HORACE.
Messrs. George Bell & Sons have recently published an interesting collection entitled, “Horace’s Odes, Englished and Imitated” selected and arranged by Charles W. G. Cooper. This contains several burlesque imitations of Horace’s Odes, but not the following, which are certainly also worthy of preservation.
“Persicos odi, puer, apparatus.”
Buttons, you booby, I wish you would learn;
I don’t want the big lamp, nor yet the épergne
When I sit down to dine by myself.
I’ll have no made-dishes in future; tell cook
She may keep her receipts shut up close in her book,
Her stock in tureen, and her game on her hook,
And her Bang-Mary bright on her shelf.
And you lay the table-cloth neatly and straight
(You’re a stupid young owl, and you won’t learn to wait,
You’re always too slow, or too fast);
I’ll just have two chops, underdone, if you please,
Some stout in the pewter, a tin of stewed cheese,
Then some port, wherein flutter the wings of the bees,
Will make up my modest repast.
Shirley Brooks, 1859.
Mr. Shirley Brooks wrote many other humorous translations of Horace, which will be found in his Wit and Humour. London, Bradbury & Co. 1883.
On the Commencement of Term.
(See Horace. Book 1. Ode IV.)
Vacation’s o’er,—in every street
We soon shall many a Cantab meet;
For hither numbers daily hie,
Or by the Tele,[47] or the Fly.[47]
Once more the halls, so desert late,
With smoking cheer, our senses greet;
Freshmen and Sophs with one intent
Haste to the scene of merriment.
O’er Alma Mater’s sacred head,
Who widely late her banner spread,
Fell solitude,—to jocund song,
Now yields her reign usurp’d too long:
While Bacchus, rosy god of wine!
And Venus, with her joys divine,
Dispute the Empire with the Nine.
But would you reach the heights of fame,
And glory from Apollo’s claim;
Now, now, the Chaplet ’gin to weave,
Now, vows to favouring heaven give.
For Death, whose unrelenting hand,
No mortal prowess can withstand,
Strikes surely, with impartial dart,
Masters’ and under-graduates’ heart
And the short space that here we tarry,
At least “in statu pupillari,”
Forbids our growing hopes to germ
Alas! beyond the appointed term.
Nay, even now our time is o’er,
And January threatening lower,[48]
And warn us quickly to resign
The jovial monarchy of wine;
To freshmen yield the boasted claim,
As from the boards we take our name.
From Gradus ad Cantabrigiam by a Brace of Cantabs. London, 1824.
November 1858.
Derby. While Peel’s old ministry could twine
Thy lot political with mine;
Ere yet on corn were disagreed,
As colleagues we were blest indeed.
Gladdy. Whilst thou didst feel no rival flame,
Nor Gladdy next to Dizzy came,
O then thy Gladdy’s echoing name
Excelled its since Homeric fame.
Derby. My heart from Peelite loves outworn
By Dizzy’s corkscrew curls is drawn;
My forfeit life I’ll freely give.
So Diz—my better life—may live.
Gladdy. My bosom burns to yield possession,
Of all my charms to Bright next session;
I’ll face two several deaths with joy,
So fate but spare my broad-brimm’d boy.
Derby. What if our ancient love awoke
And bound us with its golden yoke;
If Diz were sent some Indian venture,
And Gladdy his old place re-enter?
Gladdy. Bright as the Morning Star is B.,
Thou rougher than the Adrian Sea,
And fickle as light bark; yet I
With thee would live—with thee would die.
Anonymous.
Thackeray also wrote some humourous versions of Horace, which are familiar to everyone. In 1862 a small volume entitled Railway Horace, by G. Chichester Oxenden, was published by Upham and Beet, London; the translations were not destitute of merit, but are now rather out of date.
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