well in proof of this; they dispute without end. Are you aware now that I have an interest all this while in banishing Criticism from our correspondence? Indeed I have; for I am going to write down a little Ode (if it deserves the name) for your perusal, which I am afraid will hardly stand that test. Nevertheless I leave you at your full liberty; so here it follows. OD E. Dear Gray, that always in my heart What mean these sudden blasts that rise O join with mine thy tuneful lay, Come, fairest Nymph, resume thy reign! Bring all the Graces in thy train! With balmy breath, and flowery tread, Awake, in all thy glories drest, Great Nature's self upbraids thy stay, See! all her works demand thy aid; A plaint is heard from ev'ry tree; Come then, with Pleasure at thy side, Create, where'er thou turn'st thy eye, And Heav'n and Earth be glad at heart. LETTER VIII. MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. London, May 3, 1742. I Rejoice to see you putting up your prayers to the May: She cannot choose but come at such a call. It is as light and genteel as herself. You bid me find fault; I am afraid I cannot; however I will try. The first stanza (if what you say to me in it did not make me think it the best) I should call the worst of the five (except the fourth line). The two next are very picturesque, Miltonic, and musical; her bed is so soft and so snug that I long to lie with her. But those two lines, "Great Nature" are my favourites. The exclamation of the flowers is a little step too far. The last stanza is full as good as the second and third; the last line bold, but I think not too bold. Now, as to myself and my translation, pray do not call names. I never saw Broukhusius in my life. It is Scaliger who attempted to range Propertius in order; who was, and still is, in sad condition + ***. You see, by what I sent you, that I converse, as usual, with none but the dead: They are my old friends, and almost make me long to be with them. You will not wonder therefore, that I, who live only in times past, am able to tell you no news of the present. I have finished the Peloponnesian war much to my honour, and a tight conflict it was, I promise you. I have drank and sung with Anacreon for the last fortnight, and am now feeding sheep with Theocritus. Besides, to quit my figure, (because it is foolîsh) I have run over Pliny's Epistles and Martial in wapipy; not to mention Petrarch, who, by the way, is sometimes very tender and natural. I must needs Here some criticism on the Elegy is omitted for a former reason. tell you three lines in Anacreon, where the expression seems to me inimitable. He is describing hair as he would have it painted. Ελικας δ' ἔλευθέρας μου Πλοκάμων άτακτα συνθεὶς ̓Αφὲς ὡς θέλεσι κεῖθαι. Guess, too, where this is about a dimple. Sigilla in mento impressa Amoris digitulo LETTER IX. MR. WEST TO MR. GRAY. Popes, May 11, 1742. YOUR and Greek delicious. But why are you your thus me lancholy? I am so sorry for it, that you see I cannot forbear writing again the very first opportunity; though I have little to say, except to expostulate with you about it. I find you converse much with the dead, and I do not blame you for that; I converse with them too, though not indeed with the Greek. But I must condemn you for your longing to be with them. What, are there no joys among the living? I could almost cry out with Catullus, " Alphene immemor, atque unanimis false sodalibus!" But to turn an accusation thus upon another, is ungenerous; so I will take my leave of you for the present with a "Vale, et vive paulisper cum vivis." END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. |