[Headnote TK.]
Gnothi Seauton |
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(Post Lexicon Anglicanum Auctum et Emendatum.) |
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| Lexicon ad finem longo luctamine tandem | ||
| Scaliger ut duxit, tenuis pertaesus opellae, | ||
| Vile indignatus studium, nugasque molestas, | ||
| Ingemit exosus, scribendaque lexica mandat | ||
| 5 | Damnatis, poenam pro poenis omnibus unam. | |
| Ille quidem recte, sublimis, doctus, et acer, | ||
| Quem decuit majora sequi, majoribus aptum, | ||
| Qui veterum modo facta ducum, modo carmina vatum, | ||
| Gesserat et quicquid virtus, sapientia quicquid | ||
| 10 | Dixerat, imperiique vices, coelique meatus, | |
| Ingentemque animo seclorum volverat orbem. | ||
| Fallimur exemplis; temere sibi turba scholarum | ||
| Ima tuas credit permitti, Scaliger, iras. | ||
| Quisque suum nôrit modulum; tibi, prime virorum, | ||
| 15 | Ut studiis sperem, aut ausim par esse querelis, | |
| Non mihi sorte datum; lenti seu sanguinis obsint | ||
| Frigora, seu nimium longo jacuisse veterno, | ||
| Sive mihi mentem dederit Natura minorem. | ||
| Te sterili functum cura, vocumque salebris | ||
| 20 | Tuto eluctatum spatiis sapientia dia | |
| Excipit aethereis, ars omnis plaudit amica, | ||
| Linguarumque omni terra discordia concors | ||
| Multiplici reducem circumsonat ore magistrum. | ||
| Me, pensi immunis cum jam mihi reddor, inertis | ||
| 25 | Desidiae sors dura manet, graviorque labore | |
| Tristis et atra quies, et tardae taedia vitae. | ||
| Nascuntur curis curae, vexatque dolorum | ||
| Importuna cohors, vacuae mala somnia mentis. | ||
| Nunc clamosa juvant nocturnae guadia mensae, | ||
| 30 | Nunc loca sola placent; frustra te, somne, recumbens | |
| Alme voco, impatiens noctis metuensque diei. | ||
| Omnia percurro trepidus, circum omnia lustro, | ||
| Si qua usquam pateat melioris semita vitae, | ||
| Nec quid agam invenio, meditatus grandia, cogor | ||
| 35 | Notior ipse mihi fieri, incultumque fateri | |
| Pectus, et ingenium vano se robore jactans. | ||
| Ingenium, nisi materiem doctrina ministret, | ||
| Cessat inops rerum, ut torpet, si marmoris absit | ||
| Copia, Phidiaci foecunda potentia coeli. | ||
| 40 | Quicquid agam, quocunque ferar, conatibus obstat | |
| Res angusta domi, et macrae penuria mentis. | ||
| Non rationis opes animus, nunc parta recensens, | ||
| Conspicit aggestas, et se miratur in illis, | ||
| Nec sibi de gaza praesens quód postulet usus | ||
| 45 | Summus adesse jubet celsa dominator ab arce; | |
| Non operum serie, seriem dum computat aevi, | ||
| Praeteritis fruitur, laetos aut sumit honores | ||
| Ipse sui judex, actae bene munera vitae; | ||
| Sed sua regna videns, loca nocte silentia late | ||
| 50 | Horret, ubi vanae species, umbraeque fugaces, | |
| Et rerum volitant rarae per inane figurae. | ||
| Quid faciam? tenebrisne pigram damnare senectam | ||
| Restat? an accingar studiis gravioribus audax? | ||
| Aut, hoc si nimium est, tandem nova lexica poscam? | ||
12. Dec. 1772. |
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KNOW YOURSELF |
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(After Revising and Enlarging the English Dictionary.) |
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| When Scaliger, whole years of labour past, | ||
| Beheld his Lexicon complete at last, | ||
| And weary of his task, with wond’ring eyes, | ||
| Saw from words pil’d on words a fabric rise, | ||
| He curs’d the industry, inertly strong, | ||
| In creeping toil that could persist so long, | ||
| And if, enrag’d he cried, heav’n meant to shed | ||
| Its keenest vengeance on the guilty head, | ||
| The drudgery of words the damn’d would know, | ||
| Doom’d to write lexicons in endless woe. | ||
| Yes, you had cause, great genius! to repent; | ||
| “You lost good days, that might be better spent"; | ||
| You well might grudge the hours of ling’ring pain, | ||
| And view your learned labours with disdain. | ||
| To you were giv’n the large expanded mind, | ||
| The flame of genius, and the taste refin’d. | ||
| ’Twas yours on eagle wings aloft to soar, | ||
| And amidst rolling worlds the Great First Cause explore; | ||
| To fix the aeras of recorded time, | ||
| And live in ev’ry age and ev’ry clime; | ||
| Record the chiefs, who propt their country’s cause; | ||
| Who founded empires, and establish’d laws; | ||
| To learn whate’er the sage with virtue fraught, | ||
| Whate’er the Muse of moral wisdom taught. | ||
| These were your quarry; these to you were known, | ||
| And the world’s ample volume was your own. | ||
| Yet warn’d by me, ye pigmy wits, beware, | ||
| Nor with immortal Scaliger compare. | ||
| For me, though his example strike my view, | ||
| Oh! not for me his footsteps to pursue. | ||
| Whether first Nature, unpropitious, cold, | ||
| This clay compounded in a ruder mould; | ||
| Or the slow current, loit’ring at my heart, | ||
| No gleam of wit or fancy can impart; | ||
| Whate’er the cause, from me no numbers flow, | ||
| No visions warm me, and no raptures glow. | ||
| A mind like Scaliger’s, superior still, | ||
| No grief could conquer, no misfortune chill. | ||
| Though for the maze of words his native skies | ||
| He seem’d to quit, ’twas but again to rise; | ||
| To mount once more to the bright source of day, | ||
| And view the wonders of th’ aetherial way. | ||
| The love of fame his gen’rous bosom fir’d; | ||
| Each science hail’d him, and each Muse inspir’d, | ||
| For him the sons of learning trimm’d the bays, | ||
| And nations grew harmonious in his praise. | ||
| My task perform’d, and all my labours o’er, | ||
| For me what lot has Fortune now in store? | ||
| The listless will succeeds, that worst disease, | ||
| The rack of indolence, the sluggish ease. | ||
| Care grows on care, and o’er my aching brain | ||
| Black melancholy pours her morbid train. | ||
| No kind relief, no lenitive at hand, | ||
| I seek at midnight clubs, the social band; | ||
| But midnight clubs, where wit with noise conspires, | ||
| Where Comus revels, and where wine inspires, | ||
| Delight no more; I seek my lonely bed, | ||
| And call on sleep to sooth my languid head. | ||
| But sleep from these sad lids flies far away; | ||
| I mourn all night, and dread the coming day, | ||
| Exhausted, tir’d, I throw my eyes around, | ||
| To find some vacant spot on classic ground; | ||
| And soon, vain hope! I form a grand design; | ||
| Languor succeeds, and all my pow’rs decline. | ||
| If science open not her richest vein, | ||
| Without materials all our toil is vain. | ||
| A form to rugged stone when Phidias gives, | ||
| Beneath his touch a new creation lives. | ||
| Remove his marble, and his genius dies; | ||
| With Nature then no breathing statue vies. | ||
| Whate’er I plan, I feel my pow’rs confin’d | ||
| By Fortune’s frown and penury of mind. | ||
| I boast no knowledge glean’d with toil and strife, | ||
| That bright reward of a well-acted life. | ||
| I view myself, while reason’s feeble light | ||
| Shoots a pale glimmer through the gloom of night, | ||
| While passions, error, phantoms of the brain, | ||
| And vain opinions, fill the dark domain; | ||
| A dreary void, where fears with grief combin’d | ||
| Waste all within, and desolate the mind. | ||
| What then remains? Must I in slow decline | ||
| To mute inglorious ease old age resign? | ||
| Or, bold ambition kindling in my breast, | ||
| Attempt some arduous task? Or, were it best | ||
| Brooding o’er lexicons to pass the day, | ||
| And in that labour drudge my life away? |