PARODY OF A TRANSLATION

1 Err shall they not, who resolute explore Time's gloomy backward with judicious eyes; And, scanning right the practices of yore, Shall deem our hoar progenitors unwise.

2 They to the dome where smoke with curling play Announced the dinner to the regions round, Summon'd the singer blithe, and harper gay, And aided wine with dulcet-streaming sound.

3 The better use of notes, or sweet or shrill, By quivering string or modulated wind, Trumpet or lyre—to their harsh bosoms chill, Admission ne'er had sought, or could not find.

4 Oh! send them to the sullen mansions dun, Her baleful eyes where Sorrow rolls around; Where gloom-enamour'd Mischief loves to dwell, And Murder, all blood-bolter'd, schemes the wound.

5 When cates luxuriant pile the spacious dish, And purple nectar glads the festive hour; The guest, without a want, without a wish, Can yield no room to music's soothing power.