IX.

I SUNG the joyful Pæan clear,

and sitting burnished without fear

the brand, the buckler, and the spear:

waiting to strive a happy strife,

to war with falsehood to the knife,

and not to lose the good of life—

at least, not rotting like a weed, but, having sown some generous seed, fruitful of further thought and deed,

to pass, when life her light withdraws, not void of righteous self-applause,

nor in a merely selfish cause—

IX.

PEANA clare cor vacuum metu

olim canebat, dum gladio situm detergeo et pilis, honorem

qui peredit, clipeoque inerti,

instare pugnam pectore gestiens toto, periret qua penitus grave

mendacium, incertæque vitæ

sorte frui cupiens honesta;

ne forte putri tactus inertia fausto carerem semine, at ingeni

fructusque virtutis legendos

pollicitus, simul alma vitæ

in some good cause, not in mine own, to perish, wept for, honour'd, known, and like a warrior overthrown;

whose eyes are dim with glorious tears, when soil'd with noble dust, he hears

his country's war-song thrill his ears;

then dying of a mortal stroke,

what time the foeman's line is broke,

and all the war is rolled in smoke.

TENNYSON.

lux occidisset, conscius ut proba

laudis, sed uni non mihi consulens,

vindex honestorum, salutis

prodigus at propriæ, perirem

non indecoro flebilis exitu;

qualis tumultu prorutus incluto

bellator, in fletus solutus

ingenuos moribundus audit

lætas, honesto pulvere sordidus,

voces suorum, cum labat hostium

virtus, reluctantesque turmas

Mars nebulis rapit æstuosis.

X.

THE engladdened spring, forgetful now to weep,
began to emblazon from her leavy bed;
the waking swallow broke her half-year's sleep,
and every bush lay deeply purpured

with violets, the wood's late wintry head. wide flaming primroses set all on fire,

and his bald trees put on their green attire,

among whose infant leaves the joyous birds conspire.

And now the taller sons, whom Titan warms,

of unshorn mountains, blown with easy winds, dandled the morning's childhood in their arms, and, if they chanced to slip the prouder pines, the under corylets did catch their shines, to gild their leaves; saw never happy year such joyful triumph and triumphant cheer as though the aged world anew created were. G. FLETCHER.