Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin: Comprising the Celebrated Political and Satirical Poems, of the Rt. Hons. G. Canning, John Hookham Frere, W. Pitt, the Marquis Wellesley, G. Ellis, W. Gifford, the Earl of Carlisle, and Others.
History
Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin: Comprising the Celebrated Political and Satirical Poems, of the Rt. Hons. G. Canning, John Hookham Frere, W. Pitt, the Marquis Wellesley, G. Ellis, W. Gifford, the Earl of Carlisle, and Others.
English poetry; France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Poetry; Great Britain -- Politics and government -- 1789-1820
The Poem is a free translation, or rather, perhaps, imitation, of the
twentieth Ode of the second Book of HORACE. We have taken the liberty to
subjoin the passages of which the parallel is the most striking.
A BIT OF AN ODE TO MR. FOX.[82]
I.
On[83] grey goose quills sublime I’ll soar
To metaphors unreach’d before,
That scare the vulgar reader:
With style well form’d from Burke’s best books—
From rules of grammar (e’en HORNE TOOKE’S)
A bold and free Seceder.
II.
I[84] whom, dear Fox, you condescend
To call your “Honourable Friend,”
Shall live for everlasting:
That[85] Stygian Gallery I’ll quit,
Where printers crowd me, as I sit
Half-dead with rage and fasting.
III.
I[86] feel! the growing down descends,
Like goose-skin, to my fingers’ ends—
Each nail becomes a feather:
My cropp’d head[87] waves with sudden plumes,
Which erst (like Bedford’s, or his groom’s)
Unpowder’d, braved the weather.[88]
IV.
I mount, I mount into the sky,
“Sweet[89] bird,” to[90] _Petersburg_ I’ll fly;
Or, if you bid, to _Paris_;
Fresh missions of the _Fox and Goose_
Successful Treaties may produce;
Though PITT in all miscarries.
V.
Scotch,[91] English, Irish _Whigs_ shall read
The Pamphlets, Letters, Odes I breed,
Charm’d with each bright endeavour:
_Alarmists_[92] tremble at my strain,
E’en[93] PITT, made candid by champaign,
Shall hail ADAIR “_the clever_”.
VI.
Though criticism assail my name,
And luckless blunders blot my fame,[94]
O![95] make no needless bustle;
As vain and idle it would be
To waste one pitying thought on me,
As to[96] “unPLUMB a RUSSELL”.[97]
[LYRICS OF HORACE, BOOK II., ODE XX.
TRANSLATED BY ARCHDEACON WRANGHAM.
Borne on no weak or vulgar wing,
Upward through air, two-form’d, I’ll spring;
Nor longer grovel here, but soar
Where Envy shall pursue no more.
Not I, from humble lineage sprung,
Not I, dear Patron, whom thy tongue
Summons to fame, will fear to die,
Or bound by Styx’s fetters lie.
A rougher skin my legs assume;
My upward limbs the cygnet’s plume
Invests; my shoulders, fingers feel
The feathery softness o’er them steal.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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