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Stertimus indomitum quod defpumare Falernum
Sufficiat, quinta dum linea tangitur umbra.
En quid agis? ficcas infana canicula meffes
Jamdudum coquit, et patula pecus omne fub ulmo est.
Unus ait comitum: verumne? itane? ocyus adfit
Huc aliquis, nemon'? turgefcit vitrea bilis:
Findor: ut Arcadia pecuaria rudere credas.
Jam liber, et bicolor pofitis membrana capillis,
Inque manus chartæ, nodofaque venit arundo.
Tunc queritur, craffus calamo quod pendeat humor.
Nigra quod infufa vanefcat fepia lympha;
Dilutas queritur geminet quod fiftula guttas.
O mifer; inque dies ultra mifer, huccine rerum
Venimus? at cur non potius, teneroque columbo,
Et fimilis regum pueris, pappare minutum
Pofcis, et iratus mammæ lallare recufas?

An tali ftudeam calamo? cui verba? quid istas
Succinis ambages? tibi luditur: effluis amens.
Contemnere, fonat vitium percuffa, maligne
Refpondet viridi non cocta fidelia limo.

Udum et molle lutum es, nunc nunc properandus, et aeri
Fingendus fine fine rota: fed rure paterno

Eft tibi far modicum, purum et fine labe falinum,
Quid metuas? cultrixque foci fecura patella est.
Hoc fatis? an deceat pulmonem rumpere ventis,
Stemmate quod Tufco ramum millefime ducis,
Cenforemne tuum vel quod trabeate salutas ?
Ad populum phaleras: ego te intus, et in cute novi.
Non pudet ad morem difcincti vivere Natta?"

DRYDEN'S VERSION.

"Is this thy daily courfe? The glaring fun
Breaks in at every chink: the cattle run
To fhades, and noon-tide rays of summer shun;
Yet plung'd in floth we lie; and fnore supine,
As fill'd with fumes of undigested wine.

"This grave advice fome sober student bears;
And loudly rings it in his fellow's ears.
The yawning youth, fcarce half awake, effays
H's lazy limbs and dozy head to raise :

Then rubs his gummy eyes, and fcrubs his pate,
And cries, I thought it had not been fo late :

My cloathes, make hafte: why, when, if none be near,
He mutters first, and then begins to fwear:
And brays aloud with a more clam'rous note,
Than an Arcadian afs can ftretch his throat.

"With much ado, his book before him laid,
And parchment with the fmoother fide display'd;
He takes the papers, lays 'em down again;
And, with unwilling fingers, tries the pen :
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Some

Some peevish quarrel ftraight he strives to pick;
His quill writes double, or his ink's too thick:
Infufe more water; now 'tis grown fo thin,
It finks, nor can the characters be feen,

"O wretch, and still more wretched every day!
Are mortals born to fleep their lives away?
Go back to what thy infancy began,

Thou, who wert never meant to be a man:
Eat pap and fpoon-meat; for thy gewgaws cry?
Be fullen, and refufe the Lullaby.

No more accuse thy pen; but charge the crime
On native floth, and negligence of time.

Think'st thou thy mafter, or thy friends, to cheat?
Fool, 'tis thyfelf, and that's a worse deceit.
Beware the public laughter of the town;
Thou fpring'ft a leak already in thy crown.
A flaw is in thy ill-bak'd veffel found;
'Tis hollow, and returns a jarring sound.

"Yet, thy moift clay is pliant to command;
Unwrought, and eafy to the potter's hand:
Now take the mould: now bend thy mind to feel
The first sharp motions of the forming wheel.
"But thou haft land; a country-seat, secure
By a juft title; coftly furniture;

A fuming-pan thy lares to appease:

What need of learning, when a man's at ease?
If this be not enough to fwell thy foul,

Then please thy pride, and fearch the herald's roll,
Where thou fhalt find thy famous pedigree
Drawn from the root of fome old Tuscan tree;
And thou, a thoufand off, a fool of long degree-
Who, clad in purple, can'ft thy cenfor greet;
And loudly call him coufin in the street.

"Such pageantry be to the people shown:
There boaft thy horfe's trappings, and thy own:
I know thee to thy bottom; from within
Thy fhallow centre to the utmost skin :
Doft thou not blush to live so like a beast,
So trim, so diffolute, fo loosely dreft?

DRUMMOND'S VERSION.

"What, always thus? Now in full blaze of day
Sol mounts the ikies, and fhoots a downward ray;
Break's on your darken'd chamber's lengthen'd night,
And pours thro' narrow chinks long ftreams of light:
Yet ftill fubdu'd by fleep's oppreffive power,
You fumber, heedlefs of the passing hour;
Of ftrong Falernian diffipat the fumes,

And fnore unconfcious, while the day confumes.

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See the hot fun through reddening Leo roll,
The raging dog-ftar fire the glowing pole;
The yellow harveft waving o'er the plain,

The reapers bending o'er the golden grain ;-
Beneath the spreading elm the cattle laid,
And panting flocks recumbent in the shade.

Is it, indeed, fo late?' the fluggard cries.

Who waits? here, flaves! be quick—I wish to rise.
At length, to study fee the youth proceed,

Charg'd with his book, his parchment, and his reed.
But now he finds the ink too black to write;
And now, diluted, it escapes the fight:
Now it is made too thick, and now too thin,
And now it finks too deeply in the skin :
The pen writes double, and, the point too wide,
O'er the fmooth vellum pours the sable tide.
O wretch, whofe habits into vices grow,
Whofe life accumulates the means of woe!
Difmifs the fcholar, be again the boy,
Replace the rattle, re-affume the toy;
Repofe in quiet on your nurse's lap,

Pleafed by her lullaby, and feed on pap.

Who is deceived; for whom are spread these lures?
Is the misfortune mine, or is it your's,

That

you refuse to listen to the truth,

And wafte in idleness the hours of youth?

Of shame fure victim when that youth is pass'd,
And forrow mingles in your cup at lait.
Yet art thou young, and yet thy pliant mind
Yields to the gale, and bends with every wind;
Seize then this funny, but this fleeting hour,
To nurfe and cultivate the tender flower,
Art thou of riches and of titles vain,
A fplendid equipage, a pompous train?
Or doft thou boaft a Tufcan race as thine,
A great, an ancient, and an honour'd line?
Does it fuffice, the purple round thee thrown,
To hail the Roman Cenfor as thine own?
Vain honours all-how little are the proud,
Even when their pomp impofes on the croud!
I know thee well; and haft thou then no hame,
That thy loose life and Natta's are the fame?"

.

When we confider that Mr. Dryden tranflated the whole of this fatire, for a Thurfday Night's exercife, we cannot but admire that poetic fpirit, which, once kindled by its fubject, feems to hold time in contempt. Generally fpeaking, it appears from the above fpecimens, that Mr. Dryden's is the more eafy and free, and Mr. Drummond's the more polished,

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Verfion,

Verfion. * In point of Harmony, it is no wonder that Dryden is fuperior to Drummond; for he is fuperior to every other poet, whether in tranflated or original verfe. In the meLody

:

*We are here reminded of Mr. William Gifford's long promifed verfion of Juvenal. We poffefs a fair copy of the tranflator's tenth fatire, which was prefented to us in MS. many years ago, as a specimen of the whole and we have feen his fixth fatire, which we think a most admirable piece of poetry. We fcruple not to pronounce both the fixth and tenth fatire of Gifford's fuperior to Dryden's.. We are fure, that an extract from our MS. will gratify the public.

"The meaneft Tyro of the meanest school
Hath fcarce imbib'd his first and easiest rule,
Ere all his bofom glows with fierce defire,
To reach the Roman's art, the Grecian's fire;
Divine protectress of the brave and wife,
O grant my humble fuit,' he fondly cries;
Give me to equal Tully's well-earn'd fame,
And o'er Demofthenes to raise my name.'

"Yet both thefe fpeakers fell, in evil hour,
The hapless victims of perfuafive power,
Whilft meaner pleaders unmolested stood,

Nor fmear'd the roftrum with their wretched blood."
"The facred trophies of the well-earn'd field,
The broken helmet, and the batter'd shield,
The waving ftanded, and, the mangled car,
The glare of conqueft, and the pride of war,
The towering arch, on whofe triumphal round
The weeping captive fits in fetters bound,
Are deem'd the greatest bleffings here below,
That mortals can enjoy, or gods bestow!"

"Produce the urn, that Hannibal contains,
And weigh the mighty duft that yet remains :
Alas! and cannot all the Man avail

To fink the balance, or to turn the fcale?"

"Hear what the maudlin bard enraptur'd fings,
The toil of millions and the pride of kings,
Seas pour'd o'er defart climes, and Athos, rent
From the firm bofom of the continent ;

Cars rais'd on numerous fleets, and travelling o'er
The groaning Hellefpont from thore to fhore,
Whole nations drain'd, and mighty rivers quaff'd
By countless armies, at a morning's draught!
But how did he return, who wont to bind

The deep in chains, and fcourge the obftreperous wind,

lody of a couplet, Pope and Darwin have the advantage over Dryden; but not in the harmony of a whole piece. On the whole, we are pleased with Mr. Drummond's chafte and elegant verfe; but we cannot diffemble our opinion, that, in fome inftances, he has taken unwarrantable liberties with his author. Mr. D. is, now and then, inaccurate in his language; and, in his Verfe, fometimes flat, or feeble.

"The town may yet accord its praise,"

To accord praife, is not English.

"Which wealth cannot beftow"

"Meffala's proud and blear-ey'd race could not"
"With them I facrifice a wheaten cake"

"Of fortune's gifts appreciate the worth"

"Which it can give".

"Do ftill invite"

"Whilst thou feem'ft

Atreus' Feaft."

To these weak and clafhing, and defective lines, we might add a great many more. But fuch faults may be eafily corrected and Mr. Drummond will revife, we hope, his verfion, with care, before he suffers it to appear in a fecond edition. *

With keener stripes than Æolus e'er bestow'd,
Tho' arm'd with all the vengeance of a God?
Say, how did he return? by Greece fubdued,
By heaven abandon'd, and by earth pursued;
With one small bark he gain'd his native fshore,
Thro' floating carcafes and feas of gore."

"In youth, a thousand different features ftrike;
All have their charms, but have not charms alike.
But age prefents one univerfal face,

Of every beauty fpoil'd, and every grace;
The fame its evils, and its marks the fame,

A broken voice, a weak and trembling frame,
A drivelling nofe, a ikull and forehead bare,
And toothlefs jaws to mump its wretched fare."

* A new edition, in octavo, has been fince published, which we have not time to examine.

ART. VII. The Mifcellaneous Works of Hugh Boyd, the Author of the Letters of Junius, with an Account of his Life and Writings. By Lawrence Dundas Campbell. 2 Vols. 8vo. PP. 1134 145. Cadell and Davies. London. 1800. ANY years ago a pamphlet was addressed to “the most impudent man alive," and "the perfon to whom this prominent effrontery was thus attributed, was generally underfood to be the celebrated WARBURTON. How far the pro

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