THE

BEGINNING OF THE FIRST BOOK

OF

LUCRETIUS.

DELIGHT of human-kinds, and gods above,

Parent of Rome, propitious queen of love, Whose vital power, air, earth, and sea supplies; And breeds whate'er is born beneath the rolling skies:

For every kind, by thy prolific might,
Springs, and beholds the regions of the light.
Thee, goddess, thee the clouds and tempests fear:
And at thy pleasing presence disappear:
For thee the land in fragrant flowers is drest;
For thee the Ocean smiles, and smooths her wavy
breast;
[is blest.

And Heaven itself with more serene and purer light
For when the rising spring adorns the mead,
And a new scene of Nature stands display'd,
When teeming buds and cheerful greens appear,
And western gales unlock the lazy year;
The joyous birds thy welcome first express,
Whose native songs thy genial fire confess,
Then savage beasts bound o'er their slighted food,
Struck with thy darts, and tempt the raging flood.
All nature is thy gift; earth, air, and sea :
Of all that breathes, the various progeny,
Stung with delight, is goaded on by thee.
O'er barren mountains, o'er the flowery plain,
The leafy forest, and the liquid main,
Extends thy uncontrol'd and boundless reign.
Through all the living regions dost thou nove,
And scatter'st, where thou go'st, the kindly seeds
of love.

Since then the race of every living thing

Obeys thy power; since nothing new can spring
Without thy warmth, without thy influence bear,
Or beautiful, or lovesome can appear;
Be thou my aid, my tuneful song inspire,
And kindle with thy own productive fire;,
While all thy province, Nature, I survey,
And sing to Memmius an immortal lay

Of Heaven and Earth, and every where thy wondrous power display:

To Memmius under thy sweet influence born,
Whom thou with all thy gifts and graces dost adorn.
The rather then assist my Muse and me,
Infusing verses worthy him and thee. [cease,
Meantime on land and sea let barbarous discord
And lull the listening world in universal peace.
To thee mankind their soft repose must owe;
For thou alone that blessing canst bestow;

Because the brutal business of the war
Is manag'd by thy dreadful servant's care;
Who oft retires from fighting fields, to prove
The pleasing pains of thy eternal love;
And, panting on thy breast, supinely lies,
While with thy heavenly form he feeds his fa-
mish'd eyes:

Sucks in with open lips thy balmy breath,

By turns restor'd to life, and plung'd in pleasing death.

There while thy curling limbs about him move,
Involv'd and fetter'd in the links of love,
When, wishing all, he nothing can deny,
Thy charms in that auspicious moment try;
With winning eloquence our peace implore,
And quiet to the weary world restore.

THE BEGINNING OF THE SECOND BOOK OF LUCRETIUS.

'Tis pleasant, safely to behold from shore,
The rolling ship, and hear the tempest roar:
Not that another's pain is our delight;
But pains unfelt produce the pleasing sight.
'Tis pleasant also to behold from far

The moving legions mingled in the war:
But much more sweet thy labouring steps to guide
To virtue's heights, with wisdom well supply'd,
And all the magazines of learning fortify'd:
From thence to look below on human-kind,
Bewilder'd in the maze of life, and blind:
To see vain fools ambitiously contend
For wit and power; their last endeavours bend
T'outshine each other, waste their time and health
In search of honour, and pursuit of wealth.
O wretched man! in what a mist of life,
Enclos'd with dangers and with noisy strife,
He spends his little span; and overfeeds
His cramm'd desires, with more than Nature needs!
For Nature wisely stints our appetite,
And craves no more than undisturb'd delight:
Which minds, unmix'd with cares and fears ob-
A soul serene, a body void of pain.
[tain;
So little this corporeal frame requires;
So bounded are our natural desires,
That, wanting all, and setting pain aside,
With bare privation sense is satisfy'd.
If golden sconces hang not on the walls,
To light the costly suppers and the balls;
If the proud palace shines not with the state
Of burnish'd bowls, and of reflected plate;

If well-tun'd harps, nor the more pleasing sound
Of voices, from the vaulted roofs rebound;
Yet on the grass, beneath a poplar shade,
By the cool stream, our careless limbs are lay'd;
With cheaper pleasures innocently blest,
When the warm spring with gaudy flowers is drest.
Nor will the raging fever's fire abate,
With golden canopies and beds of state:
But the poor patient will as soon be found
On the hard mattress, or the mother ground.
Then since our bodies are not eas'd the more
By birth, or power, or Fortune's wealthy store,
'Tis plain, these useless toys of every kind
As little can relieve the labouring mind:
Unless we could suppose the dreadful sight
Of marshal'd legions moving to the fight
Could, with their sound and terrible array,
Expel our fears, and drive the thoughts of death
But, since the supposition vain appears,
Since clinging cares, and trains of inbred fears,
Are not with sounds to be affrighted thence,
But in the midst of pomp pursue the prince,
Not aw'd by arms, but in the presence bold,
Without respect to purple, or to gold;
Why should not we these pageantries despise,
Whose worth but in our want of reason lies?
For life is all in wandering errours led;
And just as children are surpris'd with dread,
And tremble in the dark, so riper years
Ev'n in broad day-light are possess'd with fears;
And shake at shadows fanciful and vain,
As those which in the breasts of children reign.

[away.

These bugbears of the mind, this inward hell,
No rays of outward sunshine can dispel;
But Nature and right Reason must display
Their beams abroad, and bring the darksome soul
to day.

FROM THE FIFTH BOOK OF LUCRETIUS.

Tum porrò puer, &c.

THUS, like a sailor, by a tempest hurl'd
Ashore, the babe is shipwreck'd on the world:
Naked he lies, and ready to expire;
Helpless of all that human wants require;
Expos'd upon unhospitable earth,

From the first moment of his hapless birth.
Straight with foreboding cries he fills the room;
Too true presages of his future doom.

But flocks and herds, and every savage beast,

By more indulgent Nature are increas'd.
They want no rattles for their froward mood,
Nor nurse to reconcile them to their food,
With broken words; nor winter blasts they fear,
Nor change their habits with the changing year:
Nor, for their safety, citadels prepare,

Nor forge the wicked instruments of war:
Unlabour'd Earth her bounteous treasure grants,
And Nature's lavish hand supplies their common

wants.

THE THIRD ODE

OF THE FIRST BOOK OF

HORACE.

As thou, to whom the Muse commends,
The best of poets and of friends,
Dost thy committed pledge restore;
And land him safely on the shore;
And save the better part of me,
From perishing with him at sea.

tended voyage to Ireland.

So may th' auspicious queen of love,

And the twin stars, the seed of Jove,

And he who rules the raging wind,
To thee, O sacred Ship, be kind;
And gentle breezes fill thy sails,
Supplying soft Etesian gales:

In harden'd oak his heart did hide,
And ribs of iron arm'd his side;

Or his at least, in hollow wood
Who tempted first the briny flood:
Nor fear'd the winds contending roar,
Nor billows beating on the shore;

Nor Hyades portending rain;
Nor all the tyrants of the main

What form of Death could him affright,
Who unconcerned, with stedfast sight,
Could view the surges mounting steep,
And monsters rolling in the deep!
Could through the ranks of ruin go,
With storms above, and rocks below!
In vain did Nature's wise command
Divide the waters from the land,
If daring ships and men prophane
lavade th' inviolable maiu;
Th' eternal fences over-leap,
And pass at will the boundless deep.
No toil, no hardship, can restrain
Ambitious man inur'd to pain;

The more confin'd, the more he tries,
And at forbidden quarry flies.
Thus bold Prometheus did aspire,

And stole from Heaven the seeds of fire:

A train ills, a ghastly crew,
The robber's blazing track pursue:
Fierce Famine with her meagre face,
And fevers of the fiery race,

In swarms th' offending wretch surround,
All brooding on the blasted ground:
And limping Death, lash'd on by Fate,
Comes up to shorten half our date.
This made not Dædalus beware,
With borrow'd wings to sail in air:
To Hell Alcides forc'd his way,

Plung'd through the lake, and snatch'd the prey.
Nay scarce the gods, or heavenly climes,
Are safe from our audacious crimes;
We reach at Jove's imperial crown,
And pull th' unwilling thunder down.

THE NINTH ODE

OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE.

BEHOLD yon mountain's hoary height Made higher with new mounts of snow; Again behold the winter's weight

Oppress the labouring woods below: And streams, with icy fetters bound, Benumb'd and crampt to solid ground. With well-heap'd logs dissolve the cold, And feed the genial hearth with fires; Produce the wine, that makes us bold, And sprightly wit and love inspires: For what hereafter shall betide, God, if 'tis worth his care, provide.

Let him alone, with what he made,
To toss and turn the world below;
At his command the storms invade;
The winds by his commission blow;
Till with a nod he bids them cease,

And then the calm returns, and all is peace.

To-morrow and her works defy,

Lay hold upon the present hour, And snatch the pleasures passing by, To put them out of Fortune's power: Nor love, nor love's delights disdain; Whate'er thou gett'st to-day, is gain,

Thou, what befits the new lord mayor,

And what the city factions dare,
And what the Gallic arms will do,

And what the quiver-bearing foe,
Art anxiously inquisitive to know:
But God has, wisely, hid from human sight
The dark decrees of future fate,

And sown their seeds in depth of night; He laughs at all the giddy turns of state;

In my small pinnace I can sail, Contemning all the blustering roar;

And, running with a merry gale, With friendly stars my safety seek Within some little winding creek: And see the storm ashore.

THE SECOND EPODE

OF

HORACE.

How happy in his low degree,

Enjoy the present smiling hour,
And put it out of Fortune's power:

The tide of business, like the running stream,
Is sometimes high, and sometimes low,
A quiet ebb, or a tempestuous flow,

And always in extreme.

Now with a noiseless gentle course
It keeps within the middle bed;
Anon it lifts aloft the head,

And bears down all before it with impetuous force;
And trunks of trees come rolling down,
Sheep and their folds together drown :
Both house and homestead into seas are borne,
And rocks are from their old foundations torn,
And woods, made thin with winds, their scatter'd
honours mourn.

Who leads a quiet country life;
Discharg'd of business, void of strife,
And from the griping scrivener free!
Thus, ere the seeds of vice were sown,
Liv'd men in better ages born,
Who plow'd with oxen of their own

Their small paternal field of corn.
Nor trumpets summon him to war,

Nor drums disturb his morning sleep,
Nor knows he merchants' gainful care,

The clamours of contentious law,
Nor fears the dangers of the deep.

And court, and state, he wisely shuns,
Nor, brib'd with hopes, nor dar'd with awe,
To servile salutations runs;

But either to the clasping vine

Does the supporting poplar wed, Or with his pruning-hook disjoin

Unbearing branches from their head, And grafts more happy in their stead. Or, climbing to a hilly steep,

He views his herds in vales afar,
Or sheers his overburthen'd sheep,

Or mead for cooling drink prepares,
Of virgin honey in the jars.

Or in the now-declining year,

He joys to pull the ripen'd pear,

When bounteous autumn rears his head,

And clustering grapes with purple spread. The fairest of his fruit he serves,

Priapus, thy rewards: Sylvanus too his part deserves,

Whose care the fences guards. Sometimes beneath an ancient oak,

Or on the matted grass, he lies;
No god of sleep he need invoke ;

The stream that o'er the pebbles flies
With gentle slumber crowns his eyes.
The wind that whistles through the sprays
Maintains the concert of the song;
And hidden birds with native lays
The golden sleep prolong.
But, when the blast of winter blows,
And hoary frost inverts the year,
Into the naked woods he goes,

And seeks the tusky boar to rear,
With well-mouth'd hounds and pointed spear!
Or spreads his subtle nets from sight

With twinkling glasses, to betray The larks that in the meshes light,

Or makes the fearful hare his prey.
Amidst his harmless easy joys

No anxious care invades his health,
Nor love his peace of mind destroys,
Nor wicked avarice of wealth.
But if a chaste and pleasing wife,
To ease the business of his life,

Divides with him his household care,
Such as the Sabine matrons were,
Such as the swift Apulian's bride,

Sun-burnt and swarthy though she be, Will fire for winter-nights provide,

And without noise will oversee
His children and his family;
And order all things till he come,
Sweaty and overlabour'd, home;
If she in pens his flocks will fold,

And then produce her dairy store,
With wine to drive away the cold,

And unbought dainties of the poor; Not oysters of the Lucrine lake

My sober appetite would wishy Nor turbot, or the foreign fish That rolling tempests overtake,

And hither waft the costly dish. Not heathpout, or the rarer bird,

Which Phasis or Ionia yields, More pleasing morsels would afford Than the fat olives of my fields;

Than shards or mallows for the pot,

That keep the loosen'd body sound, Or than the lamb, that falls by lot

To the just guardian of my ground.
Amidst these feasts of happy swains,

The jolly shepherd smiles to see
His flock returning from the plains;
The farmer is as pleas'd as he
To view his oxen sweating smoke,
Bear on their necks the loosen'd yoke:
To look upon his menial crew,

That sit around his cheerful hearth,
And bodies spent in toil renew

With wholesome food and country mirth. This Morecraft said within himself,

Resolv'd to leave the wicked town:
And live retir'd upon his own,

He call'd his money in;

But the prevailing love of pelf,
Soon split him on the former shelf,

He put it out again.

VOL. IX.