attempted, and by several of our most eminent and accomplished writers. A conviction of this difficulty has given rise to the numerous attempts at paraphrase and imitation, which have at different times appeared as substitutes, and perhaps it may be added with better success than close rendering. That the version of our Kentish Knight is occasionally laboured and prosaic and deficient in spirit and vivacity, must be allowed, and may be accounted for partly by the rule he had imposed upon himself of giving a genuine transcript of the poet's meaning, and partly by the odes he selected, which are those only of a moral and serious kind. One merit we may boldly claim for Sir Thomas Hawkins; he has uniformly given with fidelity the literal meaning of the original, and has with much care avoided the too common practice of subsequent translators of adopting superfluous embellishments and epithets not warranted by the text, for the purpose of ornament, and to exhibit not the author, but themselves to advantage. Impressed with the truth of this assertion, we have annexed to the specimens selected for the present compilation the original latin, in order that our readers may judge of their correctness.

Liber I.-Carmen XXXI.-Ad Apollinem.

Quid dedicatum poscit Apollinem
Vates? quid orat, de patera novum
Fundens liquorem? non opimæ
Sardinia segetes feraces;

Non estuosæ grata Calabriæ

Armenta ; non aurum, aut ebur Indicum ;
Non rura, quæ Liris quieta

Mordet aqua taciturnus amnis.

Premant Calena falce, quibus dedit
Fortuna vitem: dives et aureis
Mercator exsiccet culullis

Vina Syra reparata merce,
Dis carus ipsis; quippe ter et quater
Anno revisens æquor Atlanticum
Impune, me pascunt olivæ,

Me cichorea, levesque malvæ.

Frui paratis et valido mihi,
Latoe, dones, et, precor, integra
Cum mente; nec turpem senectam
Degere, nec cithar a carentem.

Book 1,-Ode 31.-To Apollo.

What doth thy poet ask, Phoebus divine,

What craves he when he pours thee bowls of wine? Not the rich corn of fat Sardinia,

Nor fruitful flocks of burnt Calabria,

*

Nor gold, nor Indian ivory; nor the grounds,
Which silent Liris with soft stream arrounds.
Let those whom fortune so much store assigns,
Prune with Calenian hook their fertile vines :
Let the rich merchant to the Gods so dear,-
For so I term him right who every year
Three or four times visits the Atlantic seas
From shipwreck free:-Let him his palate please,
And in gilt bowls drink wine of highest price,
Bought with the sale of Syrian merchandise.
Loose mallows, succory, and olive-plant
Serve me for food,-O great Apollo grant
To me in health, and free from life's annoy,
Things native and soon gotten to enjoy!
And with a mind composed old age attain,
Not loathsome, not depriv'd of lyric strain!

*This will afford us an instance of the correctness of our translator, and the diffusiveness of another.

ebur Indicum,—is rendered by Francis

"Nor ivory of spotless shine,

Non aurum aut

Nor gold forth flaming from the mine."

Liber II.-Carmen III.-Ad Quintum Delium.

Equam memento rebus in arduis
Servare mentem, non secus in bonis
Ab insolenti temperatam

Lætitia, moriture Deli;

Seu mæstus omni tempore vixeris,
Seu te in remoto gramine per dies
Festos reclinatum bearis

Interiore nota Falerni:

Qua pinus ingens albaque populus
Umbram hospitalem consociare amant
Ramis, et obliquo laborat

Lympha fugax trepidar e rivo ;

Huc vina, et unguenta, et nimium breves
Flores amonæ ferre jube rosæ :

Dum res, et ætas, et sororum

Fila trium patiuntur atra.

Cedes coemtis saltibus, et domo,
Villaque, flavus quam Tiberis lavit,

Cedés; et exstructis in altum

Divitiis potietur heres.

Divesne prisco natus ab Inacho,
Nil interest, an pauper, et infuna
De gente, sub dio moreris,

Victima nil miserantis Orci.
Omnes eodem cogimur: omnium
Versatur urna serius ocius

Sors exitura, et nos in æternum

Exilium impositura cymbæ,

Book 2,-Ode 3.-To Delius.

In adverse chance an equal mind retain,
As in best fortune tempered,-free from vein
Of mirth profuse: For Delius thou must die,
Though with sad thoughts opprest thou silent lie;
Or on feast days retir'd to grassy shade,

Thou with choice Falern wine art happy made:
Where the white poplar and the lofty pine,
In friendly shade their mutual branches twine;
And rivers swiftly gliding strive apace

'Bout crooked banks their trembling streams to chase. Bring hither wine and od❜rous unguents!-Bring The dainty rose, a fair but fading thing!

While fortune, age, and wealth, yield season fit,
And the three sisters' sable looms permit.
Thou from thy house must part and purchas'd woods
From village lav'd by yellow Tiber's floods;
And thy vast hoarded heaps of wealth's excess,
An heir, perhaps ungrateful, shall possess.
No matter 'tis whether thou rich art born
Of Argive kings, or low, expos'd to scorn,
Sprung from poor parents liv'st in open fields;
Thou art death's sacrifice, who never yields.
We all are thither brought; 'tis he that turns
And guids our mortal life's uncertain urns.
Sooner or later each man hath his lot,

And hence exil'd, embarks in Charon's boat.