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thrown together by chance, are concatenated without any abruption. Though the English ode cannot be called a translation, it may be very properly consulted as a commentary.
The spirit of Pindar is indeed not every where equally preserved. The following pretty lines are not such as his deep mouth was used to pour :
Great Rhea's son,
In the Nemeæan Ode the reader must, in mere justice to Pindar, observe that whatever is said of the original new moon, her tender forehead and her horns, is superadded by his paraphrast, who has many other plays of words and fancy unsuitable to the original, as,
The table free for every guest,
No doubt will thee admit, And feast more upon thee, than thou on
He sometimes extends his author's thoughts without improving them. In the Olympionick an oath is mentioned in a single word, and Cowley spends three lines in swearing by the Caftalian Stream. We are told of Theron's boun
ty, with a hint that he had enemies, which Cowley thus enlarges in rhyming prose :
But in this thankless world the giver
It is hard to conceive that a man of the first rank in learning and wit, when he was dealing out such minute morality in such feeble diction, could imagine, either waking or dreaming, that he imitated Pindar.
In the following odes, where Cowley chooses his own subjects, he sometimes rises to dignity truly Pindarick; and, if some deficiencies of language be forgiven, his strains are such as those of the Theban bard were to his contemporaries :
Begin the song, and strike the living
lyre: Lo how the years to come, a numerous
and well-fitted quire, All hand in hand do decently advance, And to my song with smooth and equal
measure dance; While the dance lasts, how long foe’er
it bé, Mymusick's voice shall bear it company;
Till all gentle notes be drown'd
After such enthusiasm, who will not lament to find the poet conclude with lines like these!
But stop, my MuseHold thy Pindarick Pegasus closely in,
Which does to rage begin —'Tis an unruly and a hard-mouth'd
horse"Twill no unskilful touch endurę, But flings writer and reader too that fits
The fault of Cowley, and perhaps of all the writers of the metaphysical race, is that of pursuing his thoughts to their last ramifications, by which he loses