Impromptu

ON HEARING MISS THRALE CONSULTING WITH A FRIEND ABOUT A GOWN AND HAT SHE WAS INCLINED TO WEAR.

Wear the gown, and wear the hat, Snatch thy pleasures while they last; Hadst thou nine lives, like a cat, Soon those nine lives would be past.

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TRANSLATION OF VIRGIL.

PASTORAL I.

Mileboeus. Now, Tityrus, you supine and careless laid, Play on your pipe beneath yon beechen shade; While wretched we about the world must roam, And leave our pleasing fields, and native home; Here at your ease you sing your amorous flame, And the wood rings with Amaryllis' name.

Tityrus. Those blessings, friend, a deity bestow'd, For I shall never think him less than god; Oft on his altars shall my firstlings lie, Their blood the consecrated stones shall dye: He gave my flocks to graze the flowery meads, And me to tune at ease the unequal reeds.

Mileboeus. My admiration only I express'd, (No spark of envy harbours in my breast), That when confusion o'er the country reigns, To you alone this happy state remains. Here I, though faint myself, must drive my goats, Far from their ancient fields and humble cots. This scarce I lead, who left on yonder rock Two tender kids, the hopes of all the flock. Had we not been perverse and careless grown, This dire event by omens was foreshown; Our trees were blasted by the thunder stroke, And left-hand crows, from an old hollow oak, Foretold the coming evil by their dismal croak.

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TRANSLATION OF HORACE.

BOOK I. ODE XXII.

1 The man, my friend, whose conscious heart With virtue's sacred ardour glows, Nor taints with death the envenom'd dart, Nor needs the guard of Moorish bows:

2 Though Scythia's icy cliffs he treads, Or horrid Afric's faithless sands; Or where the famed Hydaspes spreads His liquid wealth o'er barbarous lands.

3 For while, by Chlöe's image charm'd, Too far in Sabine woods I stray'd; Me singing, careless and unarm'd, A grisly wolf surprised, and fled.

4 No savage more portentous stain'd Apulia's spacious wilds with gore; None fiercer Juba's thirsty land, Dire nurse of raging lions, bore.

5 Place me where no soft summer gale Among the quivering branches sighs; Where clouds condensed for ever veil With horrid gloom the frowning skies:

6 Place me beneath the burning line, A clime denied to human race; I'll sing of Chlöe's charms divine, Her heavenly voice, and beauteous face.

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TRANSLATION OF HORACE.

BOOK II. ODE IX.

1 Clouds do not always veil the skies, Nor showers immerse the verdant plain; Nor do the billows always rise, Or storms afflict the ruffled main.

2 Nor, Valgius, on the Armenian shores Do the chain'd waters always freeze; Not always furious Boreas roars, Or bends with violent force the trees.

3 But you are ever drown'd in tears, For Mystes dead you ever mourn; No setting Sol can ease your cares, But finds you sad at his return.

4 The wise, experienced Grecian sage Mourn'd not Antilochus so long; Nor did King Priam's hoary age So much lament his slaughter'd son. 5 Leave off, at length, these woman's sighs, Augustus' numerous trophies sing; Repeat that prince's victories, To whom all nations tribute bring.

6 Niphates rolls an humbler wave, At length the undaunted Scythian yields, Content to live the Romans' slave, And scarce forsakes his native fields.

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