worthy kind of servitude, is incapable of producing any thing good or noble. I have seen originals, both in painting and poesy, much more beautiful than their natural objects; but I never saw a copy better than the original: which indeed cannot be otherwise; for men resolving in no case to shoot beyond the mark, it is a thousand to one if they shoot 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 exa.noured of the name translator, as not to wish rather to be something better, though it want yet a name. I speak 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 time, though not to our Hebrews of Buxtorfius's making, the most exalted pieces of poesy) are a great example of what I have said; all the translators of which, (even Mr. Sandys himself; for in despite of popular errour, 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 Judca. Upon this ground I have, in these two Odes of Pindar, 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 lost 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 Nemæan Odes; which are as followeth. THE SECOND OLYMPIC Ode of 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) from his great riches, (an ordinary common-place in Pindar) from his hospitality, munificence, and other virtues. The Ode (according to the constant custom of the poet) consists more in digressions, than in the main subject: and the reader must not be choqued to hear him speak so often of his own Muse; for that is a liberty which this kind of poetry can hardly live without. QUEEN of all harmonious things, Dancing words, and speaking strings! [voice. The fair first-fruits of war, th' Olympic games, Alcides too thy strings may move: Is Theron the next honour claims: Theron there, and he alone, Ev'n his own swift forefathers has outgone, Till on the fatal bank at last With pride and joy espy. Then chearful notes their painted years did sing, Their genuine virtues did more sweet and clear, To which, great son of Khea! say For the past sufferings of this noble race Hearken no more to thy command) Of the blue-ey'd Nereides, But death did them from future dangers free; For living man's security, 217 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 spite Roll with alternate waves, like day and night: E'er since the fatal son his father slew, And did old oracles fulfil There silver rivers through enamell'd meadows glide, And golden trees enrich their side; Th'illustrious leaves no dropping autumn fear, For bracelets to the arm, and garlands to the Of gods that cannot lie, for they foretell but Here all the heroes, and their poets, live; their own will. Erynnis saw 't, and made in her own seed The innocent parricide to bleed; She slew his wrathful sons with mutual blows: And brave Thersander, in amends for what was Brave Thersander was by none, In war, or warlike sports, out-done. Isthmus and Nemæa, does twice happy see; By not being all thine own; [lame. This without that is blind, that without this is Nor is fair Virtue's picture seen aright But in Fortune's golden light. Riches alone are of uncertain date, And on short man long cannot wait; The virtuous make of them the best, They, whilst life's air they breathe, consider well, and know Th' account they must hereafter give below; By the just decrees of Jove, The heavy necessary effects of voluntary faults. There neither earth nor sea they plough, For food, that whilst it nourishes does decay, Thrice had these men through mortal bodies past, Did thrice the trial undergo, Till all their little dross was purg'd at last, The furnace had no more to do. Then in rich Saturn's peaceful state Were they for sacred treasures plac'd, Wise Rhadamanthus did the sentence give, With sovereign Saturn on the bench to sit. Which did from thence a divine hardness take, To Theron, Muse! bring back thy wandering song, Whom those bright troops expect impatiently; And may they do so long! How, noble archer! do thy wanton arrows fly Let Art use method and Per emptied be: 3d-Landry, Art lives on Nature's al:, i, weak and poor; Wallows in wealth, and runs a furung maze, Art, instead of meanin, igh, About her humble food des hover.nefy; Like the ignoble crow, r pine a noise does love; Whilst Nature, li et sacreć Now bears loud ner; all joy The beauteous gian : Jove, 1 with silent And sometimes bas in the James of day i Defeats the strong, ertal theving prey, And sometinesthes His soaring wi am the clouds. Leave, wanton To thy loud str Let Agrigen And Ther And, lestrare of vere should give By the a ala water ear, No more than Swear do that of Styx prophane) my erkefore, A bette, min, or „ICHEL -soul'd, was born; Swear, that none c Fortune's free gifts as freely to impart, ad such a graceful art With an unenvious hand, and an unbounded heart. But in this thankless world the givers The Muse-discover'd world of Islands Fortunate, Rather to hide, than pay, the obligation: Soft-footed winds with tuneful voices there Dance through the perfum'd air: Wrongs and outrages to do, Lest men should think we owe. Appear'd not half so bright, But cast a weaker light, Such monsters, Theron! has thy virtue found: Through earth, and air, and seas, and up to th But all the malice they profess, Thy secure honour cannot wound; For thy vast bounties are so numberless, That them or to conceal, or else to tell, Is equally impossible! THE FIRST NEMEAN ODE OF PINDAR. Chromius, the son of Agesidamus, a young gentleman of Sicily, is celebrated for having won the prize of the chariot-race in the Nemæan games, (a solemnity instituted first to celebrate the funeral of Opheltes, as is at large described by Statius; and afterwards continued every third year, with an extraordinary conflux of all Greece, and with incredible honour to the conquerors in all the exercises there practised) upon which occasion the poet begins with the commendation of his country, which I take to have been Ortygia, (an island belonging to Sicily, and a part of Syracuse, being joined to it by a bridge) though the title of the Ode call him Etnæan Chromius, perhaps because he was made governor of that town by Hieron. From thence he falls into the praise of Chromius's person, which he draws from his great endowments of mind and body, and most especially from his hospitality, and he worthy use of his riches. He likens his beginning to that of Hercules; and, according to his usual manner of being transported with any good hint that meets him in his way, passing into a digression of Hercules, and his slaying the two serpents in his cradle, concludes the Ode with that history. BEAUTEOUS Ortygia! the first breathing-place Of great Alpheus' close and amorous race! Fair Delos' sister, the childbed Of bright Latona, where she bred Th' original new Moon! heavenly vault. "To thee, O Proserpine! this isle I give," Said Jove, and, as he said, Smil'd, and bent his gracious head. "And thou, O isle!" said he, "for ever thrive, And keep the value of our gift alive! As Heaven with stars, so let Of The country thick with towns be set, Let all the towns be then Replenish'd thick with men, Wise in peace, and bold in wars! Of thousand glorious towns the nation, thousand glorious men each town a con stellation! Nor let their warlike laurel scorn Go to great Syracuse, my Muse, and wait "Twill open wide to let thee in, When thy lyre's voice shall but begin; Joy, plenty, and free welcome, dwells within. The Tyrian beds thou shalt find ready drest, The ivory table crowded with a feast: The table which is free for every guest, So No doubt will thee admit, And feast more upon thee, than thou on it. mass; For the great dower which Fortune made to it. 'Tis madness, sure, treasures to hoard, And make them useless, as in nines, remain, Who saw'st her tender forehead ere the horns To lose th' occasion Fortune does afford were grown! Who, like a gentle scion newly started out, Thee first my song does greet, Nor ought he therefore like it less, The torches which the mother brought Fame and public love to gain: Ev'n for self-concerning ends, 'Tis wiser much to hoard-up friends. Though happy men the present goods possess, Th' unhappy have their share in future hopes no less. How early has young Chromius begun And borne the noble prize away, 'Twas ripe at first, and did disdain The slow advance of dull humanity. The big-limb'd babe in his huge cradle lay, Too weighty to be rock'd by nurses' hands, Wrapt in purple swaddling-bands; When, lo! by jealous Juno's fierce commands, Two dreadful serpents come, Rolling and hissing loud, into the room; To the bold babe they trace their bidden way; Forth from their flaming eyes dread lightnings went; heir gaping mouths did forked tongues, like Some of th' amazed women dropt down dead About the room, some into corners crept, All naked from her bed the passionate mother To save or perish with her child; She trembled, and she cry'd; the mighty infant smil'd: The mighty infant seem'd well pleas'd At his gay gilded foes; And, as their spotted necks up to the cradle rose, In vain they rag'd, in vain they hiss'd, In vain their armed tails they twist, And angry circles cast about; Pindar's unnavigable song Like a swolu flood from some steep mountain pours along; The ocean meets with such a voice, So Pindar does new words and figures roll Black blood, and fiery breath, and poisonous Whether the swift, the skilful, or the strong, To carve in polish'd verse the conqueror's images; soul, he squeezes out! With their drawn swords In ran Amphitryo and the Theban lords; With doubting wonder, and with troubled joy, When wise Tiresias this beginning knew, What mighty tyrants he should slay, To their great offspring here below; In their harmonious, golden palaces; Walk with ineffable delight Be crowned in his nimble, artful, vigorous song; Such mournful, and such pleasing words, As joy to his mother's and his mistress' grief af. fords He bids him live and grow in fame; And there with humble sweets contents her in THE RESURRECTION. Through the thick groves of never-withering light, Nor showers to earth, more necessary be, And, as he walks, affright The Lion and the Bear, Bull, Centaur, Scorpion, all the radiant monsters there. THE PRAISE OF PINDAR. IN IMITATION OF HORACE'S SECOND ODE, B. IV. Pindarum quisquis studet æmulari, &c. PINDAR IS imitable by none; The phenix Pindar is a vast species alone. (Heaven's vital seed cast on the womb of Earth That never will decay Till Heaven itself shall melt away, Begin the song, and strike the living lyre; Who e'er but Daedalus with waxen wings could fly, Lo! how the Years to come, a numerous and And neither sink too low nor soar too high? What could he who follow'd claim, But of vain boldness the unhappy fame, VOL. VII. well-fitted quire, Then all the wide-extended sky, And he himself shall see in one fire shine Figures, Conceits, Raptures, and Sentences, lu a well-worded dress; And innocent Loves, and pleasant Truths, and useful Lies, In all their gaudy liveries. Mount, glorious queen! thy travelling throne, And bid it to put on; For long, though cheerful, is the way, And life, alas! allows but one ill winter's day. Rich Nature's ancient Troy, though built by Where never foot of man, or hoof of beast, hands divine. And open tombs, and open eyes, Back to their ancient home; And, where th' attending soul naked and shivering stands, Meet, salute, and join their hands; The mountains shake, and run about no less confus'd than they. Stop, stop, my Muse! allay thy vigorous heat, Kindled at a hint so great; Hold thy Pindaric Pegasus closely in, Which does to rage begin, And this steep hill would gallop up with violent The passage press'd; Where never fish did fly, And with short silver wings cut the low liquid sky; Where bird with painted oars did ne'er Row through the trackless ocean of the air; Where never yet did pry The busy Morning's curious eye; The wheels of thy bold coach pass quick and free, Is all thy plain and smooth uninterrupted way! known, With an unwearied wing the other way on high, Where Fates among the stars do grow ; There into the close nests of Time dost peep, And there, with piercing eye, Through the firm shell and the thick white, dost spy Years to come a-forming lie, Close in their sacred fecundine asleep, Till hatch'd by the Sun's vital heat, And, ripe at last, with vigorous might Break through the shell, and take their everlasting flight! And sure we may The same too of the present say, If past and future times do thee obey. Thou stop'st this current, and dost make Thy certain hand holds fast this slippery snake: Which melts so soon away Thy verse does solidate and crystallize, Nay, thy immortal rhyme |