O! not to me my natal star

So sacred seems ;-then, Nymph, prepare
To grace its smiling dawn!

A wealthier maid, in pleasing chains,
Illustrious TELEPHUS detains,

From humble Thee withdrawn.

When pride would daring hopes create,
Of Phaeton recall the fate,

Consumed in his career!

Let rash Bellerophon, who tried
The fiery Pegasus to guide,

Awake thy prudent fear!

Thus warn'd, thy better interest know,

And cease those charming eyes to throw

On youths of high degree!

Come then, of all my loves the last,
For, every other passion past,

I only burn for thee!

1. 5. Illustrious Telephus-It is agreed that this is the same young nobleman to whom the Ode is addressed, on Licinius being appointed Augur, and which has been paraphrased in this Collection.

Come, and with tuneful voice rehearse The measures of thy Poet's verse

And charm the list'ning throng! Believe me, fairest, all our cares Will soften at the melting airs That deck the lyric song.

ON THE

PLEASURES OF RURAL LIFE.*

BOOK THE FIFTH, EPODE THE SECOND.

I.

THRICE happy he, whose life restores
The pleasures pure of early times;
That ne'er, with anxious heart, explores
The rugged heights ambition climbs;

The reader will remember, that in the course of these Paraphrases the design has been avowed of stretching the pictures of Horace upon a wider canvas, of filling up what are so often mere outlines. If learned eyes ever glance over this Ode, it is hoped they will not frown upon the many circumstances and reflections which have been added, upon a presumption, induced by the pleasing nature of the subject, since the Roman customs and manners are preserved with fidelity. Those customs and manners, resulting from their festal, gay, and picturesque religion, cannot surely be presented without proving in. teresting. Yet, to create this interest, stronger and more circumstantial description seems required than can be found in Horace, if the Paraphraser may be allowed to judge of the

Exempt from all the din, the toil, the care,
That cities for their busy sons prepare;
Fatigue, beneath the name of pleasure,
Contentious law, usurious treasure,

A tedious mean attendance on the great,
And emulation vain of all their pomp and state.

II.

Not his sound and balmy sleep

The trumpet's martial warning breaks; Nor the loud billows of the angry deep,

When thro' the straining cords the tempest shrieks; But the morning's choral lay,

Chanted wild from every spray.

Swift at the summons flies the wilder'd dream, And up he springs alert, to meet the orient beam.

poetic feelings of others by her own. It was doubtless sufficient for his contemporary readers, and for those of some succeeding generations, that he slightly alluded to events and ceremonies, which were familiar to their recollection. In our day more precision is demanded, at least by those who have poetic taste without knowledge of the dead languages, or intimacy with the national and domestic customs of that time, and of that people. Also, to strengthen this necessary interest in the mind of the reader, it must be eligible to infuse a more liberal portion of those sentiments and ideas, which speak to the heart in every age, and in every climate.

To scholars the fascinating music of the Latin tones and measures, and the elegance with which Horace knew to select,

I.

The vine-clad hill he lightly scales,
Where tall the frequent poplars rise,
From branch to branch assiduous trails
The pendent clusters rich supplies;

And cautious prunes the weak, the useless shoot,
Engrafting healthier boughs, that promise fruit.
Then his arms serenely folding,
And the smiling scene beholding,

Marks, as the fertile valley winds away,

His flocks and lowing herds, in ample numbers stray.

and to regulate them, recompence the obscurity which is so frequent in his allusions, and in the violence of his transitions from one subject to another, between which the line of connection is with difficulty traced. What is called a faithful translation of these Odes cannot, therefore, be interesting to unlearned lovers of versé, how alive soever they may be to poetic beauty.-A literal translation in the plainest prose, will always shew the precise quantity of real poetic matter, contained in any production, independent of the music of its intonation, and numbers, and the elegance of its style. The prose translations of Horace's Odes evince that their merit does not consist in the plenitude of poetic matter, or essence, constituted by circumstances of startling interest, by exalted sentiment, impassioned complaint, or appeal, distinct and living imagery, happy apposite allusion, and sublime metaphor; but in certain elegant verbal felicities and general charm of style, produced by the force and sweetness of the Latin language, subservient to the fine ear, the lively and exquisite taste of Horace. These are the graces which we find so apt to evaporate in transla