Horace's Art of Poetry (Roscommon)/Of this Translation, and of the Use of Poetry
ROme was not better by her Horace taught,
Than we are here, to comprehend his thought
The Poet writ to Noble Piso, there,
A Noble Piso do's instruct us here,
Gives us a pattern in his flowing Stile,
And with rich Precepts do's oblige our Isle,
Brittain, whose Genious is in Verse exprest
Bold and sublime, but negligently drest;
Horace will our superfluous Branches prune,
Give us new rules, and set our Harp in tune,
Direct us how, to back the winged Horse,
Favour his flight, and moderate his force;
Tho' Poets may of Inspiration boast.
Their Rage ill govern'd, in the Clouds is lost;
He that proportion'd wonders can disclose,
At once his Fancy and his Judgment shows;
Chast moral Writing we may learn from hence
Neglect of which no wit can recompence;
The Fountain which from Helicon proceeds,
That sacred Stream should never water weeds,
Nor make the Crop of thorns and thistles grow
Which Envy or perverted Nature sow;
Well-sounding Verses are the Charm we use,
Heroick thoughts, and vertue to infuse;
Things of deep sence we may in Prose unfold,
But they move more, in lofty numbers told;
By the loud Trumpet, which our Courage aids,
We learn that sound, as well as sence, persuades,
The Muse's friend, unto himself severe,
With silent pitty looks on all that Err,
But where a brave, a publick Action shines
That he rewards with his Immortal Lines;
Whether it be in Counsel or in Fight,
His Countrey's Honour is his chief delight;
Praise of great Acts, he scatters as a seed,
Which may the like, in coming Ages breed:
Here taught the sate of Verses, always priz'd
With admiration, or as much despis'd,
Men will be less indulgent to their fauts
And patience have to cultivate their thoughts;
Poets lose half the praise they should have got,
Could it be known, what they discreetly blot
Finding new words, that to the ravish't Ear
May like the Language of the Gods appear,
Such as of old, wise Bards employ'd, to make
Unpollish't men their wild retreats forsake,
Law-giving-Heroes, fam'd for taming Bru'ts,
And raising Cities with their Charming Lutes,
For rudest minds, with Harmony were caught,
And civil Life was by the Muses taught,
So wandring Bees would perish in the Air,
Did not a sound, proportion'd to their Ear,
Appease their rage, invite them to the Hive,
Unite their force, and teach them how to thrive
To rob the flowers, and to forbear the spoil,
Preserv'd in Winter by their Summers toyl,
They give us food, which may with Nectar Vie,
And Wax that do's, the absent Sun, supply.
Than we are here, to comprehend his thought
The Poet writ to Noble Piso, there,
A Noble Piso do's instruct us here,
Gives us a pattern in his flowing Stile,
And with rich Precepts do's oblige our Isle,
Brittain, whose Genious is in Verse exprest
Bold and sublime, but negligently drest;
Horace will our superfluous Branches prune,
Give us new rules, and set our Harp in tune,
Direct us how, to back the winged Horse,
Favour his flight, and moderate his force;
Tho' Poets may of Inspiration boast.
Their Rage ill govern'd, in the Clouds is lost;
He that proportion'd wonders can disclose,
At once his Fancy and his Judgment shows;
Chast moral Writing we may learn from hence
Neglect of which no wit can recompence;
The Fountain which from Helicon proceeds,
That sacred Stream should never water weeds,
Nor make the Crop of thorns and thistles grow
Which Envy or perverted Nature sow;
Well-sounding Verses are the Charm we use,
Heroick thoughts, and vertue to infuse;
Things of deep sence we may in Prose unfold,
But they move more, in lofty numbers told;
By the loud Trumpet, which our Courage aids,
We learn that sound, as well as sence, persuades,
The Muse's friend, unto himself severe,
With silent pitty looks on all that Err,
But where a brave, a publick Action shines
That he rewards with his Immortal Lines;
Whether it be in Counsel or in Fight,
His Countrey's Honour is his chief delight;
Praise of great Acts, he scatters as a seed,
Which may the like, in coming Ages breed:
Here taught the sate of Verses, always priz'd
With admiration, or as much despis'd,
Men will be less indulgent to their fauts
And patience have to cultivate their thoughts;
Poets lose half the praise they should have got,
Could it be known, what they discreetly blot
Finding new words, that to the ravish't Ear
May like the Language of the Gods appear,
Such as of old, wise Bards employ'd, to make
Unpollish't men their wild retreats forsake,
Law-giving-Heroes, fam'd for taming Bru'ts,
And raising Cities with their Charming Lutes,
For rudest minds, with Harmony were caught,
And civil Life was by the Muses taught,
So wandring Bees would perish in the Air,
Did not a sound, proportion'd to their Ear,
Appease their rage, invite them to the Hive,
Unite their force, and teach them how to thrive
To rob the flowers, and to forbear the spoil,
Preserv'd in Winter by their Summers toyl,
They give us food, which may with Nectar Vie,
And Wax that do's, the absent Sun, supply.