Nobilis extremâ gradiens Caledonis ab arâ
En Buchananus adest. Divini psaltis imago
Jessiada salveto; potens seu numinis iras
Fulminibus miscere, sacro vel lumine mentis
Fugare noctes, vel citharæ sono
Sedare fluctus pectoris.

Tu mihi hærebis comes ambulanti,
Tu domi astabis socius perennis,
Sen levi mensæ simul assidere
Dignabere, seu lecticæ.

Mox recumbentis vigilans ad aurem
Aureos suadebis inire somnos

Sacra sopitis superinferens oblivia curis, Stet juxtà Casimirus 2, huic nec parciùs ignem Natura indulsit nec Musa armavit alumnum Sarbivium2 rudiore lyrâ.

Quanta Polonum levat aura cygnum !
Humana 3 linquens (en sibi devii
Montes recedunt) luxuriantibus
Spatiatur in aëre pennis.

Sen tu fortè virum tollis ad æthera,
Cognatosve thronos et patrium Polum
Visurus consurgus ovans,
Visum fatigas, aciemque fallis,
Dum tuum à longè stupeo volatum
O non imitabilis ales.

Sarbivii ad nomen gelida incalet
Musa, simul totus fervescere
Sentio, stellatas levis induor
Alas et tollor in altum.

Jam juga Zionis radens pede

M. Cassimirus Sarbiewski, Poeta insignis Polonis. 3 Lib. ii. Od. 5.

Elato inter sidera radens vertice

Longè despecto mortalia.

Quam juvat altisonis volitare per æthera pennis,
Et ridere procul fallacia gaudia sêcli
Terellæ grandia inania,

Quæ mortale genus (heu malè) deperit.
O curas hominum miseras! cano,
Et miseras nugas diademata!

Ventosæ sortis ludibrium.

En mihi subsidunt terrena à pectore fæces,
Gestit et effrænis divinum effundere carmen
Mens afflato Deo-

at vos heroes et arma

Et procul este dii, ludicra numina
Quid mihi cum vestræ pondere lancæ,
Pallas! aut vestris, Dionyse, thyrsis?
Et clava, et anguis, et leo, et Hercules,
Et brutum tonitru fictitii patris,

Abstate à carmine nostro.

Te, Deus Omnipotens ! te nostra sonabit Jesu Musa, nec assueto cœlestes barbiton ausû

Tentabit numeros. Vasti sine limite numen et Immensum sine lege Deum numeri sine lege sonabunt.

Sed Musam magna pollicentem destituit viger: divino jubare perstringitur oculorum acies. En labascit pennis, tremit artubus ruit deorsum per inane ætheris, jacet victa, obstupescit, silet,

Ignoscas, reverende vir, vano conamini; fragmen hoc rude licet et impolitu æqui boni consulas, et gratitudinis jam diu debitæ in partem reponas.

I. W.

TRANSLATION. BY DR. GIBBONS.

ΤΟ

THE REV. MR. JOHN PINHORNE,

THE FAITHFUL PRECEPTOR OF MY YOUNGER YEARS.

PINHORNE, permit the Muse to' aspire
To thee, and vent the' impatient fire
That in her bosom glows:

Fain would she tune an equal lay,
And to her honour'd tutor pay
The debt of thanks she owes.

Through Plato's walks, a flowery road,
And Latium's fields with pleasure strow'd,
She owns thy guiding hand;

Thou, too, didst her young steps convey
Through many a rough and craggy way
In Palestina's land.

"Twas thine irradiating light
Open'd the Thespian vales to sight,
And taught the Muse to climb

The mountains, where the Muses' choir
Now tune their breath, now touch the lyre,
To ecstasy sublime.

Of high Parnassus' top possess'd,

See Homer towering o'er the rest

What a stupendous strain !

In battle gods and men contend,
The heavens outrageous uproars rend,
And slaughters drench the plain.

My ear imbibes the' immense delight,
When Virgil's pastoral lays recite

The country's humble charms;
Or when his Muse exalts her voice,
And like the warlike clarion's noise,

Sounds the loud charge-to arms.

The Theban bard' my soul admires,
His towering flights, his mounting fires,
The raptures of his rage!

Hail, great triumvirate! your lays
The world, consenting in your praise,
Resound from age to age.

When from my labours in the mine
Of heavenly truth and grace divine,
To leisure I retire;

I'll seize your works with both my hands,
Take a sweet range among their charins,
And catch the' immortal fire.

Horace shall with the choir be join'd,
When virtue has his verse refin'd,
And purg'd his tainted page:

Pleas'd, I'll attend his lyric strain,
Hear hin indulge his laughing vein,
And satirise the age.

1 Pindar.

Next, cleans'd from his unhallow'd scum,
The mighty Juvenal shall come,

And high his vengeance wield:

His satires sound the loud alarm
To vice; she sees his lifted arm,

And, cowering, quits the field.

In vain should I expect delight
From Persius, wrapt in tenfold night,
Unless, O Bond, thy ray

Had pierc'd the shades that veil him round,
And set his sense, obscure, profound,
Amidst the blaze of day.

Now Seneca, with tragic lays,
Demands my wonder and my praise :
What thunder arms his tongue!
Now Sophocles lets loose his rage:
With what a pomp he treads the stage,
And how sublime his song!

In long and regular array,

My shelves your volumes shall display,
Ye favourites of the nine!

No moth's, no worm's insidious rage
Shall dare to riot on your page,
Or mar one modest line.

Meanwhile, let Martial's blushless Muse
Whose wit is poison'd by the stews,
Catullus' wanton fire,

With Ovid's verse, that, as it rolls,
With luscious poison taints our souls,
In bogs obscene expire.