belov'd too well, Wounding his fame amid voluptuous joy?

Why shuns he now the noon-tide glare, Inur'd to whirling dust, and scorching heat?

Ceases the Warrior-vest to wear In which he us'd, with graceful air, Aspiring Youths, all emulous, to meet?

Why is it now no more his pride To rein the ardent horse with agile arm?

With new-strung sinews to divide The yellow Tyber's angry tide, When the tempestuous showers its rage alarm?

Why hates he, as the viper's gore, The Wrestler's oil, that supples every vein?

Why do we see his arms no more With livid bruises spotted o'er, Of manly sports the honorable stain?

'T was his to whirl, with matchless skill, The glancing quoit, the certain javelin throw, While Crowds, with acclamations shrill, The lofty Circus joy'd to fill, And all the honors of the Day bestow.

Such fond seclusion why desire?-- Thus Thetis' care her blooming Son conceal'd, Ere yet commenc'd that Contest dire, When mournful gleam'd the funeral pyre, Thro' ten long years, on Ilium's purpled field.

In vain the female vest he wore, That Love maternal might avert his fate; Lest his spear drink the Lycian gore, Lest sinking Troy his force deplore, And DEATH with GLORY meet him at her gate.

TO [1]THALIARCHUS.

BOOK THE FIRST, ODE THE NINTH.

In dazzling whiteness, lo! Soracte towers, As all the mountain were one heap of snow!

Rush from the loaded woods the glittering showers; The frost-bound waters can no longer flow.

Let plenteous billets, on the glowing hearth, Dissolve the ice-dart ere it reach thy veins; Bring mellow wines to prompt convivial mirth, Nor heed th' arrested streams, or slippery plains.

High Heaven, resistless in his varied sway, Speaks!--The wild elements contend no more; Nor then, from raging seas, the foamy spray Climbs the dark rocks, or curls upon the sh.o.r.e.

And peaceful then yon aged ash shall stand; In breathless calm the dusky cypress rise; To-morrow's destiny the G.o.ds command, To-day is thine;--enjoy it, and be wise!

Youth's radiant tide too swiftly rolls away; Now, in its flow, let pleasures round thee bloom; Join the gay dance, awake the melting lay, Ere h.o.a.ry tresses blossom for the tomb!

Spears, and the Steed, in busy camps impel; And, when the early darkness veils the groves, Amid the leafless boughs let whispers steal, While frolic Beauty seeks the near alcoves.

Soft as thy tip-toe steps the mazes rove, A laugh, half-smother'd, thy pleas'd ear shall meet, And, sportive in the charming wiles of love, Betray the artifice of coy retreat;

And then the ring, or, from her snowy arm, The promis'd bracelet may thy force employ; Her feign'd reluctance, height'ning every charm, Shall add new value to the ravish'd toy.

1: This Ode was probably written at the Country Seat of that n.o.bleman, near the mountain Soracte, in Tuscany, twenty-six miles from Rome.

TO LEUCONOE.

BOOK THE FIRST, ODE THE ELEVENTH.