They to the dome, where smoke, with curling play,
Announc'd the dinner to the regions round,
Summon'd the singer blithe, and harper gay,
And aided wine with dulcet-streaming sound.
The better use of notes, or sweet or shrill,
By quiv'ring string or modulated wind;
Trumpet or lyre—to their harsh bosoms chill
Admission ne'er had sought, or could not find.
Oh! send them to the sullen mansions dun,
Her baleful eyes where sorrow rolls around;
Where gloom-enamour'd mischief loves to dwell,
And murder, all blood-bolter'd, schemes the wound.
When cates luxuriant pile the spacious dish,
And purple nectar glads the festive hour;
The guest, without a want, without a wish,
Can yield no room to musick's soothing pow'r.
TRANSLATION
FROM THE MEDEA OF EURIPIDES, V. 196[a]
The rites deriv'd from ancient days,
With thoughtless reverence we praise;
The rites that taught us to combine
The joys of musick and of wine,
And bade the feast, and song, and bowl
O'erfill the saturated soul:
But ne'er the flute or lyre applied
To cheer despair, or soften pride;
Nor call'd them to the gloomy cells
Where want repines and vengeance swells;
Where hate sits musing to betray,
And murder meditates his prey.
To dens of guilt and shades of care,
Ye sons of melody repair,
Nor deign the festive dome to cloy
With superfluities of joy.
Ah! little needs the minstrel's power
To speed the light convivial hour.
The board, with varied plenty crown'd,
May spare the luxuries of sound.
[a] The classical reader will, doubtless, be pleased to see the exquisite original in immediate comparison with this translation; we, therefore, subjoin it, and also Dr. J. Warton's imitation of the same passage.
[Greek:]
skaious de legon kouden ti sophous
tous prosthe brotous, ouk an amartois
oitines umnous epi men thaliais,
epi d'eilapinais kai para deipnois
euronto biou terpnas akoas
stugious de broton oudeis pulas
eureto mousae kai poluchordois
odais pauein, exon thanatoi
deinai te tuchai sphallonsi domous
kaitoi tade men kerdos akeisthai
molpaisi brotous ina d'endeipnoi
daites ti mataen teinousi boan
to paron gar echei terpsin aph auton
daitos plaeroma brotaoisin
MEDEA, 193—206. ED. PORS
Queen of every moving measure,
Sweetest source of purest pleasure,
Music! why thy pow'rs employ
Only for the sons of joy;
Only for the smiling guests,
At natal or at nuptial feasts?
Rather thy lenient numbers pour
On those, whom secret griefs devour,
Bid be still the throbbing hearts
Of those whom death or absence parts,
And, with some softly whisper'd air,
Sooth the brow of dumb despair.
This translation was written by Johnson for his friend Dr. Burney, and was inserted, as the work of "a learned friend," in that gentleman's History of Musick, vol. ii. p. 340. It has always been ascribed to Johnson; but, to put the matter beyond a doubt, Mr. Malone ascertained the fact by applying to Dr. Burney himself. J. B.