Ere this note closes, its Author desires to observe, that Painters cannot take a striking likeness of a face, in which there is no predominant feature, and the Poet can only make his image, or description, distinct, animated, and forcible, by bringing forward some characteristic trait of the object he is presenting.
When Horace says in this Ode, “How pleasing is it to see the well-fed sheep hastening home,” the observation is not picturesque, and therefore does not strongly impress the Imagination; but when he adds—“to see the weary Oxen dragging, with languid neck, the inverted Ploughshare,” he gives perhaps the most poetic feature in this Ode. Had he only said, “to see the Oxen returning from their labor,” his Oxen had been as much without character as his Sheep, and the sentence must have passed unimpressive over the mind of the Reader. It is the words—dragging, with languid neck, the inverted ploughshare, that makes the sentence Poetry, and empowers it to arrest and charm the fancy. Had Horace always written thus, undeviating fidelity had been the best aim of his Translator, and the sure way of rendering him delightful in every Language.
[2]: Dacier observes that Vines supported on the highest Trees produce Wines of the most exquisite flavor.
[3]: The feast of Terminus, one of the rural Gods, was held on the first of February, at which time, in those warm climates, the spring is very forward.
[4]: The Romans fancied that the struggle and terror of a kid on being seized by the Wolf, made its flesh more tender.
[5]: Ides, the middle of a month.
[6]: Calends, the beginning of the next month.
TO NEAĒRA.
BOOK THE FIFTH, EPODE THE FIFTEENTH.
'T was night—the moon, upon her sapphire throne,
High o'er the waning stars serenely shone,
When thou, false Nymph, determin'd to prophane
Them, and each Power that rules the earth, and main,
As thy soft, snowy arms about me twin'd,
Close as round oaks the clasping ivies wind,
Swore, while the gaunt wolf shall infest the lea,
And red Orion vex the wintry sea,
While gales shall fan Apollo's floating locks,
That shed their golden light o'er hills and rocks,
So long thy breast should burn with purest fires,
With mutual hopes, and with unchang'd desires.