Is there no help for this lost realm ?—from thee,
My own, my Fatherland, the saviour came;
He saw the scene of shame-

He saw, and wept to see.

Soon, at his bidding, Love, the beauteous child, Returned; rich Plenty blessed the land's increase; Staid Order, gentle Peace,

Twin-born of Justice, smiled.—

The morrow dawned; and lo! the hand that gave Knowledge and mercy forth, is still and cold. All men, we know of old,

Go down into the grave,—

The bad with curses, and the good with tears;
But still the actions of the pure and just
Live on, and in the dust

Bear fruit for other years.

Servant of God, a blessing on thy head!

E'en in the tomb a blessing! Love did move
Around thee, living ;-Love

Will not forget thee, dead!

ἔσσεαι· τί πλήν ; ὅσιον γε τύμβον εὐθέως δαιδάλλομεν, ἐν δέ τύμβῳ τὰν τεὴν αἴναν γράφομεν, πόθον τε, ὦ μακαρῖτα.

ἐνθάδ', εἶδος μαρμάρεον, μάταιον Ινδία στένει γόον, αἱ δὲ βᾶσσαι δειέλοις φύλλων ψιθυρίσμασιν τὰν

πένθιμον αὐδὲν

ἀδέως θρυλλοῦσιν· ὁ δ ̓ ἑπτάφωνος ὑδάτων πατὴρ βραδὺς ἐς θάλασσαν

κυμάτων χέει ῥόον· ἡσύχῳ κλαί

ουσα παρ' ὄχθα,

μορσίμοις ἀμαχανέοισα λύπαις,

ἱσδάνει κόρα τις, ἐπὶ ῥεέθροις

ὀμμάτων πήξασα φάος, καλὰς πλέξ

ασ' ἐνὶ κόλπω

ὠλένας—τοσόνδε γέρας θανόντι
ἁ πατρὶς δίδωσιν, ἀεὶ δ' επ' αὐτῷ
λευκόπαχυς Μναμοσύνα δακρύσει.
τίμιος ἔζης,

εὖ δὲ τέθνακας· πολιὸν γὰρ ὄντα λαμβάνει σκότος, βιότου τε πόρσω. εὔχομαι τοιόνδε βίον, πάφου του

όνδε λάχοιμι.

What more than this will Providence allow?
We shape thy monument, and with sad pen
Write, "He was reverenced then,-

He is lamented now!"

There in the living marble India grieves;
The hoary forest seems to send around
A low and wailing sound

From its unnumbered leaves,

And the great River pours its sacred streams
More slowly onward to the mournful sea:
Beneath a spreading tree,

Wrapt in her lonely dreams,

Some maiden sits, pale, with neglected charms,
Hiding a funeral urn within her vest,
And humbly o'er her breast

Folding her snowy arms.

These are thine honors! o'er the hallowed spot, When the soft moonlight comes upon the vale, Memory shall tell her tale,

Mourning, and murmuring not;

For silvered o'er with time, and full of days,

Thou sleepest well!-May Heaven to me assign In life such task as thine,

And in the tomb such praise!

EPIGRAMMATON LIBER:

GRECE, LATINE, ANGLICE.

ΕΡΩ ΤΕ ΔΗΤΑ ΚΟΥΚ ΕΡΩ.

α ́.

Καρολέττα, πασῶν παρθένων
ὧν οἶδα πουλυ φιλτάτα,
μὴ σφάλλε τὸν φιλοῦντά σε
δόλους πλεκοῦσα μυρίους.
καλεῖς με πρός σε πολλάκις,
φευγεις με τὸν καλούμενον·
φιλάματ ̓ αἰτέοντί μοι
δοῦναι θέλεις τε κοὐ θέλεις·
ἐρᾶν σε φής, σὲ δ' αὐτίκα
οὐ φής—συ χαῖρε, παρθένων
ὧν οἶδα πουλυ φιλτάτα,
εὕρηκα γὰρ τήνδ' ἔκλυσιν,
εὕρηκα, σῶν αἰνιγμάτων
ἐρᾷς με δητα, κοὐκ ἐρᾷς,
ἐρῶ σε δῆτα, κοὐκ ἐρῶ.

(This was one of the Cambridge Prize Epigrams for 1822.)

LOVE AND NO LOVE.

TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING.

CHARLOTTE, thou far the dearest belle
Of all that e'er were dear to me,
Vex not a heart that loves so well
With such a riddling cruelty!
With softest tone your lips invite,
And when I come, you haste aside;
You promise me a kiss to-night,

I take it, and you turn to chide;
You smile, alas, you frown again;
You love me,--and you love me not;

I will not shiver Cupid's chain,

But find a way to loose the knot; And we an equal flame will prove; Love, as you love me, lovely belle, Love me, without a spark of love, And I will love you-just as well!