surpassed the richness and elegance, the warmth and delicacy, the dignity and tenderness of this exquisite composition. It has always seemed to me to be conceived in an older and more Homeric spirit than any of the other Hymns; and it is remarkable for being founded entirely on the loves of Venus and Anchises, and for containing a repetition of the prophecy of the Iliad, that Æneas and his posterity should reign over Troy. It is, indeed, quite Trojan in its subject and sentiments, and there is one passage in it, by which we learn that the Phrygians spoke a language entirely different from the Trojans, and by which may infer that the Trojans, as has often been conjectured, were Greeks in speech and blood, as they certainly were in religion. Lucretius seems to have borrowed the thought of his famous invocation of Venus from the opening lines of the Hymn. The following passage is by no means the most poetical in the poem; and yet I think few persons can read it, without feeling its genuine beauty. It is where Venus, having won the heart of Anchises in the form of a Sylvan maid, now appears to him in her own proper character.

"Anchises, wake;

Thy fond repose and lethargy forsake!
Look on the nymph who late from Phrygia came,
Behold me well-say if I seem the same!"
At her first call the chains of sleep were broke,
And, starting from his bed, Anchises woke:
But when he Venus view'd without disguise,
Her shining neck beheld, and radiant eyes,-
Awed and abash'd, he turn'd his head aside,
Attempting with his robe his face to hide.
Confus'd with wonder, and with fear oppress'd,
In winged words he thus the queen address'd:
"When first, O goddess! I thy form beheld,
Whose charms so far humanity excell'd,
To thy celestial power my vows I paid,
And with humility implor'd thy aid.
But thou, for secret cause to me unknown,
Didst thy divine immortal state disown.
But now, I beg thee, by the filial love
Due to thy father, ægis-bearing Jove,
Compassion on my human state to show,
Nor let me lead a life infirm below!
Defend me from the woes that mortals wait,
Nor let me share of men the common fate!
Since never man with length of days was bless'd,
Who in delights of love a deity possess'd."

To him Jove's beauteous daughter thus replied:
"Be bold, Anchises! in my love confide;
Nor me, nor other god, thou need'st to fear,
For thou to all the heavenly host are dear.
Know, from our love, thou shalt a son obtain,
Who over the proud realm of Troy shall reign;
From whom a race of monarchs shall descend,
And whose posterity shall know no end:
To him thou shalt the name Æneas give,
As one, for whose conception I must grieve!"

"After telling the story of Tithonus, Venus goes on in a strain of real human affection for Anchises :

"On terms like these, I never can desire Thou should'st to immortality aspire. Could'st thou, indeed, as now thou art, remainThy strength, thy beauty, and thy youth retain; Could'st thou for ever thus my husband prove, I might live happy in thy endless love; Nor should I e'er have cause to dread the day, When I must mourn thy loss and life's decay: But thou, alas! too soon and sure must bend, Beneath the woes which painful age attend; Inexorable age! whose wretched state All mortals dread, and all immortals hate!"

"In no Greek or Latin classical poem, that I remember, is Venus represented with such consummate dignity, tenderness and passion, as in this Hymn; and in this particular it certainly differs a great deal from the more popular conception of the goddess of love in the Iliad. Difficult as the story was to tell, it is told with unbroken decorum, and constitutes a striking example of that intuitive propriety of manner and words, in the display of which the Greek poets set all others at defiance."

HYMN TO CERES.

"THE manuscript of the Hymn to Ceres, which, in some parts, is in a very fragmentary state, was discovered in the last century by C. F. Mathæi, in the library of the Holy Synod at Moscow, aud communicated by him, together with a few lines in a lost Hymn to Bacchus, to David Ruhnken, a professor at the University of Leyden, by whom it was published. There has been much diversity of opinion concerning the genuineness of this poem, or I should rather say, its identity with the Homeric Hymn to Ceres, which is so often quoted by Pausanias. Now, without absolutely allowing this, we may consider the poem in the same point of view, as we do the other hymns commonly attributed to Homer; and though it is not equal in vigour and beauty to the hymns before mentioned, it is still a very lively and picturesque poem, smooth and flowing in its language, and curious and peculiar in some of its incidents.

"The story is, that Pluto being enamoured of Proserpine, the daughter of Ceres, carries her off secretly, with the connivance and the aid of Jupiter. Ceres wanders over the earth with blazing torches, in search of Proserpine. Having learned from Hecate of the sun, that the maiden had been carried away by Pluto, she assumes the shape of a woman, goes to Eleusis, and is introduced into the house of Celeus, the king, by his daughters, whom she had met at a fountain, where they had gone with their pitchers to fetch water. Meantime, she has blasted the earth with sterility, and Jupiter sends repeated messages to induce her to remit her anger and return to Olympus; she, however, refuses all reconciliation, till Jupiter despatches Mercury to Hades to order Pluto to give up Proserpine. Pluto obeys, but gives her a pomegranate seed to eat, and the conclusion is, that Ceres is pacified upon an understanding that Proserpine is to pass two-thirds

IN Nysia's vale, with nymphs a lovely train
Sprung from the hoary father of the main,
Fair Proserpine consum'd the fleeting hours,
In pleasing sports and plucking gaudy flowers.†
Around them wide the flaming crocus glows,
Through leaves of verdure blooms the opening
rose;

The hyacinth declines his fragrant head,
And purple violets deck the enamell'd mead;
The fair Narcissus, far above the rest,
By magic form'd, in beauty rose confest,
So Jove to insure the virgin's thoughtless mind,
And please the Ruler of the Shades design'd,
He caus'd it from the opening earth to rise,
Sweet to the scent, alluring to the eyes.
Never did mortal or celestial power
Behold such vivid tints adorn a flower;
From the deep root a hundred branches sprung,
And to the winds ambrosial odours flung,
Which, lightly wafted on the wings of air,
The gladden'd earth and heaven's wide circuit
share;

The joy-dispensing fragrance spreads around,
And Ocean's briny swell with smiles is crown'd.

Pleased with the sight, nor deeming danger nigh,

The fair beheld it with desiring eye;
Her eager hand she stretch'd to seize the flower,
(Beauteous illusion of the ethereal power!)
When, dreadful to behold! the rocking ground
Disparted-widely yawn'd a gulf profound!
Forth rushing from the black abyss arose
The gloomy monarch of the realm of woes,
Pluto, from Saturn sprung;-the trembling maid
He seized, and to his golden car convey'd;
Borne by immortal steeds the chariot flies, &c.

recollection, and may induce us to believe that Cretan mendacity was of so ancient a date as to have become a subject of satirical allusion even in the time of Homer.

The change in the person of Ceres, when overlooked by Metanira, the wife of Celeus, (whose child she had nursed in her disguise,) and the effects of the manifestation of her divinity, are told in the following fine lines:

This said; the front of age, so late assum'd, Dissolv'd; her face with charms celestial bloom'd;

The sacred vesture, that around her flew,
Through the wide air ambrosial odour threw;
Her lovely form with sudden radiance glow'd;
Her golden locks in wreaths of splendour flow'd;
Through the dark palace stream'd a flood of light,
As cloud-engender'd fires illume the night
With sudden blaze;-then, swiftly from their
view,

Urg'd by indignant rage the goddess flew.

In Metanira's breast amazement reign'd; Silent she stood, nor long her knees sustain'd Their tottering weight; she sunk in grief profound; Her child neglected, shrieking on the ground, Beside her lay. . . . . .

When Proserpine is about to leave Pluto for the upper world, he gives her, as before mentioned, or rather forces her, to eat a pomegranate seed, thereby, as Ovid says, to preclude her from availing herself of his promise that he would restore her to her mother, provided she (Proserpine) had eaten nothing in his domain.

In this Hymn we have probably the earliest mention of the Eleusinian mysteries now extant:

Those sacred mysteries, for the vulgar ear Unmeet, and known, most impious to declare! Oh! let due reverence for the gods restrain Discourses rash, and check inquiries vain!

Thrice happy he, among the favour'd few, To whom 'tis given those glorious rites to view! A fate far different the rejected share; Unblest, unworthy her protecting care, They perish, and, with chains of darkness bound,

Are plung'd for ever in the dark profound.

world:

With ills the land is full, with ills the sea, Diseases haunt our frail humanity;

glide,

Voiceless-a voice the power all-wise denied: Know then this awful truth-it is not given T'elude the wisdom of omniscient Heaven.

DISPENSATIONS OF PROVIDENCE TO THE JUST AND THE UNJUST.

WITH Crooked judges, lo! the oath's dread God Avenging runs and tracks them where they trod, Rough are the ways of Justice as the sea, Dragg'd to and fro by men's corrupt decree; Bribe-pamper'd men! whose hands perverting

draw

The right aside, and warp the wrested law.
Though, while corruption on their sentence waits,
They thrust pale Justice from their haughty
gates;

Invisible their steps the Virgin treads,
And musters evils o'er their sinful heads.
She with the dark of air her form arrays,
And walks in awful grief the city ways;
Her wail is heard, her tear upbraiding falls
O'er their stain'd manners, their devoted walls.
But they, who never from the right have stray'd,
Who, as the citizen, the stranger aid;
They and their cities flourish; genial peace
Dwells in their borders, and their youth increase;
Nor Jove, whose radiant eyes behold afar,
Hangs forth in Heaven the signs of grievous war.
Nor scath, nor famine on the righteous prey,
Peace crowns the night, and plenty cheers the
day.

Rich are their mountain-oaks: the topmost tree
The acorns fill; its trunk, the hiving bee:
Their sheep with fleeces pant; their women's

race

Reflect both parents in the infant face;
Still flourish they, nor tempt with ships the main;
The fruits of earth are pour'd from every plain.
But o'er the wicked race, to whom belong
The thought of evil and the deed of wrong,
Saturnian Jove, of wide-beholding eyes,
Bids the dark signs of retribution rise:
And oft the crimes of one destructive fall,
The crimes of one, are visited on all.
The God sends down his angry plagues from high,
Famine and pestilence; in heaps they die:
He smites with barrenness the marriage bed,
And generations moulder with the dead:
Again in vengeance of his wrath he falls
On their great hosts, and breaks their tottering
walls;

Scatters their ships of war; and where the sea
Heaves high its mountain-billows, there is he!
Ponder, O judges! in your inmost thought
The retribution by his vengeance wrought.

This breathing world, the delegates of Jove,
Guardians of man, their glance alike surveys
The upright judgments and the unrighteous ways.
A virgin pure is Justice, and her birth
August from him, who rules the Heavens and
earth;

A creature glorious to the Gods on high,
Whose mansion is yon everlasting sky.
Driven by despiteful wrong, she takes her seat,
In lowly grief, at Jove's eternal feet.
There of the soul unjust her plaints ascend;
So rue the nations when their kings offend:
When, uttering wiles and brooding thoughts of ill,
They bend the laws and wrest them to their
will.

Oh! gorg'd with gold, ye kingly judges, hear! Make straight your paths; your crooked judg ments fear;

That the foul record may no more be seen,
Eras'd, forgot, as though it ne'er had been.

Full many an oak of lofty leaf he fells

And strews with thick-branch'd pines the mountain dells:

He stoops to earth; the crash is heard around;
The depth of forests rolls the roar of sound.
The beasts their cowering tails with trembling
fold,

And shrink and shudder at the gusty cold;
Thick is the hairy coat, the shaggy skin,
But that all-chilling breath shall pierce within.
Not his rough hide can then the ox avail;
The long-hair'd goat, defenceless, feels the gale:
Yet vain the north-wind's rushing strength to

wound

The flock with sheltering fleeces fenced around.
He bows the old man crook'd beneath the storm;
But spares the soft-skinn'd virgin's tender form.
Screened by her mother's roof on wintry nights,
And strange to golden Venus' mystic rites,
The suppling waters of the bath she swims,
With shiny ointment sleeks her dainty limbs:
Within her chamber laid on downy bed,
While winter howls in tempest o'er her head.
Now gnaws the boneless polypus his feet,
Starved midst bleak rocks, his desolate retreat;
For now no more the sun with gleaming ray
Through seas transparent lights him to his

prey.

And now the horned and unhorned kind,
Whose lair is in the wood, sore-famished, grind
Their sounding jaws, and, chilled and quaking,
fly

Where oaks the mountain dells imbranch on high:

They seek to couch in thickets of the glen,
Or lurk, deep sheltered, in some rocky den.
Like aged men, who, propp'd on crutches, tread
Tottering with broken strength and stooping head;
So move the beasts of earth, and, creeping low,
Shun the white flakes and dread the drifting

snow.

SUMMER ENJOYMENTS:

WHEN blooms the thistle, and from leafy spray
The shrill cicada pours her sounding lay,
Her wings all quivering in the summer bright;-
When goats are fat, when wine yields most de-
light,

And heat hath parch'd the skin;-O! then be

mine

How richer he, who dines on herbs, with health

Of heart,-than knaves with all their wines and wealth.

VICE AND VIRTUE; WISDOM AND FOLLY. To Vice with ease may all mankind resort, Hard by her dwelling, and the way is short: But Virtue have the Gods immortal fenced Whereby to seek her; but, the summit won, With labour, and a long, steep road dispensed, Right easy seems what wearily begun. Himself, and what in after time shall be He all surpasses, who doth all things see Foreseeing, can provide for; not unblest But who, nor knows himself, nor will take rule Who wisely can observe a wise behest; From those who do, is either knave or fool.*

FROM THE THEOGONY.

THE BATTLE OF THE GIANTS.

AND now-the Titans in close ranks arrayedWhat hands and force could do, each host displayed.

The illimitable ocean roared around; Earth wailed; the shaken Heaven sent forth a sound

Of

groans; while huge Olympus, from his base,
Rocked with the onset of the immortal race;
E'en shadowy hell perceived the horrid blows,
And trembled 'neath the tumult as it rose ;-
Such rushing of quick feet, such clanging jar
Of javelins hurl'd impetuous from afar,
As soar'd the din of conflict to the skies,
And hosts join'd battle with astounding cries.
Now Jove, incens'd, no longer brook'd control;
He put forth all his might,-full filled his soul
With valiance, and, at once, from Heaven's bright
road

And dark Olympus' top he thundering strode:
Lightnings and bolts terrific from his hand
Flew swift and frequent, wrapping sea and land
In sacred flames;-all-bounteous earth amazed,
Howled burning, while her mighty forests blazed.
Forthwith began the land and sea to steam;
The fiery breath of ocean's boiling stream
Involved the Titans; flames rose through the

skies

With milky cakes, and milk itself most sweet
Of goats not giving suck, and dainty meat
Of kids and heifers upon green leaves fed,
The while we drink the wine so darkly red!
Then, sitting in the shade, I'll eat my fill,
Breathed on by zephyr, freshened by some rill,
Whose ever-flowing waves shall brightly shine,
While in three parts of water glows my wine!

HONEST POVERTY.

FOOLS! not to know how better, for the soul, An honest half than an ill-gotten whole;

And when at last the light through chaos gleam'd,
Such the concussion, such the uproar seem'd,
As if the earth and Heavens together blending-
The one torn up, the other down descending-
Had met; whereat upsprang the winds of air,
And whirl'd the dust-clouds mid the lightning's
glare:

A similar sentiment may be found amongst the maxims of the Chinese. "The highest order of men (say they) are virtuous and wise, independently of instruction; the middle class are so after instruction; the lowest order are vicious in spite of instruction."-Quarterly Review, Vol. XLI. p. 90.