English poem
On
by John Dryden
HIS VIRGIL.
'Tis said, that Phidias gave such living grace To the carved image of a beauteous face, That the cold marble might even seem to be The life--and the true life, the imagery.
You pass that artist, Sir, and all his powers, Making the best of Roman poets ours, With such effect, we know not which to call The imitation, which the original.
What Virgil lent, you pay in equal weight; The charming beauty of the coin no less; And such the majesty of your impress, You seem the very author you translate.
'Tis certain, were he now alive with us, And did revolving destiny constrain To dress his thoughts in English o'er again, Himself could write no otherwise than thus.
His old encomium never did appear So true as now: "Romans and Greeks, submit! Something of late is in our language writ, More nobly great than the famed Iliads were."
JA. WRIGHT.