Quaff's copious immortality, and joy,

With hallow'd lips!---Oh! blest without alloy,
And now enrich'd, with all that faith can claim,
Look down, entreated by whatever name,
If Damon please thee most (that rural sound
Shall oft with echoes fill the groves around)
Or if Diodatus, by which alone

In those ethereal mansions thou art known.
Thy blush was maiden, and thy youth the tasté
Of wedded bliss knew never, pure and chaste,
The honours, therefore, by divine decree
The lot of virgin worth are given to thee;
Thy brows encircled with a radiant band,
And the green palm-branch waving in thy hand,
Thou in immortal nuptials shalt rejoice,
And join with seraphs thy according voice,
Where rapture reigns, and the ecstatic lyre
Guides the blest orgies of the blazing quire.”

A N ODE

ADDRESSED TO

MR. JOHN ROUSE, LIBRARIAN,

OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD,

On a lost Volume of my Poems, which he desired me to replace, that he might add them to my other Works deposited in the Library.

THIS Ode is rendered without rhime, that it might more adequately represent the original, which, as Milton himself informs us, is of no certain measure. It may possibly for this reason disappoint the reader, though it cost the writer more labour than the translation of any other piece in the whole collection.

STROPHE.

My two-fold book! single in show,
But double in contents,
Neat, but not curiously adorn'd,
Which, in his early youth,

A poet gave, no lofty one in truth,

Although an earnest wooer of the Muse---
Say while in cool Ausonian shades,
Or British wilds he roam'd,
Striking by turns his native lyre,
By turns the Daunian lute,
And stepp'd almost in air.---

ANTISTROPHE.

Say, little book, what furtive hand
Thee from thy fellow-books convey'd,
What time, at the repeated suit
Of my most learned friend,

I sent thee forth, an honour'd traveller,

From our great city to the source of Thames,
Cœrulean sire!

Where rise the fountains, and the raptures ring,
Of the Aonian choir,

Durable as yonder spheres,

And through the endless lapse of years
Secure to be admir'd?

STROPHE 2.

Now what God, or Demigod,

For Britain's antient Genius mov'd
(If our afflicted land

Have expiated at length the guilty sloth
Of her degen'rate sons)

Shall terminate our impious feuds,

And discipline, with hallow'd voice, recall?

Recall the Muses too,

Driv'n from their antient seats

In Albion, and well nigh from Albion's shore,
And with keen Phobean shafts

Piercing th' unseemly birds,
Whose talons menace us,

Shall drive the Harpy race from Helicon afar

ANTISTROPHE,

But thou, my book, though thou hast stray'd,
Whether by treach'ry lost,

Or indolent neglect, thy bearer's fault,

From all thy kindred books,

To some dark cell, or cave forlorn,
Where thou endur'st, perhaps,
The chafing of some hard untutor❜d hand,
Be comforted---

For lo! again the splendid hope appears
That thou may'st yet escape

The gulphs of Lethe, and on oary wings
Mount to the everlasting courts of Jove!

STROPHE III.

Since Rouse desires thee, and complains

That, though by promise his,

Thou yet appear'st not in thy place

Among the literary noble stores,

Giv'n to his care,

But, absent, leav'st his numbers incomplete. He, therefore, guardian vigilant

Of that unperishing wealth,

Calls thee to the interior shrine, his charge,
Where he intends a richer treasure far
Than Ion kept (Ion, Erectheus son
Illustrious, of the fair Creüsa born)
In the resplendent temple of his God,
Tripods of gold, and Delphic gifts divine.

ANTISTROPHE.

Haste, then, to the pleasant groves, The Muses' fav'rite haunt; Resume thy station in Apollo's dome,

Dearer to him

Than Delos, or the fork'd Parnassian hill!

Exulting go,

Since now a splendid lot is also thine,
And thou art sought by my propitious friend;
For there thou shalt be read

With authors of exalted note,

The antient glorious lights of Greece and Rome.

EPODE.

Ye, then, my works, no longer vain,

And worthless deem'd by me!

Whate'er this steril genius has produc'd