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From the Latin by Dr. James Cranstoun
ORPHEUS, ’t is said, the Thracian lyre-strings sweeping, | |
| Stayed the swift stream and soothed the savage brute; | |
| Cithæron’s rocks, to Thebes spontaneous leaping, | |
| Rose into walls before Amphion’s lute. | |
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| With dripping steeds did Galatea follow, | 5 |
| ’Neath Ætna’s crags, lone Polyphemus’s song: | |
| Is ’t strange the loved of Bacchus and Apollo | |
| Leads captive with his lay the maiden throng? | |
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| Though no Tænarian blocks uphold my dwelling, | |
| Nor ivory panels shine ’tween gilded beams; | 10 |
| No orchards mine Phæcia’s woods excelling, | |
| No chiselled grots where Marcian water streams,— | |
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| Yet Song is mine; my strain the heart engages; | |
| Faint from the dance sinks the lithe Muse with me: | |
| O happy maid whose name adorns my pages! | 15 |
| Each lay a lasting monument to thee! | |
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| The pyramids that cleave heaven’s jewelled portal; | |
| Elean Jove’s star-spangled dome; the tomb | |
| Where rich Mausolus sleeps,—are not immortal, | |
| Nor shall escape inevitable doom. | 20 |
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| Devouring fire and rains will mar their splendor; | |
| The weight of years will drag the marble down: | |
| Genius alone a name can deathless render, | |
| And round the forehead wreathe the unfading crown. | |
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