| |
| WHETHER 1 the fruitful Nile, or Tyrian Shore | |
| The seeds of Arts and Infant Science bore, | |
| ’Tis sure the noble Plant translated, first 2 | |
| Advanced its head in Grecian Gardens nurst. | |
| The Grecians added Verse, their tuneful Tongue | 5 |
| Made Nature first and Nature’s God their song. | |
| Nor stopt Translation here: For conquering Rome | |
| With Grecian Spoils brought Grecian Numbers home; | |
| Enrich’d by those Athenian Muses more | |
| Than all the vanquish’d World cou’d yield before. | 10 |
| Till barb’rous Nations and more barb’rous Times | |
| Debas’d the majesty of Verse to Rhymes; | |
| Those rude at first: a kind of hobbling Prose: | |
| That limp’d along and tinckl’d in the close: | |
| But Italy, reviving from the trance | 15 |
| Of Vandal, Goth, and Monkish ignorance, | |
| With pauses, cadence, and well-vowell’d Words, | |
| And all the Graces a good Ear affords, | |
| Made Rhyme an Art: and Dante’s polish’d page | |
| Restor’d a silver, not a golden Age: | 20 |
| Then Petrarch follow’d, and in him we see, | |
| What Rhyme improv’d in all its height can be; | |
| At best a pleasing Sound, and fair barbarity: | |
| The French pursu’d their steps; and Brittain, last | |
| In Manly sweetness all the rest surpass’d. | 25 |
| The Wit of Greece, the Gravity of Rome, | |
| Appear exalted in the Brittish Loome; | |
| The Muses Empire is restor’d agen, | |
| In Charles his reign, and by Roscomon’s Pen. | |
| Yet modestly he does his Work survey | 30 |
| And calls a finish’d Poem an ESSAY; | |
| For all the needful Rules are scatter’d here; | |
| Truth smoothly told, and pleasantly severe; | |
| (So well is Art disguis’d, for Nature to appeare.) | |
| Nor need those Rules to give Translation light; | 35 |
| His own example is a flame so bright; | |
| That he, who but arrives to copy well, | |
| Unguided will advance; unknowing will excel. | |
| Scarce his own Horace cou’d such Rules ordain; | |
| Or his own Virgil sing a nobler strain. | 40 |
| How much in him may rising Ireland boast, | |
| How much in gaining him has Britain lost! | |
| Their Island in revenge has ours reclaim’d, | |
| The more instructed we, the more we still are sham’d. | |
| ’Tis well for us his generous bloud did flow, | 45 |
| Deriv’d from British Channels long ago; | |
| That here his conquering ancestors were 3 nurst, | |
| And Ireland but translated England first: | |
| By this Reprisal we regain our right; | |
| Else must the two contending Nations fight | 50 |
| A nobler quarrel for his Native earth, | |
| Than what divided Greece for Homer’s birth. | |
| To what perfection will our Tongue arrive, | |
| How will Invention and Translation thrive | |
| When Authors nobly born will bear their part, | 55 |
| And not disdain th’ inglorious praise of Art! | |
| Great Generals thus descending from command, | |
| With their own toil provoke the Souldiers hand. | |
| How will sweet Ovid’s Ghost he pleas’d to hear | |
| His Fame augmented by a Brittish 4 Peer, 5 | 60 |
| How he embellishes His Helen’s loves, | |
| Out does his softness, and his sense improves? | |
| When these translate, and teach Translators too, | |
| Nor Firstling Kid nor any vulgar vow | |
| Shou’d 6 at Apollo’s grateful Altar stand; | 65 |
| Roscomon writes, to that auspicious hand, | |
| Muse feed the Bull that spurns the yellow sand. | |
| Roscomon, whom both Court and Camps commend, | |
| True to his Prince and faithful to his friend; | |
| Roscomon first in Fields 7 of honour known, | 70 |
| First in the peaceful Triumphs of the Gown; | |
| Who both Minerva’s justly makes his own. | |
| Now let the few belov’d by Jove, and they | |
| Whom infus’d Titan form’d of better Clay, | |
| On equal terms with ancient Wit ingage, | 75 |
| Nor mighty Homer fear, nor sacred Virgil’s page; | |
| Our English Palace opens wide in state; | |
And without stooping they may pass the Gate.
JOHN DRYDEN. | |
