and his celebrated simile, by which he gives his reason for treating philosophical subjects in verse. The following is a translation, which was sometime since made of this passage. LUCRETIUS, b. iv. c. 1. Now through the Mufes' pathlefs plains I ftray, BASIUM 1. Cum Venus Afcanium fuper alta Cythera tulisset ; Albarum nimbos circumfudit rofarum, O quoties voluit circundare colla nepotis ? Ecce calent illæ ; cupidæ per ora Diones En ego fum, veftri quo vate canentur honores, TRANSLATION. When Venus bore with fond delight The boy had all Adonis' charms, The 9th and 10th lines are not, I believe, a correct translation, but I have not the original, and cannot determine. The sense I think is preserved, but not the expression. The 7th and 8th lines of the translation appear so harsh, that I will observe, that there are not many men, I suppose, who have learning she on each rofe a kiss imprest. enough to read and taste enough to be pleased with the poetry of Lucretius, who are not disgusted with his philosophy. SECUNDUS. THE following are the original and a translation of the First Basium of Secundus, which treats of the origin of kisses. The classical reader will immediately recollect, that it is founded on the relation in the first book of the Eneid, of Venus removing her grandson Ascanius from the court of Dido. "At Venus Ascanio," &c. I. 694. And lo! they warm; with murmurs weak Each rofe the touched, a new-born kifs Now floating where the thin clouds fpread, And on its fertile bofom caft Full many a kifs; her warm lips move, Thrice uttering unknown founds of love. And hence a fruitful harvest rose For weary man oppreft with woes. Moift kiffes from cold rofes fprung, Long as the Mufes' mount remains, Or love well learned in Latian ftrains, SANS SOUCI. Stealing and giving sweets. IN the year 1784 Dr. Hunter first appeared before the world, in the character of an author, by the publication of two volumes of his Sacred Biography. The plan of this work he had conceived, we are told, when young; and so favourable was the reception it experienced, as to encourage him to extend it to seven volumes. Previous, however, to the publication of the latter part of this work, accident introduced him to an acquaintance with a French edition of Lavater's Physiognomy. Whatever opinions Dr. Hunter embraced, he embraced warmly.' He was struck with the novelty and originality of thought displayed in the essays of that writer; he became an enthusiast in the cause; and determined to translate them into English. The same ardent spirit which had induced Dr. H. to adopt this scheme, prompted him to make a journey to Zurich, for the sake of a personal interview with Lavater. In August 1787 he accordingly repaired thither. It might have been reasonably expected,that a proceeding so romantick would have been considered by Lavater as no common compliment to him. But he did not receive Dr. Hunter with that frankness or generosity, to which so distinguished a mark of respect seemed fairly to entitle him. Lavater was jealous of Dr. H.'s undertaking, and thought the English translation likely to injure the sale of the French edition, in which he was interested. By degrees, however, his scruples were overcome, and he finally opened himself to the Doctor without reserve. In a letter, written by the SHAKESP. latter gentleman from Bern, a portrait of Lavater is drawn, and a descripttion of their last interview is given. This we consider as a curious literary morsel, and we shall make no apology for transcribing it into the Anthology. "I was detained the whole morning by that strange, wild, eccentrick, Lavater, in various conversations. When once he is set agoing, there is no such thing as stopping him, till he run himself out of breath. He starts from subject to subject, flies from book to book, from picture to picture; measures your nose, your eye, your mouth, with a pair of compasses; pours forth a torrent of physiognomy upon you; drags you, for a proof of his dogma, to a dozen of closets, and unfolds ten thousand drawings; but will not let you open your lips to propose a difficulty: crams a solution down your throat, before you have uttered half a syllable of your objection. He is meagre as the picture of famine; his nose and chin almost meet. I read him in my turn,and found little difficulty in discovering, amidst great genius, unaffected piety, unbounded benevolence, and moderate learning; much caprice and unsteadiness; a mind at once aspiring by nature, and grovelling through necessity; an endless turn to speculation and project in a word, a clever, flighty, good-natured necessitous man. He did not conceal his dread of my English translation, as he thinks is will materially affect the sale of the third and fourth volumes of his French edition, one of which is actually published, and the other in the press." 361 SMITH'S POEM POETRY. TO THE MEMORY OF MR. JOHN PHILIPS. In 1709, a year after the exhibition of Phædra, died John Philips, the friend and fellow-collegian of Smith, who, on that occafion, wrote a poem, which justice must place among the best elegies which our language can fhew, an elegant mixture of fondness and admiration, of dignity and foftnefs. There are fome paffages too ludicrous; but every human performance has its faults. JOHNSON. SINCE our Ifis filently deplores The bard who spread her fame to diftant fhores; Since nobler pens their mournful lays fufpend, My honeft zeal, if not my verse, commend, Forgive the poet, and approve the friend. Your care had long his fleeting life reftrain 'd, One table fed you, and one bed contain'd; For his dear fake long reftlefs nights you bore, While rattling coughs his heaving veffels tore, Much was his pain, but your affliction more. Oh! had no fummons from the noisy gown Call'd thee, unwilling, to the nauseous town, Thy love had o'er the dull difeafe prevail'd, Thy mirth had cur'd where baffled phyfick fail'd; But fince the will of heaven his fate decreed, To thy kind care my worthlefs lines fucceed; Fruitlefs our hopes, though pious our essays, Yours to preferve a friend, and mine to praise. Oh! might I paint him in Miltonian verse, With ftrains like thofe he fung on Glo'fter's herfe; But with the meaner tribe I'm forc'd to chime, And, wanting ftrength to rife, defcend to rhyme. With other fire his glorious Blenheim shines, And all the battle thunders in his lines; His nervous verse great Boileau's strength trans cends, And France to Philips, as to Churchill, bends. Oh! various bard, you all our powers control, You now difturb, and now divert the foul: Milton and Butler in thy mufe combine, Above the laft thy manly beauties shine; For as I've feen, when rival wits contend, One gayly charge, one gravely wife defend; This on quick turns and points in vain relies, This with a look demure, and steady eyes, With dry rebukes, or fneering praife, replies. Vol. III. No. 7. 2X So thy grave lines extort a jufter smile, What founding lines his abject themes exprefs ! What thining words the pompous Shilling drefs! There, there my cell, immortal made, outvies The frailer piles which o'er its ruins rife. in her beft light the comick mufe appears, When the, with borrow'd pride, the buskin wears. So when nurse Nokes, to act young Ammon tries, With fhambling legs, long chin, and foolish eyes; With dangling hands he ftrokes th' Imperial robe, And, with a cuckold's air, commands the globe; The pomp and found the whole buffoon display'd, And Ammon's fon more mirth than Gomez made. Forgive, dear shade, the fcene my folly draws, Thy trains divert the grief thy ashes caufe: When Orpheus fings, the ghofts no more com plain, But, in his lulling mufick, lofe their pain: Bleft clime, which Vaga's fruitful streams im prove, Etruria's envy, and her Cofmo's love; Redftreak he quaffs beneath the Chiant vine, Gives Tuscan yearly for thy Scudmore's wine, And ev'n his Tao would exchange for thine. Rife, rife, Rofcommon, fee the Blenheim muse The dull conftraint of monkish rhyme refufe; See, o'er the Alps his towering pinions foar, Where never English poet reach'd before: See mighty Cofmo's counsellor and friend, By turns on Cofmo and the bard attend ; Rich in the coins and butts of ancient Rome, In him he brings a nobler treasure home; In them he views her gods, and domes defign'd, In him the foul of Rome, and Virgil's mighty mind: To him for cafe retires from toils of flate, Not half fo proud to govern, as translate. Our Spenfer, firft by Pifan poets taught, Tyrannick rhyme that cramps to equal chime Some fay this chain the doubtful fenfe decides, Oft rife to fuftian, or defcend to profe. So the ftretch'd cord the fhackle-dancer tries, As prone to fall, as impotent to rife; When freed he moves, the fturdy cable bends, He mounts with pleafure, and fecure defcends; Now dropping feems to strike the diftant ground, Now high in air his quivering feet redound. Rail on, ye triflers, who to Will's repair For new lampoons, fresh cant, or modth air ; Rail on at Milton's fon, who wifely bold Rejects new phrafes, and resumes the old : Thus Chaucer lives in younger Spenser's strains, In Maro's page reviving Ennius reigns; The ancient words the majefty complete, And make the poem venerably great: So when the queen in royal habit's dreft, Old myftick emblems grace th' imperial vest, And in Eliza's robes all Anna itands confeft. A haughty bard, to fame by volumes rais'd, At Dick's, and Batfon's, and through Smithfield, prais'd, Cries out aloud-Bold Oxford bard, forbear And in low profe dull Lucifer complain; Beyond his praife or blame thy works prevail Complete where Dryden and thy Milton fail; Great Milton's wing on lower themes fubfides, And Dryden oft in rhyme his weakness hides; You ne'er with jingling words deceive the ear, And yet, on humble subjects, great appear. Thrice happy youth, whom noble His crowns! Whom Blackmore cenfures, and Godolphin owns: So on the tuneful Margarita's tongue The liftening nymphs and ravish'd heroes hung: But cits and fops the heaver.-born mufick blame, And bawl, and hifs, and damn her into fame ; Like her sweet voice, is thy harmonious fong, As high, as fweet, as çafy, and as strong. Oh! had relenting heaven prolong'd his days, The towering bard had fung in nobler lays, How the last trumpet wakes the lazy dead, How faints aloft the cross triumphant spread : How opening heavens their happy regions show; And yawning golphs with flaming vengeance glow; And faints rejoice above, and tinners howl below: Well might he fing the day he could not fear, And paint the glories he was fure to wear. Oh beft of friends, will ne'er the filent urn While every hot is level'd at his fides? Whom shall I find unbiafs'd in difpute, Candid to all, but to himself fevere, own: Pleas'd the leaft fteps of famous then to view, Yet to the bard his Churchill's foul they gave, And made him fcorn the life they could not favo: Elfe could he bear unmov'd, the fatal gueft, The weight that all his fainting limbs oppreft, The coughs that struggled from his weary breath ? Could he unmov'd approaching death sustain ? Its flow advances, and its racking pain? Could he forene his weeping friends survey, In his laft hours his easy wit difplay, Like the rich fruit he fings, delicious in decay?, Once on thy friends look down, lamented skade, With wit, and ftrength, that only yields to thine: But most at Virgil's tomb his swelling forrows rife. But you, his darling friends, lament no more, Display his fame, and not his fate deplore; And let no tears from erring pity flow, For one that's blett above, immortalized below. BAUCIS AND PHILEMON. On the ever-lamented loss of the two Yew Trees, in the parish of Chilthorne, Somerset, 1708. Imitated from the eighth book of Ovid. BY SWIFT. IN ancient times, as story tells, The faints would often leave their cells, And stroll about, but hide their quality, To try good people's hofpitality. It happen'd on a winter-night, As authors of the legend write, Two brother-hermits, faints by trade, Taking their tour in masquerade, Difguis'd in tatter'd habits, went To a small village down in Kent; Where, in the strollers' canting strain, They begg'd from door to door in vain, Tried every tone might pity win ; But not a foul would let them in. Our wandering faints, in woful state, Treated at this ungodly rate, Having through all the village past, To a small cottage cathe at last! Where dwelt a good old honeft ye'man, Called in the neighbourhood Philemon ; Who kindly did these faints invite In his poor hut to pass the night; And then the hospitable sire Bid goody Baucis mend the fire ; The roof began to mount aloft ; The kettle to the top was hoift, |