TRANSLATION

Of the Chorus at the End of the Second Act of the Hecuba of Euripides,

Ye breezes, mild and gentle gales,

Whose breath propitious fills the swelling sails,
And bids the vessel swiftly glide

Thro' angry seas, and stem the stubborn tide;
O! whither, whither will ye bear me hence,
To haughty power a slave, and lawless insolence?

Will ye, alas! in Doric lands

Subject me to some haughty Greek's commands?
Or waft me to the fertile coast

Of Pthia, where in wandring mazes lost,

Apidanus pours forth his silver floods

Thro' meads of verdant hue, and shadowy darkling woods,

Or must I to the isle repair,

Sacred to Latona's care,

Where verdant laurels and the lofty pine,

Their friendly shades and blooming branches join, And with the youthful choir's united lays,

Raise the chaste voice in fair Diana's praise.

For lofty Athens must I part,

To shade the curious vest with nicest art;
To paint Minerva's glorious car,

Adorn the tapestry with scenes of war,
Or point the forked bolt with flaming rage,
On Titans hurl'd, that durst Heaven's awful king
engage.

See blazing fires from hapless Ilion rise,
While clouds of circling smoke obscure the skies;
O dire distress! why only am I left,

Of children, parents, brethren, all bereft,

Why thus reserv'd a prey for lawless bands,
To drag the galling chain far hence in foreign lands?

WHEN the maid, that possesses my heart,
Was content at my mansion to stay,

Rapid Time was in haste to depart,

And the moments fled laughing away.

But now, since I see her not near,
And to seek her is not in my power,

Every day is as long as a year,
Every moment as slow as an hour.
A a 4

HANNAH.

Sacred to the Memory of Her who is dead to me.

Ar fond sixteen, my roving heart
Was pierced by Love's delightful dart:
Keen transport throbb'd in every

I never felt so sweet a pain!

vein

Where circling woods embower'd the glade,

I met the dear romantic maid:

I stole her hand-it shrunk-but, no!

I would not let my captive go,

With all the fervency of youth,
While passion told the tale of truth,
I mark'd my HANNAH'S downcast eye :
"Twas kind, but beautifully shy.

Not with a warmer, purer ray,
The sun enamour'd wooes young May;
Nor May, with softer maiden grace,
Turns from the sun her blushing face.

But, swifter than the frighted dove,

Fled the gay morning of my love;
Ah! that so bright a morn, so soon,
Should vanish in so dark a noon!

The angel of affliction rose,
And in his train a thousand woes;
He pour'd his vial on my head,
And all the heaven of rapture fled.

Yet, in the glory of my pride, I stood and all his wrath defied; I stood though whirlwinds shook my brain, And lightnings cleft my soul in twain.

I shunn'd my nymph; yet knew not why I durst not meet her gentle eye:

I shunn'd her-for I could not bear
To marry her to my despair.

Yet, sick at heart with hope delay'd,
Oft the dear image of that maid
Glanced, like the rainbow, o'er my mind,
And promised happiness behind.

The storm blew o'er, and in my breast
The halcyon peace rebuilt her nest;
The storm blew o'er, and clear and mild
The sea of youth and pleasure smiled.

1

"Twas on the morning of that day, When Phoebus marries rosy May,

I sought once more the charming spot, Where bloom'd the thorn by HANNAH'S Cot.

O! as I cross'd the neighbouring plain,

I lived my wooing days again;

And Fancy sketch'd my future life,
My home, my children, and my wife.

I saw the village steeple rise-
My soul sprang, sparkling, in mine eyes;
The rural bells rang sweet and clear→
My fond heart listen'd in mine ear.

I reach'd the hamlet ;-all was gay; I love a rustic holiday!

I met a wedding-stept aside;

O, GOD!my HANNAH was the bride!

-There is a grief that cannot feel;

It leaves a wound that will not heal!
-My heart grew cold-it felt not then!
When shall it cease to feel again?

SHEFFIELD.

ALCEUS.