No want has he of sword or dagger, Cock'd hat or ringlets of GERAMB; He does not care one single d-mn! 2 Whether 'midst Irish chairmen going, 3 For instance, I one evening late, Upon a gay vacation sally, Singing the praise of Church and State, Across my path, gaunt, grim, and big- Nor shakes his brogue o'er Allen's Bog, 5 Oh! place me 'midst O'ROURKES, O'TOOLES, The houseless wilds of CONNEMARA ; 6 Of Church and State I'll warble still, Though even DICK M-RT-N's self should grumble; Sweet Church and State, like JACK and JILL, 7 So lovingly upon a hill Ah! ne'er like JACK and JILL to tumble! 1 Non eget Mauri jaculis neque arcu, Nec veneuatis gravida sagittis Fusce, pharetra. * Sive per Syrteis iter æstuosas, Lambit Hydaspes. The noble translator had, at first, laid the scene of these imagined dangers of his man of conscience among the papists of Spain, and had translated the words «quæ loca fabulosus lambit Hydaspes thus -The fabling Spaniard licks the French ; but, recollecting that it is our interest just now to be respectful to Spanish catholics (though there is certainly no earthly reason for our being even commonly civil to Irish ones), he altered the passage as it stands at present. Namque me sylva lupus in Sabina, Dum meam canto Lalagen, et ultra I cannot help calling the reader's attention to the peculiar ingenuity with which these lines are paraphrased. Not to mention the happy conversion of the wolf into a papist (seeing that Romulus was suckled by a wolf, that Rome was founded by Romulus, and that the Pope bas always reigned at Rome), there is something particularly neat in sup; osing ultra terminum to mean vacation-time, and then the modest consciousness with which the noble and learned translator has avoided touching upon the words curis expeditus (or, as it has been otherwise read, causis cxpeditus) and the felicitous idea of his being inermiss when without his wig, are altogether the most delectable specimens of paraphrase in our language. 4 Quale portentum neque militaris Nec Jabæ tellus generat, leonum * Pone me pigris ubi nulla campis I must here remark, that the said Dick M-RT-N being a very good fellow, it was not at all fair to make a malus Jupiters of him. • Dulce ridentem Lalagen amalo, Dalce loquentem. HORACE, ODE 1. LIB. 111. A FRAGMENT. Odi profanum vulgus et arceo. 1815. I HATE thee, oh Mob! as my lady hates delf, And, like G-Dw-N, write books for young masters Oh! it is not high rank that can make the heart merry, Poor Jerry himself has to quake before Nap. HORACE, ODE xxxvI. LIB. 1. A FRAGMENT. Translated by a Treasury Clerk, while waiting Dinner for the Right Hon. G―rge R-se. Persicos odi, puer, apparatus: Boy, tell the Cook that I hate all nick-nackeries, rability of Church and State, and their (what is called) standing and falling together, than this ancient apologue of JACK and Jill, Jack, of course, represents the State in this ingenious little allegory. JACK fell down, And broke his Crown, And JILL came tumbling after. The literal closeness of the version here cannot but be admired. The translator has added a long, erudite, and flowery note upon Reses, of which I can merely give a specimen at present. In the first place, he ransacks the Rosarium Politicum of the Persian poet Sadi, with the hope of finding some Political Roses, to match the gentleman in the text -but in vain be then tells us that Cicero accused Verres of reposing upon a cushion Melitensi rosa jurtum, which, from the odd mixture of words, he supposes to Le a kind of Irish Bed of Roses, like Lord Castlereagh's. The learned clerk next favours us with some remarks upon a well-known punning epitaph on fair Rosamond, and expresses a most loyal hope that, if Rosa munda mean Rose with clean hands, it may be found applicable to the Right Honourable Rose in question. He then dwells at some length upon the « Rosa aurea, which, though descriptive, in one sense, of the old Treasury Statesman, yet, as being consecrated and worn by the Pope, must, of course, not le brought into the same atmosphere with him. Lastly, in reference to the words old Rose, he winds up with the pathetic lamentation of the poet, consenuisse Roas. The whole note, in "There cannot be imagined a more happy illustration of the insepa- deed, shows a knowledge of Roses that is quite edifying. Who next received the flame?-Alas! Unworthy NAPLES-shame of shames That ever through such hands should pass That brightest of all earthly flames! Scarce had her fingers touch'd the torch, When, frighted by the sparks it shed, Nor waiting e'en to feel the scorch, She dropp'd it to the earth-and fled. And fallen it might have long remain'd, But GREECE, who saw her moment now, Caught up the prize, though prostrate, stain'd, And waved it round her beauteous brow. And Fancy bid me mark where, o'er Who thus in song their voices blended : «Shine, shine for ever, glorious flame, « Take, Freedom! take thy radiant roundWhen dimm'd, revive-when lost, return; Till not a shrine through earth be found On which thy glories shall not burn!»> EPILOGUE. LAST night, as lonely o'er my fire I sat, « Bless me!» I starting cried, what imp are you?»- I view'd him, as he spoke-his hose were blue, Makes her own splay-foot epigrams and shoes, By my advice Miss Indigo attends Lectures on Memory, and assures her friends, 'Pon honour!-(mimicks)—nothing can surpass the plan Of that professor-(trying to recollect)-psha! that memory-man That-what's his name?-him I attended lately'Pon honour, he improved my memory greatly.' Here, curtseying low, I ask'd the blue-legg'd sprite, Nay, there-(he cried)—there I am guiltless quite— rhyme; When lovely woman, all unschool'd and wild,, To-morrow evening, when the lights burn blue, till then adieu !» And has the sprite been here? No-jests apartHowe'er man rules in science and in art, The sphere of woman's glories is the heart. TO THE MEMORY OF JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ. OF DUBLIN. Ir ever life was prosperously cast, If ever life was like the lengthen'd flow Of some sweet music, sweetness to the last, 'T was his who, mourn'd by many, sleeps below. The sunny temper, bright where all is strife, The simple heart that mocks at worldly wiles, Light wit, that plays along the calm of life, And stirs its languid surface into smiles; Pure charity, that comes not in a shower, Sudden and loud, oppressing what it feeds, But like the dew, with gradual silent power, Felt in the bloom it leaves along the meads; The happy grateful spirit, that improves And brightens every gift by fortune given, That, wander where it will with those it loves, Makes every place a home, and home a heaven: All these were his.-Oh! thou who read'st this stone, Looks wise-the pretty soul!—and thinks she's think-Thou humbly prayest, ask this hoon alone, ing. That ye like him may live, like him may die! With an eloquence-not like those rills from a height, Thus gifted, thou never canst sleep in the shade; Yet think how to freedom thou 'rt pledged by thy name. Like the boughs of that laurel, by Delphi's decree, EPITAPH ON A LAWYER. HERE lies a lawyer-one whose mind Hence when he took to politics, As a refreshing change of evil, Unfit with grand affairs to mix His little Nisi-Prius tricks, Like imps at bo-peep, play'd the devil; And proved that when a small law wit Of statesmanship attempts the trial, 'T is like a player on the kit Put all at once to a bass viol. Nay, even when honest (which he could But do him justice-short and rare His wish through honest paths to roam; Born with a taste for the unfair, Where falsehood call'd he still was there, And when least honest, most at home. Thus shuffling, bullying, lying, creeping, He work'd his way up near the throne, And, long before he took the keeping Of the king's conscience, lost his own. MY BIRTH-DAY. My birth-day!-What a different sound That word had in my youthful ears! And how, each time the day comes round, Less and less white its mark appears! |