ON HIS PREPARING FOR PUBLICATION THE POEM OF LUCRETIUS ON
THE NATURE OF THINGS, WITH EMENDATIONS, NOTES, AND
ILLUSTRATIONS.

BY THOMAS BUSBY.

There are, who wrapt alone in classic lore,
Can only Greek and Roman wit adore;
Can trace no merit (save in ancient lays)
Pierian born, or worthy of the bays:
Avaunt! each modern; — these but ancients love;
And genius must his age, and country prove.
Others there are, who daringly would brand
That classic sense, they cannot understand;
And ignorant as loquacious, still exclaim,
" Cease, Greeks and Romans, cease to challenge fame. "

But we, more cautious, seek the middle way,
Intent to follow truths informing ray;
Qui nil commendant artes, quas postera saecla
Ingeniis ornant promptis, qui falsa tumentes
Delirant, qui parva augent, et vilia tollunt
Magniloqui in caelos, aurae popularis avari.

At si quid prisci delectent carmine vates,
Plurima ludentes dulci; si facta canentes
Heroum, praeclara sonent, studioque polire
Non vano perstent, felici fingere venâ
Quae doceat natura, sacras meruere coronas;
Hos nostrum est laudare viros, Wakefielde; perennes
Rivos sectari, largosq; recludere rivos;
Angliaca et scatebrâ gaudebunt arva feraci.

Haec tibi sint laudi. Fugitivum at festus amorem
Ipse tuo in Moscho quaeram, vel Adonida tristis,
Nympharum luctus, flentis Venerisque misertus,
Heu! nimium mollis lugebo; Heroa secutus
Aut profugum, Priami casus meditabor iniquos:
Deinde hominum varios luctus, atq; horrida bella,
Lest too precipitate, and vain of praise,
We treat the wit and taste of ancient days,
Like those, who lur'd with popular applause,
Would represent the worse the better cause:
Who doat on fustian, and in pompous style
Augment the little, and extol the vile.

But if those ancients, charming all below,
Bade from their harps celestial music flow;
If praising heroes, they awaked around,
The nobler virtues by the power of found;
If a rich vein of fancy fir'd the soul,
And happy labour beautified the whole;
If their bold thoughts a god-like spirit breathe,
Who from their brows shall tear the living wreath?

Be thy ambition, Wakefield, these to praise:
To spread their wisdom, and their glory raise,
Recall the lustre of their injur'd themes,
And ope new beds for their perennial streams;
And while they murmuring flow with tuneful voice,
B RITANNIA 's nurtur'd vallies shall rejoice.
Et planctus maestos cito jam morientis Elisae
Mecum pervolvens, meritos persolvere honores
Virgilio incumbam, tremulus vestigia sectans.

Nunc iterum lachrymas blandis aspergantur ocelli,
Et tenerum gemitu suspiret pectus acerbo.
Te, vates dulcis, tragico dum carmine luges,
Qui sapiat, maeret; mores qui sentiat, ardet.
Te Collinsus amat noster, Miltonus et ipse
Te revocans, reparat vires, atq; igne coruscat.

Ecce! autem vultu placido grandaevus Homerus
Adstat, et Aonias nymphas audire videtur,
Atque aures Phaebo praebere, lyramque sonantem
Jam prensare manu, stillat dum flumine mellis
Sacrum os, et placidum circundat gloria vultum:
Caecus magna videt; depressus, mente superbit;
Qualis ab antiquo pendebat marmore vultus,
Talis in Iliade effulget divinus H OMERUS .

Be this thy praise — mine, vagrant love to seek,
And in thy B ION hear A DONIS speak;
A DONIS still by sylvan virgins mourned;
A DONIS still by V ENUS ' tears adorn'd:
Alas! too far they urge the melting art!
Now P RIAM 's piteous sufferings rend my heart,
War's direful horrors, and E LIZA 's fate,
Press on my soul, and sink me with their weight:
Appall'd, I throw my wondering eyes around,
And tremble, while I tread Virgilian ground.

Now warmer passions in my bosom rise,
And melting tears gush quicker from my eyes,
While thou, soft pity's BARD , art heard to moan,
And all thy tragic sorrows are my own.

Ne tamen in turba vatem adnumeremus inani,
Quae nisi ficta nihil celebrat, quae ficta refingit,
Texentes veri formam, Lucretius adstat:
Doctrinâ solers idem, clarusque poeta,
Antiqui vatis reparat solennia jura.
Huic, simul ac rerum primordia pandere tentat
Naturamq; Deam, flammantia maenia mundi
Extra et procedit , musarum captus amore,
Ipsa Venus, votis blanda, arridere videtur,
Nympharumque chorus; tantus lepor insinuat se
Verbis, tanta viri est celebris vis insita menti.

Pergas tu veteres, Wakefielde, ornare poetas;
Sit mihi mirari, tenues et carpere flores
Hortis Pieriis, tenerosq; avellere fructus;
Ipse sonos capto, mox mollia carmina texam:
Sis tu subtilis nostri Bentleius aevi.
Thee, thee our C OLLINS and our M ILTON lov'd,
Reviv'd thy moral, and thy force improv'd.

Lo! reverend H OMER quits his awful shades,
And seems to listen to th' A ONIAN MAIDS !
From P HoeBUS ' hands he wrests the golden lyre:
The god transported owns his equal fire:
Now soothing strains his raptur'd mind compose,
And settled glory gilds his placid brows;
Blind! yet in soul he sees, and tho' deprest,
The pride of genius rises in his breast:
As on that ancient bust his features shine,
So through his I LIAD beams the bard divine.

Nor with those idle wits, who fiction weave,
And dictate nought that reason can believe,
Shall rank th' illumin'd sage whom now you raise,
The skill'd Lucretius, crown'd with learned bays;
As chaste in judgment, as in genius bright,
Born to distribute philosophic light:
To him, enamour'd of the mystic nine,
Shone forth the origin of things divine:
Nor earth, nor heaven, were from his view conceal'd;
And the whole starry concave stood reveal'd;
Such power of thought eternal palms reward,
And all Olympus hails th' immortal bard.

Wakefield, proceed — each ancient author clear
From time's rude dust, and make his sense appear;
Whilst I, admiring, cull the fragrant flowers,
And blushing fruits, of fair P IERIAN bowers;
Whilst I with tender themes my muse engage,
Be thou the subtle B ENTLEY of our age.