d Telephus had been declaiming; and for this purpose seems to
have composed the ensuing Ode at table. It concludes with an hint,
that the unpleasant state of the Poet's mind, respecting his _then_
Mistress, incapacitates him for abstracted themes, which demand a
serene and collected attention, alike inconsistent with the amorous
discontent of the secret heart, and with the temporary exhilaration
of the spirits, produced by the occasion on which they were met. This
must surely be the meaning of Horace in this Ode, however obscurely
expressed. People of sense do not, even in their gayest conversation,
start from their subject to another of _total_ inconnexion. When the
latent meaning in the _concluding_ verses is perspicuously
paraphrased, it accounts for the Poet's preference at _that_ period,
of trifling to literary subjects. These slight, and often obscure
allusions, closely, and what is called _faithfully_ translated, give
a wild and unmeaning air to the Odes of Horace, which destroys their
interest with the _unlearned_ admirers of Poetry. To give distinct
shape and form to these embryo ideas, often capable of acquiring very
_interesting_ form and shape, is the aim of these Paraphrases.

Telephus, who was a Greek, appears to have been a Youth of noble
birth--being mentioned as such in the Ode to PHYLLIS, which will be
found farther on amongst these Paraphrases. From that to LYDIA, so
well known, and so often translated, we learn that he had a beautiful
form, and was much admired by the Roman Ladies.

2: The Translator was doubtful about using that word, till she
recollected it in the gravest of Pope's Poems,

"Destroy all creatures for thy sport and _gust_;
Then cry, If Man's unhappy God's unjust." ESSAY ON MAN.

TO PHIDYLE.

EXHORTING HER TO BE CONTENT WITH A FRUGAL SACRIFICE.

BOOK THE THIRD, ODE THE TWENTY-THIRD.

My Phidyle, retir'd in shady wild,
If thou thy virgin hands shalt suppliant raise,
If primal fruits are on thy altars pil'd,
And incense pure thy duteous care conveys,
To sooth the LARES, when the moon adorns,
With their first modest light, her taper horns;

And if we pierce the throat of infant swine,
A frugal victim, not the baleful breath
Of the moist South shall blast our tender vine;
Nor shall the lambs sink in untimely death
When the unwholesome gales of Autumn blow,
And shake the ripe fruit from the bending bough.

Let snowy Algidum's