Though little is found in this dreary abode
That appetite wishes to find,
My spirit is sooth'd by the presence of God,
And appetite wholly resign'd.
Ye desolate scenes, to your solitude led,
My life I in praises employ,
And scarce know the source of the tears that I shed,
Proceed they from sorrow or joy.
There is nothing I seem to have skill to discern,
I feel out my way in the dark,
Love reigns in my bosom, I constantly burn,
Yet hardly distinguish the spark.
I live, yet I seem to myself to be dead,
Such a riddle is not to be found,
I am nourish'd without knowing how I am fed,
I have nothing and yet I abound.
Oh Love! who in darkness art pleas'd to abide,
Though dimly yet surely I see,
That these contrarieties only reside
In the soul that is chosen of thee.
Ah send me not back to the race of mankind,
Perversely by folly beguil'd,
For where in the crowds I have left, shall I find
The spirit and heart of a Child?
Here let me, though fixt in a desert, be free,
A Little one whom they despise,
Though lost to the world, if in union with thee,
Shall be holy and happy and wise.
40 Proceed they from] Whether owing to A. 41 I am weak there is nothing I seem to discern BM. 44 the] a BM., A. 45 yet I] and yet BM. 55 in the crowds] among
TRANSLATIONS FROM
THE LATIN CLASSICS
THE FIFTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE
A HUMOROUS DESCRIPTION OF THE AUTHOR'S JOURNEY FROM ROME TO BRUNDUSIUM
[Written 1757. Published 1759, in Duncombe's edition of Horace, vol. ii.]
'Twas a long journey lay before us,
When I and honest Heliodorus,
Who far in point of rhetoric
Surpasses every living Greek,
Each leaving our respective home,
Together sallied forth from Rome.
First at Aricia we alight,
And there refresh and pass the night.
Our entertainment? rather coarse
Than sumptuous, but I've met with worse. 10
Thence o'er the causeway soft and fair
To Appii Forum we repair.
But as this road is well supplied
(Temptation strong!) on either side
With inns commodious, snug, and warm,
We split the journey, and perform
In two days' time what's often done
By brisker travellers in one.
Here rather chusing not to sup
Than with bad water mix my cup,
After a warm debate, in spite
Of a provoking appetite,
I sturdily resolve at last
To balk it, and pronounce a fast,
And in a moody humour wait,
While my less dainty comrades bait.
Now o'er the spangled hemisphere
Diffus'd the starry train appear,
When there arose a desperate brawl;
The slaves and bargemen, one and all,
Rending their throats (have mercy on us!)
As if they were resolv'd to stun us.
"Steer the barge this way to the shore!"
"I tell you we'll admit no more!”
"Plague! will you never be content!"
Thus a whole hour at least is spent,
While they receive the several fares,
And kick the mule into his gears.
Happy, these difficulties past,
Could we have fall'n asleep at last!
But, what with humming, croaking, biting,
Gnats, frogs, and all their plagues uniting,
These tuneful natives of the lake
Conspir'd to keep us broad awake.
Besides, to make the concert full,
Two maudlin wights, exceeding dull,
The bargeman and a passenger,
Each in his turn essay'd an air
In honour of his absent fair.
At length the passenger, opprest
With wine, left off, and snor'd the rest.
The weary bargeman too gave o’er,
And hearing his companion snore,
Seiz'd the occasion, fix'd the barge,
Turn'd out his mule to graze at large,
And slept, forgetful of his charge.
And now the sun, o'er eastern hill,
Discover'd that our barge stood still;
When one, whose anger vex'd him sore,
With malice fraught, leaps quick on shore,
Plucks up a stake; with many a thwack
Assails the mule and driver's back.
Then slowly moving on, with pain,
At ten Feronia's stream we gain,
And in her pure and glassy wave
Our hands and faces gladly lave.
Climbing three miles, fair Anxur's height
We reach, with stony quarries white.
While here, as was agreed, we wait,
Till, charg'd with business of the state,
Mæcenas and Cocceius come
(The messengers of peace) from Rome;
My eyes, by wat'ry humours blear
And sore, I with black balsam smear.
At length they join us, and with them
Our worthy friend Fonteius came;
A man of such complete desert,
Antony lov'd him at his heart.
At Fundi we refus'd to bait,
And laugh'd at vain Aufidius' state;
A prætor now, a scribe before,
The purple-border'd robe he wore,
His slave the smoking censer bore.
Tir'd, at Muræna's we repose At Formia, sup at Capito's.
With smiles the rising morn we greet;
At Sinuessa pleas'd to meet
With Plotius, Varius, and the bard
Whom Mantua first with wonder heard.
The world no purer spirits knows,
For none my heart more warmly glows.
Oh! what embraces we bestow'd,
And with what joy our breasts o'erflow'd!
Sure, while my sense is sound and clear,
Long as I live, I shall prefer
A gay, good-natur'd, easy friend,
To ev'ry blessing Heaven can send.
At a small village, the next night,
Near the Vulturnus, we alight;
Where, as employ'd on state affairs,
We were supplied by the purvey'rs
Frankly at once, and without hire,
With food for man and horse, and fire.
Capua next day betimes we reach,
Where Virgil and myself, who each
Labour'd with different maladies,
His such a stomach, mine such eyes,
As would not bear strong exercise,
In drowsy mood to sleep resort;
Mæcenas to the tennis-court.
Next at Cocceius' farm we're treated,
Above the Caudian tavern seated;
His kind and hospitable board
With choice of wholesome fare was stor'd.
Now, O ye Nine, inspire my lays!
To nobler themes my fancy raise!
Two combatants, who scorn to yield
The noisy, tongue-disputed field,
Sarmentus and Cicirrus, claim
A poet's tribute to their fame ;
Cicirrus of true Oscian breed,
Sarmentus, who was never freed,
But ran away; we don't defame him;
His lady lives, and still may claim him.
Thus dignified, in hardy fray
These champions their keen wit display;
And first Sarmentus led the way.
"Thy locks," quoth he, "so rough and coarse,
Look like the mane of some wild horse."
125 hardy] harder Hayley.
We laugh. Cicirrus, undismay'd,
Have at you!” cries, and shakes his head.
""Tis well," Sarmentus says, "you've lost
That horn your forehead once could boast';
Since, maim'd and mangled as you are,
You seem to butt." A hideous scar
Improv'd, 'tis true, with double grace
The native horrors of his face.
Well, after much jocosely said
Of his grim front, so fiery red,
(For carbuncles had blotch'd it o'er,
As usual on Campania's shore)
"Give us," he cried, "since you're so big,
A sample of the Cyclops' jig!
Your shanks, methinks, no buskins ask,
Nor does your phyz require a mask.”
To this Cicirrus: "In return,
Of you, Sir, now I fain would learn
When 'twas, no longer deem'd a slave,
Your chains you to the Lares gave?
For though a scrivener's right you claim,
Your lady's title is the same.
But what could make you run away,
Since, pygmy as you are, each day
A single pound of bread would quite
O'erpower your puny appetite?
Thus jok'd the champions, while we laugh'd,
And many a cheerful bumper quaff'd.
To Beneventum next we steer,
Where our good host by over-care
In roasting thrushes lean as mice
Had almost fall'n a sacrifice.
The kitchen soon was all on fire,
And to the roof the flames aspire.
There might you see each man and master
Striving, amidst this sad disaster,
To save the supper-then they came
With speed enough to quench the flame.
From hence we first at distance see
Th' Apulian hills, well known to me,
Parch'd by the sultry western blast,
And which we never should have past,
Had not Trivicus, by the way,
Receiv'd us at the close of day.
But each was forc'd at entering here
To pay the tribute of a tear,
For more of smoke than fire was seen,
The hearth was pil'd with logs so green.
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