Ere shall they not, who resolute explore <br />Times gloomy backward with judicious eyes; <br />And scanning right the practice of yore, <br />Shall deem our hoar progenitors unwise. <br /> <br />They to the dome where smoke with curling play <br />Announced the dinner to the regions round, <br />Summon'd the singer blithe, and harper gay, <br />And aided wine with dulcet-streaming sound. <br /> <br />The better use of notes, or sweet or shrill, <br />By quivering string or modulated wind; <br />Trumpet or lyre - to their harsh bosoms chill <br />Admission ne'er had sought, or could not find. <br /> <br />Oh! send them to the sullen mansions dun, <br />Her baleful eyes where sorrow rolls around; <br />Where gloom-enamour'd mischief loves to dwell <br />And murder, all blood-bolter'd, schemes the wound. <br /> <br />When cates luxuriant pile the spacious dish, <br />And purple nectar glads the festive hour; <br />The guest, without a want, without a wish, <br />Can yield no room to music's soothing power.<br /><br />Samuel Johnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/parody-of-a-translation-from-the-medea-of-euripides/
