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!

SEEST thou yon mountain laden with deep snow,
The groves beneath their fleecy burthen bow,
The streams, congealed, 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 passed away,

We at least shall have to say

We have lived another day;

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

HOR. LIB. I. ODE XXXVIII

Persicos odi, puer, apparatus.

Boy, I hate their empty shows,
Persian garlands I detest,
Bring not me the late-blown rose,
Lingering after all the rest.

Plainer myrtle pleases me,

Thus outstretched beneath my vine,

Myrtle more becoming thee,

Waiting with thy master's wine.

ANOTHER TRANSLATION OF THE SAME ODE

[English Sapphics have been attempted, but with little success, because in our language we have no certain rules by which to determine the quantity. The following version was made merely in the way of experiment how far it might be possible to imitate Latin Sapphic in English without any attention to that circumstance.]

Boy! I detest all Persian fopperies,

Fillet-bound garlands are to me disgusting;

Task not thyself with any search, I charge thee,
Where latest roses linger.

Bring me alone (for thou wilt find that readily)
Plain myrtle. Myrtle neither will disparage
Thee occupied to serve me, or me drinking
Beneath my vine's cool shelter.

HOR. LIB. II. ODE XV

Otium Divos rogat in patenti.

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-rigged 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 unmixed 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 bestowed
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.

RETALIATION

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

SELF-KNOWLEDGE

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 !

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 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."

AN EPITAPH

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.