« 前へ次へ »
Thrice in each moon; where rivers smoothly glide, Nor thundering torrents whirl the light canoe Down to the sea; where my forefathers feast Daily on hearts of Spaniards ! I feel the venom busy in my breast, Approach, and bring my crown, deck'd with the teeth Of that bold christian who first dar'd deflour The virgins of the sun ; and, dire to tell ! Robb'd PACHACAMAC's altar of its gems ! I mark'd the spot where they interr'd this traitor, And once at midnight stole I to his tomb, And tore his carcase from the earth, and left it A prey to poisonous fies. Preserve this crown With sacred secrecy: if e'er returns Thy much-lov'd mother from the desart woods, Where, as I hunted late, I hapless loft her, Cherish her age. Tell her I ne'er have worship'd With those that eat their God. And when disease Preys on her languid limbs, then kindly stab her With thine own hands, nor suffer her to linger, Like christian cowards, in a life of pain. I go! great Copac beckons me! farewel !
ODE occasion'd by Reading Mr. West's
Translation of PINDAR.
By the Same.
LBION exult! thy fons a voice divine have heard,
The man of Thebes hath in thy vales appeard!
Lo! swift across the dusty plain
What mortal tongue e'er rolld along
The fearful, frigid lays of cold and creeping Art,
Nor touch, nor can transport th' unfeeling heart;
We long to fit with heroes old,
• Where Cadmus and Achilles dwell, And still of daring deeds and dangers tell.
Away, enervate bards, away,
No more your polish'd lyrics boast,
As well might ye compare
(Emblem of verse correctly tame)
When to heav'n's vault the fiery deluge raves, When clouds and burning rocks dart thro’the troubled air.
Mark how enormous Orellana sweeps !
· See 2. Olym. Od.
Alluding to the French and Italian lyric poets.
Swoln with an hundred hills' collected snows:
Round fragrant idles, and citron-groves,
And safely builds his leafy bow'r,
So rapid Pindar Aows. - O parent of the lyre,
Let me for ever thy sweet sons admire !
And him, who paints th' incestuous king,
Teach me to taste their charms refin'd,
For the blest man, the Muse's child
Seeks not in fighting fields renown: No widows' midnight shrieks, nor burning town, . Hor. Od. 3. L. 4.
The peaceful poet please ;
Nor purple pomp, nor wide domains,
Nor all deceiv'd Ambition's feverish dreams, Lure his contented heart from the sweet vale of ease.
Τ Η Ε
PLEASURES of MELANCHOL Y.
Written in the Year 1745.
By Mr. THOMAS WAR TO N.
the topmost rock