Befides, we tread but a perpetual round; 305 We ne'er ftrike out, but beat the former ground,

And the fame maukish joys in the fame track are found.

For ftill we think an abfent bleffing beft,
Which cloys, and is no bleffing when poffeft;
A new arifing wifh expels it from the breaft. 310
The feverish thirft of life increases ftill;
We call for more and more, and never have
our fill;

lie:

315

Yet know not what to-morrow we shall try,
What dregs of life in the last draught may
Nor, by the longest life we can attain,
One moment from the length of death we
gain;

For all behind belongs to his eternal reign.
When once the fates have cut the mortal thread,
The man as much to all intents is dead,
Who dies to-day, and will as long be fo,
As he who dy'd a thousand years ago.

320

FROM

THE FIFTH BOOK

OF

LUCRETIUS.

TUM PORRÒ PUER, &c.

THUS, like a failor by a tempeft hurl'd Afhore, the babe is shipwreck'd on the world: Naked he lies, and ready to expire;

Helpless of all that human wants require ;

Expos'd upon unhofpitable earth,

From the first moment of his hapless birth.
Straight with foreboding cries he fills the room;
Too true prefages of his future doom.
But flocks and herds, and every savage beast,
By more indulgent nature are increas'd.
They want no rattles for their froward mood,
Nor nurfe to reconcile them to their food,
With broken words; nor winter blafts they
fear,

10

Nor change their habits with the changing year:

Nor, for their fafety, citadels prepare,

15

Nor forge the wicked inftruments of war: Unlabour'd Earth her bounteous treasure

TRANSLATIONS

FROM

HORACE.