Of the third ode Dryden-amplifying, as usual, but with his usual vigour has given a translation which makes a fine English poem. We take the first stanza of this noble Pindaric ode:

"Sic te diva potens Cypri,

Sic fratres Helena, lucida sidera,
Ventorumque regat pater,
Obstrictis aliis, præter Iapyga:
Navis, quæ tibi creditum

Debes Virgilium, finibus Atticis
Reddas incolumem, precor,

Et serves animæ dimidium mea."

Dryden enters fully into the warm feeling of Horace in his adieu to his beloved brother bard :

Safe render him, I pray, to Athens' shore, And thus the half preserve me of my soul."

But we must not forget old Allan
Ramsay's fine version in his Doric
English:-

"O Cyprian goddess, twinkle clear,
And Helen's brithers aye appear;
Ye stars wha shed a lucky light,
Auspicious aye keep in-a sight;
King Eol, grant a tydie tirl,
But boast the blast that rudely whirl:
Dear ship, be canny wi' your care,
At Athens land my Virgil fair,
Syne soon and safe, baith lith and spaul,
Bring hame the tae hauf o' my saul."

We pass by, at least for the present, ode iv., and proceed to the ode of Pyrrha, the pearl of pearls, so ex

"So may the auspicious Queen of Love, quisitely translated by John Milton:

And the twin-stars (the seed of Jove),

And he who rules the raging wind,
To thee, oh, sacred ships, be kind!
And gentle breezes fill thy sails,
Supplying soft Etesian gales,

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."

It is a fearful trial to place the
version of a young aspirant for fame
beside that of "Glorious John," but
we think Mr. Robinson's will not
suffer from the comparison, if we
recollect that his professed object is
to give literal translations of the odes;
and we submit that, while the follow-
ing lines are sufficiently flowing and
harmonious, they are much more
faithful to the original and more
Horatian in form and spirit than
Dryden's. Mr. Robinson is the only
translator of Horace who never tries
to shirk the classic names. Dryden
only gives equivalents for the "diva
Cypri," "fratres Helena,"
rum pater," "Iapyga," "Virgilium
finibus Atticis."

vento

Mr. Robinson has inwoven all in his verse in the same style he found them in the original :

"So may the goddess great of Cyprus' isle,

So

So Helen's brothers, constellations

shining;

may the Father of the Winds the while, Saving Iapyx, all the rest confining, Guide thee, O ship, embounden to re

store

My Virgil now confided to thee whole;

"Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa
Perfusus liquidis urguet odoribus
Grato Pyrrha sub antro?
Cui flavam religas comam,

Simplex munditiis? heu, quoties fidem
Mutatosque deos flebit, et aspera
Nigris æquora ventis
Emirabitur insolens,

Qui nunc te fruitur credulus aurea :
Qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem
Sperat, nescius auræ

Fallacis miseri quibus
Intentata nites: me tabula sacer
Votiva paries indicat uvida
Suspendisse potenti

Vestimenta maris deo."

This is Milton's version, and it is one of the closest, the most classical, and the most melodious that was ever made. It nearly equals the original. "What slender youth, bedew'd with li quid odours,

Courts thee on roses in some pleasant

cave,

Pyrrha? For whom bind'st thou
In wreaths thy golden hair,
Plain in thy neatness? O how oft shall

he

On faith and changed gods complain, and

'See, how old Soracte's height Stands with snowy mantle white, How the forest's labouring bough Scarce sustains its hurden now, And the river's flow is lost, Stiffen'd with the icy frost. Dissolve the cold; upon the fire Pile the ample faggot higher : And in thy two-ear'd Sabine bowl, O Thaliarch, with liberal soul, From thy cellars draw profuse The four-year-old's emmellow'd juice. Leave unto the Gods the rest : They, as soon as their bebest Has lull'd the tempest winds to sleep, Struggling with the boiling deep; Nor aged ash nor cypresses Are longer shaken by the breeze.

What to-morrow may transpire,
Seek, oh! seek not to inquire;
Every day that we obtain

From Fortune, set it down as gain ;
Nor, my boy, disdain to prove
The joys of dancing, or of love,

While old age, morose and grey,
Keeps from thy green youth away.
Now oft and oft frequent again
The public walks, the Martial plain,
And whisper'd vows at night repeat,
When at the chosen hour you meet.
And let there oft repeated be
The giggling laugh of maiden glee,
Betraying where the damsel lies

In yonder nook, while love's sweet prize
Is from her arm or finger reft,
Which ill resents the wish'd-for theft."

Although we are firm in our opinion of the general worthlessness of Horatian imitations, there is one of this ode by Allan Ramsay, so graphic and so vigorous, that we must quote it:

"Look up to Pentland's tow'ring tap,
Buried beneath big wreaths o' snaw,
Ower ilka cleugh, ilk scaur and slap,
As high as ony Roman wa'.

Driving their ba's frae whins or tee,
There's no ae gowfer to be seen;
Nor douser fouk, wysing a-jee
The byas bouls on Tamson's green.

Then fling on coals, and ripe the ribs,

And beek the house baith butt and

ben;

That mutchkin-stoup it hauds but dribs,
Then let's get in the tappit hen.

Guid claret best keeps out the cauld,
And drives awa the winter soon;
It maks a man baith gash and bauld,
Aud heaves his soul ayont the moon.

Leave to the gods your ilka care;
If that they think us worth their while,
They can a rowth o' blessings spare,
Which will our fashious fears beguile.

For what they hae a mind to do,
That will they do, should we gang

Be sure ye dinna quat the grip

O' ilka joy whan ye are young,
Before auld age your vitals nip,

And lay yo twafald ower a rung.

Sweet youth's a blithe and heartsome
time;

Then, lads and lasses, while it's May,
Gae, pou the gowan in its prime,
Before it wither and decay.

Watch the saft minutes o' delyte,
Whan Jenny speaks beneath her
breath,

wud;
If they command the storms to blaw,
Then upo' sight the hailstanes thud.
But soon as e'er they cry, Be quiet!'
The blatt'ring winds daur nae mair

move,

And kisses, laying a' the wyte
On you, if she kepp ony skaith.

But cour into their caves, and wait
The high command o' supreme Jove.
Let neist day come as it thinks fit,
The present minute's only ours;
On pleasure let's employ our wit,
And laugh at Fortune's feckless pow'rs.
VOL. XXXI. NO. CLXXXIII.

Haith, ye're ill-bred,' she'll smiling say, 'Ye'll worry me, ye greedy rook ;' Syne frae your arms she'll rin away,

And hide hersell in some dark nook. Her laugh will lead you to the place

Whare lies the happiness you want,
And plainly tells to
you your face,
Nineteen
nay-says are hauf a grant.
Now to her heaving bosom cling,

And sweetly toolie for a kiss,
Frae her fair fingers whup a ring,

As token o' a future bliss.
These bennisons, I'm very sure,

Are o' the gods' indulgent grant;
Then, surly carles, whist, forbear

To plague us wi' your whining cant!"

We jump on to the first ode of book iv., principally to present our readers with a magnificent translation by old Ben Jonson. Francis, too, is very good in this, and Pope's imitation is very happy; but "rare Ben Jonson" had already done the ode so well into English, that it was absurd for any body to handle it after him :

"Intermissa, Venus, diu,
Rursus bella moves?

precor;

Parce, precor,

Non sum qualis eram bonæ

Sub regno Cynaræ. Desine, dulcium Mater sæva Cupidinum,

Circa lustra decem flectere mollibus Jam durum imperiis: abi

Quo blanda juvenum te

revocant

If a fat liver thou dost seeke to toast:
For he's both noble, lovely, young,
And for a troubled clvent fyls his tongue,
Child of a hundred hearts, and farre
Will he display the ensines of thy

warre.

And when he smiling finds his grace,
With thee 'bove all his rivals' gifts take

place,

He will thee a marble statue make,
Beneath a sweet-wood roofe, neere Alba
lake:

There shall thy dainty nostrill take
In many a gumme, and for thy soft eare's

sake

Shall verse be set to harpe and lute,
And Phrygian hau'boy, not without the
flute.

There twice a day in sacred laies,
The youths and tender maids sball sing
thy praise:

And in the Salian mauner meet
Thrice 'bout thy altar with their ivory
feet.

Me now, nor wench, nor wanton toy,
Delights, nor credulous hope of mutuall
joy,

Nor care I now bealths to propound;
Or with fresh flowers to girt my temple

round.

But why, oh why, my Ligurine,

Flow my thin teares downe these pale
cheeks of mine;

Or why, my well-graced words among,
With an uncomely silence failes my
tongue?

Hard-hearted, I dreame every night,
I hold thee fast! but fled hence, with the
light,

Whether in Mars his field thou be,
Or Tyber's winding streames, I follow
thee."

Byron imitates pleasantly those sweet lines of the ode, "Jam me," &c.,

My days of love are over: me no more The charms of maid, wife, and still less of widow,

Can make the fool of which they made before;

In short I must not lead the life I did do," &c.

And the idea of the last lines in the ode is amplified in one of Spenser's delicious sonnets,

"Lackyng my love I go from place to place,

Lyke a young fawne, that late hath lost the hynd;

And seeke each where where last I sawe her face,

Whose image yet I carry fresh in mynd," &c.

We have only touched on some three or four of the odes, and yet we fear all the space we can claim in this Number is filled. Yet much remains to be said upon odes, not only remarkable for grace and beauty, but valuable for displaying to us passages in the private life of the princely Romans, and illustrating the history, political and general, of Augustus's time, and the characters of his great contemporaries. We have purposely avoided odes of this class in the present paper, hoping to find leisure at some future time to take them up, and offer some observations illustrative of the social and moral condition of the Romans of either sex at that period, when science, literature, art, eloquence, poetry, refined luxury, and sumptuous pomp and splendour, had reached their point of culmination. It is difficult for us, in these degenerate days, to imagine how delightful must have been the society of Rome. We look

with a half-incredulous astonishment
at what we read of the vast and
various accomplishments and deep
learning of the gentlemen of Rome
in its palmy state. We wonder how
such attainments could have been
acquired in the short space of man's
life. Yet many of the "Romanos
rerum dominos "have left monuments
and memories behind which forbid
us to doubt that that did exist to
which we find it difficult to enlarge
our comprehension. All must have
then had being which could embel-
lish human life, and render social in-
tercourse a pleasure worthy of the
immortal gods of Heathenesse. Rome
was a city of wonders, but her great-
est wonders were her men,-

"All that which Athens ever brought
forth wise-

All that which Afrike ever brought
forth strange-

All that which Asia ever had of prize,
Was here to see. O marvellous great
change!

Rome living was the world's sole orna

ment,

And dead is now the world's sole moni

ment."

And who does not sympathise, acthusiasm, with glorious Spenser, when cording to the capability of his enhe exclaims,

"Oh that I had the Thracian poet's harpe,

For to awake out of th' infernal shade Those antique Casars, sleeping long in darke,

The which this auncient city whilome made!

Or that I had Amphion's instrument,

To quicken with his vital notes accord, The stonie joynts of these old walls now rent,

By which th' Ausonian light might be restored."

MORGAN RATTLER.

THE CURATE'S VOLUME OF POEMS.

CHAPTER THE THIRD.

In an old Eastern tale it is narrated how a certain learned man, being about to take a journey into a distant country, deposited a bag of gold, for security, with a drug-merchant, and then went his way, and was long absent. On his return home, he called upon his debtor, nothing doubting but that he should find his treasure safe, and was exceedingly mortified and perplexed at being treated as an utter stranger. The druggist stoutly denied the fact of his having received such a deposit, and, being a man of opulence and good credit, availed himself of the advantages of his position to throw doubts upon the sanity or integrity of the claimant, and at length threatened him with punishment, if he did not forbear from any further importunity.

In this dilemma, being without any other remedy, the learned man drew up the particulars of his case, and laid it, with a petition, before the king, who, after some inquiry and consideration, sent for him, and in

structed him to make no more complaints, but to go and sit, without speaking a word, before the druggist's shop for three days.

"Then," said he, 66 on the fourth day I will pass that way in state, and will make you a salaam, which you must receive as a common occurrence, and take little notice of; but, after I am gone, make another application to the druggist for your money, and let me know the result."

The learned man did as he was commanded; and, on the fourth day, the king came by in great state, with his ministers and nobles, and suddenly halted, and made him a profound salaam, which the learned man returned. Then the king said, in a loud and earnest tone,

66

Why, my friend! you never come near us, nor give us any acLet us count of your circumstances. see you soon;" and forthwith he passed on, while the learned man merely bent his head a little, but said nothing.