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Feed, to the full, their lordly will;

The noble mind is monarch still.

No need has he of vulgar force,
Armour, or arms, or chested horse,
Nor all the idle darts that light
From Parthian in his feigned flight,
Nor whirling rocks from engines thrown,
That come to shake old cities down.

Seres vellere nobiles ;

Mens regnum bona possidet.

Nil ullis opus est equis,

Nil armis, et inertibus

Telis, quæ procul ingerit
Parthus, cum simulat fugas;

Admotis nihil est opus

Urbes sternere machinis

Longe saxa rotantibus.

No:-to fear not earthly thing,

This it is that makes the king;

And all of us, whoe'er we be,

May carve us out this royalty.

Rex est, qui metuit nihil;

Hoc regnum sibi quisque dat

BACCHUS, OR THE PIRATES.

FROM HOMER.HYMN V.

OF Bacchus let me tell a sparkling story.-
'Twas by the sea-side, on a promontory,
As like a blooming youth he sat one day,
His dark locks ripening in the sunny ray,

And wrapt in a loose cloak of crimson bright,
Which half gave out his shoulders, broad and white,
That making up, a ship appear'd at sea,
Brushing the wine-black billows merrily,-
A Tuscan trim, and pirates were the crew;
A fatal impulse drove them as they flew;
For looking hard, and nodding to each other,

Concluding him, at least, some prince's brother,
They issued forth along the breezy bay,

Seiz'd him with jovial hearts, and bore away.

No sooner were they off, than gath'ring round him

They mark'd his lovely strength, and would have bound
When lo, instead of this, the ponderous bands
Snapp'd of themselves from off his legs and hands,

[him;

He, all the while, discovering no surprise,

But keeping, as before, his calm black eyes.

At this, the Master, struck beyond the rest,
Drew them aside, and earnestly addressed;-
'O wretched as ye are, have ye your brains,
And see this being ye would hold with chains?
Trust me, the ship will not sustain him long;
For either Jove he is, terribly strong,
Or Neptune, or the silver-shafted King,
But nothing, sure, resembling mortal thing.
Land then and set him free, lest by and by
He call the winds about him, and we die.

He said; and thus, in bitterness of heart
The Captain answer'd,- Wretched that thou art!
Truly we've much to fear,—a favouring gale,
And all things firm behind the running sail!

Stick to thy post, and leave these things to men. I trust, my friends, before we sail again,

To touch at Egypt, Cyprus, or the north,

And having learnt meantime our prisoner's worth,. What friends he has, and wealth to what amount, To turn this god-send to a right account.'

He said; and hauling up the sail and mast,
Drew the tight vessel stiff before the blast;
The sailors, under arms, observe their prize,
When lo, strange doings interrupt their eyes;
For first, a fountain of sweet-smelling wine
Came gushing o'er the deck with sprightly shine;
And odours, not of earth, their senses took;
The pallid wonder spread from look to look;
And then a vine-tree over-ran the sail,

It's green arms tossing to the pranksome gale;
And then an ivy, with a flowering shoot,
Ran up the mast in rings, and kiss'd the fruit,
Which here and there the dipping vine let down;
On every oar there was a garland crown.-

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