-"Ergo fungar vice cotis, acutum Reddere quæ ferrum valet, exsors ipsa secandi." HOR. De Arte Poet.

"Rhymes are difficult things-they are stubborn things,

sir.

FIELDING'S Amelia.

Introduction to Bints from borace.

OF most of the poetical translations of Horace, from Pope and Swift downward, we might say, in the words of Bottom's companion, "Bless thee, Horace! thou art translated indeed." Nor did Lord Byron stick any closer to the original than his predecessors. He described his verses as an "Imitation of Horace," and although not published until seven years after his death, it was not through the author having a low idea of their merit. Indeed Lord Byron rated this performance extravagantly high, and on his return from the east did all he could to hasten its production. His first satire, however, "English Bards," had provoked much ill-feeling, and the denunciation of the gambling at the Argyle rooms had nearly led to a duel with the director, Colonel Greville. Lord Byron, among his other great qualities, had that of thoroughness in all that he did, and without hesitation had the whole of a new edition of "English Bards" committed to the flames, and gave up whatever honour his "Imitation of Horace" might have brought him by keeping the manuscript among his papers. It will be the opinion of most persons that he lost nothing by doing so, as the general spirit of the verses is decidedly on a lower level than that of "English Bards." The simple explanation seems to be that when Lord Byron revenged himself on the Edinburgh Review by attacking every living poet, or rhymster, he was thoroughly in earnest, and although the satire shews signs of effort in places, many lines strike at first sight, and have indeed passed into current literature-a sure mark of genuine inspiration. "Hints from Horace" were composed under eastern skies, and the perfervidum ingenium of the poet is so softened that we miss the genius which prompted him at Newstead.

HINTS FROM HORACE.

ATHENS Capuchin Convent,

March 12, 1811.

WHO would not laugh, if Lawrence, hired to grace
His costly canvas with each flatter'd face,
Abused his art, till Nature, with a blush,
Saw cits grow centaurs underneath his brush?
Or, should some limner join, for show or sale,
A maid of honour to a mermaid's tail?

Or low Dubost1-as once the world has seen-
Degrade God's creatures in his graphic spleen?
Not all that forced politeness, which defends
Fools in their faults, could gag his grinning friends.
Believe me, Moschus,2 like that picture seems
The book which, sillier than a sick man's dreams,
Displays a crowd of figures incomplete,
Poetic nightmares, without head or feet.

Poets and painters, as all artists 3 know,
May shoot a little with a lengthen'd bow;
We claim this mutual mercy for our task,
And grant in turn the pardon which we ask;
But make not monsters spring from gentle dams--
Birds breed not vipers, tigers nurse not lambs.

A labour'd, long exordium, sometimes tends (Like patriot speeches) but to paltry ends; And nonsense in a lofty note goes down, As pertness passes with a legal gown:

Thus many a bard describes in pompous strain The clear brook babbling through the goodly plain:

The groves

of Granta, and her Gothic halls, King's Coll., Cam's stream, stain'd windows, and old walls:

Or, in the advent'rous numbers, neatly aims
To paint a rainbow, or-the river Thames.4

You sketch a tree, and so perhaps may shine — But daub a shipwreck like an alehouse sign; You plan a vase-it dwindles to a pot; Then glide down Grub-street-fasting and forgot; Laugh'd into Lethe by some quaint Review, Whose wit is never troublesome till-true."

In fine, to whatsoever you aspire, Let it at least be simple and entire.

The greater portion of the rhyming tribe (Give ear, my friend, for thou hast been a scribe) Are led astray by some peculiar lure.

I labour to be brief-become obscure ;
One falls while following elegance too fast;
Another soars, inflated with bombast;
Too low a third crawls on, afraid to fl
He spins his subject to satiety;
Absurdly varying, he at last engraves

Fish in the woods, and boars beneath the waves!

Unless your care's exact, your judgment nice,
The flight from folly leads but into vice;
None are complete, all wanting in some part,
Like certain tailors, limited in art.

For gallygaskins Slowshears is your man;
But coats must claim another artisan."
Now this to me, I own, seems much the same
As Vulcan's feet to bear Apollo's frame ;7