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Nov. 14. Continued Rowe's Lucan, book iii. Continued Froissart, with Jane.

15. Read, cursorily, the first, second, and part of the third book of Whiston's Josephus.

16. Continued Whiston's Josephus; and Froissart, with Jane.

17. Began Justin Martyr's first Apology for the Christians; and continued Froissart, with Jane.

19. Continued Froissart, with Jane.
20. Continued Justin Martyr.
21. Continued Josephus.
23. Continued Justin Martyr.

24. Continued Justin Martyr to the end of Apologia Secunda.

26. Began Justin Martyr's Dialogus cum Tryphone Judæo. Began Burke's Reflections on the French Revolution, with Jane and Georgina.

27 and 28. Continued Justin Martyr's Dialogus; and Burke, with Jane and Georgina.

29 to December ll. Read to the end of Justin Martyr in Thirlby's edition. This writer, though he often argues shrewdly and sensibly, sometimes gives way to very weak fancies. He appears to be deficient in the genuine ornament of the new religion for which he contends, mildness and forbearance, and his style seems to be inelegant and confused, as his annotator Thirlby seldom loses an occasion of observing. It is satisfactory to see the confidence with which he asserts the innocence of his Christian brethren, in opposition to all the imputations that

were laid to their charge, as well as the appearance of deep conviction with which he professes his own faith. Continued Burke, with Georgina and Jane. Began Todd's edition of Milton's poetical works, lately published.

Dec. 14. Read the Notes to Doctor Parr's Spital Sermon.

17 to 20. Read Hall's Bampton's Lectures ; very elegant compositions.

21. Continued Froissart, with Jane.

22. Continued Todd's Milton to the end of vol. iii. Continued Froissart, with Jane, to the end of vol. i.

Early in this year, 1801, as the Journal has informed us, my father read the Latin poems of several famous Italians. From among them he selected the following from Flaminio for translation* :

HYMN TO THE MORNING.

FROM THE LATIN OF FLAMINIO.

Lo from the East's extremest verge

Aurora's pearly car
Advance its buoyant orb, and urge

The lingering mists from far.
Lo from her wavy skirts unfold
The lengthen'd lines of fluid gold ;

Ye pallid spectres, grisly dreams,
That nightly break my rest, avaunt ;
Back to your dread Cimmerian haunt,

And fly the cheerful beams.

. For the original see Selecta Poemata Italorum, accurante H. Pope, vol. ii., p. 66, 2 vols. 8vo, Lond., 1740.

Boy, bring the lute. Well pleased, I sound

Once more the tuneful string ;
Be thine the task to scatter round

Fresh odours while I sing.
Hail, Goddess, to thy roseate ray :
All earth, reviving, owns thy sway ;

All, all, in glowing vest array'd,
The lowly mead, the mountain's brow,
And streams that warble as they flow,

And softly whispering shade.
For thee an offering meet prepared,

Behold our incense rise ;
The crocus gay, the breathing nard,

And violets' purple dyes.
Mix'd with their fragrance, may my note
Upon the wings of ether float.

What muse, how skill'd soe'er, may claim
In worthy strain to emulate
The glory of thy rising state,

And hymn thy favourite name?

Soon as thy brightning cheeks they spy

And radiance of thy hair,
Each from his station in the sky,

The starry train repair.
Wan Cynthia bids her lamp expire,
As jealous of thy goodlier fire ;

Upstarting from his death-like trance,
Sleep throws his leaden fetters by ;
And Nature opes her charmed eye,

Awaken’d at thy glance.
Forth to their labours mortals hie

By thine auspicious light ;
Labours that but for thee would lie

In one perpetual night.
The traveller quits his short repose,
And gladly on his journey goes.

The patient steers the furrows trace ;
And, singing blythe, the shepherd swain
Drives to their woody range again

The flock, with quicken'd pace.

Not so the lover : loth to rise,

He slowly steals away,
Chides thy first blush that paints the skies,

And wisheth night's delay.
With other voice thy beam I greet,
With other speed thy coming meet ;

And as I mark thy opening bloom,
Prefer to heaven the ardent vow
That I may welcome thee as now

For many a year to come.

A few years later (I am unable to fix the exact date) my father became possessed of a larger collection, or rather selection* from the Latin poems of Italian writers. Among them is one by Fracastorio, the physician, “to whom,” as Mr. Cary says, “the palm in Latin verse is usually attributed among the moderns :" it contains an account of the manner in which the author dedicated his time to the instruction of his two sons, in the retirement of his country villa.

Mr. Cary's version of this poem, as well as that of the “Hymn to the Morning," from Flaminio, was published in the “London Magazine;" but that by Fracastorio is erroneously said to have been addressed to Giovanni Battista Torriano; whereas it is inscribed to his brother Francesco Torriano. +

TO FRANCESCO TORRIANO.

TORRIANO, if my simple village farm
Could boast more joys a welcome guest to charm,
Or if I thought my friend could better brook

The scant convenience of this rustic nook, * Selecta Poemata Italorum, accurante H. Pope, 2 vols. 8vo, Lond., 1740.

+ Ibid., vol. ii., p. 207.

Then should I covet thy dear company
Amidst Incaffi's mountains here with me,
These mountains, where, but that with chirpings shrill
The grasshoppers our lofty woodlands thrill,
I scarce that it were summer-tide could know,
So mildly does the air of July blow.

What though my shed be lowly! yet if pure
From sordid stain, from eddying dust secure ;
Yet if no sound unwelcome break my rest,
No guilt alarm me, and no care molest ;
So peace throughout, and deep-felt quiet reign,
With Ease that brings the Muses in his train ;
And the long slumber of the silent night :
Nought moves it me, though other eyes delight
In vermeil hues that on their ceilings shine ;
Content to see the chimney-smoke on mine.

If round my walls no giant forms thou spy,
Hurl'd by Jove's lightning from the starry sky,
No life-impassion'd figures, that may claim
A deathless guerdon for Romano's name ;
Boon liberty awaits thee ; she, who loves
Above all haunts the sylvan wild, and roves
With easy footstep, unconcern'd and gay,
Where chance impels, or fancy leads the way.
Some nicer rules if thou shouldst here offend,
Loll with too careless freedom on a friend,
Or haply from thy grasp the platter slip,
Or the press'd goblet sound beneath thy lip ;
None marks thee. Sit or walk thou may’st at will,
Be grave or merry, fast or take thy fill.
In this retreat how circling days I spend,
What recreation with what studies blend,
Thou haply wouldst inquire ; and on the view
Award of praise or blame the impartial due.
The dawn appears. Enchanted, I survey
In the broad east the kindling wheels of day,
That in no clime with state more radiant rise,
And woods, and rocks, and many-colour'd skies ;
Then turn to clear Benacus' brimming lake,
Toward whose ample breast their progress take

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