TRANSLATED BY W. COWPER, ESQ.
THRACIAN parents, at his birth,
Mourn their babe with many a tear,
But, with undissembled mirth,
Place him breathless on his bier.
Greece and Rome, with scorn,
"O the savages!" exclaim,
"Whether they rejoice or mourn,
"Well entitled to the name!"
But the cause of this concern,
And this pleasure, would they trace,
Even they might somewhat learn
From the savages of Thrace.
THREICIUM infantem, cum lucem intravit et auras,
Fletibus excepit mæstus uterque parens.
Threicium infantem, cum luce exivit et auris,
Extulit ad funus lætus uterque parens.
Interea, tu, Roma, et tu tibi, Græcia, plaudens,
Dicitis, Hæc vera est Thraïca barbaries.
Lætitiæ causam, causamque exquirite luctus;
Vosque est quod doceat Thraïca barbaries.
INFANTEM audivit puerum, sua gaudia, Apelles
Intempestivo fato obiisse diem.
Ille, licet tristi perculsus imagine mortis,
Proferri in medium corpus inane jubet.
Et calamum, et succos poscens, “Hos accipe luctus,
Mororem hunc," dixit, "nate parentis habe."
Dixit; et, ut clausit, clausos depinxit ocellos;
Officio pariter fidus utrique pater:
Frontemque, et crines, nec adhuc pallentia formans
Oscula, adumbravit lugubre pictor opus.
Perge, parens, morendo tuos expendere luctus;
Nondum opus absolvit triste suprema manus.
Vidit adhuc molles genitor super oscula risus;
Vidit adhuc veneres irrubuisse genis :
Et teneras raptim veneres, blandosque lepores,
Et tacitos risus transtulit in tabulam.
Pingendo desiste tuum signare dolorem ;
Filioli longum vivet imago tui:
Vivet, et æterna vives tu laude; nec arte
Vincendus pictor, nec pietate pater.
TRANSLATED BY W. COWPER, ESQ.
APELLES, hearing that his boy
Had just expired—his only joy!
Although the sight with anguish tore him,
Bade place his dear remains before him.
He seized his brush,-his colours spread :
And-" Oh! my child, accept," he said,
'('Tis all that I can now bestow,)
"This tribute of a father's woe!"
Then, faithful to the twofold part,
Both of his feelings and his art,
He closed his eyes with tender care,
And form'd at once a fellow-pair.
His brow with amber locks beset,
And lips, he drew,-not livid yet;
And shaded that which he had done
To a just image of his son.
Thus far is well. But view again
The cause of thy paternal pain!
Thy melancholy task fulfil!
It needs the last, last touches still.
Again his pencil's powers he tries,
For on his lips a smile he spies;
And still his cheek unfaded shows
The deepest damask of the rose.
Then, heedful of the finished whole,
With fondest eagerness he stole,
Till scarce himself distinctly knew
The cherub copied from the true.
Now, painter, cease! thy task is done,
Long lives this image of thy son;
Nor short-lived shall thy glory prove,
Or of thy labour or thy love.
QUA juxta Albani divique et martyris ædes
Humphredo servat de duce quod superest;
Urbs stabat, quondam insignis; nunc arva segesque,
Abdita nunc ipso, mersa, sepulta solo.
Quo jam murorum turrita superbia cessit !
Quid sibi jam reliquum, quid nisi nomen, habet! Nil nisi nomen habet-sed et omni illustrius urbe, Nullaque quo major gloria, nomen habet. Restat adhuc, restabit adhuc per sæcula longa, Nomine Baconi nobilitata sui :
Quæ, cum desierit Verulamius ille vocari,
Nil nisi nunc nomen, tunc neque nomen erit.
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