Not there the cloud-climb'd rock, sublime and vast, That, like some giant king, o'er-glooms the hill; Nor there the pine-grove to the midnight blast Makes solemn music! but th' unceasing rill To the soft wren or lark's descending trill, Murmurs sweet undersong mid jasmine bowers. In this same pleasant meadow, at your will, I ween, you wander'd--there collecting flowers Of sober tint, and herbs of med'cinable powers! There for the monarch-murder'd soldier's tomb You wove th' unfinish'd wreath of saddest hues; And to that holier chaplet added bloom, Besprinkling it with Jordan's cleansing dews. But lo! your Henderson awakes the Muse-- His spirit beckon'd from the mountain's height! You left the plain, and soar'd mid richer views. So Nature mourn'd, when sank the first day's light, With stars, unseen before, spangling her robe of night! Still soar, my friend! those richer views among, Strong, rapid, fervent, flashing fancy's beam! Virtue and truth shall love your gentler song; But poesy demands th' impassion'd theme. Wak'd by heaven's silent dews at eve's mild gleam, What balmy sweets Pomona breathes around! But if the vext air rush a stormy stream, Or autumn's shrill gust moan in plaintive sound, With fruits and flowers she loads the tempest-honour'd ground! 1795. CASIMIR. If we except Lucretius and Statius, I know no Latin poet, ancient or modern, who has equalled Casimir in boldness of conception, opulence of fancy, or beauty of versification. The Odes of this illustrious Jesuit were translated into English about 150 years ago, by a G. Hils, I think. [1] I never saw the translation. A few of the Odes have been translated in a very animated manner by Watts. I have subjoined the third Ode of the second Book, which, with the exception of the first line, is an effusion of exquisite elegance. In the imitation attempted, I am sensible that I have destroyed the effect of suddenness, by translating into two stanzas what is one in the original. 1796. AD LYRAM. Sonora buxi filia sutilis, Pendebis alta, barbite, populo, Dum ridet aer, et supinas Solicitat levis aura frondes. Te sibilantis lenior halitus Perflabit Euri: me juvet interim Collum reclinasse, et virenti Sic temere [2] jacuisse ripa. Eheu! serenum quæ nebulæ tegunt Repente cælum! quis sonus imbrium! Surgamus--heu semper fugaci Gaudia præteritura passu! IMITATION. The solemn-breathing air is ended-- Cease, O Lyre! thy kindred lay! From the poplar branch suspended, Glitter to the eye of day! On thy wires, hov'ring, dying, Softly sighs the summer wind: I will slumber, careless lying, By yon waterfall reclin'd. In the forest hollow-roaring, Hark! I hear a deep'ning sound-- Clouds rise thick with heavy low'ring! See! th' horizon blackens round!