will hardly object to the repetition of the word here, or doubt that Dryden wrote "Trojan lord." Eneïs, X, 1291. Now, where are now thy vaunts, the fierce disdain poet, doubtless, wrote "the vaunts." The When Thermodon with bloody billows roll'd. Whether it was the author or the printer that committed the mistake, "Thermodon" is here, by an improper position, converted to " Thermodon." As the thought expressed in this verse is not in the Latin original, it appears the less improbable that Dryden might have at first introduced a quite different idea, and afterwards, on new-moulding the line, made the erasure and correction in a vague indistinct manner, so as to leave the printer uncertain of the intended arrangement of the words, which perhaps was this though I have not ventured to adopt it— With bloody billows when Thermodon roll'd. Aneïs, xii, 60. (first edit.) The bones of Latians blanch the neighb'ring shore. The second, by a typographic error, gives "glance." Notes, vol. III. p. 302. "The names of fifty river nymphs"..... A typographic error, for "fifteen;" though, by the way, it should have been "sixteen," if Dryden, with all his attention to translate the entire catalogue of names, had not forgotten that of Cymodoce.-The mute personages alone being the objects of his remark, Cyrene and Clymene are not to be counted in the number. Notes, vol. III, p. 326. "As for the names of the Harpies.....Hesiod tells us they were Iris, Aëllo, and Ocypete." Here Dryden has fallen into an error. Hesiod does indeed mention Iris in the same passage with the Harpies, but not as one of their number. His words (Theogoma, 267) are," She [Electra, the wife of Thaumas] bore Iris, AND the Harpies, Aello and Ocypete." The genealogy given by Apollodorus (Пp wv, lib. i.) exactly agrees with that in Hesiod. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HUGH LORD CLIFFORD, BARON OF CHUDLEIGH. MY LORD, I HAVE found it not more difficult to translate Virgil, than to find such patrons as I desire for my translation. For, though England is not wanting in a learned nobility, yet such are my unhappy circumstances, that they have confined me to a narrow choice. To the greater part I have not the honour to be known; and to some of them I cannot shew at present, by any public act, that grateful respect which I shall ever bear them in my heart. Yet I have no reason to complain of b VOL. I. fortune, since, in the midst of that abundance, I could not possibly have chosen better, than the worthy son of so illustrious a father. He was the patron of my manhood, when I flourished in the opinion of the world; though with small advantage to my fortune, till he awakened the remembrance of my royal master. He was that Pollio, or that Varus, who introduced me to Augustus: and, though he soon dismissed himself from state-affairs, yet, in the short time of his administration, he shone so powerfully upon me, that, like the heat of a Russian summer, he ripened the fruits of poetry in a cold climate, and gave me wherewithal to subsist at least, in the long winter which succeeded. What I now offer to your lordship, is the wretched remainder of a sickly age, worn out with study, and oppressed by fortune; without other support than the constancy and patience of a Christian. You, my lord, are yet in the flower of your youth, and may live to enjoy the benefits of the peace which is promised Europe: I can only hear of that blessing; for years, and, above all things, want of health, have shut me out from sharing in the happiness. The poets, who condemn their Tantalus to hell, had added to his torments, if they had placed him in Elysium, which is the proper emblem of my condition. The fruit and the water may reach my lips, but cannot enter: and, if they could, yet I want a palate as well as a digestion. But it is some kind of pleasure to me, to please those whom I respect. And I am not altogether out of hope, that these Pastorals of Virgil may give your lordship some delight, though made English by one who scarce remembers that passion which inspired my author when he wrote them. These were his first essay in poetry (if the Ceiris was not his): and it was more excusable in him to describe love when he was young, than for me to translate him when I am old. He died at the age of fifty-two; and I began this work in my great climacteric. But, having perhaps a better constitution than my author, I have wronged him less, considering my circumstances, than those who have attempted |