When first Potitius with the priests advanced,
Begirt with skins, and torches in their hands.
High piled with meats of savoury taste, they ranged
The chargers, and renew'd the grateful feast.
Then came the Salii, crown'd with poplar too,
Circling the blazing altars; here the youth
Advanced, a choir harmonious, there were heard
The reverend seers responsive; praise they sung,
Much praise in honour of Alcides' deeds;
How first with infant gripe two serpents huge
He strangled, sent from Juno; next they sung,
How Troja and Oechalia he destroy'd,
Fair cities both, and many a toilsome task
Beneath Eurystheus, (so his stepdame will'd)
Achieved victorious. Thou, the cloud-born pair,
Hylæus fierce and Pholus, monstrous twins,
Thou slew'st the minotaur, the plague of Crete,
And the vast lion of the Nemean rock;
Thee Hell, and Cerberus, Hell's porter, fear'd
Stretch'd in his den upon his half-gnaw'd bones.
Thee no abhorred form, not even the vast
Typhoeus could appal, though clad in arms.
Hail, true-born son of Jove, among the gods
At length enroll'd, nor least illustrious thou,
Haste thee propitious, and approve our songs!-
Thus hymn'd the chorus; above all they sing
The cave of Cacus, and the flames he breathed.
The whole grove echoes, and the hills rebound.
The rites perform'd, all hasten to the town:
The king, bending with age, held as he went
Eneas and his Pallas by the hand,
With much variety of pleasing talk
Shortening the way. Eneas, with a smile,
Looks round him, charm'd with the delightful scene,
And many a question asks, and much he learns
Of heroes far renown'd in ancient times.
Then spake Evander: "These extensive groves
Were once inhabited by fauns and nymphs
Produced beneath their shades, and a rude race
Of men, the progeny uncouth of elms
And knotted oaks. They no refinement knew
Of laws or manners, civilized, to yoke
The steer, with forecast provident to store
The hoarded grain, or manage what they had,
But browsed like beasts upon the leafy boughs,
Or fed voracious on their hunted prey.
An exile from Olympus, and expell'd
His native realm by thunder-bearing Jove,
First Saturn came. He from the mountains drew
This herd of men untractable and fierce,
And gave them laws; and call'd his hiding place
This growth of forests, Latium. Such the peace
His land possess'd, the golden age was then,
So famed in story; till by slow degrees
Far other times, and of far different hue,
Succeeded, thirst of gold and thirst of blood.
Then came Ausonian bands, and armed hosts
From Sicily; and Latium often changed
Her master and her name. At length arose
Kings, of whom Tybris of gigantic form
Was chief; and we Italians since have call'd
The river by his name; thus Albula
(So was the country call'd in ancient days)
Was quite forgot. Me from my native land
An exile, through the dangerous ocean driven,
Resistless fortune and relentless fate
Placed where thou seest me. Phoebus, and
The nymph Carmentis, with maternal care
Attendant on my wanderings, fix'd me here."
[Ten lines omitted.]

He said, and show'd him the Tarpeian rock,
And the rude spot where now the capitol
Stands all magnificent and bright with gold,
Then overgrown with thorns. And yet even then
The swains beheld that sacred scene with awe;
The grove, the rock, inspired religious fear.
"This grove, he said, that crowns the lofty top
Of this fair hill, some deity, we know,
Inhabits, but what deity we doubt.
The Arcadians speak of Jupiter himself,
That they have often seen him, shaking here
His gloomy ægis, while the thunder-storms
Came rolling all around him. Turn thine eyes,
Behold that ruin; those dismantled walls,
Where once two towns, Janiculum
By Janus this, and that by Saturn built,
Saturnia." Such discourse brought them beneath
The roof of poor Evander; thence they saw,
Where now the proud and stately forum stands,
The grazing herds wide scatter'd o'er the field.
Soon as he enter'd-" Hercules, he said,
Victorious Hercules, on this threshold trod,
These walls contain'd him, humble as they are.
Dare to despise magnificence, my friend,
Prove thy divine descent by worth divine,
Nor view with haughty scorn this mean abode."
So saying, he lead Æneas by the hand,
And placed him on a cushion stuff'd with leaves,
Spread with the skin of a Lybistian bear.

[The Episode of Venus and Vulcan omitted.]
While thus in Lemnos Vulcan was employ'd,
Awaken'd by the gentle dawn of day,
And the shrill song of birds beneath the eaves
Of his low mansion, old Evander rose.
His tunic and the sandals on his feet,
And his good sword well girded to his side,
A panther's skin dependent from his left
And over his right shoulder thrown aslant,
Thus was he clad. Two mastiffs follow'd him,
His whole retinue and his nightly guard.

OVID. TRIST. LIB. V. ELEG. XII. Scribis, ut oblectem.

You bid me write to amuse the tedious hours,
And save from withering my poetic powers;
Hard is the task, my friend, for verse should flow
From the free mind, not fetter'd down by woe.
Restless amidst unceasing tempests toss'd,
Whoe'er has cause for sorrow, I have most.
Would you bid Priam laugh, his sons all slain!
Or childless Niobe from tears refrain,
Join the gay dance, and lead the festive train !
Does grief or study most befit the mind,
To this remote, this barbarous nook confined?
Could you impart to my unshaken breast
The fortitude by Socrates possess'd,

Soon would it sink beneath such woes as mine;
For what is human strength to wrath divine?
Wise as he was, and heaven pronounced him so,
My sufferings would have laid that wisdom low.
Could I forget my country, thee and all,
And even the offence to which I owe my fall,
Yet fear alone would freeze the poet's vein,
While hostile troops swarm o'er the dreary plain

Add that the fatal rust of long disuse
Unfits me for the service of the muse.
Thistles and weeds are all we can expect
From the best soil impoverish'd by neglect ;
Unexercised, and to his stall confined,
The fleetest racer would be left behind;

The best built bark that cleaves the watery way,
Laid useless by, would moulder and decay.
No hope remains that time shall me restore,
Mean as I was, to what I was before.
Think how a series of desponding cares
Benumbs the genius and its force impairs.
How oft, as now, on this devoted sheet,

My verse constrain❜d to move with measured feet,
Reluctant and laborious limps along,
And proves itself a wretched exile's song.
What is it tunes the most melodious lays?
'Tis emulation and the thirst of praise;
A noble thirst, and not unknown to me,
While smoothly wafted on a calmer sea.
But can a wretch like Ovid pant for fame?
No, rather let the world forget my name.
Is it because that world approved my strain,
You prompt me to the same pursuit again?
No, let the nine the ungrateful truth excuse,
I charge my hopeless ruin on the muse,
And, like Perillus, meet my just desert,
The victim of my own pernicious art;
Fool that I was to be so warn'd in vain,
And shipwreck'd once, to tempt the deep again!
Ill fares the bard in this unletter'd land,
None to consult, and none to understand.
The purest verse has no admirers here,
Their own rude language only suits their ear.
Rude as it is, at length familiar grown,
I learn it, and almost unlearn my own.
Yet to say truth, even here the Muse disdains
Confinement, and attempts her former strains,
But finds the strong desire is not the power,
And what her taste condemns, the flames devour.
A part, perhaps, like this, escapes the doom,
And though unworthy, finds a friend at Rome;
But oh the cruel art, that could undo
Its votary thus! would that could perish too!

HO. LIB. I. ODE IX.

Vides, ut altâ stet nive candidum Soracte;

SEEST thou yon mountain laden with deep snow,
The groves beneath their fleecy burthen bow,
The streams, congeal'd, forget to flow?
Come, thaw the cold, and lay a cheerful pile
Of fuel on the hearth;

Broach the best cask, and make old winter smile
With seasonable mirth,

This be our part,-let heaven dispose the rest;
If Jove command, the winds shall sleep,
That now wage war upon the foamy deep,

And gentle gales spring from the balmy west,
Even let us shift to-morrow as we may,
When to-morrow's pass'd away,
We at least shall have to say,
We have lived another day;

Your auburn locks will soon be silver'd o'er,
Old age is at our heels, and youth returns no more.

EASE is the weary merchant's prayer,
Who ploughs by night the Ægean flood,
When neither moon nor stars appear,

Or faintly glimmer through the cloud.
For ease the Mede with quiver graced,
For ease the Thracian hero sighs;
Delightful ease all pant to taste,

A blessing which no treasure buys. For neither gold can lull to rest,

Nor all a Consul's guard beat off The tumults of a troubled breast,

The cares that haunt a gilded roof. Happy the man whose table shows

A few clean ounces of old plate; No fear intrudes on his repose, No sordid wishes to be great. Poor short-lived things, what plans we lay! Ah, why forsake our native home, To distant climates speed away?

For self sticks close where'er we roam!

Care follows hard, and soon o'ertakes

The well rigg'd ship, the warlike steed; Her destined quarry ne'er forsakes;

Not the wind flies with half her speed. From anxious fears of future ill

Guard well the cheerful, happy now;
Gild e'en your sorrows with a smile,
No blessing is unmix'd below.
Thy neighing steeds and lowing herds,
Thy numerous flocks around thee graze,
And the best purple Tyre affords

Thy robe magnificent displays.
On me indulgent heaven bestow'd
A rural mansion, neat and small;
This lyre-and as for yonder crowd,
The happiness to hate them all.

EPIGRAMS,

TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN OF OWEN.

ON ONE IGNORANT AND ARROGANT.

THOU mayst of double ignorance boast,
Who know'st not, that thou nothing know'st.

PRUDENT SIMPLICITY.

THAT thou mayst injure no man, dove-like be, And serpent-like, that none may injure thee!

TO A FRIEND IN DISTRESS.

I WISH thy lot, now bad, still worse, my friend; For when at worst, they say, things always mend.

ON THE SHORTNESS OF HUMAN LIFE. TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING.

January 1784.

SUNS that set, and moons that wane,
Rise, and are restored again;
Stars that orient day subdues,
Night at her return renews.
Herbs and flowers, the beauteous birth
Of the genial womb of earth,
Suffer but a transient death
From the winter's cruel breath.
Zephyr speaks; serener skies
Warm the glebe, and they arise.
We, alas! earth's haughty kings,
We, that promise mighty things,
Losing soon life's happy prime,
Droop and fade in little time.
Spring returns, but not our bloom;
Still 'tis winter in the tomb.

RETALIATION.

THE works of ancient bards divine,
Aulus, thou scorn'st to read;
And should posterity read thine,
It would be strange indeed!

WHEN little more than boy in age,
I deem'd myself almost a sage;
But now seem worthier to be styled,
For ignorance-almost a child.

SUNSET AND SUNRISE.

CONTEMPLATE, when the sun declines, Thy death, with deep reflection; And when again he rising shines, Thy day of resurrection!

IN BREVITATEM VITÆ SPATII HOMINIBUS

CONCESSI.

BY DR. JORTIN.

HEI mihi! Lege ratâ sol occidit atque resurgit,
Lunaque mutatæ reparat dispendia formæ,
Astraque purpurei telis extincta diei,
Rursus nocte vigent. Humiles telluris alumni,
Graminis herba virens, et florum picta propago,
Quos crudelis hyems lethali tabe peredit,
Cum Zephyri vox blanda vocat, rediitque sereni
Temperies anni, fœcundo è cespite surgunt.
Nos domini rerum, nos, magna et pulchra minati,
Cum breve ver vitæ robustaque transiit ætas,
Deficimus; nec nos ordo revolubilis auras
Reddit in æthereas, tumuli neque claustra resolvit.

VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF DR. LLOYD.

BY DR. VINCENT.

ABIIT senex! periit senex amabilis !
Quo non fuit jucundior.
Lugete vos, ætas quibus maturior
Senem colendum præstitit,

Seu quando, viribus valentioribus
Firmoque fretus pectore,
Florentiori vos juventute excolens
Curâ fovebat patriâ ;

Seu quando fractus, jamque donatus rude,
Vultu sed usque blandulo,

Miscere gaudebat suas facetias
His annuis leporibus.

Vixit probus, purâque simplex indole,
Blandisque comis moribus,

Et dives æquâ mente,-charus omnibus,
Unius' auctus munere.

Ite tituli! meritis beatioribus

Aptate laudes debitas!

Nec invidebat ille, si quibus favens
Fortuna plus arriserat.

Placide senex! levi quiescas cespite,

Etsi superbum nec vivo tibi Decus sit inditum, nec mortuo Lapis notatus nomine.

THE SAME IN ENGLISH.

OUR good old friend is gone, gone to his rest,
Whose social converse was itself a feast.
O ye of riper age, who recollect
How once ye loved and eyed him with respect,
Both in the firmness of his better day,
While yet he ruled you with a father's sway,
And when, impair'd by time and glad to rest,
Yet still with looks in mild complacence drest,

1 He was usher and under master of Westminster near fifty years, and retired from his occupation when he was near seventy, with a handsome pension from the King.

ON THE SAME, BY PALLADAS.

A SPARTAN 'scaping from the fight,
His mother met him in his flight,
Upheld a falchion to his breast,
And thus the fugitive address'd:
"Thou canst but live to blot with shame
Indelible thy mother's name,

While every breath that thou shalt draw
Offends against thy country's law;
But, if thou perish by this hand,
Myself indeed throughout the land,
To my dishonour, shall be known
The mother still of such a son;
But Sparta will be safe and free,

And that shall serve to comfort me."

ΑΝ ΕΡΙΤΑΡΗ.

My name-my country-what are they to thee?
What, whether base or proud my pedigree?
Perhaps I far surpass'd all other men ;
Perhaps I fell below them all; what then?
Suffice it, stranger! that thou seest a tomb;
Thou know'st its use; it hides--no matter whom.

ANOTHER.

TAKE to thy bosom, gentle Earth! a swain
With much hard labour in thy service worn;
He set the vines that clothe yon ample plain,
And he these olives that the vale adorn.
He fill'd with grain the glebe; the rills he led
Through this green herbage, and those fruitful
bowers;

Thou, therefore, Earth! lie lightly on his head,
His hoary head, and deck his grave with flowers.

ANOTHER.

PAINTER, this likeness is too strong, And we shall mourn the dead too long.

ANOTHER.

AT threescore winters' end I died A cheerless being, sole and sad; The nuptial knot I never tied, And wish my father never had.

BY CALLIMACHUS.

Ar morn we placed on his funereal bier
Young Melanippus; and at eventide,
Unable to sustain a loss so dear,

By her own hand his blooming sister died.
Thus Aristippus mourn'd his noble race,
Annihilated by a double blow,

Nor son could hope, nor daughter more to embrace,
And all Cyrene sadden'd at his woe.

ON MILTIADES.

MILTIADES! thy valour best
(Although in every region known)
The men of Persia can attest,
Taught by thyself at Marathon.

ON AN INFANT.

BEWAIL not much, my parents! me, the prey
Of ruthless Hades, and sepulchred here.
An infant, in my fifth scarce finish'd year,
He found all sportive, innocent, and gay,
Your young Callimachus; and if I knew
Not many joys, my griefs were also few.

BY HERACLIDES.

IN Cnidus born, the consort I became
Of Euphron. Aretimias was my name.
His bed I shared, nor proved a barren bride,
But bore two children at a birth, and died.
One child I leave to solace and uphold
Euphron hereafter, when infirm and old.
And one, for his remembrance sake, I bear
To Pluto's realm, till he shall join me there.

ON THE REED.

I WAS of late a barren plant,
Useless, insignificant,

Nor fig, nor grape, nor apple bore,
A native of the marshy shore;
But gather'd for poetic use,
And plunged into a sable juice,
Of which my modicum I sip
With narrow mouth and slender lip,
At once, although by nature dumb,
All eloquent I have become,
And speak with fluency untired,
As if by Phoebus' self inspired.

ON FLATTERERS.

No mischief worthier of our fear
In nature can be found
Than friendship, in ostent sincere,
But hollow and unsound;
For lull'd into a dangerous dream
We close infold a foe,

Who strikes, when most secure we seem,
The inevitable blow.

TO HEALTH.

ELDEST born of powers divine!
Bless'd Hygeia! be it mine
To enjoy what thou canst give,
And henceforth with thee to live:
For in power if pleasure be,
Wealth or numerous progeny,
Or in amorous embrace,
Where no spy infests the place;
Or in aught that heaven bestows
To alleviate human woes,
When the wearied heart despairs
Of a respite from its cares;
These and every true delight
Flourish only in thy sight;
And the sister Graces three

Owe, themselves, their youth to thee,
Without whom we may possess
Much, but never happiness.

ON A TRUE FRIEND.

HAST thou a friend? Thou hast indeed
A rich and large supply,
Treasure to serve your every need,
Well managed, till you die.

ON THE SWALLOW.

ATTIC maid! with honey fed,
Bear'st thou to thy callow brood
Yonder locust from the mead,
Destined their delicious food?

Ye have kindred voices clear,
Ye alike unfold the wing,
Migrate hither, sojourn here,
Both attendant on the spring!

Ah, for pity drop the prize;

Let it not with truth be said, That a songster gasps and dies, That a songster may be fed.