The number of the vanish'd years
That mark each famous Grecian reign,
This night, my Telephus, appears
Thy solemn pleasure to explain;
Or else assiduously to dwell,
In conscious eloquence elate,
On those who conquer'd, those who fell
At sacred Troy's devoted gate.
But at what price the cask, so rare,
Of luscious chian may be ours,
Who shall the tepid baths prepare,
And who shall strew the blooming flowers;
Beneath what roof we next salute,
And when shall smile these gloomy skies,
Thy wondrous eloquence is mute,
Nor here may graver topics rise.--
Fill a bright bumper,--to the Moon!
She's new!--auspicious be her birth!
One to the Midnight!--'t is our noon
Of jocund thought, and festal mirth!
And one to him, for whom the feasts
This night are held with poignant [2]gust,
MURENA, whom his Rome invests
With solemn honors, sacred trust!
Kind omens shall his voice convey,
That may each rising care beguile;
Propitious fled the Birds to-day?
Will Love be ours, and Fortune smile?--
Arrange the cups of various size,
The least containing bumpers three,
And nine the rest.--Come, no disguise!
Nor yet constraint, the choice is free!
All but the BARD's--the bowl of _nine_
He is, in duty, bound to fill;
The _Muses_ number to decline
Were treason at Aonia's hill.
For here the Sisters shall preside,
So they allow us leave to laugh;
Unzon'd the Graces round us glide,
While we the liquid ruby quaff.
Yet _they_, in kind and guardian care,
Dreading left wild inebriate glee
With broils disturb our light career,
Would stint us to their number, _three_.
Away ye Prudes!--the caution wise
Becomes not this convivial hour,
That every dull restraint defies,
And laughs at all their frigid power.--
Thou say'st I rave;--and _true_ thou say'st,
Nor must thou check the flowing vein,
For sprightly nonsense suits him best
Whom grave reflection leads to pain.
Why mute the pipe's enlivening note?
Why sleeps the charming lyre so long?
O! let their strains around us float,
Mix'd with the sweet and jocund song!
And lavish be the roses strewn!
Ye flutes, ye lyres, exulting breathe!
The festal Hour disdains to own
The mournful note, the niggard wreath.
Old Lycon, with the venal Fair,
Who courts yet hates his vile embrace,
Our lively strains shall muttering hear,
While Envy pales each sullen face:
THOU, with thy dark luxuriant hair,
Thou, Telephus, as Hesper bright,
Thou art accomplish'd Chloe's care,
Whose glance is Love's delicious light.
Thy utmost wish the Fair-One crowns,
And thy calm'd heart may well pursue
The paths of knowledge;--Lyce frowns,
And I, distasteful, shun their view.
From themes, that wake the powers of mind,
The wounded Spirit sick'ning turns;
To those be then _this_ hour consign'd,
That Mirth approves, tho' Wisdom spurns.
They shall disarm my Lyce's frown,
The frolic jest, the lively strain,
In flowing bowls, shall gaily drown
The memory of her cold disdain.
1: At the feast, held in honor of Licinius Murena having been chosen
Augur, Horace endeavours to turn the conversation towards gayer
subjects than Grecian Chronology, and the Trojan War, upon which his
Friend Telephus had been declaiming; and for this purpose seems to
have composed the ensuing Ode at table. It concludes with an hint,
that the unpleasant state of the Poet's mind, respecting his _then_
Mistress, incapacitates him for abstracted themes, which demand a
serene and collected attention, alike inconsistent with the amorous
discontent of the secret heart, and with the temporary exhilaration
of the spirits, produced by the occasion on which they were met. This
must surely be the meaning of Horace in this Ode, however obscurely
expressed. People of sense do not, even in their gayest conversation,
start from their subject to another of _total_ inconnexion. When the
latent meaning in the _concluding_ verses is perspicuously
paraphrased, it accounts for the Poet's preference at _that_ period,
of trifling to literary subjects. These slight, and often obscure
allusions, closely, and what is called _faithfully_ translated, give
a wild and unmeaning air to the Odes of Horace, which destroys their
interest with the _unlearned_ admirers of Poetry. To give distinct
shape and form to these embryo ideas, often capable of acquiring very
_interesting_ form and shape, is the aim of these Paraphrases.
Telephus, who was a Greek, appears to have been a Youth of noble
birth--being mentioned as such in the Ode to PHYLLIS, which will be
found farther on amongst these Paraphrases. From that to LYDIA, so
well known, and so often translated, we learn that he had a beautiful
form, and was much admired by the Roman Ladies.
2: The Translator was doubtful about using that word, till she
recollected it in the gravest of Pope's Poems,
“Destroy all creatures for thy sport and _gust_;
Then cry, If Man's unhappy God's unjust.” ESSAY ON MAN.