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.
THAT thou mayst injure no man dove-like be,
And serpent-like that none may injure thee!
I WISH thy lot, now bad, still worse, my friend;
For when at worst, they say, things always mend.
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 deemed 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!
TRANSLATIONS OF GREEK VERSES
FROM THE GREEK OF JULIANUS
A SPARTAN, his companions slain,
Alone from battle fled :
His mother, kindling with disdain
That she had borne him, struck him dead: For courage, and not birth alone,
In Sparta, testifies a son!
A SPARTAN 'scaping from the fight,
His mother met him in his flight,
Upheld a falchion to his breast,
And thus the fugitive addressed :
"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."
My name-my country-what are they to thee?
What, whether base or proud my pedigree?
Perhaps I far surpassed 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.
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 filled 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.
PAINTER, this likeness is too strong,
And we shall mourn the dead too long.
AT threescore winters' end I died,
A cheerless being, sole and sad ;
The nuptial knot I never tied,
And wish my father never had.
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 mourned his noble race,
Annihilated by a double blow,
Nor son could hope nor daughter more to embrace,
And all Cyrene saddened at his woe.
MILTIADES! thy valour best
(Although in every region known)
The men of Persia can attest,
Taught by thyself at Marathon.
BEWAIL not much, my parents! me, the prey
Of ruthless Hades, and sepulchred here.
An infant, in my fifth scarce finished year,
He found all sportive, innocent, and gay,
Your young Callimachus; and if I knew
Not many joys, my griefs were also few.
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.
I WAS of late a barren plant,
Useless, insignificant,
Nor fig, nor grape, nor apple bore,
A native of the marshy shore;
But, gathered 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.
ELDEST born of powers divine!
Blest 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.
FAR happier are the dead, methinks, than they Who look for death, and fear it every day.
ON THE ASTROLOGERS
THE astrologers did all alike presage
My uncle's dying in extreme old age;
One only disagreed. But he was wise,
And spoke not till he heard the funeral cries.
ON AN OLD WOMAN
MYCILLA dyes her locks, 'tis said;
But 'tis a foul aspersion :
She buys them black; they therefore need
No subsequent immersion.
No mischief worthier of our fear
In nature can be found
Than friendship, in ostent sincere,
But hollow and unsound ;
For lulled into a dangerous dream
We close infold a foe,
Who strikes, when most secure we seem,
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