Then would we wander through this darken'd vale, 13 14 But, horror to reflection! now no more See! see! the pitchy vapour hides the lawn, Now, rest my muse, but only rest to weep Few are the pleasures Chatterton e'er knew, 15 In the original, thus : * "A mad'ning darkness reigns through all the lawn, Save where into a hoary oak withdrawn," &c. An addiction to poetry is very generally the result of an uneasy mind in an uneasy body; disease or deformity have been the attendants of many of our best. Collins, mad: Chatterton, I think mad: Cowper, mad: Pope, crooked: Milton, blind.-BYRON. And can the muse be silent, Phillips gone! And meet thy Phillips in his native skies. TO THE READER. Observe, in favour of a hobbling strain T. C. Chatterton's sad story is well known; his life the wonder, his death the disgrace of his country. That a boy of seventeen years should have afforded a subject for dispute to the first critics and scholars of his time is scarcely to be credited: who then shall believe that this prodigy of nature should be left a prey to indigence and famine! Scorned by those who envied him, and not understood by those who pretended to patronise him, the very efforts of his genius were made a plea for attacking his moral character; and inferences were unjustly drawn from his successful imitation of ancient manuscripts, that he would not scruple to commit the crime of forgery. This malicious insinuation, invented only to justify the odious neglect with which he was treated, met its refutation in his death, which was innocent to all the world, except himself. Hunger itself did not tempt him to the violation of any social duty, and he closed his short life, unstained by any crime, the probable guilt of which was imputed to him by avarice and envy.-SOUTHEY. In an eminent modern work,-overlooked indeed by this generation of novel readers and the herd of superficial critics, but praised and valued by the good, and those whose judgment is decision, there is a picture of the "silent agony" which such as Chatterton must too often endure, which is truth itself. They know not, they cannot tellthe cold, dull world-they cannot even remotely conceive the agony of doubt and despair, which is the doom of youthful genius. To sigh for fame in obscurity is like sighing in a dungeon for light. Yet the votary and the captive share an equal hope. But to feel the strong necessity of fame, and to be conscious without intellectual excellence life must be insupportable-to feel all this with no simultaneous faith in your own powers-these are moments of despondency for which no immortality can compensate."-CONTARINI FLEMING. HOR. LIB. 1. OD. 19.* YES! I am caught, my melting soul I pour th' empassioned sigh. Ye Gods! what throbs my bosom inove, That beams from Stella's eye. These translations from Horace were made by Chatterton, from Watson's literal version; a book which his friend Mr. Edward Gardner lent him for the express purpose.-SOUTHEY's Edition. DE GLYCERA. Mater sæva Cupidinum, Thebanæque jubet me Semeles puer, Et lasciva licentia, Finitis animum reddere amoribus. Urit me Glyceræ nitor Splendentis Pario marmore puriùs; Urit grata protervitas, Et vultus nimiùm lubricus aspici. In me tota ruens Venus Cyprum deseruit; nec patitur Scythas, Et versis animosum equis Parthum dicere, nec quæ nihil attinent. Hic vivum mihi cespitem, hic Verbenas, pueri, ponite, thuraque, Bimi cum paterâ meri, Mactatâ veniet lenior hostiâ. HOR. Lib. 1. Carm. 19, Watson's Translation is as follows: "OF GLYCERA. "The cruel Queen of Love, and Bacchus, son of the Theban Semele, assisted by licentious desires, conspire to rekindle in me the passion of love, which I thought had been quite extinguished. I am ravished with the beauty of Glycera, which far excels the finest Parian marble. I am struck with her agreeable humour and fine complexion, which cannot be looked on without manifest danger. Venus hath left Cyprus to reign in my heart, and will not permit me to sing of either the warlike Scythians, or of the Parthians, who fight so boldly while they are flying; or of anything else, but what relates to her. Bring me then, boys, some green turf, vervain, incense, and a cup of two-year-old wine: when I have offered this goddess a sacrifice, she will be more mild and tractable. Oh, how divinely fair that face, On every feature dwells! O Love! I'm thine-no more I sing Invoking the propitious skies, HOR. LIB. I. OD. 5.* WHAT gentle youth, my lovely fair one, say, With sweets perfum'd now courts thee to the bow'r, Where glows with lustre red the rose of May, To form thy couch in love's enchanting hour? AD PYRRHAM. Quis multâ gracilis te puer in rosâ Cui flavam religas comam, Simplex munditiis? heu, quoties fidem Emirabitur insolens, Qui nunc te fruitur credulus aureâ : Qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem Fallacis miseri, quibus Intentata nites! me tabulâ sacer Suspendisse potenti Vestimenta maris Deo. HOR. LIB. I CARM. 5. "Who, Pyrrha, is this slender young gallant, perfumed with rich odours, that caresses you on a bed of roses in a pleasant grotto? For whom, pray, do you bind up your golden locks, genteely dressed, though plain? Poor unexperienced youth! how oft will he have cause to complain of your treachery, and to lament his own hard fate! How will he stand amazed to see your smooth temper all on a sudden ruffled as the sea with stormy winds! he who now enjoys your charms without fear, and who, unacquainted with your coquette airs, fondly thinks you are solely his, and that you will be always the same. Thrice wretched they, who, strangers to your arts, are allured with your beauty. But as trophies of my narrow escape, I have, as I vowed, hung up my tablet, and dripping wet clothes in the tempie of Neptune, that great ruler of the sea."-WATSON'S Translation, published in 1741. The reader will be pleased to compare with Chatterton's version of the above, the same Ode rendered by Milton "almost word for word without rhyme, according to the Latin measure, as near as the language will permit." What slender youth bedew'd with liquid odours In wreaths thy golden hair, |