Lyre of the Sonnet, that full many a time Amus'd my lassitude, and sooth'd my pains, When graver cares forbade the _lengthen'd_ strains, To thy brief bound, and oft-returning chime A long farewell!--the splendid forms of Rhyme When Grief in lonely orphanism reigns, Oppress the drooping Soul.--DEATH's dark domains Throw mournful shadows o'er the Aonian clime; For in their silent bourne my filial bands Lie all dissolv'd;--and swiftly-wasting pour From my frail glass of life, health's sparkling sands. Sleep then, my LYRE, thy tuneful tasks are o'er, Sleep! for my heart bereav'd, and listless hands Wake with rapt touch thy glowing strings no more! [Illustration] PARAPHRASES AND IMITATIONS OF HORACE. PREFACE. Translations scrupulously faithful are apt to be stiff, vapid and obscure, from the often irreconcilably different nature of languages, from local customs, and from allusions to circumstances over which time has drawn a veil. In attempting to put the most admired and interesting of Horace's Odes into English Verse, I have taken only the Poet's general idea, frequently expanding it, to elucidate the sense, and to bring the images more distinctly to the eye; induced by the hope of thus infusing into these Paraphrases the spirit of original composition. Neither have I scrupled to follow the example of Dryden and Pope, by sometimes adding ideas and imagery congenial to the subject, and thus to translate Horace like a Poet, rather than a Versifier. The trust, whether partial or not, that it was in my power _so_ to paraphrase the Odes of Horace, prompted the late Mr. Grove of Lichfield, and the late Mr. Dewes of Wellsburn in Warwickshire, to request that I would undertake the task respecting those whose subjects best pleased me. Not acquainted with each other, the coincidence of their opinion and request was flattering. They were extensively known to be Gentlemen of distinguished virtues, much classic erudition, and poetic taste; “Blest with each talent, and each art to please, And born to write, converse, and live at ease.” Mr. Dewes was the highly esteemed Friend of Dr. Parr, Mr. Grove of Lord Sheffield. A beautiful epitaph in verse, written by Mr. Grove, on his beloved Wife, is one of the chief ornaments of Lichfield Cathedral. The imitation of the Ode to Delius, applied to Mr. Erskine, was written since the lamented death of those Gentlemen, which happened in the meridian of their days. All the other Paraphrases had been submitted to their revision and correction, and had been honoured by their warm praise. That consciousness makes me indifferent to the expected cavils of illiberal criticism.