Parody of a Translation from the Medea of Euripides
Ere shall they not, who resolute
Times gloomy backward with judicious eyes;
And scanning right the practice of yore,
Shall deem our hoar progenitors unwise.
They to the dome where smoke with curling
Announced the dinner to the regions round,
Summon'd the singer blithe, and harper gay,
And aided wine with dulcet-streaming sound.
The better use of notes, or sweet or shrill,
By quivering string or modulated wind;
Trumpet or lyre - to their harsh bosoms
Admission ne'er had sought, or could not find.
Oh! send them to the sullen mansions dun,
Her baleful eyes where sorrow rolls around;
Where gloom-enamour'd mischief loves to
And murder, all blood-bolter'd, schemes the wound.
When cates luxuriant pile the spacious dish,
And purple nectar glads the festive hour;
The guest, without a want, without a wish,
Can yield no room to music's soothing power.
Samuel Johnson
Other author posts
On the Death of Stephen Grey FRS
The Long hast thou borne the burden of the day, Thy task is ended, venerable Grey No more shall art thy dexterous hand require,
To Mrs Thrale on Her Completing Her Thirty-fifth Year
Oft in danger, yet alive, We are come to thirty-five; Long may better years arrive, Better years than thirty-five
On Lyce - An Elderly Lady
Ye nymphs whom starry rays invest, By flattering poets given, Who shine, by lavish lovers dress'd, In all the pomp of heaven
From Boethius De Consolatione Philosophiae Book II Metre 4
Wouldst thou to some steadfast seat, Out of Fortune's power retreat Wouldst thou, when fierce Eurus blows, Calmly rest in safe repose