, • ±. ■ ----- -—-j J? t \ dfolforum i^tttntla BY THE SAME EDITOR. Foliorum Silvula, Part n, being a Selection of Passages for Translation into Latin Lyric and Greek Verse. Second Edition. [In the Press.] Foliorum Centurice , being a Selection of Passages for Translation into Latin and Greek Prose. Second Edition. [In Preparation.] Aristojfhanis Gomoedice Vndecim, cum Notis et Onomas- tico. 8 vo. 15 s. Each Play separately. 15. Notes . . . , 4s. *M. T. Ciceronis de Officiis Libri Tres, with Marginal Analysis and an English Commentary. Crown 8vo. 9s. 6d. : ''M. Minucii Felicia Octavius. ? The Text newly re¬ vised from the>only km own 2 MS.^^jtlu,ai| ^ngTjsbj Commentary, Analysis, and Introduction. Crown 8vo. 95. 6d. * Caesar Morgan on the Trinity of Plato , a new edition revised. Crown 8vo. 45. * Edited for the Syndics of the Cambridge University Press. PROF. OF poetry: OWES IIB8ABK, »' CLASfo. ifoltontnt l^iUntla PART I BEING SELECT PASSAGES FOR TRANSLATION INTO LATIN ELEGIAC AND HEROIC YERSE ARRANGED AND EDITED BY HUBERT ASHTON HOLDEN M.A.-v' VICE-PRINCIPAL OF CHELTENHAM COLLEGE LATE FELLOW AND ASSISTANT TUTOR OF TRINITY COLLEGE CAMBREDG3 CAMBRIDGE DEIGHTON BELL AND CO LONDON BELL AND DALDY 1857 BOSTON COLLEGE LI HR*' ^ CHESTNUT HILL, MASS, Els tov XeipMva. Ko.6icra<; ’’'ESper.ev eVepov eft’ erepu Alpojaevos aypevp' a vOeuv — Vcvlckeuaer. Diatrib. in Eur. Relliq. p. 112. CAMBRIDGE: PRINTED BY C. J. CRAY, Jf.A. AT THE UNIVERSITY' PRESS. oma uBfrn B0SJ °N COLLEGE ADVERTISEMENT. - ♦- The present Edition of tlie collection entitled Foliorum Silvula, is not an exact repnblication of tlie former. It is formed, however, on the same plan, and cannot fail to possess, apart from its fitness for the main purpose of its publication, the same kind of value and interest as its predecessor, in containing a selection of choice passages culled by several hands, and exhibiting specimens of the taste and judgment of many eminent scholars. But while the original features of the book, to which alone it owed a certain amount of popularity, have been preserved, an endeavour has been made to render it more generally serviceable for the use of Schools as well as Aca¬ demical Students. This object has it is hoped been attained by the incorporation of a forest of shorter and easier selec¬ tions chiefly from English poets (from Chaucer to the pre¬ sent time) with Passages given as subjects for translation in various College and University Examination Papers since the year 1821 . Moreovet,|aB*a!igement of the entire VI Advertisement. collection has been made with reference as well to the length of each extract as to the variety of metre proposed. The occasion of the several exercises- was before ex¬ plained by notices attached to them: it has been thought sufficient to substitute for these a general Table of Refer¬ ence. An Index of Authors is added to that of first lines. In acknowledgment of the favourable reception which his collection has met with at the sister University, the Compiler has ventured to allot a place in it to several pieces proposed in the Ireland and other Oxford Scholarship ex¬ amination papers, most of which were contributed by his friend, the Rev. George Butler, M.A., late Fellow of Exeter College. The limits of the book, already so ex¬ panded as to form two volumes, prevented the introduction of a larger number. The extracts have been carefully revised, and in most cases printed from the best editions of the respective authors. A few have been printed as anonymous in the text, but the names of the writers of most of these have been subse¬ quently ascertained and are given in the list of Additions and Corrections,—where, also, others, erroneously ascribed in the text, are assigned to their proper authors. Cheltenham, Jan. 23 , 1857 . INDEX OF AUTHORS, WITH REFERENCES TO THE SECTIONS. -♦- Addison, Joseph, 517, 561 Aird, James, 491 Akenside, Mark, 448, 455, 471, 686, 689, 722, 728, 734 Anstice, J. 128, 277, 278, 311 Anthologia Graeca, 118, 119, 354, 404, 411 Antijacobin, Poetry of, 145 Armstrong, John, 506, 716 Arnold, Matthew, 679, 693, 753 Aytoun, W. E. 204 Beattie, James, 136, 268, 477 Beaumont and Fletcher, 36 Bode, J. E. 364 Booth, Barton, 14 Bradstreet, Anne, 589 Bruce, Michael, 178, 179, 180 Bryant,'William Cullen, 256, 316, 333? 343, 562, 646 Bulwer, E. L. 465 Burgon, J. W. 538, 559 Burns, Robert, 17, 43, 160, 162, 165, 174, 175, 176, 177, 197, 253, 254, 274, 286, 287, 288, 289, 290 Byron, Lord, 22, 114, 141, 171, 206, 221, 227, 302, 332, 342, 368, 380, 402, 403, 419, 420, 425, 453, 64°, 644, 648, 653, 756 Browne, William, 698 Campbell, Thomas, 64, 98, 143, I4 665, 676 Southwell, R. 126, 222, 223, 370 Spenser, Edmund, 82, 83, 149, 405, 406, 427, 439, 587, 612, 625, 633, 637, 642, 668, 671, 723, 738 , 755 Steele, Sir R. 195, 360 Strangford, Lord, 158 Surrey, Earl of, 103, 731 Sylvester, Joshua, 122, 123 Tennyson, Alfred, 75, 127, 152, 212, 215, 541, 546, 547, 549, 704 Tennyson, Frederic, 39 Theocritus, 314 Thomson, James, 34, 108, 183, 225, 3 ° 5 > 437 , 442 , 447 , 454 , 45 ^, 476, 484, 485, 524, 543, 546, 554 , 564, 585 , 59 °, 6 47 , 651, 663, 664, 666, 680, 692, 695, 705, 73 o, 736, 737 , 745 , 746 Thurston, 63 Tighe, Mrs, 436 Trench, Richard Chenevix, 658,754 Vaughan, Henry, 42 Veel, R. 94 Walker, William Sidney, 269 Waller, Edmund, 5, 87, 249, 319, 398, 464 Watson, Thomas, 312 Watts, Alaric A. 355 White, Henry Kirke, 334, 335, 363 Wilson, John, 358 Wolfe, Charles, 385, 388 Wordsworth, Wilham, 78, 102, 115, 130, 244, 246, 257, 273, 2 79 , 298, 300, 304 , 338 , 421, 458, 49 °, 545 , 588, 657, 697, 701, 707, 720, 733, 748 Wotton, Sir Henry, 318 Young, Edward, 540 Anonymous and uncertain, 24, 28, 38, 6r, 73, 92, 99, no, 116, 117, 128, 137, 138, 139, 155, 157, 169, 172, 210, 245, 251, 252, 271, 297, 301, 322, 346, 3 ^r, 495 , 523, 544 , 583, 672, 673 , 712, 719, 744 INDEX OF EXAMINATIONS. Cambridge : University Scholarships, 39, 11 7 , 129, 167, 179, 272, 293, 319, 330 , 337 , 367, 369, 388 , 456, 546, 651, 663, 739, 743 Bell University Scholarships, 20, 36,49, 122, 123, 317, 645, 684, 695 , 754 Classical Tripos, 166, 174,175, 1 9 ' 2 , 211, 216, 238, 302, 334, 350, 45^, 538, 655, 658, 686, 690, 693, 698, 710, 712, 715, 735, 746 , 747 Chancellor’s Medals, 62, 145, 185, 193,203, 210, 247, 282, 285, 309, 35 i, 359 , 39 °, 737 Trinity College Fellowships, 47, 151, 208, 521, 647, 653, 668, 671, 685 Trinity College Scholarships, 30, 164, 213, 275, 361, 624, 653, 656 679, 694, 711, 728 St John’s College Fellowships, 649, 718, 721 St John’s College Scholarships, 717 St John’s College Port Latin Ex¬ hibition, 670 Jesus College Fellowships, 463 Clare College Scholarships, 672, 673, 6 74 , 676 Magdalene College Scholarships, 75 , 153 , x 95 , 304, 460, 473 , 712, 716, 742 Christ’s College Scholarships, 160, 3 2 4 St Peter’s College, 253 Clare College, 366 Pembroke College, 66 Caius College, 54, 42 3 , 753 Trinity Hall, 59 Corpus Christi College, 5 King’s College, 298, 362, 524,664, 667, 755 Jesus College, 454 St John’s College, 51, 79, 127, 154 , I 7 L 33 2 , 4 2 5 , 459 , 54 °, 547, 696, 697, 740 Trinity College, 133, 197 Emmanuel College, 70, 756 Oxford : Ireland University Scholarships, 2 18, 307, 453 Hertford University Scholarships, 57 , 3 ° 7 , 757 Brasenose College Scholarships, 2 97 , 3 2 5 Exeter College Scholarships, 588 Lincoln ditto, 659 Oriel ditto, 149, 338, 602 Trinity ditto, 190, 220 University ditto, 82, 83 India Civil Service, 223, 650 ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS. PAGE 24 , 1 . 7 , lege breast, 36 , § 117 , add author's name , Caroline Norton. 40 , — 128 , - . .. j. anstice. 43 , — 134 , for cowpee, lege j. G. cooper. 44 , .— 137 138 , add author's name , Lyttelton. 53 , — 157 , 1 . 3 , lege all to-fret. § 158 , 1 . 5 , lege passions’. 83 , — 218 , for eyron lege Rogers. 96 , 1 . 1 , lege stream!: 1 . 2 , lege smiling! — 1 . 8, lege Till peace go with him, &c. — § 244 , add author's name, w. avordsworth. 99 , — 251 , 104 , — 260 , 109 , — 271 , 114 , — 280 , • JAMES HOGG. T. SEAYARD. LjETITIA pilkington. THOMAS KYD. 127 , — 306 , 1 . 2 , for roared lege warred. 1 . 13 , lege Say through the clou 1 . 15 , lege woods and mountains. 1 . 17 , lege ’Tis vain: through eth And lights, &c. — —. — 131 , — 314 , 138 , — 325 , 146 , ~ 338 , 148 , — 342 , 199 , — 432 , 240 , — 546 , 281 , — tM CO o S. ROGERS. WORDSAVORTH. PASSAGES FOE TRANSLATION Into Latin Elegiac Verse. The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play ? Pleas’d to the last, he crops the flow’ry food And licks the hand uprais’d to shed his blood. POPE. On parent knees a naked newborn child, Weeping tho’u sat’st, while all around thee smiled; So live, that, sinking in thy last long sleep, Calm thou may’st smile, whilst all around thee weep. SIR W. JONES. Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade, Death came with friendly care, To heav’n the opening bud convey’d, And bade it blossom there. S. T. COLERIDGE. The envious snows came down in haste, To prove her neck less fair— But when they found themselves surpass’d, Dissolved to a tear. PRIOR. The adorning thee with so much art, Is but a barbarous skill; ’Tis like the poisoning of the dart, Too apt before to kill. WALLER. 1 2 Passages for Translation into 6 Woman, the gift of Heav’n, demands our love! On earth she constitutes our only bliss; No undivided joy the soul can move, And Adam sigh’d alone in Paradise. F. HODGSON. 7 Behold, how soon what flourish’d once, decays, And see, how soon what once was stedfast, falls! Dying we’re born,—on first hang latest days: That hour life shortens, which to being calls. J. DUNLOP. 8 In this small tomb tho’ now two bodies lie. Yet but one spirit mingles in the sky: On earth we lived in concord; and the same In both was every feeling, sense, and aim. 0 When the tree waves and bends, we know, The breeze is blowing through it; God’s breath, we shall know, doth o’er thee blow, When thy heart is bending to it. W. E. EVANS. 10 As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head. GOLDSMITH* 11 Me let the tender office long engage To rock the cradle of reposing age ; With lenient art extend a mother’s breath, Make languor smile and smooth the bed of death, Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, And save awhile one parent from the sky. pope. Latin Elegiac Verse. 3 12 Statesman, yet friend to truth, of soul sincere; In action faithful, and in honour clear: Who broke no promise, served no private end; Who gained no title, and who lost no friend. Ennobled by himself, by all approved; Praised, wept and honour’d by the muse he loved. POPE. 13 Underneath this marble herse Lies the subject of all verse, Sidney’s sister, Pembroke’s mother: Death, ere thou hast found another Fair and wise and good as she, Time shall throw his dart at thee. BEN JONSON. II Devouring time, with stealing pace, Makes lofty oaks and cedars bow; And marble tow’rs, and gates of brass In his rude march he levels low ! But time, destroying far and wide, Love from the soul can ne’er divide. BOOTH. 15 E’en such is time, that takes on trust, Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with age and dust; Who in the dark and silent grave, When we have wander’d all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days. SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 1G Oh l woman in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light, quivering, aspen made, When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou. SIR WALTER SCOTT. 1—2 4 Passages for Translation into 17 Pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls on the river, A moment white;—then melts for ever; Or like the rainbow’s lovely form, Evanishing amid the storm. _ BURNS. 18 When Neptune towering o’er her Adrian wave, Saw Venice rise and Ocean’s rage enslave, ‘ Boast as thou wilt of Pome,’ to Jove he cried, ‘Her rock Tarpeian, and thy Mars*her guide, Yet own, though Tiber lure thee from the seas, That mortals reared those walls, immortals these.’ smedley. 19 Affliction then is ours; We are the trees, whom shaking fastens more, While blustering winds destroy the wanton towers, And ruffle all their curious busts and store. My God, so temper joy and woe, That thy bright beams may tame thy bow. G. HERBERT. 20 What are the gay parterre, the chequer’d shade, The noon-tide bower, the evening colonnade, But soft recesses for uneasy minds To sigh unheard in, to the passing winds? So the struck deer in some sequester’d part Lies down to die, the arrow in his heart; He, stretch’d unseen in coverts hid from day, Bleeds drop by drop, and pants his life away. POPE. 21 Stone walls doe not a prison make, Nor iron barres a cage; Mindes innocent and quiet, take That for an hermitage : If I have freedom in my love, And in my soule am free; Angels alone, that soare above, Enjoy such libertie. LOVELACE. Latin Elegiac Verse . 5 22 They fell devoted, but undying, The very gale their names seemed sighing; The waters murmured of their name, The woods were peopled with their fame; The silent pillar lone and grey, Claimed kindred with their sacred clay; Their spirits wrapped the dusky mountain, Their memory sparkled o’er the fountain; The meanest rill, the mightiest river Rolls minerlino; with their fame for ever. BYRON. 23 Like the gale that sighs along Beds of Oriental flowers, Is the grateful breath of song, That once was heard in happier hours. Bill’d with balm, the gale sighs on, Though the flowers have sunk in death ; So, when pleasure’s dream is gone, Its memory lives in music’s breath. T. MOORE. 24 Love is like the shadow, seen When the sun first lights the skies, Stretching then o’er all the green, But dwindling as each moment flies. Friendship is the shadow thrown, When the day its noon hath past, Increasing as Life’s sun goes down, Ev’n till it has look’d its last. 25 How dear to me the hour when daylight dies, And sunbeams melt along the silent sea; For then sweet dreams of other days arise, And memory breathes her vesper sigh to thee ! And, as I watch the line of light that plays Along the smooth wave tow’rd the burning west, I long to tread that golden path of rays, And think ’twould lead to some bright isle of rest. T. MOORE. 6 Passages for Translation into 26 ‘Come, sister, come! (it said or seem’d to say,) Thy place is here, sad sister, come away! Once, like thyself, I trembled, wept and pray’d, Love’s victim then, though now a sainted maid : But all is calm in this eternal sleep; Here grief forgets to groan and love to weep; Ev’n superstition loses every fear : For God, not man, absolves our frailties here.’ POPE. 27 The misty clouds that fall sometime, And overcast the skies, Are like to troubles of our time, Which do but dim our eyes. But as such dews are dried up quite, When Phoebus shews his face, So are sad fancies put to flight, When God doth guide by grace. GASCOIGNE. 28 Oh ! dismal dole, when the secret soul Is mock’d by the outward showing; When we dress the eye in a gay disguise, While the tears are inward flowing; When groans and grief would be a relief, But with carols we keep them under, And a laugh we start when the throbbing heart Is ready to burst asunder. 29 The wretch condemned with life to part, Still, still on hope relies, And every pang, that rends the heart, Bids expectation rise. Hope like the glimmering taper’s light, Adorns and cheers the way; And still as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray. GOLDSMITH. Latin Elegiac Verse. •7 30 Nor on beds of fading flowers, Shedding soon their gaudy pride, Nor with swains in syren bowers, Will true pleasure long reside. On awful Virtue’s hill sublime Enthroned sits th’ immortal fair: Who wins her height must patient climb; The steps are peril, toil and care. So from the first did Jove ordain Eternal bliss for transient pain. DARLTON. 31 Small are my treasures, my domain is small; But quietude makes that blameless little, great : My tranquil mind no tremors agitate— Heedless if men my days should slothful call. Go seek the camp—ascend some curule throne— All the vain joys that sway the bosom taste ! Mean though I am, by no distinctions graced, Still, while I live, I call the hours mine own. J. DUNLOP. 32 0 Memory! thou fond deceiver, Still importunate and vain, To former joys recurring ever, And turning all the past to pain : Thou, like the world, th’ oppress’d oppressing, Thy smiles increase the wretch’s woe ; And he who wants each other blessing, In thee must ever find a foe. GOLDSMITH. 33 Yet awhile, sweet Sleep, deceive me, Fold me in thy downy arms; Let not care awake to grieve me, Lull it with thy potent charms. v 8 Passages for Translation into I a turtle doomed to stray, Quitting young the parent’s nest. Find each bird a bird of prey; Sorrow knows not where to rest ! GAURICK. 34 As those we love decay, we die in part; String after string is sever’d from the heart; Till loosen’d life, no more than breathing clay, Without one pang is glad to fall away. Unhappy he, who latest feels the blow! Whose eyes have wept o’er every friend laid low, Still lingering on from partial death to death, Till dying, all he can resign is breath. THOMSON. 35 My boast is not, that I deduce my birth From lords enthroned and rulers of the Earth, But higher far my proud pretensions rise— The son of parents pass’d into the skies : And now, farewell—Time unrevoked has run His wonted course, yet what I wished is done; And while the wings of Fancy still are free, And I can view this mimic show of thee, Time has but half succeeded in his theft— Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left. COWPER. >30 Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan; Sorrow calls no time that’s gone; Violets plucked, the sweetest rain Makes not fresh nor grow again : Trim thy locks, look chearfully; Fate’s hid ends eyes cannot see : Joys as winged dreams fly fast; Why should sadness longer last ? Grief is but a wound to woe; Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no mo. J. FLETCHER. Latin Elegiac Verse. .9 37 See how beneath the moonbeam’s smile Yon little billow heaves its breast; And foams and sparkles for a while, And murmuring then subsides to rest: Thus man, the sport of bliss and care, Rises on time’s eventful sea, And having swell’d a moment there, Thus melts into eternity. T. MOORE. 38 Winde, gentle evergreen to form a shade Around the tomb where Sophocles is laid; Sweet ivy, winde thy boughs and intertwine With blushing roses and the clust’ring vine : Thus will thy lasting leaves, with beauties hung, Prove grateful emblems of the lays he sung : Whose soul exalted like a God of wit, Among the Muses and the Graces writ. FROM THE GREEK. 39 While hunters bold ride homeward with the spoil; While bugles ring and forest echoes cry; While mowers laugh, while reapers sing and toil; While vintage bands go, like a revel, by; While bridals pass, while poor men bless, While Yule is blithe, while Summer fair, Oh! would’st thou change the flowing songs of peace For triumphs and despair? F. TENNYSON. 40 For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e’er resign’d, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, ling’ring look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; Ev’n from the tomb the voice of nature cries, Ev’n in our ashes live their wonted fires. T. GRAY. Passages for Translation into The lonely shepherd on the mountain’s side, With patience waits the rosy opening day; The mariner at midnight’s darksome tide, With cheerful hope expects the morning ray: Thus I, on life’s storm-beaten ocean toss’d, In mental vision view the happy shore, Where Pollio beckons to the peaceful coast, Where fate and death divide the friends no more. MICKLE. Sure thou didst flourish once! and many Springs Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers, Past o’er thy head; many light Hearts and Wings Which now are dead, lodg’d in thy living bowers. And still a new succession sings and flies; Fresh groves grow up and their green branches shoot Towards the old and still enduring skies; While the low Violet thrives at their root. H. VAUGHAN. Ayr gurgling kiss’d his pebbly shore, O’erhung with wild wood thickening green : The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar Turn’d amorous round the raptured scene; The flowers sprang wanton to be press’d, The birds sang love on every spray ; Till too, too soon, the glowing west Proclaim’d the speed of winged day. BURNS. Birds that are long in cages aw’d, If they get out, awhile will roam ; But straight want skill to live abroad, Then pine and hover near their home. And to the Ocean rivers run, From being pent in banks of flowers; Hot knowing that th’ exhaling sun Will send them back in weeping showers. sir w. d’avenant. Latin Elegiac Verse. 11 45 Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e’en his failings lean’d to virtue’s side; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he pray’d and felt for all: And as a bird each fond endearment tries, To tempt its new-fledg’d offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. GOLDSMITH. 4G So to the dark-brow’d wood, or sacred mount, In ancient days, the holy seers retir’d; And, led in vision, drank at Siloe’s fount, While rising ecstasies their bosoms fir’d. Best or’d creation bright before them rose, The burning deserts smiled as Eden’s plains : One friendly shade the wolf and lambkin chose ; The flowery mountain sung ‘Messiah reigns’. MICKLE. _ f 47 He shall not dread Misfortune’s angry mien, Nor feebly sink beneath her tempest rude, Whose soul hath learned, through many a trying scene, To smile at fate and suffer unsubdued. In the rough school of billows, clouds and storms, Nursed and matured, the Pilot learns his art : Thus Fate’s dread ire, by many a conflict, forms The lofty spirit, and enduring heart. F. HEMANS. 48 Unbending midst the wintry skies, Bears the firm oak his vigorous form, And, stern in rugged strength, defies The rushing of the storm. Then severed from his native shore, O’er ocean worlds the sail to bear, Still with those winds he braved before, He proudly struggles there. F. HEMANS. 12 Passages for Translation into 49 Did I but purpose to embark with thee On the smooth surface of a summer’s sea; While gentle zephyrs play in prosperous gales, And fortune’s favour fills the swelling sails : But would forsake the ship and make the shore, When the winds whistle and the tempests roar 1 Ah! no : one destiny our life shall guide, Nor wild nor deep our common way divide. PRIOR. 50 Full oft we’ve seen an envious cloud Veil the star’s silver light, When the pale moon in vapoury shroud Sail’d darkly through the night : But ne’er hath deepest sorrow thrown Such darkness o’er our view, That God’s bright comfort hath not shone In streaming radiance through. W. E. EVANS. 51 Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That valleys, groves, or hills, or field, Or woods and steepy mountains yield. And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight, each May morning: If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my love. MARLOW. If all the world and love were young; And truth in every shepherd’s tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love. 52 Latin Elegiac Verse. lo Time drives tire flocks from field to fold, When rivers rage and rocks grow cold; And Philomel becometh dumb, The rest complain of cares to come. But could youth last and love still breed, Had joys no date nor age no need, Then these delights my mind might move To live with thee and be thy love. SIR W. RALEIGH. Clear had the day been from the dawn, All chequered was the sky, Thin clouds, like scarfs of cobweb lawn, Veil’d heaven’s most glorious eye. The wind had no more strength than this, That leisurely it blew, To make one leaf the next to kiss, That closely by it grew. The rills that on the pebbles played, Might now be heard at will; This world the only music made, Else every thing was still. DRAYTON. The colour from the flower is gone Which, like thy sweet eyes, smiled on me : The odour from the flower is flown Which breathed of thee, and only thee. A withered, lifeless, vacant form, It lies on .my abandoned breast, And mocks the heart, which still is warm, With cold and silent rest. I weep : my tears revive it not; I sigh : it breathes no more on me ; Its mute and uncomplaining lot Is such as mine should be. SHELLEY. 14 Passages for Translation into 55 What though no weeping loves thy ashes grace, Nor polish’d marble emulate thy face ! What though no sacred earth allow thee room, Nor hallow’d dirge be mutter’d o’er thy tomb! Yet shall thy grave with rising flowers be dress’d. And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast : There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow, There the first roses of the vear shall blow : While angels with their silver wings o’ershade The ground now sacred by thy relics made. POPE. 56 Noox-day and midnight shall at once be seen: Trees at one time shall be both sere and green; Fire and water shall together lie In one self sweet conspiring sympathy; Summer and winter shall at one time show Ripe ears of corn and up to th’ ears in snow : Seas shall be sandless, fields devoid of grass, Shapeless the world, as when all chaos was, Before, my dear Perilla, I will be False to my vow, or fall away from thee. HERRICK. 57 Axd now in' faith our nest we’ve made, To naked twigs we’ve bound it, For soon we know the leaves will braid Their shining tresses round it. Oh ! thus each Christian home .should be Above the earth suspended, And built upon the heavenly tree By its sure shade defended. Truth’s faultless belt around it tie, With love’s strong tendrils bind it : And place it high, where sin’s dark eye Can ne’er look up and find it. w. E. EVAXS. Latin Elegiac Verse . 58 Tell me, on what holy ground May domestic Peace be found— Halcyon daughter of the skies ! Par on fearful wings she flies, Prom the pomp of sceptred State, Prom the Rebel’s noisy hate: In a cottage vale she dwells Listening to the Sabbath bells ! Still around her steps are seen Spotless Honour’s meeker mien, Love, the sire of pleasing fears ; Sorrow smiling through her tears, And conscious of the past employ. Memory, bosom-spring of joy. S. T. COLERIDGE. 59 The night of sorrow now is turned to day: Her two blue windows faintly she upheaveth, Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array He cheers the morn, and all the world relievetli: And as the bright sun glorifies the sky, So is her face illumined with her eye; Whose beams upon his hairless face are fixed, As if from thence they borrowed all their shine, Were never four such lamps together mixed, Had not his clouded with his brow’s repine; Rut hers, which thro’ the crystal tears gave light, Shone like the moon in water, seen by night. SHAKESPERE. hO Like to the falling of a star, Or as the flights of eagles are; Or like the fresh spring’s gaudy hue, Or silver drops of morning dew; Or like a wind that chafes the flood, Or bubbles which on water stood; Pv’n such is man, whose borrow’d light Is straight called in, and paid to-night. 16 Passages for Translation into The wind blows out; the bubble dies; The spring entomb’d in autumn lies ; The dew dries up; the star is shot; The flight is past;—and man forgot. H. KING. G1 The Warrior here, in arms no more, Thinks of the toil, the conflict o’er, Here glories in the freedom won, For hearth and shrine, for sire and son, Smiles on the dusky webs, that hide His sleeping sword’s remembered pride; While peace with sunny cheeks of toil, Walks o’er the free unlorded soil; Effaces with her splendid share, The drops that war had sprinkled there; Thrice happy land! where he who flies From the dark ills of other skies, From scorn or want’s unerring woes, May shelter him in proud repose. 62 What doth it serve to see the sun’s bright face, And skies enamelled with the Indian gold ? Or the bright moon in car of silver rolled, And all the glory of that starry place h What doth it serve earth’s beauty to behold, The mountain’s pride, the meadow’s flow’ry grace, The stately comeliness of forests old, The sport of floods which would the earth embrace ? What doth it serve to hear the sylvans’ songs, The cheerful thrush, the nightingale’s sad strains, Which in dark shades seems to deplore my wrongs'? For what doth serve all that this world contains 1 ? Since One, for whom those once to me were dear, Can now no longer share them with me here 1 ? DRUMMOND. Latin Elegiac Verse, 17 G3 Phyllis, would you have me love you, Truce with that affected scorn; Artless if I fail to move you, I shall never learn to mourn. You are but yourself disarming, While you give your lover pain; Beauty ceases to be charming, Once ’tis tainted with disdain. Use me kindly; fairest creature, You shall ever find me true; Yet so stubborn is my nature, Slighted, I can bid adieu. THURSTON. 04 Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour, There dwelt no joy in Eden’s rosy bower! In vain the viewless seraph lingering there, At starry midnight charm’d the silent air; In vain the wild-bird caroll’d on the steep, To hail the sun, slow wheeling from the deep; In vain, to soothe the solitary shade, Aerial notes in mingling measure play’d; The summer wind that shook the spangled tree, The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee;— Still slowly pass’d the melancholy day, And still the stranger wist not where to stray. The world was sad!—the garden was a wild! And man, the hermit, sigh’d—till woman smil’d! CAMPBELL. Go Had I a heart for falsehood framed, I ne’er could injure you, Eor though your tongue no promise claim’d, Your charms would make me true. To you no soul shall bear deceit, No stranger offer wrong; But friends in all the aged you’ll meet, And lovers in the young. IS . Passages for Translation into But when they learn that you have blest Another with your heart, They’ll bid aspiring passion rest, And act a brother’s part: Then, Lady, dread not here deceit, Nor fear to suffer wrong; For friends in all the aged you’ll meet, And brothers in the young. R. B. SHERIDAN. 66 Go tuneful bird, that glad’st the skies, To Daphne’s window speed thy way, And there on quivering pinions rise, And there thy vocal art display. And if she deign thy notes to hear, And if she praise thy matin song, Tell her the sounds that soothe her ear, To Damon’s native plains belong. Tell her, in livelier plumes arrayed The bird from Indian groves may shine: But ask the lovely partial maid, What are his notes compared to thine? SHENSTONE. 67 I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shades for the leaves when laid In their noon-day dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet birds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother’s breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder. Latin Elegiac Verse . 11) 68 I am the daughter of earth and water, And the nursling of the sky; 1 pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain, when, with never a stain The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again. SHELLEY. 6(j Tiie Autumn skies are flush’d with gold, And fair and bright the rivers run; These are but streams of winter cold, And painted mists that quench the sun. In secret boughs no sweet birds sing, In secret boughs no bird can shroud; These are but leaves that take to wing, And wintry winds that pipe so loud. ’Tis not trees’ shade, but cloudy glooms, That on the cheerless valleys fall, The flowers are in their grassy tombs, And tears of dew are on them all. T. HOOD. In vain to me the smiling mornings shine, And reddening Phoebus lifts his golden fire : The birds in vain their amorous descant join ; Or cheerful fields resume their green attire : These ears, alas ! for other notes repine, A different object do these eyes require : My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine; And in my breast the imperfect joys expire. 2—2 20 Passages for Translation into Yet morning smiles the busy race to cheer, And new-born pleasure brings to happier men : The fields to all their wonted tribute bear : To warm their little loves the birds complain : I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear, And weep the more, because I weep in vain. GRAY. 71 Take, holy earth, all that my soul holds dear : Take that best gift which heaven so lately gave: To Bristol’s fount I bore with trembling care Her faded form; she bowed to taste the wave, And died ! Does youth, does beauty, read the line ? Does sympathetic fear their breasts alarm ? Speak, dead Maria! breathe a strain divine; Even from the grave thou slialt have power to charm. Bid them be chaste, be innocent, like thee; Bid them in duty’s sphere as meekly move ; And if so fair, from vanity as free; As firm in friendship, and as fond in love. w. MASON. 72 Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, A youth to fortune and to fame unknown ; Fair science frown’d not on his humble birth, And melancholy mark’d him for her own. Large was his bounty and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompence as largely send: He gave to misery all he had, a tear, He gain’d from heav’n (’twas all he wish’d) a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose) The bosom of his Father and his God. GRAY. Latin Elegiac Verse. 21 73 He went into the woods a laughing hoy; Each flower was in his heart; the happy bird Flitting across the morning sun, or heard From way-side thicket, was to him a joy: The water-springs, that in their moist employ Leapt from their banks, with many an inward word Spoke to his soul, and every leaf that stirred Found notice from his quickly-glancing eye. There wondrous sleep fell on him: many a year His lids were closed : youth left him, and he woke A careful noter of men’s ways; of clear And lofty spirit: sages, when he spoke, Forgot their systems ; and the worldly-wise Shrunk from the gaze of truth with baffled eyes. 74 Love is an April’s doubtful day: Awhile we see the tempest lower; Anon the radiant heaven survey, And quite forget the flitting shower. The flowers, that hung their languid head, Are burnished by the transient rains; The vines their wonted tendrils spread, And double verdure gilds the plains. The sprightly birds, that drooped no less Beneath the power of rain and wind, In every raptured note express The joy I feel,—when tliou art kind. SHENSTONE. Her tears fell with the dews at even; Her tears fell ere the dews were dried : She could not look on the sweet heaven, Either at morn or eventide. Upon the middle of the night, Waking she heard the night-fowl crow : The cock sung out an hour ere light: From the dark fen the oxen’s low Passages for Translation into Came to her : without hope of change, In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn ; Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn About the lonely moated grange. A. TENNYSON. O pensive Autumn ! how I grieve Thy sorrowing face to see, When languid suns are taking leave Of every drooping tree. Ah, let me not, with heavy eye, This dying scene survey ! Haste, winter, haste; usurp the sky, Complete my bower’s decay. Ill can I bear the motley cast Yon sickening leaves retain ; That speak at once of pleasures past, And bode approaching pain. SHENSTONE. Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind. That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind To war and arms I fly. True : a new mistress now I chase. The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such, As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Lov’d I not honour more. LOVELACE. Latin Elegiac Verse. She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid, whom there were none to praise, And very few to love. A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye ; Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucv ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and oh ! The difference to me. WORDSWORTH. Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast: Still to be powder’d, still perfumed : Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art’s hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicitie a grace; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : Such sweet neglect more taketk me, Than all th’ adulteries of art,— They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. BEN JGNSON. My coursers are fed with the lightning, They drink of the whirlwind’s stream, And when the red morning is bright’ning, They bathe in the fresh sunbeam; They have strength for their swiftness I deem, Then ascend with me, daughter of Ocean. 24 Passages for Translation into I desire: and their speed makes night kindle; I fear: they outstrip the Typhoon ; Ere the cloud piled on Atlas can dwindle, We encircle the earth and the moon : We shall rest from long labours at noon : Then ascend with me, daughter of Ocean. SHELLEY. 81 Could Nature’s bounty satisfy the breast The sons of Italy were surely blest. Whatever fruits in different climes are found, That proudly rise or humbly court the ground ; Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear, Whose bright succession decks the varied year; Whatever sweets salute the northern sky With vernal lives, that blossom but to die ; These, here disporting, own the kindred soil, Nor ask luxuriance from the planter’s toil; While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand To winnow fragrance round the smiling land. GOLDSMITH. 82 Eon he could pipe, and daunce, and caroll sweet, Emongst the shepheards in their shearing feast; As somer’s larke that with her song doth greet The dawning day forth comming from the East. And layes of love he also could compose ; Thrice happie she, whom he to praise did chose. Full many maydens often did him woo, Them to vouchsafe emongst his rimes to name, Or make for them, as he was wont to doo For her that did his hart with love inflame. For which they promised to dight for him Gay chapelets of flowers and gyrlonds trim. Latin Elegiac Verse. 25 83 And many a Nymph both of the wood and brooke, Soone as his oaten pipe began to shrill, Both christall wells and shadie groves forsooke, To hear the charmes of his enchanting skill • And brought him presents, flowres if it were prime, Or mellow fruit if it were harvest time. But he for none of them did care a whit, Yet wood Gods for them often sighed sore : Ne for their gifts unworthie of his wit, Yet not unworthie of the countries store. For one alone he cared, for one he sigh’d His lifes desire and his deare loves delight. o SPENSER. H4 Good Heaven ! what sorrows gloomed that parting day, That called them from their native walks away; W hen the poor exiles, every pleasure past, Hung round the bowers, and fondly look’d their last, And took a long farewell and wish’d in vain For seats like these beyond the western main * And, shuddering still to face the distant deep/ Return d and wept, and still return’d to weep. Hie good old sire the first prepared to go Fo new-found worlds, and wept for others’ woe; But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, He only wish’d for worlds beyond the grave. GOLDSMITH. No more the morn with tepid rays Unfolds the flower of various hue; Noon spreads no more the genial blaze, Nor gentle eve distils the dew. The lingering hours prolong the night, Usurping Darkness shares the day, Her mists restrain the force of light, And Phoebus holds a doubtful sway. Passages for Translation into 26 No music warbles through the grove, No vivid colours paint the plain : No more with devious steps I rove Through verdant paths now sought in vain. s. JOHXSOX. 86 Evex so the gentle Tyrian dame, When neither grief nor love prevail, Saw the dear object of her flame Th* ungrateful Trojan, hoist his sail: Aloud she called to him to stay; The wind bore him and her lost words away. The doleful Ariadne so On the wide shore forsaken stood : “ False Theseus, whither dost thou go V’ Afar false Theseus cut the flood. But Bacchus came to her relief; Bacchus himself’s too weak to ease my grief. COWLEY. 87 Peace, babbling Muse ! I dare not sing what you indite: Her eyes refuse To read the passion which they write. She strikes my lute, but if it sound, Threatens to hurl it on the ground; And I no less her anger dread, Than the poor wretch that feigns him dead, While some fierce lion does embrace His breathless corpse and lick his face; Wrapped up in silent fear he lies, Torn all in pieces, if he cries. WALLER. 88 lx working well, if travel you sustain, Into the wind shall lightly pass the pain ; But of the deed the glory shall remain, And cause your name with worthy wights to reign Latin Elegiac Verse. 27 In working wrong, if pleasure you attain, The pleasure soon shall fade and void as vain. But of the deed throughout the life the shame Endures, defacing you with foul defame; And still torments the mind both night and day; Scant length of time the spot can wash away. Flee then ill-suading Pleasure’s baits untrue, And noble Virtue’s fair renown pursue. N. GEIMOALD. The sun is careering in glory and might, ’Mid the deep blue sky and the cloudlets white; The bright wave is tossing its foam on high, And the summer breezes go lightly by; The air and the water dance, glitter, and play, And why should not I be as merry as they ? The linnet is singing the wild wood through, The fawn’s bounding footstep skims over the dew: The butterfly flits round the flowering tree, And the cowslip and bluebell are bent by the bee; All the creatures that dwell in the forest are gay, And why should not I be as merry as they? MARY RUSSELL MITFORD. I’ve hung upon the ridgy steep Of cliffs, and held the rambling brier; I’ve plunged below the billowy deep, Where air was sent me to respire; I’ve been where hungry wolves retire ; And (to complete my woes) I’ve ran Where Bedlam’s crazy crew conspire Against the life of reasoning man ; I’ve furled in storms the flapping sail, By hanging from the topmast head, I’ve served the vilest slaves in jail, Have picked the vilest things for bread. CRABBE. 28 Passages for Translation into 91 Dry your sweet cheek, long drown’d with sorrow’s raine, Since clouds disperst, suns guild the aire again; Seas chafe and fret and beat and overboile, But turne soon after calme, as balme or oile. Winds have their time to rage; but when they cease, The leavie trees nod in a still-born peace. Your storme is over: Lady, now appeare Like to the peeping spring-time of the yeare; Off then with grave-clothes; put fresh colours on; And glow and flame in your vermilion; LTpon your cheek sate ysides awhile: Now let the Bose raigne like a queene and smile. HERRICK. 92 Busy, curious, thirsty fly, Drink with me, and drink as I: Freely welcome to my cup, Couldst thou sip and sip it up, Make the most of life you may, Life is short, and wears away. Both alike are thine and mine Hastening quick to their decline : Thine’s a summer, mine no more, Though repeated to threescore; Threescore summers, when they’re gone, Will appear as short as' one. ANON. 93 Beloved age of innocence and smiles, When each wing’d hour some new delight beguiles,— When the gay heart, to life’s sweet day-spring true, Still finds some insect pleasure to pursue. Bless’d childhood, hail! thee simply will I sing, And from myself the artless picture bring. Here once again, remote from human noise, I sit me down to think of former joys; Pause on each scene, each treasured scene, once more, And once again each infant walk explore; While as each grove and lawn I recognise, My melted soul suffuses in my eyes. ROGERS. Latin Elegiac Verse . 29 94 See how the feather’d blossoms through the air Traverse a thousand various paths to find On the impurer earth a place that’s fair, Courting the conduct of each faithless wind! Of warmest vapours, which the sun exhales, All are compos’d; and in a short-liv’d hour Their dazzling pride and coyest beauty falls, Dissolved by Phoebus or a weeping shower. All of one matter form’d to one return: Their fall is greatest, who are placed most high: Let not the proud presume, or poorest mourn: Their fate’s decreed, and every one must die. R. VEEL. 95 ^ here these rude rocks on Bernard’s summit nod, Once heavenwards sprung the throne of Pennine Jove, An ancient shrine of hospitable love, Now burns the altar to the Christian’s God. Here peaceful piety, age on age, has trod The waste; still keeps her vigils, takes her rest, Still, as of yore, salutes the coming guest, And cheers the weary as they onward rove, Healing each way-worn limb; or oft will start, Catching the storm-lost wanderer’s sinking cry, Speed the rich cordial to his sinking heart, Chafe his stiff limbs and bid them not to die. So task’d to smooth stern Winter’s drifting wing, And garb the eternal snows in more eternal Spring. D. M. MOIR. Lo, the poor Indian, whose untutor’d mind Sees God in clouds, and hears him in the wind; His soul proud science never taught to stray bar as the solar walk or milky way; Yet simple nature to his hope has giv’n Behind the cloud-topp’d hill an humbler Heaven; Some safer world in depth of woods embrac’d, Some happier island in the watery waste, Passages for Translation into Where slaves once more their native land behold, ISTo fiends torment, nor Christians thirst for gold. To be, contents his natural desire, He asks no angel’s wing, no seraph’s fire; But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company. POPE. So peaceful rests, without a stone, a name, What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame. How lov’d, how honour’d once, avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot; A heap of dust alone remains of thee, ’Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be! Poets themselves must fall, like those they sung, Deaf the prais’d ear, and mute the tuneful tongue. Ev’n he, whose soul now melts in mournful lays, Shall shortly want the generous tear he pays; Then from his closing eyes thy form shall part, And the last pang shall tear thee from my heart; Life’s idle business at one grasp be o’er, The Muse forgot, and thou belov’d no more ! POPE. Lo! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps, Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps: She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies, Smiles on her slumb’ring child with pensive eyes, And weaves a song of melancholy joy:— “ Sleep, image of thy father!—sleep, my boy ! Ho ling’ring hour of sorrow shall be thine; No sigh that rends thy father’s heart and mine, Bright, as his manly sire, the son shall be, In form and soul; but, ah! more blest than he! Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love, at last, Shall soothe his aching heart for all the past; With many a smile my solitude repay, And chase the world’s ungenerous scorn away. T. CAMPBELL. Latin Elegiac J~erse. The dewdrop, that at first of day Hangs on the violet flower, Although it shimmereth in the ray, And trembleth at the Zephyr’s power, Shews not so fair nor pleasantly As love that bursts from beauty’s eye. The little bird that clear doth sing In shelter of green trees, "When flow’rets sweet begin to spring In dew-besprenged leas, Is not so pleasant to mine ear, As love that scantly speaks for fear. So glides along the wanton brook With gentle pace into the main, Courting the banks with amorous look, He never means to see again. And so does fortune use to smile Upon the short-liv’d favourite’s face, Whose swelling hopes she doth beguile, And always casts him in the race. And so doth the fantastic boy, The God of the ill-manag’d flames, Who ne’er kept word in promis’d joy To lover nor to loving dames. So all alike will constant prove, Both Fortune, running streams and Love. W. HERBERT. And hence that calm delight the portrait gives We gaze in every feature till it lives! Still the fond lover sees the absent maid, And the lost friend still lingers in his shade! Say why the pensive widow loves to weep, When on her knee she rocks her babe to sleep: 32 Passages for Translation into Tremblingly still she lifts the veil to trace The father’s features in his infant face. The hoary grandsire smiles the hour away, Won by the raptures of a game at play; He bends to meet each artless burst of joy, Forgets his age and acts again the boy. ROGERS. 102 Alas! in every clime a flying ray Is all we have to cheer our wintry way; And here the unwilling mind may more than trace The general sorrows of the human race : The churlish gales of penury, that blow Cold as the north-wind o’er a waste of snow, To them the gentle gales of bliss deny That on the noon-day bank of leisure lie. Full oft the father, when his sons have grown To manhood, seems their title to disown; And from his nest amid the storms of heaven Drives, eagle-like, those sons as he was driven; With stern composure watches to the plain— And never, eagle like, beholds again! WORDSWORTH. 103 The soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings, With green hath clad the hill and eke the vale; The nightingale, with feathers new, she sings ; The turtle to her make hath told her tale, Summer is come; for every spray now springs; The hart hath hung his old head on the pale; The buck, in brake his winter coat he flings; The fishes fleet with new-repaired scale; The adder, all her slough away she flings; The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale : The busy bee, her honey now she mings; Winter is worn, that was the flower’s bale. And thus I see, among these pleasant things, Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs ! LORD SURREY. Latin Elegiac Verse. 33 By long wars shaken Greece hath sunk at last, Her tasks heroic have her strength surpassed; Her day is spent,—her favouring fortune gone, And in j>ast glories she survives alone. To view her scattered ashes pilgrims come, And sacred memories linger round her tomb : She now retains but traces of her fame,— A lasting, far diffused, and hapless name. J. DUNLOP. In that soft season, when descending show’rs Call forth the greens, and wake the rising flowers; When opening buds salute the welcome day, And earth relenting feels the genial ray; As balmy sleep had charm’d my cares to rest, And love itself was banish’d from my breast, (What time the morn mysterious visions brings, While purer slumbers spread their golden wings,) A train of phantoms in wild order rose, And join’d, this intellectual scene compose. I stood, methought, betwixt earth, seas and skies; The whole creation opened to my eyes : In air self-balanced hung the globe below, Where mountains rise, and circling oceans flow; Here naked rocks and empty wastes were seen, There towery cities, and the forests green;* Here sailing ships delight the wandering eyes; There trees and intermingled temples rise: How a clear sun the shining scene displays, The transient landscape now in clouds decays. O’er the wide prospect as I gazed around, Sudden I heard a wild promiscuous sound, Like broken thunders that at distance roar, Or billows murmuring on the hollow shore : Then gazing up a glorious pile beheld, Whose towering summit ambient clouds conceal’d. High on a rock of ice the structure lay, Steep its ascent, and slippery was the way; 3 34 Passages for Translation into The wondrous rock like Parian marble shone, And seem’d to distant sight, of solid stone. Inscriptions here of various names I view’d, The greater part by hostile time subdued; Yet wide was spread their fame in ages past, And poets once had promised they should last. Some fresh engrav’d appear’d of wits renown’d : I look’d again, nor could their trace be found. POPE. 108 I cake not, Fortune, what you me deny, You cannot rob me of free Nature’s grace; You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shews her brightening face; You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns by living stream, at eve ; Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great children leave : Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave. THOMSON. 109 As shepherds through the vapours grey Behold the dawning light, Yet doubt it is the rising day, Or meteor of the night ; So varying passions in my breast Its former calm destroy— By Hope and Fear at once oppress’d, I tremble at my joy. SHERIDAN. no As the fond bird through night and morn Still flutters round the rifled nest, And loves the scene, though now forlorn, Where once her brooding heart was blessed : So do I love to hover here, Where dreams of bliss I once enjoyed, And haunt the spot, though fate severe Has all my brood of hope destroy’d. Latin Elegiac Verse . 35 hi When lovely -woman stoops to folly, And finds, too late, that men betray, What charms can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom—is, to die. _ GOLDSMITH. 112 Evening now from purple wings Sheds the grateful gifts she brings ; Brilliant drops bedeck the mead, Cooling breezes shake the reed; Shake the reed, and curl the stream, Silver’d o’er with Cynthia’s beam; Near the checquer’d, lonely grove, Hears and keeps thy secrets, love. S. JOHNSON. 113 When thy last breath, ere nature sunk to rest, Thy meek submission to thy Cod expressed; When thy last look, e’er thought and feeling fled, A mingled gleam of hope and triumph shed; What to thy soul its glad assurance gave, Its hope in death, its triumph in the grave? The sweet remembrance of unblemished youth, Th’ inspiring voice of innocence and truth. ROGERS. 114 When from the heart, where sorrow sits, Its dusky shadow mounts too high, And o’er the changing aspect flits, And clouds the brow or fills the eye : Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink, My thoughts their dungeon know too well: Back to my breast the wanderers shrink, And droop within their silent cell. BYRON. 3—2 36 Passages for Translation into 115 Header! if to thy bosom cling the pain Of recent sorrow, combated in vain; Or if thy cherished grief hath failed to thwart Time, still intent on his insidious part, Lulling the mourner’s best good thoughts asleep, Pilfering regrets we would but cannot keep; Bear with him, judge him gently, who makes known His bitter loss by this memorial stone; And pray, that in his faithful breast the grace Of resignation find a hallowed place. WORDSWORTH. 11 6 Beneath the chilling airs, when I behold Thee, lovely flow’r, recline thy languid head : When I behold thee drooping, pale and cold, And sorrowing for thy vernal sisters dead; Methinks I mark the orphan child of woe, Exposed to hardship from his earliest birth, Bending beneath the wintry storms that blow, His only portion a rude spot of earth; Yet sure like thine, meek flow’r, his spring draws near, And Heaven’s sweet sunshine shall inhale each tear. 117 Painter her slow step falls from day to day, Death’s hand is heavy on her darkening brow: Yet doth she fondly cling to earth and say, ‘ I am content to die—but oh ! not now !— Not while the blossoms of the joyous spring Make the warm air such luxury to breathe; Not while the birds such songs of gladness sing: Not while bright flowers around my footsteps wreathe. Spare me, great God! lift up my drooping brow, I am content to die—but oh ! not now ! ’ Latin Elegiac Verse . 37 Il8 nOIHN ns ftioroio rapoi rplfiov; elv ayoprj pev vecnea nal ya\c7rai nprj^ies' ev be bopois efrpovribes' ev b ’ aypois naparuiv aXis • ev be OaXdavrj rap[3os • eV't tjeivrjs b', rjv pev e^rjs ri, beos‘ Tjv b * dnopfjs, avnjpov e\eis yapov ovie apepipvos eaaear ov yapeeis • eV eprjporepos . re/ci/a novor Tvrjpaxns aivais fiios' ai veorrjres uippoves' ai iroXial S’ epnaXiv abpavees. r)v apa rolvbe bvoiv evos aipeais , 7; ro yevecrOai prjbenor y tj ro davelv avrina rmropevov. 119 IIANTOIHN fiioroio rapois rplfiov elv ayoprj pev y nvbea kcu mvvrcu nprj^ies’ ev be bopois dpnavp’ ev b' ay pots (fivaios x^P Li ' *v be OaXacrarj nepbos • en\ £elvrjs, rjv pev %XV S TL > kXcos' rjv b anoprjsy povos oibas • eyety yapov olkos dpiarros ecraerai' ov yapeeis * er eXa(j)porepdid renva 7toSos' dtppovns dnais ftios. ai veorrjres parpaXeai’ noXia'i b * epnaXiv evaefiees. ovk apa rcov (Wow evos alpeais, tj ro yevecrdai prjbenor } tj ro Oaveiv' ndvra yap ecrBXa fiico. 120 Lo ! where the rosy-bosom’d hours, Fair Venus’ train appear, Disclose the long-expecting flowers, And wake the purple year! The Attic warbler pours her throat, Responsive to the cuckoo’s note, The untaught harmony of spring: While, whispering pleasure as they fly, Cool zephyrs through the clear blue sky Their gathered fragrance fling. Passages for Translation into Where’er the oak’s thick branches stretch A broader browner shade; Where’er the rude and moss-grown beech O’er-canopies the glade; Beside some water’s rushy brink With me the Muse shall sit, and think (At ease reclined in rustic state) How vain the ardour of the crowd, How low, how little are the proud, How indigent the great. T. GRAY. I weigh not Fortune’s frown or smile, I joy not much in earthly joys ; I seek not state, I reck not style, I am not fond of fancy’s toys; I rest so pleas’d with what I have, I wish no more, no more I crave. I quake not at the thunder’s crack, I tremble not at noise of war, I swoon not at the news of wrack, I shrink not at a blazing star: I fear not loss, I hope not gain, I envy none, I none disdain. I see ambition never pleas’d, I see some Tantals starv’d in store; I see gold’s dropsy seldom eas’d, I see e’en Midas gape for more. I neither want, nor yet abound: Enough’s a feast: content is crown’d. I feign not friendship where I hate, I fawn not on the great in show, I prize, I praise a mean estate, Neither too lofty nor too low; This, this is all my choice, my cheer, A mind content, r conscience clear. J. SYLVESTER. Latin Elegiac Verse. 4 She was not fair to outward view As many maidens be; Her loveliness I never knew Until she smiled on me : Oil, then I saw lier eye was bright, A well of love—a spring of light. But now her looks are coy and cold ; To mine they ne’er reply ; And yet I cease not to behold The love-light in her eye : Her very frowns are better far, Than smiles of many maidens are. HARTLEY COLERIDGE. 5 O shore more sweet than life! O hated sea! How blest to anchor in my loved retreat! This day I’ve lived : And now malignant Bate The hour that’s past can never snatch from me. There was the combat of the winds and waves; Here a meek stream the smiling land divides : There seamen mourn the vessels’ shattered sides ; Here in some brook his flock the shepherd laves. There yawns with instant death the wide abyss ; Of Ceres here are reaped the glad returns : Mid waters there a thirst devouring burns : Here the lip moistens with the faithful kiss. J. DUNLOP. 6 My conscience is my crown, Contented thoughts my rest: My heart is happy in itself: My bliss is in my breast. Enough, I reckon wealth : A mean, the surest lot; That is too high for base contempt, Too low for envy’s shot. 40 Passages for Translation into My wishes are hut few, All easy to fulfil; I make the limits of my power The hounds unto my will. R. SOUTHWELL. 127 Of old sat Freedom on the heights, The thunders breaking at her feet : Above her shook the starry lights : She heard the torrents meet. Within her place she did rejoice, Self-gathered in her prophet-mind, But fragments of her mighty voice Came rolling on the wind. Then stept she down thro’ - town and field, To mingle with the human race, And part by part to men revealed The fulness of her face. A. TENNYSON. / 128 If Jove should make a Queen of flowers, The rose his queen should be; • The ornament of summer-bowers, The pride of earth is she. Eye of flowrets ! meadow’s glow, Dazzling like lightning glare, Thence fraught with love sweet odours blow, And Yenus nestles there. Her leaflets float like airy tresses, Her buds the roving gale caresses; Those buds that coy]y love to play, And Zephyr with a smile repay. Lati7i Elegiac Verse. 41 They tell ns of an Indian tree, Which, howsoe’er the sun and sky May tempt its boughs to wander free, And shoot and blossom wide and high, Yet better loves to bend its arms Downwards again to that dear earth, From which the life, that fills and warms ^ Its grateful being, first had birth. E en thus, though wooed by flattering friends, And fed with fame, (if fame it be,) This heart, my own dear mother, bends With love’s true instinct back to thee. T. MOORE. Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound 1 Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground 1 Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music still ! Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ; A privacy of glorious light is thine; Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Of harmony, with instinct more divine j Type of the wise who soar, but never roam ; True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home ! WORDSWORTH. Thus may that lovely bloom for ever glow ! Thus may those eyes for ever shine ! O mayst thou never feel the scourge of woe ! O never be misfortune thine ! He er may the crazy hand of pining care Thy mirth and youthful spirits break! Hever come sickness or love-cross’d despair, To pluck the roses from thy cheek ! 42 Passages for Translation into But bliss be thine—The cares, which love supplies, Be all the cares that you shall dread; The grateful drop, now glistening in your eyes, Be all the tears you ever shed! SHERIDAN. 132 Thyrsis, when we parted, swore Ere the spring he would return— Ah ! what means yon violet flower, And the bud that decks the thorn 1 ? ’Twas the lark that upward sprung! ’Iwas the nightingale that sung ! Idle notes ! untimely green ! Why this unavailing haste ? Western gales and skies serene Prove not always winter past. Cease my doubts, my fears to move—• Spare the honour of my love. T. GRAY. 133 Dear is my little native vale, The ring-dove builds and murmurs there, Close to my cot she tells her tale, To every passing villager; The squirrel leaps from tree to tree, And shells his nuts at liberty. Through orange-groves and myrtle-bowers, That breathe a gale of fragrance round, I charm the fairy-footed hours, With my lov’d lute’s romantic sound; Or crowns of living laurel weave, Eor those that win the race at eve. S. ROGERS. Latin Elegiac Verse. 43 134 Wish not for beauty’s darling features Moulded by nature’s fondling pow’r, For fairest forms ’mong human creatures Shine but the pageant of an hour. I saw, the pride of all the meadow, At noon a gay narcissus blow Upon a river’s bank, whose shadow Bloom’d in the silver waves below; By noontide’s heat its youth was wasted, The waters, as they pass’d, complain’d : At eve its glories all were blasted, And not one former tint remain’d. COWPEB. 135 How sleep the brave, who sink to rest By all their country’s wishes blest % When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Beturns to deck their hallow’d mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod, Than Fancy’s feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay, And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there. COLLIES. 136 Be taught, vain man ! how fleeting all thy joys, Thy boasted grandeur and thy glittering store; Death comes and all thy fancied bliss destroys, Quick as a dream, it fades and is no more. And, sons of Sorrow ! though the threatening storm Of angry Fortune overhang awhile, Let not her frowns your inward peace deform; Soon happier days in happier climes shall smile. 44 Passages for Translation into Through Earth’s throng’d visions while we toss forlorn, ’Tis tumult all and rage and restless strife; But these shall vanish like the dreams of morn, When Death awakes us to immortal life. BEATTIE. T37 Say, Myra, why is gentle love A stranger to that mind, Which pity and esteem can move, Which can be just and kind 1 ? Is it because you fear to share The ills that love molest; The jealous doubt, the tender care, That rack the amorous breast % Alas ! by some degree of woe We every bliss must gain; The heart can ne’er a transport know, That never feels a pain. 138 To him who in an hour must die, Not swifter seems that hour to fly, Than slow the minutes seem to me, Which keep me from the sight of thee. Not more that trembling wretch would give Another day or year to live, Than I to shorten what remains Of that long hour which thee detains. Oh ! come to my impatient arms! Oh ! come with all thy heavenly charms; At once to justify and pay The pain I feel from this delay. Latin Elegiac Verse. 45 139 When I think on your truth, I doubt you no more, I blame all the fears I gave way to before, I say to my heart, “ Be at rest, and believe That whom once she has chosen, she never will leave.” But ah ! when I think on each ravishing grace, That plays in the smiles of that heavenly face, My heart beats again; I again apprehend Some fortunate rival in every friend. These painful suspicions you cannot remove, Since you neither can lessen your charms nor my love; But doubts caus’d by passion you never can blame, Bor they are not ill-founded, or you feel the same. 140 Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Bain-awakened flowers, All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass. Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine; I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain 1 ? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind ? What ignorance of pain ? SHELLEY. 141 It is the hour when from the boughs The nightingale’s high note is heard ; It is the hour when lover’s vows Seem sweet in every whisper’d word; 48 Passages for Translation into And gentle winds and waters near Make music to the lonely ear. Each flower the dews have lightly wet, And in the sky the stars are met, And on the wave is deeper blue, And on the leaf a browner hue, And in the heaven that clear obscure, So softly dark and darkly pure, Which follows the decline of day, As twilight melts beneath the moon away. BYRON. 142 The weary mariner so fast not flies An howling tempest, harbour to obtain, Nor shepherd hastes, whei? frays of wolves arise, So fast to fold, to save his bleating train, As I, wing’d with contempt and just disdain, Now fly the world and what it most doth prize, And sanctuary seek, free to remain From wounds of abject time and envy’s eyes. Once did this world to me seem sweet and fair, While senses light mind’s prospective kept blind. Now like imagin’d landscape in the air, And weeping rainbows, her best joys I find: Or if ought here is had that praise should have, It is an obscure and a silent grave. DRUMMOND. 143 At summer’s eve, when Heaven’s ethereal bow Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below, Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky? Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear More sweet than all the landscape smiling near?—- ’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue. Thus with delight we linger to survey The promised joys of life’s unmeasured way; Latin Elegiac Verse. 47 Thus, from afar, each dim-discovered scene More pleasing seems than all the past hath been, And every form, that Fancy can repair From dark oblivion, glows divinely there. T. CAMPBELL. 144 But canst thou wield the sword and bend the bow? With active force repel the sturdy foe ? When the loud tumult speaks the battle nigh, And winged death in whistling arrows fly;° Wilt thou, tho’ wounded, yet undaunted stay, Perform thy part and share the dangerous day? Then .as thy strength decays, thy heart will fail, Thy limbs all trembling, and thy cheeks all pale; With fruitless sorrow, thou, inglorious maid, Will weep thy safety by thy love betray’d: * Then to thy friend, by foes o’ercharg’d, deny Thy little useless aid, and coward fly: Then wilt thou curse the chance that made thee love A banished man condemn’d in lonely woods to rove. PRIOR. 145 Just Guardian of man’s social bliss, for thee The paths of danger gladly would I tread : For thee contented join the glorious dead, Who nobly scorned a life that was not free. But worse than death it pains my soul to see The lord of ruin, by wild uproar led, Hell’s first-born, Anarchy, exalt his head, And seize thy throne, and bid us bow the knee. What though his iron sceptre, blood-imbrued, Crush half the nations with resistless might ? Never shall this firm spirit be subdued : In chains, in exile, still the chanted rite, O Liberty ! to thee shall be renew’d : O still be sea-girt Albion thy delight! POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 48 Passages for Translation into 146 Oh ! who can tell, save those whose hearts have known, And wept o’er bitter partings of their own, How slowly wears the solitary day, When those we fondly love are far away; How vain each care our sorrows to beguile, How cold, how sickening, Pleasure’s fairest smile, How clings the heart to all that once has been, Each look of fondness, each remember’d scene: Oh ! in that sullen loneliness of soul, What frenzied thoughts will o’er the bosom roll! Love, Fear, Suspicion, mingle wildly there, And the dark bodings of conceal’d Despair; Whilst Memory’s visions crowd the rayless gloom, And Hope looks eager only to the tomb. CAMPBELL. 147 On thy grey bark, in witness of my flame, I carve Miranda’s cypher—Beauteous tree ! Graced with the lovely letters of her name, Henceforth be sacred to my love and me ! Tho’ the tall elm, the oak, and darker pine, With broader arms, may noon’s fierce ardours break, To shelter me and her I love, be thine ; And thine to see her smile and hear her speak. Ho bird ill-omen’d round thy graceful head Shall clamour harsh, or wave hist weary wing, But fern and flowers arise beneath thy shade, Where the wild bees their lullabies shall sing. And in thy boughs the murmuring ring-dove rest; And there the nightingale shall build her nest. FROM THE ITALIAN. 148 Lyke as a ship, that through the Ocean wyde, By conduct of some star, doth make her way; When as a storm hath dimn’d her trusty guyde, Out of her course doth wander far astray! Latin Elegiac Verse. 49 So I, whose star that wont with her Bright ray Me to direct with cloudes is overcast, " Doe wander now, in darkness and dismay, Through hidden perils round about me plast; Yet hope I well that, when the storme is past, My Helice, the lode-star of my lyfe, Will shine again and look on me at last, With lovely light to clear my cloudy grief. Till then I wander carefull, comfortlesse, In secret sorrowe and sad pensivenesse. SHAKESPERE. 149 For deedes doe die, how ever noblie doune, And thoughts of men do as themselves decay : But wise words taught in u umbers for to runne, Kecorded by the Muses, live for ay ; Ye may with storming showers be washt away, Ye bitter-breathing windes with harmfull blast, Yor age nor envie shall them ever wast. In vaine do earthly Princes then, in vaine, £eeke with Pyramides, to heaven aspired ; Or huge Colosses, built with costlie paine; Or brazen Pillours, never to be fired ; Or Shrines, made of the mettall most desired; To make their memories for ever live : For how can mortall immortalitie give ? SPENSER. 150 Sweet bird, that sing’st away the early hours Of winters past or coming, void of care, Well pleased with delights that present are, Fair seasons, budding spray, sweet-smelling flowers: To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers, Thou thy Creator’s goodness dost declare, And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare, A stain to human sense, in sin that lowers. What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs (Attired in sweetness) sweetly is not driven 4 50 Passages for Translation into Quite to forget earth’s turmoils, spites and wrongs, And lift a reverend eye and thought to heaven ? Sweet, artless songster, thou my mind dost raise To airs of spheres, yea, and to Angels’ lays. DRUMMOND. 151 Queen of the silver bow ! by thy pale beam Alone and pensive I delight to stray, And watch thy shadow trembling in the stream, Or mark the floating clouds that cross thy way. And while I gaze, thy mild and placid light Sheds a soft calm upon my troubled breast; And oft I think, fair planet of the night! That in thy orb the wretched may have rest; The sufferers of the earth perhaps may go, Released by death, to thy benignant sphere; And the sad children of despair and woe Forget, in thee, their cup of sorrow here. Oh that I soon may reach thy world serene, Poor wearied pilgrim in this toiling scene ! c. SMITH. 152 The wind, that beats the mountain, blows More softly round the open wold, And gently comes the world to those That are cast in gentler mould. And me this knowledge bolder made, Or else I had not dared to flow In these words toward you, and invade Even with a verse your holy woe. ’Tis strange that those we lean on most, Those in whose laps our limbs are nursed, Fall into shadow, soonest lost : Those we love first are taken first. God gives us love. Something to love ITe lends us; but, when love is grown To ripeness, that on which it throve Falls off, and love is left alone. A. TENNYSON. Latin Elegiac Verse. 51 153 I loved my home, but tremble now To view my father’s altered brow, I feared to meet my mother’s eye And hear her voice of agony; I feared to view my native spot, Where he who loved it now was not. The pleasures of my home were fled, My brother slumbered with the dead. I drew near to my father’s gate, No smiling faces met me now: I entered—all was desolate; Grief sat upon my mother’s brow; I heard her as she kissed me, sigh; A tear stood in my father’s eye; My little brothers round me pressed, In gay unthinking childhood blessed. Long, long that hour has passed; but when Shall I forget its gloomy scene! MOULTRIE. 154 Each evening I behold the setting sun With downward speed into the ocean run : Yet the same light (pass but some fleeting hours) Exerts his vigour, and renews his pow’rs; Starts the bright race again : his constant flame Lises and sets, returning still the same. I mark the various fury of the winds : These neither seasons guide nor order binds: They now dilate and now contract their force: Various their speed, but endless is their course. From his first fountain and beginning ouze Down to the sea each brook and torrent flows: Tho’ sundry drops or leave or swell the stream, The whole still runs, with equal pace, the same. Still other waves supply the rising urns; And the eternal flood no want of water mourns. PRIOR. 4—2 52 Passages for Translation into 155 Weep not over poet’s wrong, Mourn not his mischances; Sorrow is the source of song, And of gentle fancies. Sweetest gleam the morning flowers, When in tears they waken; Earth enjoys refreshing showers, When the boughs are shaken. Flowers by heedless footsteps press’d All their sweets surrender; Gold must brook the fiery test, Ere it show its splendour. Stars come forth, when Night her shroud Draws, as daylight fainteth ; Only on the tearful cloud God his rainbow painteth. ANON. 156 Above the sky was calm and fair, The winds did cease and clouds were fled, Aurora scattered Phcebus’ hair, New risen from her rosy bed : At whose approach blithe Flora strew Both mead and mountain with her flowers, While Zephyr sweetest odours threw About the field and leafy bowers. The woods and waters left their sound, No tenderest twig was seen to move : The beast lay couched on the ground, The winged people perch’d above; Save Philomel, who did renew Her wonted plaints unto the Morn, That seem’d indeed her state to rue By shedding tears upon the thorn. h. peacham. Latin Elegiac Verse. 53 157 Why fearest thou thy outward foe, When thou thyself thy harm dost feed? Of grief or hurt, of pain or wo, Within each thing is sown the seed. So fine was never yet the cloth, No smith so hard his ir’n did beat, But th’ one consumed was with moth, The other with canker all-to fret. The knotty oak and wainscot old, Within doth eat the silly worm : E’en so, a mind in envy roll’d Always within itself doth bum. Thus every thing that Nature wrought Within itself his hurt doth bear : No outward harm need to be sought, Where enemies be within so near. ANON. 158 I saw the virtuous man contend With life’s unnumber’d woes; And he was poor—without a friend— Press’d by a thousand foes. I saw the passion’s pliant slave In gallant trim and gay; His course was pleasure’s placid wave, His life a summer’s day. And I was caught in Polly’s snare, And join’d her giddy train— But found her soon the nurse of Care, And Punishment and Pain. There surely is some guiding Pow’r, Which rightly suffers wrong— Give Yice to bloom its little hour, But Virtue, late and long. STRANGFORD. 54 Passages for Translation into 159 Suns that set, and moons that wane, Rise and are restored again : Stars that orient day subdues, Night at her return renews. Herbs and flowers, the beauteous birth Of the genial womb of earth, Suffer but a transient death, From the winter’s cruel breath : Zephyr speaks; serener skies Warm the glebe, and they arise. We, alas ! earth’s haughty kings, We that promise mighty things, Losing soon life’s happy prime, Droop, and fade in little time. Spring returns, but not our bloom, Still ’tis winter in the tomb. COWPER. 160 The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, And surly Winter grimly flies; Now crystal clear are the falling waters, And bonnie blue are the sunny skies ; Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning. The ev’ning gilds the ocean’s swell; All creatures joy in the sun’s returning, And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell. The flowery Spring leads sunny Summer, And yellow Autumn presses near, Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter, Till smiling Spring again appear. Thus seasons dancing, life advancing, Old Time and Nature their changes tell, But never ranging, still unchanging, I adore my bonnie Bell. BURNS. Latin Elegiac Verse. r k oo 161 My banks they are furnished with bees, Whose murmur invites one to sleep, My grottos are shaded with trees, And my hills are white-over wfith sheep. I seldom have met with a loss, Such health do my fountains bestow; My fountains, all bordered with moss, Where the harebells and violets grow. Not a pine in my grove is there seen, But with tendrils of woodbine is bound ; Not a beech’s more beautiful green, But a sweet-brier twines it around; Not my fields in the prime of the year More charms than my cattle unfold : Not a brook that is limpid and clear, But it glitters with fishes of gold. SHENSTONE. 162 Fate gave the word, the arrow sped, And pierced my darling’s heart: And with him all the joys are fled Life can to me impart. By cruel hands the sapling drops, In dust dishonour’d laid : So fell the pride of all my hopes, My age’s future shade. The mother-linnet in the brake Bewails her ravished young : So I, for my lost darling’s sake, Lament the live-day long. Death, oft I’ve fear’d thy fatal blow,— Now, fond I bare my breast, O, do thou kindly lay me low With him I love, at rest! BURNS. 56 Passages for Translation into 163 Why sitt’st thou by that ruined ball, Thou aged carle so stern and gray'? Dost thou its former pride recall, Or ponder how it passed away ? “Know’st thou not me?” the deep Voice cried, “So long enjoyed, so oft misused— Alternate, in thy fickle pride, Desired, neglected, and accused? Before my breath, like blazing flax, Man and his marvels pass away; And changing empires wane and wax, Are founded, flourish and decay. Redeem thine hours—the space is brief— While in my glass the sand-grains shiver, And measureless thy joy or grief, When Time and thou shalt part for ever !” SIR W. SCOTT. 164 Thro’ groves sequestered, dark and still, Low vales, and mossy cells among, In silent paths the careless rill With languid murmurs steals along. Awhile it plays with circling sweep, And lingering leaves its native plain ; Then pours impetuous down the steep, And mingles with the boundless main. O let my years thus devious glide, Through silent scenes obscurely calm : Nor wealth nor strife pollute the tide, Nor honour’s sanguinary palm. When labour tires, and pleasure palls, Still let the stream untroubled be, As down the steep of age it falls, And mingles with eternity. HAWKESWORTII. Latin Elegiac Verse* 57 165 Their groves o’ sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume, Far dearer to me yon lone glen o’ green breckan 1 , Wi’ the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom. Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers Where the blue-bell and go wan 2 lurk lowly unseen, For there, lightly tripping arnang the wild flowers, A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. Though rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys, And cauld Caledonia’s blast on the wave; Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace, What are they the haunts o’ the tyrant and slave ! The slave’s spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains, The brave Caledonian views wi’ disdain; He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, Save love’s willing fetters, the chains o’ his Jean. BURNS. 166 Blows not a blossom on the breast of Spring, Breathes not a gale along the bending mead, Trills not a songster of the soaring wing, But fragrance, health and melody succeed. No titled name, no envy-teasing dome, No glittering wealth my tutor’d wishes crave ; So health and peace be near my humble home, A cool stream murmur, and a green tree wave. When waves the grey light o’er the mountain’s head, Then let me meet the morn’s first beauteous ray : Carelessly wander from my sylvan shed, And catch the sweet breath of the rising day. Nor seldom, loit’ring as I muse along, Mark from what flower the breeze its sweetness bore; Or listen to the labour-soothing song Of bees, that range the thymy uplands o’er. LANGHORNE. 1 Fern. 2 The flower of tlie wild daisy, &c. 58 Passages for Translation into 167 Winds, whisper gently while she sleeps, And fan her with your cooling wings, Whilst she her drops of beauty weeps, From pure and yet-unrivall’d springs. Glide over beauty’s field, her face, To kiss her lip and cheek be bold : But with a calm and stealing pace, Neither too rude nor yet too cold, Play in her beams, and crisp her hair, With such a gale as wings soft love ; And with so sweet, so rich an air, As breathes from the Arabian grove. A breath as hush’d as lover’s sigh, Or that unfolds the morning’s door ; Sweet as the winds that gently fly To sweep the spring’s enamell’d floor. COTTON. 168 How pleasant is the opening year ! The clouds of winter melt away; The flowers in beauty re-appear; The songster carols from the spray; Lengthens the more refulgent day; And bluer glows the arching sky ; All things around us seem to say— “ Christian! direct thy thoughts on high.” In darkness, through the dreary length Of winter, slept both bud and bloom ; But nature now puts forth her strength, And starts renew’d, as from the tomb; Behold an emblem of thy doom, O man !—a star hath shone to save— And morning yet shall re-illume The midnight darkness of the grave. D. M. MOIR. Latin Elegiac Verse. 59 169 With head reclin’d, the snowdrop see, The first of Flora’s progeny, In virgin modesty appear, To hail and welcome in the year! Fearless of winter, it defies The rigour of inclement skies, And early hastens forth to bring The tidings of approaching Spring. Though, simple in its dress and plain, It ushers in a beauteous train ; And claims, bow gaudy e’er they be, The merit of precedency. All that the gay or sweet compose, The pink, the violet and the rose, In fair succession as they blow, Their glories to the snowdrop owe. 170 The bird let loose in Eastern skies, When hast’ning fondly home, Ne’er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies Where idle warblers roam. But high she shoots through air and light, Above all low delay, Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, Nor shadow dims her way; So grant me, God, from every care, And stain of passion free, Aloft, through Virtue’s purer air, To hold my course to Thee ! No sin to cloud, no lure to stay My Soul, as home she springs;— Thy Sunshine on her joyful way, Thy Freedom in her wings ! T. MOORE. 60 Passages for Translation into 171 My soul is dark—Oh! quickly string The harp I yet can brook to hear; And let thy gentle lingers fling Its melting murmurs o’er mine ear. If in this heart a hope be dear, That sound shall charm it forth again: If in these eyes there lurk a tear, ’Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain. But bid the strain be wild and deep, FTor let the notes of joy be first : I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep, Or else this heavy heart will burst; For it hath been by sorrow nursed, And ached in sleepless silence long ; And now ’tis doomed to know the worst, And break at once—or yield to song. BYKOST. 172 This is the sable stone, this is the cave, And womb of earth that doth his corpse embrace While others sing his praise, let me engrave These bleeding numbers to adorn the place. Here will I paint the character of woe, Here will I pay my tribute to the dead : And here my faithful tears in showers shall flow, To humanize the flints whereon I tread. What though I mourn my matchless loss alone, And none between my weakness judge and me % Yet e’en these pensive walls allow my moan, Whose doleful echo to my plaints agree. But is he gone, and dwell I rhyming here, As if some Muse would listen to my lay! When all distuned sit waiting for their dear, And bathe the bank where he was wont to play. Latin Elegiac Verse. Come, take thy harp; *tis vain to muse Upon the gathering ills we see ; Oh ! take thy harp and let me lose All thoughts of ill in hearing thee. Sing to me, love!—though death were near, Thy song could make my soul forget— Nay, nay, in pity, dry that tear, All may be well, be happy yet. Let me but see that snowy arm, Once more upon the dear harp lie, And I will cease to dream of harm, Will smile at fate, while thou art nigh. Give me that strain of mournful touch, We us’d to love long, long ago, Before our hearts had known as much As now, alas! they bleed to know. T. MOORE. Now spring has clad the groves in green, And strewed the lea wi’ flowers ; The furrow’d, waving corn is seen Bejoice in fostering showers; While ilka 1 thing in nature join Their sorrows to forego, O J O why thus all alone are mine The weary steps of woe ! The trout within yon wimpling 2 burn Glides swift, a silver dart, And safe beneath the shady thorn Defies the angler’s art: My life was ance that careless stream, That wanton trout was I; But love, wi’ unrelenting beam, Has scorched my fountains dry. BURNS. 2 meandering. Passages for Translation into The little flow’ret’s peaceful lot, In yonder cliff that grows, Which, save the linnet’s flight, I wot, Hae ruder visit knows, Was mine; till love has o’er me past, And blighted a’ my bloom. And now beneath the withering blast My youth and joy consume. The waken’d lav’rock warbling springs, And climbs the early sky, Winnowing blithe her dewy wings In morning’s rosy eye; As little reck’d I sorrow’s power, Until the flowery snare O’ witching love, in luckless hour, Made me the thrall o’ care. BURNS. How nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o’ daisies white Out o’er the grassy lea: How Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, And glads the azure skies; But nocht can glad the weary wight That fast in durance lies. How lav’rocks wake the merry morn, Aloft on dewy wing; The merle 1 , in his noontide bow’r, Makes woodland echoes ring; The mavis 2 wild, wi’ mony a note, Sings drowsy day to rest ; In love and freedom they rejoice, Wi’ care nor thrall opprest. BURNS. 1 blackbird. thrush. Latin Elegiac Verse. 6 ,- Now blooms the lily by the bank, The primrose down the brae 1 ; The hawthorn’s budding in the glen, And milk-white is the slae 8 : The meanest hind in fair Scotland May rove their sweets amang ; But I, the Queen of a’ Scotland, Maun lie in prison strang. My son ! my son ! may kinder stars Upon thy fortune shine; And may those pleasures gild thy reign, That ne’er wad blink on mine ! God keep thee frae 3 thy mother’s faes 4 , Or turn their hearts to thee; And where thou meet’st thy mother’s friend, Bemember him for me! BURNS. 'Tis past : the iron north has spent his rage; Stern winter now resigns the length’ning dav : rm 1 ^ O O %/ * ihe stormy howlings of the winds assuage, And warm o’er ether western breezes play. Of genial heat and cheerful light the source, From southern climes, beneath another sky, The Sun, returning, wheels his golden course: Before his beams all noxious vapours fly. Bar to the north grim winter draws his train, To his own clime, to Zembla’s frozen shore ; Where, throned on ice, he holds eternal reign ; W here whirlwinds madden, and where tempests roar. Loosed from the bands of frost, the verdant ground Again puts on her robe of cheerful green—• Again puts forth her flowers; and all around Smiling the cheerful face of spring is seen. 1 hillock. 2 sloe. 3 from. 4 foes. 64 Passages for Translation into 179 Now spring returns: but not to me returns The vernal joy my better years have known; Dim in my breast life’s dying taper burns, And all the joys of life with health are flown. Starting and shivering in the inconstant wind, Meagre and pale, the ghost of what I was, Beneath some blasted tree I lie reclin’d, And count the silent moments as they pass: The winged moments, whose unstaying speed No art can stop, or in their course arrest; Whose flight shall shortly count me with the dead, And lay me down in peace with them that rest. 180 Oft morning dreams presage approaching fate, And morning dreams, as poets tell, are true. Led by pale ghosts, I enter death’s dark gate, And bid the realms of light and life adieu! I hear the helpless wail, the shriek of woe; I see the muddy wave, the dreary shore, The sluggish streams that slowly creep below, Which mortals visit and return no more. Farewell, ye blooming fields ! ye cheerful plains! Enough for me the churchyard’s lowly mound, Where Melancholy with still Silence reigns, And the rank grass waves o’er the cheerless ground. There let me sleep, forgotten, in the clay, When death shall shut these weary aching eyes, Best in the hope of an eternal day, Till the long night is gone and the last morn arise. MICHAEL BRUCE. 181 Born in yon blaze of orient sky, Sweet May! thy radiant form unfold; TJnclose thy blue voluptuous eye, And wave thy shadowy locks of gold. For thee the fragrant zephyrs blow, For thee descends the sunny shower; The rills in softer murmurs flow, And brighter blossoms gem the bower. Latin Elegiac Verse. 65 Light graces decked in flowery wreaths, And tiptoe joys their hands combine ) And Love his sweet contagion breathes, And, laughing, dances round thy shrine. Warm with new life, the glittering throng On quivering fin and rustling wing, Delighted join their votive song, And hail thee Goddess of the Spring! DARWIN. 182 The clouds that wrap the setting sun, When Autumn’s softest gleams are ending, Where all bright hues together run In sweet confusion blending:— Why, as we watch their floating wreath, Seem they the breath of life to breathe? To Fancy’s eye their motions prove, They mantle round the Sun for love. When up some woodland dale we catch The many-twinkling smile of ocean, Or with pleas’d ear bewilder’d watch His chime of endless motion \ Still, as the surging waves retire, They seem to grasp with strong desire, Such signs of love old Ocean gives, We cannot choose but think he lives. KEBLE. 183 Ethereal race, inhabitants of air, Who hymn your God amid the secret grove; Ye unseen beings, to my harp repair, And raise majestic strains or melt in love. Those tender notes, how kindly they upbraid, With what soft woe they thrill the lover’s heart! Sure from the hand of some unhappy maid, Who died for love, these sweet complainings part. 0 66 Passages for Translation into But hark! that strain was of a graver tone, On the deep strings his hand some hermit throws; Or he, the sacred bard*, who sat alone In the drear waste, and wept his people’s woes. Such was the song which Zion’s children sung, When by Euphrates’ stream they made their plaint, And to such sadly solemn notes are strung Angelic harps, to soothe a dying saint. THOMSON. 184 Bear me ye winds, indulgent to my pains, Near some sad ruin’s ghastly shade to dwell; Here let me fondly eye the rude remains, And from the mouldering refuse build my cell! Genius of Borne ! thy prostrate pomp display! Trace every dismal proof of fortune’s pow’r; Let me the wreck of theatres survey, Or pensive sit beneath some nodding tow’r. Or when some duct, by rolling seasons worn, Conveyed pure streams to Borne’s imperial walls, Near the wide breach in silence let me mourn; Or tune my dirges to the water’s fall. Genius of Carthage ! paint thy ruined pride: Towers, arches, fanes in wild confusion strewn ; Let banished Marius, lowering by thy side, Compare thy fickle fortunes with his own. SHENSTONE. 185 Fair Amoret is gone astray; Pursue and seek her, every lover; I’ll tell the signs by which you may The wandering Shepherdess discover. * Jeremiah. Latin Elegiac Verse. 67 Coquet and Coy at once her Air Both study’d, tho’ both seem neglected; Careless she is with artful Ease, Affecting to seem unaffected. With skill her Eyes dart every Glance, Yet change so soon, you’d ne’er suspect them; For she’d persuade they wound by Chance, Tho’ certain Aim and Art direct them. She likes herself, yet others hates For that, which in herself she prizes; And while she laughs at them, forgets She is the Thing that she despises. CONGREVE. 186 Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I’ll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine : But might I of Jove’s nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee, As giving it a hope that there It could not withered be; But thou thereon did’st only breathe, And sent’st it back to me; Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee. BEN JONSON. 187 Oft in the stilly night Ere slumber’s chain has bound me, Fond memory brings the light Of other days around me ; 5—2 68 Passages for Translation into The smiles, the tears, of boyhood’s years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone, now dimmed and gone; The cheerful hearts now broken. When I remember all The friends so linked together, I’ve seen around me fall, Like leaves in wintry weather; I feel like one who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, whose garland’s dead, And all but he departed! T. MOORE. 188 I cannot change as others do, Though you unjustly scorn; Since that poor swain that sighs for you, For you alone was born. No, Phillis, no ; your heart to move A surer way I’ll try ; And, to revenge my slighted love, Will still love on, will still love on, and die. When killed with grief Amyntas lies, And you to mind shall call The sighs that now unpitied rise, The tears that vainly fall: That welcome hour that ends this smart Will then begin your pain, For such a faithful tender heart Can never break, can never break in vain. ROCHESTER. 189 Gather ye Pose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying. Latin Elegiac Verse. 69 The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun, The higher he’s a getting; The sooner will his Race be run, And nearer he’s to Setting. That Age is best, which is the first, When Youth and Blood are warmer ; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time; And while ye may, goe marry : For having lost but once your prime, Ye may for ever tarry. HERRICK. 190 I have a garden of my own, Shining with flowers of every hue; I loved it dearly while alone, But I shall love it more with you ; And there the golden bees shall come, In summer-time at break of morn, And wake us with their busy hum, Around the Siha’s fragrant thorn. I have a fawn from Aden’s land, On leafy buds and berries nurst; And you shall feed him from your hand, Though he may start with fear at first. And I will lead you where he lies For shelter in the noon-tide heat: And you may touch his sleeping eyes, And feel his little silv’ry feet. T. MOORE. 191 Mine be a cot beside the hill; A bee-hive’s hum shall soothe my ear; A willowy brook, that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near. 70 Passages fen' Translation into The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch, Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, And share my meal, a welcome guest. Around my ivied porch shall spring Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing In russet gown and apron blue. The village-church, among the trees, Where first our marriage-vows were giv’n, With merry peals shall swell the breeze, And point with taper spire to heav’n ! S. ROGERS. Farewell ! Farewell ; the voice you hear Has left its last soft tone with you,-— Its next must join the seaward cheer, And shout among the shouting crew. The accents which I scarce could form Beneath your frown’s controlling check, Must give the word, above the storm, To cut the mast and clear the wreck. The timid eye I dared not raise,— The hand, that shook when pressed to thine, Must point the guns upon the chase,— Must bid the deadly cutlass shine. To all I love, or hope, or fear,— Honour, or own, a long adieu I To all that life has soft and dear, Farewell! save memory of you ! WALTER SCOTT. 193 The boatmen shout, ’Tis time to part, No longer we can stay;— ’Twas then Matilda taught my heart How much a glance could say. Latin Elegiac Verse. 71 With trembling steps to me she came; Farewell she would have cried, But e’er her lips the word could frame In half-formed sounds it died. Then bending down, with looks of love, Her arms she round me flung; And, as the gale hangs on the grove, Upon my breast she hung. My willing arms embraced the maid, My heart with raptures beat; While she but wept the more, and said, Would we had never met! CARLYLE. 194 She woos her embryo-flowers in vain To rear their infant heads;— Deaf to her voice, her flowers remain Enchanted in their beds. In vain she bids the trees expand Their green luxuriant charms;— Bare in the wilderness they stand, And stretch their withering arms. Her favourite birds, in feeble notes, Lament thy long delay; And strain their little stammering throats To charm thy blasts away. Ah! Winter, calm thy cruel rage, Release the struggling year; Thy power is past, decrepit sage, Arise and disappear. J. MONTGOMERY. 195 Haste, my reindeer; and let us nimbly go Our amorous journey through this dreary waste, Haste, my reindeer! still still thou art too slow, Impetuous love demands the lightning’s haste. 72 Passages for Translation into Around us far the rushy moors are spread, Soon will the sun withdraw his cheerful ray; Darkling and tired we shall the marshes tread, No lay unsung to cheat the tedious way. The watery length of these unjoyous moors Does all the flowery meadows’ pride excel; Through these I fly to her my soul adores, Ye flowery meadows’ empty pride, farewell. Each moment from the charmer I’m confined, My breast is tortured with impatient fires; Ely, my reindeer, fly swifter than the wind, Thy tardy feet wing with my fierce desires. STEELE. 196 Ye birds! for whom I reared the grove, With melting lay salute my love; My Daphne with your notes detain; Or I have reared my grove in vain. Ye flowers ! before her footsteps rise. Display at once your brightest dyes, That she your opening charms may see; Or what were else your charms to me] Ye streams, if e’er your banks I loved, If e’er your native sounds improved, May each soft murmur soothe my fair, Or oh ! ’twill deepen my despair. And thou my grot, whose lonely bounds The melancholy pine surrounds, May she admire thy peaceful gloom; Or thou shalt prove her lover’s tomb. SHENSTONE. 197 Powers celestial, whose protection Ever guards the virtuous fair, While in distant climes I wander, Let my Mary be your care : / Latin Elegiac Verse. 73 Let her form, sae fair and faultless, Fair and faultless as your own; Let my Mary’s kindred spirit Draw your choicest influence down. Make the gales you waft around her, Soft and peaceful as her breast; Breathing in the breeze that fans her, Soothe her bosom into rest; Guardian angels, 0 protect her, When in distant lands I roam; To realms unknown while fate exiles me, Make her bosom still my home. BURNS. 198 A spring there is, whose silver waters show, Clear as a glass, the shining sands below; A flow’ry Lotos spreads its arms above, Shades all the banks, and seems itself a grove; Eternal greens the mossy margin grace, Watched by the sylvan genius of the place. Here as I lay, and swelled with tears the flood, Before my sight a wat’ry Virgin stood : She stood and cried, ‘ 0 you that love in vain! Fly hence, and seek the fair Leucadian main. There stands a rock, from whose impending steep Apollo’s fane surveys the rolling deep; There injured lovers leaping from above, Their flames extinguish, and forget to love. Deucalion once with hopeless furv burned, In vain he loved, relentless Pyrrha scorned : But when from hence he plunged into the main, Deucalion scorned, and Pyrrha loved in vain.’ POPE. 199 V r AFT me, some soft and cooling breeze, To Windsor’s shady, kind retreat; W here sylvan scenes, wide-spreading trees, Bepel the dog-star’s raging heat: 74 Passages for Translation into Where tufted grass and mossy beds Afford a rural, calm repose; Where woodbines hang their dewy heads, And fragrant sweets around disclose. Old oozy Thames, that flows fast by, Along the smiling valley plays, His glassy surface cheers the eye, And through the flow’ry meadows strays. Let me thy clear, thy yielding wave With naked arm once more divide; In thee my glowing bosom lave, And stem thy gently-rolling tide. CROXALL. 200 Smoothly flowing through verdant vales, Gentle river, thy current runs, Shelter’d safe from winter gales, Shaded cool from summer suns. Thus our Youth’s sweet moments glide, Fenc’d with flow’ry shelter round : Ho rude tempest wakes the tide, All its path is fairy ground. But, fair river, the day will come, When woo’d by whispering groves in vain, Thou’lt leave those banks, thy shaded home, To mingle with the stormy main. And thou, sweet Youth, too soon wilt pass Into the world’s unshelter’d sea, Where once thy wave hath mix’d, alas, All hope of peace is lost for thee. T. MOORE. 201 Still glides the gentle streamlet on, With shifting current new and strange; The water that was here is gone, But those green shadows never change. Latin Elegiac Verse. 75 Serene or ruffled by the storm, On present waves as on the past, The mirror’d grove retains its form, The self-same trees their semblance cast. The hue each fleeting globule wears, That drop bequeaths it to the next, One picture still the surface bears, To illustrate the murmured text. So love, however time may flow, Fresh hours pursuing those that flee, One constant image still shall shew, My tide of life is true to thee. T. HOOD. 202 Song should breathe of scent and flowers, Song .should like a river flow: Song should bring back scenes and hours, That we loved—ah, long ago! Song from baser thoughts should win us, Song should charm us out of woe; Song should stir the heart within us, Like a patriot’s friendly blow. Pains and pleasures, all man doeth, War and peace, and ill and wrong; All things that the soul subdueth, Should be vanquished too by song. Song should spur the mind to duty, Nerve the weak and stir the strong: Every deed of truth and beauty Should be crowned by starry song. T. HOOD. 203 The rites derived from ancient days With thoughtless reverence we praise; The rites that taught us to combine The joys of music and of wine; 76 Passages for Translation into 204 That bade the feast, the song, the bowl O'er fill the saturated soul; But ne’er the flute nor lyre applied To soothe despair or soften pride, Nor called them, to the gloomy cells "Where Want repines or Vengeance swells, Where Hate sits musing to betray, And Murder meditates his prey. To dens of guilt and shades of care, Ye sons of melody, repair; Nor deign the festive dome to cloy With superfluity of joy. S. JOHNSON. Early wert thou taken, Mary! In thy fair and glorious prime, Ere the bees had ceas’d to murmur Through the umbrage of the lime. Buds were blowing, waters flowing, Birds were singing on the tree, Everything was bright and glowing When the angels came for thee. Death had laid aside his terror, And he found thee calm and mild, Lying in thy robes of whiteness Like a pure and stainless child. Hardly had the mountain violet Spread its blossoms on the sod, Ere they laid the turf above thee, And thy spirit rose to God. W. E. AYTOUN. Lo! where this silent marble weeps, A friend, a wife, a mother, sleeps; A heart, within whose sacred cell The peaceful virtues love to dwell; 205 Latin Elegiac Verse. 77 Affection warm, and faith sincere, And soft humanity, were there. In agony, in death, resign’d, She felt the wound she left behind. Her infant image, here below, Sits smiling on a father’s woe; Whom what awaits, while yet he strays Along this lonely vale of days'? A pang, to secret sorrow dear; A sigh, an unavailing tear; Till time shall every grief remove, With life, with memory, and with love. GRAY. 206 Bright be the place of thy soul! Ho lovelier spirit than thine E’er burst from its mortal control, In the orbs of the blessed to shine. On earth thou wert all but divine, "As thy soul shall immortally be; And our sorrow may cease to repine, When we know that thy God is with thee. ‘ Light be the turf of thy tomb,’ May its verdure like emeralds be: There should not be the shadow of gloom In aught that reminds us of thee. Young flowers and an evergreen tree May spring from the spot of thy rest; But nor cypress nor yew let us see; For why should we mourn for the blest? BYROX. The rose was sick, and smiling died; And being to be sanctified, About the bed there sighing stood The sweet, and flowry sisterhood. 207 78 Passages for Translation into Borne hung the head, while some did bring, To wash her, water from the spring; Some laid her forth, while others wept, But all a solemn fast there kept. The holy sisters, some among The sacred dirge and trental sung: But ah! what sweets smelt everywhere, As heaven had spent all perfumes there. At last, when prayers for the dead, And rites were all accomplished; They weeping spread a lawny loom, And closed her up, as in a tomb. HERRICK. 208 Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the Earth and Sky: The dew shall weep thy fall to night; Eor thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye: Thy root is ever in its grave; And thou must die. Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives; But though the whole world turns to coal, Then chiefly lives. G. HERBERT. 209 Blessed through love are the Gods above— Through love like a God may man be; Heavenlier through love is the heaven above, Through love like a heaven earth may be! Latin Elegiac Verse. 79 Love sighs through brooklets silver-clear, Love bids their murmur woo the vale; Listen, 0 ! list! Love’s soul ye hear In his own earnest nightingale. No sound from nature ever stirs, But Love’s sweet voice is heard with hers! Bold Wisdom, with her sunlit eye, Betreats, when Love comes whispering by— For Wisdom is weak to Love! To victor stern or monarch proud, Imperial Wisdom never bow’d The knee she bows to Love! SCHILLER. 210 Love gives the roses of thy lips, And flies about them like a bee; If I approach, he forward skips, And if I kiss, he stingeth me. Love in thine eyes doth build his bower And sleeps within their pretty shine, And if I look, the boy will lower, And from their orbs shoot shafts divine. Love works thy heart within- his fire, And in my tears doth form the same, And if I tempt it, will retire, And of my plaints doth make his game. Love, let me cull thy fairest flowers, And pity me, and calm her eye; Make soft her heart, dissolve her lowers. And I will praise thy deity. But it thou do not, Love, I’ll truly serve her In spite of thee, and by firm faith deserve her. Passages for Translation into And ne’er did Grecian chisel trace A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, Of finer form or lovelier face! What though the sun, with ardent frown, Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown,— The sportive toil, which, short and light, Had dyed her glowing hue so bright, Served too in hastier swell to show Short glimpses of a breast of snow: What though no rule of courtly grace To measured mood had trained her pace,— A foot more light, a step more true, Ne’er from the heath-flower dash’d the dew; E’en the slight hare-bell raised its head, Elastic from her airy tread. WALTER SCOTT. Home they brought her warrior dead: She nor swooned, nor uttered cry: All her maidens, watching, said, ‘ She must weep or she will die.’ Then they praised him, soft and low, Called him worthy to be loved, Truest friend and noblest foe; Yet she neither spoke nor moved. Stole a maiden from her place, Lightly to the warrior stept, Took the face-cloth from the face; Yet she neither moved nor wept. Hose a nurse of ninety years, Set his child upon her knee— Like summer-tempest came her tears— ‘Sweet my child, I live for thee.’ A. TENNYSON. Latin Elegiac Verse. 81 213 The morning-lark, the messenger of day, Saluted in her song the morning gray; And soon the sun arose with beams so bright, That all the horizon laughed to see the joyous si "lit • He with his tepid rays the rose renews, And licks the dropping leaves, and dries the dews; When Arcite left his bed, resolved to pay Observance to the month of merry May : Forth on his fiery steed betimes he rode, That scarcely prints the turf on which he trode : At ease he seemed, and prancing o’er the plains, Turned only to the grove his horse’s reins. The grove I named before; and, lighting there, A woodbine garland sought to crown his hair; Then turned his face against the rising day, And raised his voice to welcome in the Mav. DRYDEN. 214 Emily ere day Arose and dress’d herself in rich array; Fresh as the month, and as the morning fair, Adown her shoulders fell her length of hair; A riband did the braided tresses bind, The rest was loose and wanton’d in the wind. Aurora had but newly chased the night, And purpled o’er the sky with blushing light, When to the garden-walk she took her way, To sport and trip along in cool of day, And offer maiden vows in honour of the May. At every turn she made a little stand, And thrust among the thorns her lily hand To draw the rose; and every rose she drew She shook its stalk, and brushed away the dew; Then party-colour flowers of white and red She wove, to make a garland for her head. DRYDENT. G 82 Passages for Translation into 215 Her arms across her breast she laid; She was more fair than words can say: Bare-footed came the Beggar maid Before the king Cophetua. In robe and crown the king stept down, To meet and greet her on her way: ‘ It is no wonder/ said the lords, ‘She is more beautiful than day.’ As shines the moon in clouded skies, She in her poor attire was seen: One praised her ancles, one her eyes, One her dark hair and lovesome mien. So sweet a face, such angel grace, In all that land had never been : Cophetua swore a royal oath : This beggar maid shall be my queen! A. TENNYSON. 216 This morning, timely rapt with holy fire* I thought to form unto my zealous Muse What kind of creature I could most desire To honour, serve, and love, as poets use. I meant the day-star should not brighter rise, Nor lend like influence from his lucent seat; I meant each softest virtue there should meet, Fit in that softer bosom to reside: Only a learned and a manly soul I purposed her, that should with even powers The thread, the spindle, and the shears control Of Destiny, and spin her own free hours. Such when I meant to feign, despaired to see, My Muse bade Lucia write, and that was she. BEN JONSON. 217 O you that bathe in courtly blisse, , Or toyle in fortunes giddy spheare; Do not too rashly deem amysse Of him, that bydes contented here. Latin Elegiac Verse. 83 Nor yet disdeigne the russet stoale, Which o’er each carelesse lymbe he flyngs: Nor yet deryde the beechen bowle In whyche he quaffs the lympid springs. Forgive him if at eve or dawne Devoide of worldlye cark he strays: Or all beside some flowerve lawne «/ He waste his inoffensive daye. So may he pardowne fraud and strife, If such in courtlye haunt he see : For faults there beene in busye life, From whyche these peaceful glennes are free. SHENSTONE. 218 But hark, the din of arms! no time for sorrow: To horse, to horse! a day of blood to-morrow! One parting pang, and then—and then I fly, Fly to the field, to triumph—or to die!— He goes, and night comes as it never came, With shrieks of horror, and a vault of flame. And lo! when morning mocks the desolate, Bed runs the river by; and at the gate Breathless a horse without his rider stands: But hush!... a shout from the victorious bands! And oh the smiles and tears, a sire restored! One wears his helm, one buckles on his sword; One hangs the wall with laurel-leaves, and all Spring to prepare the soldier’s festival; "While she best loved, till then forsaken never, Clings round his neck as she would cling for ever. BYRON. 219 The smiling morn, the breathing spring, Invite the tuneful birds to sing; And, while they warble from each spray, Love melts the universal lay. 6—2 84 Passages for Translation intx) Let ns, Amanda, timely wise, Like them, improve the hour that flies, And in soft raptures waste the day, Among the shades of Endermay. Eor soon the winter of the year, And age, life’s winter, will appear; At this thy living bloom must fade, As that will strip the verdant shade. Our taste of pleasure then is o’er; The feather’d songsters love no more, And when they droop, and we decay, Adieu the shades of Endermay! MALLET. 220 Woods, hills, and rivers now are desolate, Sith he is gone, the which them all did grace: And all the fields do wail their widowed state, Sith death their fairest flower did late deface. The fairest flower in field that ever grew, Was Astrophel; that was, we all may rew. What cruell hand of cursed foe unknowne, Hath cropt the stalke which bore so faire a flowre, Untimely cropt, before it were well growne, And dean defaced in untimely howre 1 Great losse to all that ever did him see, Great losse to all, but greatest losse to me! Breake now your gyrlonds, O! ye shepherd’s lasses, Sith the faire flower, which them adorned, is gone: The flower, which them adorned, is gone to ashes, Never again let lasse put gyrlond on. Instead of gyrlond, weare sad cypress nowe, And bitter elder broken from the bowe. SPENSER. 221 The winds are high, and Helle’s tide Bolls darkly heaving to the main; And Night’s descending shadows hide The field with blood bedewed in vain; t Latin Elegiac Verse. The desert of old Priam’s pride— The tombs—sole relics of his reign— All—save immortal dreams that could beguile The blind old man of Scio’s rocky isle! Minstrel! with thee to press that shore— To trace a^ain those fields of yore— Believing every hillock green Contains no fabled hero’s ashes— And that around the undoubted scene Thine own broad Hellespont still dashes, Be long my lot—and cold were he Who there could gaze denying thee. BYRON. Shun delays, they breed remorse, Take thy time, while time is lent thee; Creeping snails have weakest force; Fly their fault, lest thou repent thee; Good is best, when soonest wrought; Lingering labour comes to nought. Hoist up sail, while gale doth last; Tide and wind stay no man’s pleasure: Seek not time, when time is past; Sober speed is wisdom’s leisure; After-wit is dearly bought: Let thy fore-wit guide thy thought. Time wears all his locks before, Take thou hold upon his forehead; When he flies, he turns no more, And behind his scalp is naked. Works adjourned have many stays, Long demurs breed new delays. 86 Passages for Translation into Seek thy salve while sore is green, Fester’d wounds ask deeper lancing: After-cures are seldom seen, Often sought, scarce ever chancing. Time and place give best advice, Out of season, out of price. SOUTHWELL. 224 TAIQ aiTretva II apis ov yapov , aXXa tiv drav rj-yayer evvaiav els OaXapovs ' EXernv . as ev€K, to T poia, dop\ Ka\ 7rvp\ brjidXoorov etXe a 6 %i\i6vavs *EXXa§oy wkvs j 'Aprjs , Ka\ tov epov peXeas nocnu ''EKTOpa, tov TvepX rei^rj etXuvcre dappevcov naXs aXias Qeridos’ avTa S’ e< 6aXapcov ayopav enX 6lva daXdcrcras, dovXoavvav crTvyepav dp,poi iyoi peXea, ri p *XPV V eTt 4**77 os bpaadaiy *Eppiovas tovXav; as v 7 ro Teipopeva npos roS’ dyaXpa 6(as l Kens irepX yelpe fiaXovaa TaKopai, to s' TTerpiva 7nbaKoeacra Xiftas. EURIPIDES. 225 Tell me, thou soul of her I love, Ah! tell me, whither art thou fled; To what delightful world above, Appointed for the happy dead 1 ? Or dost thou, free, at pleasure, roam. And sometimes share thy lover’s woe; Where, void of thee, his cheerless home Can now, alas! no comfort know? Oh! if thou hover’st round my walk. While, under every well-known tree, I to thy fancied shadow talk, And every tear is full of thee; Latin Elegiac Verse. 87 Should then the weary eye of grief, Beside some sympathetic stream, In slumber find a short relief, O, visit thou my soothing dream! THOMSON. 226 Ah! why, unfeeling Winter, why Still flags thy torpid wing? Fly, melancholy season, fly, And yield the year to Spring. When on the mountain’s azure peak Alights her fairy form, Cold blow the winds—and dark and bleak Around her rolls the storm. If to the valley she repair For shelter and defence, Thy wrath pursues the mourner there, And drives her weeping thence. She seeks the brook, the faithless brook, Of her unmindful grown, Feels the chill magic of thy look, And lingers into stone. J. MONTGOMERY. 227 Adieu, adieu! my native shore Fades o’er the waters blue; The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, And shrieks the wild sea-mew. Yon sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight; Farewell, awhile to him and thee! My native land—good night! A few short hours and he will rise To give the morrow birth; And I shall hail the main and skies, But not my mother earth. 88 Passages for 'Translation into Deserted is my own good hall, Its hearth is desolate, Wild weeds are gathering on the wall, My dog howls at the gate, BYRON. 228 Go forth, for she is gone ! With the golden light of her wavy hair, She is gone to the fields of the viewless air: She hath left her dwelling lone ! Go forth and like her be free ! With thy radiant wing and thy glancing eye, Thou hast all the range of the sunny sky : And what is our grief to thee? Is it aught even to her we mourn? Doth she look on the tears by her kindred shed? Doth she rest with the flowers o’er her gentle head, Or float on the light wind borne ? We know not—but she is gone! Her step from the dance, her voice from the song, And the smile of her eve from the festal throng : v O She hath left her dwelling lone ! FELICIA HEMANS. 229 In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my grief, and God has given my share— I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bow’rs to lay me down; To husband out life’s taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting my repose : I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, Amidst the swains to show my book-learn’d skill; Around my fire an evening group to draw, And tell of all I felt, and all I saw. And, as a hare, whom hounds and horn pursue, Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, I still had hopes, my long vexations past, Here to return, and die at home at last. Latin Elegiac Verse. 89 230 O! blest retirement, friend to life’s decline, Retreat from care, that never must be mine; How blest is he, who crowns in shades like these A youth of labour, with an age of ease; Who quits a world, where strong temptations try, And, since ’tis hard to combat, learns to fly. For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine or tempt the dangerous deep, No surly porter stands, in guilty state, To spurn imploring famine from the gate. But on he moves to meet his latter end, Angels around befriending virtue’s friend, Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, Whilst resignation gently slopes the way; And all his prospects brightening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past. GOLDSMITH. 231 Time, fly with greater speed away, Add feathers to thy wings, Till thy haste in flying brings That wisht for and expected day. Comfort’s sun we then shall see, Tho’ at first it darken’d be With dangers, yet those clouds but gone Our day will put his lustre on. Then tho’ death’s sad night appear, And we in lonely silence rest; Our ravished souls no more shall fear, But with lasting day be blest. And then no friends can part us more, Nor no new death extend its power; Thus there’s nothing can dissever Hearts which love hath join’d together. COWLEY. 90 Passages for Translation into 232 OYAEN ev avOpumoicn pevei XP^P cpnebov aiei, ev be to KaWicrTov Xtoy eeiirev avrjp • 0177 rrep (pvXXw v yeverjy rotijbe kcu dvbpcov Travpoi pLr/v OvrjToiV ovacn be£apovoi crrepvois eyKaredevTO" Trapean ycip eXins e/cdoTG), avbpcov r] re veuiv (rrrjdecnv epcfiverai. 6 vrjru)v S’ o(j)pa ns avOos e'xjj noXvrjpaTOV Tjftrjs, Koixpov eycov 6 vpov 7roXX’ dreXeara voer ovre yap eXirib' eyec yqpdaepev ovre BavelcrOai, ) M f 1 » f A l<\1 V / ovo vyiijs orav fj, (ppovno eyei Kaparov. vrjTTLoi, ois TavTr) K.e'irai voos, ovbe ’icraaiv coy XP° V0S ecr#’ vl^ r l s Kai ftiorov oXlyos Ov-qrols' dXXa. av ravra pa6dv ftiorov iron reppa ^ V XU r “* v dyadoiv tX?j0l x a P l C°pevos. SIMONIDES. 233 Mourn’st thou, that here the time-worn sufferer ends Those evil days still threatening woes to come; Here, where the friendless feel no want of friends, Where even the houseless wanderer finds an home ? What though no kindred crowd in sable forth, And sigh, or seem to sigh, around his bier; Tho’ o’er his coffin with the humid earth No children drop the unavailing tear ? Rather rejoice that here his sorrows cease, Whom sickness, age, and poverty oppress’d; Where death, the leveller, restores to peace The wretch, who living knew not where to rest. Rejoice, that tho’ severe his earthly doom, And rude, and sown with thorns the way he trod, Now, (where unfeeling Fortune cannot come) He rests upon the mercies of his God. C. SMITH. Latin Elegiac Verse. 91 234 Fruit of Aurora’s tears, fair rose, On whose soft leaves fond Zephyrs play, Oh! queen of flowers, thy buds disclose, And give thy fragrance to the day; Unveil thy transient charms :—ah, no ! A little be thy bloom delay’d, Since the same hour that bids thee blow, Shall see thee droop thy languid head. But go ! and on Themira’s breast Find, happy flower! thy throne and tomb; While, jealous of a fate so blest, How shall I envy thee thy doom ! Should some rude hand approach thee there, Guard the sweet shrine thou wilt adorn; Ah ! punish those who rashly dare, And for my rivals keep thy thorn. FROM THE FRENCH. 235 Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream ! When first on them I met my lover ; Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream, When now thy waves his body cover ! For ever now, O Yarrow stream ! Thou art to me a stream of sorrow; For never on thy banks shall I Behold my love the flower of Yarrow. Sweet were his words when last we met; My passion I as freely told him ! Clasp’d in his arms, I little thought That I should never more behold him ! Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost; It vanish’d with a shriek of sorrow; Thrice did the water-wraith ascend, And gave a doleful groan through Yarrow ! 92 Passages for Translation into 236 His mother from the window look’d, With all the longing of a mother ; His little sister, weeping walk’d The green-wood path to meet her brother : They sought him east, they sought him west, They sought him all the forest thorough; They only saw the cloud of night, They only heard the roar of Yarrow. Ho longer from thy window look, Thou hast no son, thou tender mother. Ho longer walk thou lovely maid; Alas ! thou hast no more a brother. Ho longer seek him east or west, And search no more the forest thorough, For wandering in the night so dark, He fell a lifeless corpse in Yarrow, LOGAN. 237 Sweet nurslings of the vernal skies, Bathed in soft airs, and fed with dew, What more than magic in you lies To fill the heart’s fond view ? In childhood’s sports companions gay, In sorrow, on life’s downward way, How soothing! in our last decay, Memorials prompt and true. Alas ! of thousand bosoms kind, That daily court you and caress, How few the happy secret find Of your calm loveliness. a Live for to-day ! to-morrow’s light To-morrow’s cares shall bring to sight. Go, sleep like closing flowers at night, And heaven thy morn will bless.” KEBLE. Latin Elegiac Verse. 93 238 When he, who adores thee, has left hut the name Of his fault and his sorrows behind, Oh ! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame Of a life that for thee was resigned h Yes, weep ; and however my foes may condemn, Thy tears shall efface their decree : Tor Heaven can witness, though guilty to them, I have been but too faithful to thee. With thee were the dreams of my earliest love; Every thought of my reason was thine : In the last humble prayer to the Spirit above, Thy name shall be mingled with mine. Oh, blest are the lovers and friends who shall live The days of thy glory to see : But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give Is the pride of thus , dying for thee. MOORE. 239 But I deserved;—for all that time, When I was loved, admired, caressed, There was within, each secret crime IJnfelt, uncancelled, unconfessed; I never then mv God addressed V In grateful praise or humble prayer; And if his word was not my jest— (Dread thought!) it never was my care. I doubted :—fool I was to doubt! If that all-piercing eye could see,— If He—who looks—all worlds throughout, Would so minute and careful be, As to perceive and punish me :— With man I would be great and high, But with my God so lost, that He In His large view should pass me by. CRABBE. 94 Passages for Translation into 240 Weigh me the fire; or canst thou find A way to measure out the wind; Distinguish all those floods that are Mixt in that watery theatre, And taste thou them as saltless there, As in their channel first they were. Tell me the people that do keep Within the kingdoms of the deep; Or fetch me back that cloud again, Beshiver’d into seeds of rain. Tell me the motes, dusts, sands and spears Of corn, when summer shakes his ears; Shew me that world of stars and whence They noiseless spill their influence : This if thou can’st, then show me Him, That rides the glorious Cherubim. HERRICK. 241 Critics I saw, that other names deface, And fix their own, with labour, in their place: Their own like others, soon their place resign’d, Or disappear’d, and left the first behind. Nor was the work impair’d by storms alone, But felt the approaches of too warm a sun; Bor fame, impatient of extremes, decays Not more by envy than excess of praise. Yet part no injuries of heaven could feel, Like crystal faithful to the graving steel; The rock’s high summit, in the temple’s shade, Nor heat could melt, nor beating storm invade. Their names inscribed unnumber’d ages past From time’s first birth, with time itself shall last ; These ever new, nor subject to decays, Spread and grow brighter with the length of days. POPE. 242 Then came the smallest tribe I yet had seen j Plain was their dress, and modest was their mien. Latin Elegiac Verse . 95 Great idol of mankind ! we neither claim The praise of merit, nor aspire to fame ! But safe in deserts from the applause of men, Would die unheard of, as we liv’d unseen. ’Tis all we beg thee, to conceal from sight Those acts of goodness, which themselves requite. O let us still the secret joy partake To follow virtue even for virtue’s sake. And live there men, who slight immortal fame % Who then with incense shall adore our name ? But, mortals ! know, ’tis still our greatest pride To blaze those virtues, which the good would hide. Bise ! Muses, rise ! add all your tuneful breath, These must not sleep in darkness and in death. POPE. 243 How vain that second life in other’s breath, Th’ estate which wits inherit after death ! Ease, health and life for this they must resign (Unsure the tenure, but how vast the fine !) Nor fame I slight, nor for her favours call; She comes unlook’d for, if she comes at all. But if the purchase costs so dear a price, As soothing folly, or exalting vice : Oh ! if the Muse must flatter lawless sway, And follow still where fortune leads the way; Or if no basis bear my rising name, But the fallen ruins of another’s fame ; Then teach me, Heaven! to scorn the guilty bays, Drive from my breast that wretched lust of praise; Unblemish’d let me live, or die unknown ; Oh ! grant an honest fame, or grant me none ! POPE. 244 How richly glows the water’s breast Before us, tinged with evening hues ! While far towards the crimson west The boat her silent course pursues. 96 Passages for Translation into And see how dark the backward stream A little moment passed so smiling, And still perhaps with faithless gleam Some other loiterers beguiling ! Such views the youthful bard allure, But heedless of the following gloom, He deems their colours shall endure, And still go with him to the tomb. And let him nurse his fond deceit: For what if he must die in sorrow ? Who would not cherish dreams so sweet, Though grief and pain may come to-morrow 1 245 A goatherd fed his flocks on many a steep, Where Eden’s river swells the southern deep : A melancholy man, who dwelt alone, Yet far abroad his evil fame was known. ✓ The first of woman born that might presume To wake the dead-bones slumbering in the tomb; ’Twas said his voice could stay the rolling flood, Eclipse the sun and turn the moving blood : Spirits of fire and air and sea and land, Came at his call and flew at his command: His spells so potent, that his changing breath Open’d or shut the gates of life and death: The name and place of every herb he knew, Its healing balsam or pernicious dew. The meanest reptile and the noblest beasts Obeyed his mandates and his high behests. 246 Not seldom, clad in radiant vest, Deceitfully goes forth the Morn ; Not seldom Evening in the west Sinks smilingly forsworn. Latin Elegiac Verse. 97 The smoothest seas will sometimes prove To the confiding bark untrue: And if she trusts the stars above, They can be treacherous too. The umbrageous Oak, in pomp outspread, Full oft, when storms the welkin rend, Draws lightning down upon the head It promised to defend. But Thou art true, Incarnate Lord, Who didst vouchsafe for man to die : Thy smile is sure, thy plighted word No change can falsify. WORDSWORTH. 247 There’s a bower of roses by Bendemeer’s stream, And the nightingale sings round it all the day long; In the time of my childhood ’twas like a sweet dream To sit in the roses and hear the bird’s song. That bower and its roses I never forget, But oft when alone in the bloom of the year I think,—is the nightingale singing there yet? Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer ? No, the roses soon wither’d that hung o’er the wave; But some blossoms were gather’d while freshly they shone, And a dew was distill’d from the flowers, that gave All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone. Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, An essence that breathes of it many a year. Thus bright to my soul, as ’twas then to my eyes, Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer. T. MOORE. 7 98 Passages for Translation into 248 O partner of my infant griefs and joys! Big with the scenes now past, my heart o’erflows Bids each endearment, fair as once, to rise, And dwells luxurious on her melting woes. Oft with the rising sun, when life was new, Along the woodland have I roam’d with thee; Oft by the moon have brush’d the evening dew; When all was fearless innocence and glee. The sainted well, where yon bleak hill declines, Has oft been conscious of those happy hours ; But now the hill, the river crown’d with pines, And sainted well have lost their cheering pow’rs; For thou art gone. My guide, my friend! oh, where, Where hast thou fled, and left me here behind ? My tenderest wish, my heart to thee was bare ; Oh now cut off each passage to my mind! MICKLE. 249 Our little world, the image of the great, Like that amid the boundless Ocean set, Of her own growth hath all that Nature craves, And all that’s rare, as tribute from the waves. As Egypt does not on tbe clouds rely, But to the Nile owes more than to the sky ; So what our earth and what our heaven denies, Our ever constant friend, the sea, supplies. The taste of hot Arabia’s spice we know, Free from the scorching sun that makes it grow ; Without the worm, in Persian silks we shine; And, without planting, drink of every vine. To dig for wealth we weary not our limbs, Gold, though the heaviest metal, hither swims; Ours is the harvest where the Indians mow; We plough the deep, and reap what others sow. WALLER. Latin Elegiac Verse . 99 250 Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ! Whose heart hath ne’er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand ! If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth, as wish can claim : Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonour’d, and unsung. sir w. SCOTT. a 251 Fair was thy blossom, bonny flower, Fair as the softest wreaths that spring, When late I saw thee seek the bower In peace thy morning-hymn to sing. Thy little foot across the lawn Scarce from the primrose pressed the dew ; I thought the spirit of the dawn Before me to the greenwood flew. E’en then the shaft was on the wing, Thy spotless soul from earth to sever, A tear of pity wet the string That twanged, and sealed thy doom for ever. May thy long sleep be sound and sweet; Thy visions fraught with bliss to be; And long the daisy, emblem meet, Snail shed its earliest tear o’er thee ! 7—2 100 Passages for Translation into 252 Back, back;—be fears not foaming flood, Who fears not steel-clad line :— No warrior thou of German blood, No brother thou of mine. Go, earn Borne’s chain to load thy neck, Her gems to deck thy hilt; And blazon honor’s hapless wreck With all the gauds of guilt. But wouldst thou have me share the prey] By all that I have done, The Varian bones that day by day lie whitening in the sun; The legion’s trampled panoply, The eagle’s shattered wing, I would not be for earth or sky So scorned and mean a thing. 253 My Chloris, mark how green the groves. The primrose banks how fair: The balmy gales awake the flowers, And wave thy flaxen hair. The lav’rock 1 shuns the palace gay, And o’er the cottage sings: Bor nature smiles as sweet, I ween, To shepherds as to kings. Let minstrels sweep the skilfu’ string In lordly lighted ha’ : The shepherd stops his simple reed, Blythe, in the birken shaw 2 . The princely revel may survey Our rustic dance wi’ scorn; But are their hearts as light as ours Beneath the milk-white thorn ] BURNS. 1 lark. 3 birch-wood. Latin Elegiac Verse. 101 254 O gin my love were yon red rose, That grows upon the castle wa’, And I mysel’ a drap o’ dew, Into her bonnie breast to fa’! Oh, there beyond expression blest, I’d feast on beauty a’ the night; Seal’d on her silk-saft faulds to rest, ’Till fley’d awa’ by Phoebus’ light. O were my love yon lilac fair, Wi’ purple blossoms in the spring; And I, a bird to shelter there, When wearied on my little wing: How I wad mourn, when it was torn By autumn wild and winter rude ! But I wad sing on wanton wing, When youthfu’ May its bloom renew’d. BURNS. 255 Methought from the battle-field’s dreadful array, Par, far I had roam’d on a desolate track: ’Twas Autumn—and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcom’d me back. I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft In life’s morning march, when my bosom was young ; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore Prom my home and my weeping friends never to part: My little ones kiss’d me a thousand times o’er, And my wife sobb’d aloud in her fulness of heart. Stay, stay with us—rest, thou art weary and worn ; And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay: But sorrow return’d with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. T. CAMPBELL. 102 Passages for Translation into 25 6 Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, When our mother Nature laughs around; When even the deep blue heavens look glad, And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground ? The clouds are at play in the azure space, And their shadows at play on the bright green vale, And here they stretch to the frolic chase, And there they roll on the easy gale. There’s a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, There’s a titter of winds in that beechen tree, There’s a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower, And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray, On the leaping waters and gay young isles; Ay, look, and he’ll smile thy gloom away. W. C. BRYANT. 257 Lo streams that April could not check Are patient of thy rule, Gurgling in foamy water-break, Loitering in glassy pool: By thee, thee only, could be sent Such gentle mists, as glide Curling with unconfirm’d intent On that green mountain’s side. Season of fancy and of hope, Permit not for one hour A blossom from thy crown to drop, Nor add to it a flower l Keep, lovely May, as if by touch Of self-restraining art, This modest charm of not too much, Part seen, imagined part! WORDSWORTH. Latin Elegiac Verse. Fresh as the bordering flower’s her bloom, Her eye all mild to view; The little halcyon’s azure plume Was never half so blue. Her shape was like the reed, so sleek, So taper, straight and fair, Her dimpled smile, her blushing cheek, How charming sweet they were ! Far in the winding vale retired, This peerless bud is found; And shadowing rocks and woods conspired To fence her beauties round. That Nature in so lone a dell Should form a nymph so sweet! Or fortune to her secret cell Conduct my wandering feet! SHENSTONE. When forc’d the fair nymph to forego, What anguish I felt at my heart ! Yet I thought—but it might not be so—• ’Twas with pain that she saw me depart. She gaz’d as I slowly withdrew ; My path I could hardly discern— So sweetly she bade me adieu, I thought that she bade me return. The pilgrim that journeys all day To visit some far distant shrine; If lie bear but a relique away, Is happy, nor heard to repine. Thus widely remov’d from the fair, Where my vows, my devotion I owe; Soft hope is the relique I bear, And my solace wherever I go. SHENSTONE. 104 Passages for Translation into 260 When fair Serena first I knew, By friendship’s happy union charm’d, Incessant joys around her flew, And gentle smiles my bosom warm’d. But when with fond officious care, I press’d to breathe my amorous pain ; Her lips spoke nought but cold despair. Her eyes shot ice thro’ every vein. Thus in Italia’s lovely vales The Sun his genial vigour yields; Reviving heat each sense regales, And plenty crowns the smiling fields. When nearer we approach his ray; High on the Alp’s tremendous brow, Surpris’d we see pale sun-beams play On everlasting hills of snow. 261 Gay lordlings sought her for their bride, But she would ne’er incline: £ Prove to your equals true,’ she cried, ‘As I will prove to mine. ’Tis Strephon on the mountain’s brow Has won my right good will; To him I gave mv plighted vow, With him I’ll climb the hill.’ Struck with her charms and gentle truth I clasped the constant fair; To her alone I gave my youth, And vow my future care. And when this vow shall faithless prove, Or I those charms forego, The stream that saw our tender love, That stream shall cease to flow. SHENSTONE. Latin Elegiac Verse. 105 262 Such were the notes that from the pirate’s isle Around the kindling watch-fire rang the while ; Such were the sounds that thrill’d the rocks along, And unto ears as rugged seem’d a song ! In scatter’d groups upon the golden sand, They game—carouse—converse—or whet the brand ; Select the arms—to each his blade assign. And careless eye the blood that dims its shine ; Repair the boat, replace the helm or oar, While others straggling muse along the shore ; For the wild bird the busy springes set, Or spread beneath the sun the dripping net; Gaze where some distant sail a speck supplies, With all the thirsting eye of enterprize ; Tell o’er the tales of many a night of toil, And marvel where they next shall seize a spoil. sir w. SCOTT. 263 Oh, sweeter than the marriage-feast, ’Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company ! To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray ; While each to his great Father bends, Old men and babes, and loving friends, And youths and maidens gay. Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou wedding-guest! He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. He prayeth best who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all. S. T. COLERIDGE. 106 Passages for Translation into 264 ’Tis believed that this Harp, which I wake now for thee, Was a Siren of old, who sung under the sea; And who often at eve thro’ the bright waters rov’d, To meet, on the green shore, a youth whom she lov’d. But she lov’d him in vain, for he left her to weep, And in tears, all the night, her gold tresses to steep; Till heav’n look’d with pity on true love so warm, And chang’d to this soft Harp the sea-maiden’s form. Still her bosom rose fair—still her cheeks smil’d the same— While her sea-beauties gracefully form’d the light frame; And her hair, as let loose o’er her white arm it fell, Was chang’d to bright chords utt’ring melody’s spell. Hence it came, that this soft Harp so long hath been known To mingle love’s language with sorrow’s sad tone; Till thou did’st divide them and teach the fond lay To speak love when I’m near thee, and grief when away. T. MOORE. 265 The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone, In the ranks of death you’ll find him: His father’s sword he has girded on, And his wild harp slung behind him.— ‘ Land of song!’ said the warrior-bard, ‘Though all the world betrays thee, 1 One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, ‘ One faithful harp shall praise thee! ’ The Minstrel fell!—but the foeman’s chain Could not bring his proud soul under: The harp he lov’d ne’er spoke again, For he tore its chords asunder: And said, £ No chains shall sully thee, ‘ Thou soul of love and bravery! ‘ Thy songs were made for the pure and free, ‘ They shall never sound in slavery.’ T. MOORE. Latin Elegiac Verse. 107 266 Flow on, thou shining river; But, ere thou reach the sea, Seek Ella’s bower and give her The wreaths I fling o’er thee. And tell her thus, if she’ll be mine, The current of our lives shall be, With joys along their course to shine, Like those sweet flowers on thee. But if, in wand’ring thither, Thou find’st she mocks my prayer, Then leave those wreaths to wither Upon the cold bank there; And tell her thus, when youth is o’er, Her lone and loveless charms shall be Thrown by upon life’s weedy shore, Like those sweet flowers from thee. T. MOORE. 267 Like one who, doom’d o’er distant seas His weary path to measure, When home at length, with fav’ring breeze. He brings the far-sought treasure; His ship, in sight of shore, goes down, That shore to which he hasted; And all the wealth he thought his own Is o’er the waters wasted. Like him, this heart, through many a track Of toil and sorrow straying, One hope alone brought fondly back, Its toil and grief repaying. Like him, alas, I see that ray Of hope before me perish, And one dark minute sweep away What years were given to cherish. T. MOORE. 108 Passages for Translation into 268 Now when fierce Winter, arm’d with wasteful power, Heaves the wild deep that thunders from afar, How sweet to sit in this sequester’d bower, To hear, and but to hear, the mingling war! Ambition here displays no gilded toy, That tempts on desperate wing the soul to rise, Nor Pleasure’s flower-embroider’d paths decoy, Nor Anguish lurks in Grandeur’s gay disguise. Oft has Contentment cheer’d this lone abode With the mild languish of her smiling eye; Here Health has oft in blushing beauty glow’d, While loose-robed Quiet stood enamour’d by. E’en the storm lulls to more profound repose: The storm these humble walls assails in vain; Screen’d is the lily when the whirlwind blows, While the oak’s stately ruin strews the plain. BEATTIE. 269 This is the hour, the hour of rest, By sages lov’d, by poets sung, When ’midst the stillness of the breast The gates of thought are open flung; And clearer through the silent void Is heard the voice of truth supreme, And brighter through the gloom descried The torch of wisdom sheds its beam. When the strong soul, unfetter’d, wings Where’er she lists her flight sublime, Thro’ earthly, or eternal things, Thro’ good or ill, thro’ space or time : O’er early errors heaves the sigh, Looks downward thro’ unfolding years, And broods on coming grief or joy With tranquil hope and chastened fears. W. S. WALKER. Latin Elegiac Verse. 109 270 We’ve trod the maze of error round, Long wand’ring in the winding glade ; And now the torch of truth is found, It only shows us where we stray’d. By long experience taught, we now Can rightly judge of friends and foes; Can all the worth of these allow, And all the faults discern in those. How ’tis our boast, that we can quell The wildest passions in their rage, Can their destructive force repel, And their impetuous wrath assuage : Ah ! virtue, dost thou arm, when now This bold rebellious race are fled; When all these tyrants rest, and thou Art warring with the mighty dead h CRABBE. 271 Stella and Flavia every hour Do various hearts surprise; In Stella’s soul is all her power. And Flavia’s in her eyes. More boundless Flavia’s conquests are, And Stella’s more confin’d : All can discern a face that’s fair, But few an heavenly mind. Stella, like Britain’s monarch, reigns O’er cultivated lands ; Like Eastern tyrants Flavia deigns To rule o’er barren sands. Then boast, fair Flavia, boast thy face, Thy beauty’s only store; Each day, that makes thy charms decrease, Will give to Stella more. Passages for Translation into Go tell Amynta, gentle swain, I would not die, nor dare complain; Thy tuneful voice with numbers join, Thy words will more prevail than mine. To souls oppress’d, and dumb with grief, The gods ordain this kind relief: That music should in sounds convey, What dying lovers dare not say. A sigh or tear, perhaps, she’ll give But love on pity cannot live. Tell her that hearts for hearts were made, And love with love is only paid. Tell her my pains so fast increase, That soon they' will be past redress; But ah ! the wretch, that speechless lies, Attends but death to close his eyes. DRYDEN. Flattered with promise of escape From every hurtful blast, Spring takes, 0 sprightly May! thy shape, Her loveliest and her last. Less fair is summer riding high In fierce solstitial power, Less fair than when a lenient sky Brings on her parting hour. When earth repays with golden sheaves The labours of the plough, And ripening fruits and forest-leaves All brighten on the bough; What pensive beauty autumn shows, Before she hears the sound Of winter rushing in, to close The emblematic round ! WORDSWORTH. Latin Elegiac Verse. Ill 274 Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie D0011, How can ye blume sae fair; How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu’ o’ care h Ye’ll break my heart, ye little birds, That sing upon the bough; Ye mind me o’ departed joys, When my fause luve was true. Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon, To see the woodbine twine ; And ilka bird sang o’ its luve, And sae did I o’ mine. Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose Erae aff its thorny tree ; But my false luver staw 1 the rose, And left the thorn wi’ me. BURNS. 275 While the winds whistle round my cheerless room, And the pale morning droops with winter’s gloom; While indistinct lie rude and cultured lands, The ripening harvest and the hoary sands; Alone, and destitute of every page That fires the poet, or informs the sage, Where shall my wishes, where my fancy rove, Best upon past or cherish promist love h Alas ! the past I never can regain, Wishes may rise and tears may flow in vain. Eancy, that shews her in her early bloom, Throws barren sunshine o’er the unyielding tomb. What then would passion, what would reason do 1 Sure, to retrace is worse than to pursue. Here will I sit, till heaven shall cease to lour, And happier Hesper bring the appointed hour; Gaze on the mingled waste of sky and sea, Think of my love, and bid her think of me. w. s. LANDOR. 1 stole. 112 Passages for Translation into 276 Thus by himself compelled to live each day, To wait for certain hours the tide’s delay ; At the same time the same dull views to see, The bounding marsh-bank and the blighted tree, The water only, when the tides were high, When low, the mud half-covered and half-dry; The sun-burnt tar that blisters on the planks, And bank-side stakes in their uneven ranks; Heaps of entangled weeds that slowly float, As the tide rolls by the impeded boat. When tides were neap, and in the sultry day Through the tall bounding mudbanks made their Which on each side rose swelling, and below The dark warm flood ran silently and slow; There anchoring Peter chose from man to hide, There hang his head and view the lazy tide In its hot slimy channel slowly glide. CRABBE. 277 A sable vest each round her flings, Each in her fleshless fingers swings A lurid torch, that dusky glows ; Within their veins no life-blood flows. And where the graceful ringlets stray, Pound man’s more kindly aspect floating, There only snakes and adders play, Their loathsome forms with venom bloating. Pound in the awful ring they spin, The measure of the hymn begin, That tears its way the heart to wound, And flings its bands the sinner round. It robs the wits, the heart it blasts, Loud pealed by the infernal choir, The marrow of the hearer wastes, Nor brooks the music of the lyre. Latin Elegiac Verse. 113 278 Blest, who, from guilt and error free, Keeps the heart’s childlike purity ! He walks life’s path secure from fear, We dare not draw in vengeance near. Woe, woe to him, who dares conceal His heavy crime, the deed of blood ! We fasten on his flying heel, We dog him, Night’s tremendous brood. And if he think to spring away, We wave our wing, we net our prey, Around his feet our toils are cast, And he must sink to earth at last. Unwearied thus we urge the chase, Nor penitence can aught appease, On to the shades, still on we race, Nor grant him even there release. ANSTICE. 279 ’Tis sung in ancient minstrelsy, That Phoebus wont to wear The leaves of any pleasant tree Around his golden hair; Till Daphne, desperate with pursuit Of his imperious love, At her own prayer transform’d took root, A laurel in the grove. Then did the Penitent adorn His brow with laurel green; And ’mid his bright locks, never shorn, No meaner leaf was seen; And poets sage, through every age, About their temples wound The bay; and conquerors thank’d the Gods, With laurel chaplets crown’d. WORDSWORTH. 8 114 Passages for Translation into 280 The wide world’s accidents are apt to change, And fickle Fortune stays not in a place; But like the clouds continually doth range, Or like the sun that hath the night in chace. Then as the heavens, by whom our hopes are guided, Do coast the earth with an eternal course, We must not think a misery betided Will never cease, but still grow worse and worse. When icy Winter’s past, then comes the Spring, Whom Summer’s pride with sultry heat pursues ; To whom mild Autumn does earth’s treasure bring, The sweetest season that the wise can chuse. Heaven’s influence was ne’er so constant yet, In good or bad as to continue it. 281 Ah ! de ses fils perdus la Grece est attristee, Mais pour la consoler la nature est restee; Mais sous son beau soleil, son sol, fecond encor, Sourit meme a des mains avides de culture, Mais des bois d’olivier y donnent leur tr6sor, Mais l’oranger prodigue y repand son fruit d’or, La vigne ses raisins, le myrte sa verdure, Le glatinier ses fleurs; les platanes epais Pres des sources encor se plaisent it s’etendre, En domes transparens, leurs rameaux n’ont jamais Sur la terre laisse tomber un jour plus tendre: Et ces riches vallons, aux sites enchanteurs, Ou du sommet des monts l’ceil charme se repose, Jamais au lit des eaux n’ont vu du laurier-rose Serpenter plus rianS les meandres de fleurs. LEBRUN. 282 r Q, IIAIAE 2 , rj rot Kv7 Tpis ov "Kxmpis povov , aA.V icrri ttoWcov ovoparcov eTTWVVpOS, ecrTLV ptv A'l8t]s, eari 6’ a(f)6iros fita, €(ttlv he 'kvarcra pcavas , eari S’ ipepos aKparos , ecrr olpooypos’ ev Kelvrj to 7rar, Latin Elegiac Verse. 115 cnrovbaiov , r]crv^alov, is (Slav ayov. ivTr/KtTcu yap nvevpovcov ocrois evi "^vxfj 0 tls ou^l Trjarbe ttjs Beov (3opa ; tLcrepxeTCii pev l^Bvcov 7 rXo)r&j yiver eveari 8' iv yepo-ou rerpaaKeXe'i yovrj• vcopa § iv olwvolari tovk€lvt]s Trrepov, €V Brjpcriv, iv fiporoicnv , iv Beois avco. riv ov naXalovcr is rp\s iK[3aXXei Bewv; €i poL Bipis, Bepis be TaXrjBrj Xeyeiv, Aio? rvpavvel 7 Tvevpovoov avev bopos, avev cribr]pov navra toi (jvvrepveTai Kv7 rpis ra Bvtjtwv v. el 8e pvrdiv ycupoucri Kopai Kal yaia redr/Xe, (rvpl£ei 8e vopevs Kal repnerai evKoXa prjXa, Kal vavrai nXcoovai, Aiccvvo’os 8e y opevei, Kal peXnei nererjvd Kal cdhlvovvi peXiacrai , ncos ov xP^I Ka ' L doihov ev e’lapi KaXov delcrai; EX ANTHOLOGIA. 355 He left his home with a swelling sail, Of fame and fortune dreaming,— With a spirit as free as the vernal gale, Or the pennon above him streaming. He hath reached his goal;—by a distant wave, ’Heath a sultry sun they’ve laid him; And stranger forms bent o’er his grave, When the last sad rites were paid him. He should have died in his own loved land, With friends and kinsmen near him: Hot have withered thus on a foreign strand, With no thought, save heaven, to cheer him. Latin Elegiac Verse. But what recks it now 1 ? Is his sleep less sound In the port where the wild winds swept him, Than if home’s green turf his grave had bound, Or the hearts he loved had wept him 1 ? Then why repine? Can he feel the rays That pestilent sun sheds o’er him? Or share the grief that may cloud the days Of the friends who now deplore him ? No—his bark’s at anchor—its sails are furled— It hath ’scaped the storm’s deep chiding; And safe from the buffeting waves of the world, In a haven of peace is riding. ALAR.IC WATTS. O sacred star of evening, tell In what unseen, celestial sphere, Those spirits of the perfect dwell, Too pure to rest in sadness here. Boam they the crystal fields of light, O’er paths by holy angels trod, Their robes with heavenly lustre bright, Their home, the Paradise of God? Soul of the just! and canst thou soar Amidst those radiant spheres sublime, Where countless hosts of heaven adore, Beyond the bounds of space or time ? And canst thou join the sacred choir, Through heaven’s high dome the song to raise, Where seraphs strike the golden lyre In ever-during notes of praise ? Oh! who would heed the chilling blast That blows o’er time’s eventful sea, If 4 bid to hail, its perils past, The bright wave of eternity! 158 Passages for Translation into And who the sorrows would not bear Of such a transient world as this, When hope displays, beyond its care, So bright an entrance into bliss ? PEABODY. 357 Here, in cool grot and mossy cell, We rural fays and fairies dwell; Though rarely seen by mortal eye, When the pale moon ascending high, Harts through yon limes her quivering beams, We frisk it near these crystal streams. Her beams reflected from the wave, A fford the light our revels crave; This turf, with daisies broider’d o’er, Exceeds, we think, the marble floor; Nor yet for artful strains we call, But listen to the waterfall. Would you then taste our tranquil scene, Be sure your bosoms are serene; Devoid of hate, devoid of strife, Devoid of all that poisons life; And much it ’vails you, in their place, To graft the love of human race. And tread with awe these favoured bowers, Nor wound the shrubs, nor bruise the flowers So may your path with sweets abound, So may your couch with rest be crowned! But harm betide the wayward swain Who dares our sacred haunts profane! SHENSTONE. 358 Oh! many a dream was in the ship An hour before her death; And sights of home with sighs disturbed The sleeper’s long-drawn breath. Latin Elegiac Verse. 159 Instead of the murmur of the sea, The sailor heard the humming tree Alive through all its leaves, The hum of the spreading sycamore That grows before his cottage-door, And the swallow’s song in the eaves. His arms enclosed a blooming boy, Who listened with tears of sorrow and joy To the dangers his father had passed; And his wife—by turns she wept and smiled, As she looked on the father of her child Returned to her heart at last. —He wakes at the vessel’s sudden roll, And the rush of waters is in his soul; Astounded the reeling deck he paces, ’Mid hurrying forms and ghastly faces;— The whole ship’s crew are there! Wailings around and overhead, Brave spirits stupified or dead, And madness and despair. WILSON. 359 Bless’d youth, regardful of thy doom Aerial hands shall build thy tomb, With shadowy trophies crown’d : Whilst Honour bath’d in tears shall rove, To sigh thy name through every grove, And call his heroes round. By rapid Scheld’s descending wave His country’s vows shall bless the grave, Where’er the youth is laid : That sacred spot the village hind With every sweetest turf shall bind, And Peace protect the shade. The warlike dead of every age, Who fill the fair recording page, 0 Passages for Translation into Shall leave their sainted rest; And, half-reclining on his spear, Each wondering chief by turns appear To hail the blooming guest. But lo, where sunk in deep despair, Her garments torn, her bosom bare, Impatient Freedom lies ! Her matted tresses madly spread, To every sod, which wraps the dead, She turns her joyless eyes. W. COLLINS. Thou rising sun, whose gladsome ray Invites my fair to rural play, Dispel the mist, and clear the skies, And bring my Orra to my eyes. Oh ! were I sure my dear to view, I’d climb the pine-tree’s topmost bough, East by the roots enraged I’d tear The trees that hide my promised fair. Oh ! could I ride the clouds and skies, Or on the raven’s pinions rise; Ye storks, ye swans, a moment stay, And waft a lover on his way. My bliss too long my bride denies, Apace the wasting summer flies : Nor yet the wintry blasts I fear, Not storms or night shall keep me here. What may for strength with steel compare? Oh ! love has fetters stronger far : By bolts of steel are limbs confined, But cruel love enchains the mind. No longer then perplex thy breast; When thoughts torment, the first are best: Tis mad to go, ’tis death to stay; Away to Orra, haste away. STEELE. Latin Elegiac Verse. 161 361 The visions of my youth are past— Too bright, too beautiful to last. I’ve tried the world—it wears no more The colouring of romance it wore. Yet well has Nature kept the truth She promised to my earliest youth. The radiant beauty shed abroad On all the glorious works of God, Shews freshly, to my sober’d eye, Each charm it wore in days gone by. A few brief years shall pass away, And I, all trembling, weak, and gray, Bow’d to the earth, which waits to fold My ashes in the embracing mould (If haply the dark will of fate Indulge my life so long a date), May eome for the last time to look Upon my childhood’s favourite brook. Then dimly on my eye shall gleam The sparkle of thy dancing stream; And faintly on my ear shall fall Thy prattling current's merry call; Yet 'shalt thou flow as glad and bright As when thou met’st my infant sight. 362 See, Flavia, see that budding rose, How bright beneath the bush it glows : How safely there it lurks concealed; How quickly blasted, when revealed ! The sun with warm attractive rays Tempts it to wanton in the blaze : A blast descends from eastern skies, And all its blushing radiance dies. Then guard, my fair! your charms divine; And check the fond desire to shine, Where fame’s transporting rays allure, While here more happy, more secure. 11 162 Passages -For Translation into The breath of some neglected maid Shall make you sigh you left the shade: A breath to beauty’s bloom unkind, As to the rose an eastern wind. The nymph replied, “ You first, my swain, Confine your sonnets to the plain; One envious tongue alike disarms, You of your wit, me of my charms. What is, unheard, the tuneful thrill 1 Or what, unknown, the poet’s skill 1 What, unadmired, a charming mien, Or what the rose’s blush, unseen 1 ” shenstone. 363 When marshall’d on the nightly plain, The glittering host bestride the sky; One star alone, of all the train, Can fix the sinner’s wandering eye. Hark ! hark! to God the chorus breaks, From every host, from every gem ; But one alone the Saviour speaks, It is the star of Bethlehem. Once on the raging seas I rode, The storm was loud,—the night was dark, The ocean yawn’d,—and rudely blow’d The wind that toss’d my foundering bark. Deep horror then my vitals froze, Death-struck, I ceas’d the tide to stem; When suddenly a star arose, It was the star of Bethlehem. It was my guide, my light, my all, It bade my, dark forebodings cease ; And through the storm, and dangers’ thrall. It led me to the port of peace. Latin Elegiac Verse. 163 Now safely moor’d—my perils o’er, I’ll sing first in night’s diadem, For ever and for evermore, The star!—The star of Bethlehem ! H. K. WHITE. 364 How liquid, yet how sweet the strain ! It charms the listening air; There’s not an undernote of pain, Nor muffled discord there. For joy, for joy, the creature sings ! Of Phcehus’ train is he; The oarage of his stately wings Expects a nobler sea. By Phoebus taught of things to come, The prophet songster knows The glories of the happier home, To which through death he goes. He leaves the glassy streams of eartL, He leaves the greenwood bowers, For clearer springs of heavenly birth, For bright eternal flowers. He goes to join his Master dear, The God he served below, The Lord of light, the Minstrel-seer, Plim of the silver bow. He goes where love attunes each word, Joy brightens every brow; I marvel not the silent bird Should break his silence now. j. E. BODE. 365 ’Twas when the seas were roaring With hollow blasts of wind, • A damsel lay deploring, All on a rock reclin’d. 11—3 164 Passages for Translation into Wide o’er the foaming billows She cast a wistful look; Her head was crown’d with willows, That trembled o’er the brook. How can they say that nature Has nothing made in vain; Why, then, beneath the water Ho hideous rocks remain 1 Ho eyes these rocks discover, That lurk beneath the deep To wreck the wandering lover, And leave the maid to weep. All melancholy lying, Thus wail’d she for her dear; Repaid each blast with sighing, Each billow with a tear; When o’er the white wave stooping, His floating corpse she spied; Then like a lily, drooping, She bow’d her head and died. GAY. 366 Thrice the sad father tore thee from his heart, And thrice return’d to bless thee, and to part; Thrice from his trembling lips he murmured low The plaint, that owned unutterable woe. “ And weep not thus,” he cried, “ young Ellenore, My bosom bleeds, but soon shall bleed no more ! Short shall this half-extinguished spirit burn, And soon these limbs to kindred dust return ! But not, my child, with life’s precarious fire, The immortal ties of Nature shall expire; These shall resist the triumph of decay, When time is o’er, and worlds have passed away ! Cold in the dust this perish’d heart may lie, But that •which warmed it once shall never die ! That spark unburied in its mortal frame, With living light, eternal, and the same, Latin Elegiac Verse. 165 Shall beam, on Joy’s interminable years, Unveil’d by darkness—unassuaged by tears! And when I gain the home without a friend, And press the uneasy couch where none attend, This last embrace, still cherished in my heart, Shall calm the struggling spirit ere it part! Thy darling form shall seem to hover nigh, And hush the groan of life’s last agony! ” CAMPBELL. 367 I have found out a gift for my fair, I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; But let me that plunder forbear; She will say ’twas a barbarous deed. For he ne’er could be true, she averr’d, Who could rob a poor bird of its young; And I loved her the more, when I heard Such tenderness fall from her tongue. I have heard her with sweetness unfold How that pity was due—to a dove : That it ever attended the bold; And she call’d it the sister of love. But her words such a pleasure convey, So much I her accents adore, Let her speak, and whatever she say, Methinks I should love her the more. Can a bosom so gentle remain Unmov’d, when her Corydon sighs 1 Will a nymph that is fond of the plain These plains and this valley despise % Dear regions of silence and shade— Soft scenes of contentment and ease— Where I could have pleasingly stray’d, If aught in her absence could please ! SHENSTONE. 166 Passages for Translation into 368 The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest, when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest, when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast. And breathed on the face of the foe as he passed: And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride: And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock- beating surf. And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail; The tents were all silent, the banners alone; The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord! BYXiO^T. 369 Farewell, too little and too lately known, Whom I began to think and call my own; For sure our souls w~ere near allied, and thine Cast in the same poetic mould with mine. One common note on either lyre did strike, And knaves and fools we both abhorred alike ; To the same goal did both our studies drive— The last set out the soonest did arrive: Latin Elegiac Verse. 167 Thus Nisus fell into the slippery place, Whilst his young friend performed and won the race. —O early ripe! to thy abundant store What could advancing age have added more? It might (what nature never gives the young) Have taught the smoothness of thy native tongue; But satire needs not that, and wit will shine Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line: A noble error, and but seldom made, When poets are by too much force betrayed. Thy generous fruits, though gathered ere their prime, Still shewed a quickness; and maturing time But mellows what we write, to the dull sweets of rhyme. —Once more, hail and farewell; farewell thou young, And, ah! too short, Marcellus of our tongue! Thy brows with ivy and with laurels bound, But fate and gloomy night encompass thee around. DRYDEN. 70 The lopped tree in time may grow again, Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower; The sorriest wight may find release of pain, The driest soil suck in some moistening shower: Time goes by turns, and chances change by course, From foul to fair, from better hap to worse. The sea of fortune doth not ever flow, She draws her favours to the lowest ebb; Her tides have equal times to come and go; Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web. No joy so great but runneth to an end; No hap so hard but may in fine amend. Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring, Not endless night, yet not eternal day: The saddest birds a season find to sing; The roughest storm a calm may soon allay: Thus, with succeeding turns, God tempereth all, That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall. 168 Passages for Translation into A chance may win that by mischance was lost; That net that holds no great, takes little fish: In some things all, in all things none are crossed ; Few all they need, but none have all they wish. Unmingled joys here to no man befall; Who least, hath some; who most, hath never all. SOUTHWELL. 371 As I came o’er the distant hills, I heard a wee bird sing, Oh! pleasant are the primrose buds In the perfumed breath of spring; And pleasant are the mossy banks Beneath the birchen bowers, But a home wherein no children play Is a garden shorn of flowers! Again I heard the birdie’s song, This time ’twas loud and clear: How glorious are the leafy woods In the summer of the year; All clothed in green, the mossy boughs Spread wide o’er land and lea, But a home wherein no son is found Is a wood without a tree. The birdie ceased his happy song, I heard his voice no more; The waters rippled silently To the blue lake’s quiet shore. But a mother sang her cradle hymn, All hallowed be your rest! And angels watched the shining heads, That lay on Jesus’ breast. MRS. NORTON. Latin Elegiac Verse. 169 “Ah! say,” the fair Louisa cried, “Say, where the abode of Love is found;” “Pervading Nature,” I replied, “ His influence spreads the world around. When morning’s arrowy beams arise, He sparkles in the enlivening ray, And blushes in the glowing skies, When rosy evening fades away. “ The summer-winds that gently blow, The flocks that bleat along the glades, The nightingale that, soft and low, With music fills the listening shades; The murmurs of the silver surf All echo Love’s enchanting notes, From violets lurking in the turf His balmy breath thro’ ether floats. “From perfumed flowers and dewy leaves Delicious scent he bids exhale; He smiles amid autumnal sheaves, And clothes with green the grassy vale. But when that throne the god assumes, Where his most powerful influence lies, ’Tis on Louisa’s cheek he blooms, And lightens from her radiant eyes!” FROM THE FRENCH. Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn Thy banished peace, thy laurels torn! Thy sons, for valour long renowned, Lie slaughtered on their native ground; Thy hospitable roofs no more Invite the stranger to the door; In smoky ruins sunk they lie, The monuments of cruelty. The wretched owner sees afar His all become the prey of war; Bethinks him of his babes and wife, Then smites his breast, and curses life. 170 Passages for Translation into Thy swains are famished on the rocks, Where once they fed their wanton flocks; Thy ravished virgins shriek in vain, Thy infants perish on the plain. The rural pipe and merry lay No more shall cheer the happy day; No social scenes of gay delight Beguile the dreary winter-night: No strains but those of sorrow flow, And nought be heard but sounds of woe; While the pale phantoms of the slain Glide nightly o’er the silent plain. SMOLLETT. 374 My mother! when I learned that thou wast dead Say wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? Hovered thy spirit o’er thy sorrowing son, Wretch even then, life’s journey just begun? Perhaps thou gav’st me, though unseen, a kiss; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss— I heard the bell toll’d on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nursery windows, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! But was it such ?—It was ! Where thou art gone, Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, The parting word shall pass my lips no more ! The maidens, griev’d themselves at my concern, Oft gave me promise of thy quick return : What ardently I wish’d, I long believed, And, disappointed still, was still deceiv’d. Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, I learn’d at last submission to my lot, But, though I less deplored thee, ne’er forgot. COWPER. Latin Elegiac Verse. 171 375 Oh my lost love ! no tomb is plac’d for tliee That may to strangers’ eyes thy worth impart! Thou hast no grave but in the stormy sea, And no memorial but this breaking heart. Forth to the world, a widow’d wanderer driven, I pour to winds and waves th’unheeded tear; Try with vain effort to submit to heaven, And fruitless call on him, “who cannot hear.” 0 might I fondly clasp him once again, While o’er my head tli’infuriate billows pour, Forget in death this agonising pain, And feel his father’s cruelty no more ! Fart, raging waters ! part, and shew beneath, In your dread caves his pale and mangled form ; Now, while the demons of despair and death Fide on the deep and urge the howling storm !— Lo ! by the lightning’s momentary blaze I see him rise the whitening waves above, No longer such, as when, in happier days, He gave the enchanted hours to me and love : Such as, when daring the enchafed sea, And courting dangerous toil he often said, That every peril, one soft smile from me, One sigh of speechless tenderness o’erpaid. CHARLOTTE SMITH. 376 Thou didst, O mighty God, exist, Ere Time began its race : Before the ample elements Fill’d up the void of space ; Ere through the gloom of ancient night The streaks of light appear’d; Before the high celestial arch, Or starry poles were rear’d ! 172 Passages for Translation into Ere men ador’d, or angels knew, Or prais’d thy wondrous name, Thy bliss, O sacred spring of life, Thy glory was the same. And when the pillars of the world With sudden ruin break, And all this vast and goodly frame Sinks iu the mighty wreck; When from her orb the Moon shall start, Th’ astonish’d Sun roll back, And all the trembling starry lamps Their ancient course forsake, For ever permanent and fix’d From agitation free, Unchang’d in everlasting years, Shall thy existence be. MRS. ROWE. 377 The way was long, the wind was cold, The minstrel was infirm and old; His withered cheek, and tresses gray, Seemed to have known a better day; The harp, his sole remaining joy, Was carried by an orphan boy. The last of all the bards was he, Who sung of border chivalry; For well-a-day ! their date was fled ; His tuneful brethren all were dead ; And he, neglected and oppressed, Wished to be with them and at rest. Ho more on prancing palfrey borne, He carolled, light as lark at morn; Ho longer courted and caressed, High placed in hall a welcome guest, He poured to lord and lady gay The unpremeditated lay: Latin Elegiac Verse. 173 Old times were changed, old manners gone ; A stranger filled the Stuart’s throne! The bigots of the iron time Had called his harmless art a crime. A wandering harper, scorned and poor, He begged his bread from door to door, And tuned to please a peasant’s ear, The harp a king had loved to hear. SIR WALTER SCOTT. 378 With more than mortal powers endowed, How high they soared above the crowd ! Theirs was no common party race, Jostling by dark intrigue for place ; Like fabled gods, their mighty war Shook realms and nations in its jar : Beneath each banner proud to stand, Looked up the noblest of the land, Till through the British world were known The names of Pitt and Pox alone. Spells of such force no wizard grave E’er framed in dark Thessalian cave, Though his could drain the ocean dry, And force the planets from the sky. These spells are spent, and, spent with these, The wine of life is on the lees. Genius, and taste, and talent gone, For ever tombed beneath the stone, Where,—taming thought to human pride !— The mighty chiefs sleep side by side. The solemn echo seems to cry,— “ Here let their discord with them die; Speak not for those a separate doom, Whom fate made brothers in the tomb, But search the land of living men, Where wilt thou find their like again ? ” SIR WALTER SCOTT. 174 Passages for Translation into 379 Where tlie remote Bermudas ride, In th’ ocean’s bosom unespied, From a small boat that row’d along, The list’ning winds receiv’d their song. “What should we do, but sing His praise That led us through the wat’ry maze, TJnto an isle so long unknown, And yet far kinder than our own ! “Where He the huge sea-monsters racks, That lift the deep upon their backs; He lands us on a grassy stage, Safe from the storm’s and prelates’ rage. “He gave us this eternal spring Which here enamels every thing, And sends the fowls to us in care, On daily visits through the air. “He hangs in shades the orange bright, Like golden lamps in a green night, And in these rocks for us did frame A temple where to sound His name. “Oh ! let our voice His praise exalt Till it arrive at Heaven’s vault, Which then perhaps rebounding may Echo beyond the Mexique bay.” Thus sang they in the English boat, A holy and a cheerful note, And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept the time. ANDREW MARVELL. 380 ’Tis midnight: on the mountains brown The cold round moon shines deeply down; Blue roll the waters, blue the sky Spreads like an ocean hung on high, Bespangled with those isles of light, So wildly, spiritually bright; Latin Elegiac Verse . Who ever gazed upon them shining, And turned to earth without repining, Nor wished for wings to flee away, And mix with their eternal ray? The waves on either shore lay there Calm, clear, and azure as the air; And scarce their foam the pebbles shook, But murmur’d meekly as the brook. The winds were pillowed on the waves, The banners drooped along their staves. And, as they fell around them furling, Above them shone the crescent curling; And that deep silence was unbroke, Save where the watch his signal spoke, Save where the steed neighed oft and shrill, And echo answer’d from the hill, And the wide hum of that wild host Bustled like leaves from coast to coast, As rose the Muezzin’s voice in air, In midnight call to wonted prayer; It rose, that chanted mournful strain, Like some lone spirit’s o’er the plain. bye ox. Si Come, friendly bird, by Winter’s storm pursued, To this my hospitable roof repair: Here shall you find supplies of daily food, And kindly shelter from th’ inclement air. I trust, indeed, my service will be paid: A song, familiar guest, is all I ask: No hard, severe, condition have I made, A song to you is but an easy task. Soon as the Sun emits a warmer ray, Soon as the Earth puts forth her earliest flower, Be free: no window shall obstruct your way, I scorn tyrannic exercise of power, Your love of glorious freedom I commend; Go then, sweet bird, on joyful pinions borne. 176 Passages for Translation into Perhaps, a mistress or a long-lost friend, In yonder grove, may welcome yonr return. But, if the sharpness of another frost, Should bring my favourite to these walls again; Let me not count my present bounty lost, But leave ingratitude of heart to men: Another song my longing ears require, Such as is wont to cheer the vocal grove; When first the Sun lights up his morning fire, Perhaps expressive of successful Love; Or such as mourns the Light’s departing ray, When evening breezes cool the glowing air, The shrill petition for another day; The feathered people’s earnest evening prayer. DALRYMPLE. 382 Turn, gentle hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way To where yon taper cheers the vale With hospitable ray. For here forlorn and lost I tread, With fainting steps and slow; Where wilds, immeasurably spread, Seem length’ning as I go. Forbear, my son, the Hermit cries, To tempt the dang’rous gloom; For yonder phantom only flies, To lure thee to thy doom. Here to the houseless child of want My door is open still; And, though my portion is but scant, I give it with good-will. Ho flocks that range the valley free To slaughter I condemn; Taught by that power that pities me, I learn to pity them. Latin Elegiac Verse. 1 But from the mountain’s grassy side A guiltless feast I bring; A scrip with herbs and fruit supplied, And water from the spring. Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; All earthborn cares are wrong: Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long. GOLDSMITH. 3S3 Happy the man who his whole time doth bound Within the enclosure of his little ground: Happy the man whom the same humble place, (The hereditary cottage of his race,) From his first rising infancy has known, And by degrees sees gently bending down, With natural propension to that earth, Which both preserved his life, and gave him birth. Him no false distant lights, by Fortune set, Could ever into foolish wanderings get. He never dangers either saw or feared: The dreadful storms at sea he never heard. He never heard the shrill alarms of war, Or the worse noises of the lawyer’s bar: No change of consuls marks to him the year; The change of seasons is his calendar: The cold and heat, Winter and Summer shows; Autumn by fruits, and Spring by flowers he knows: He measures time by land-marks, and has found For the whole day the dial of his ground. A neighb’ring wood, born with himself, he sees, And loves his old contemporary trees. He has only heard of near Verona’s name, And knows it, like the Indies, but by fame: Does with a like concernment notice take Of the Bed sea and of Benacus’ lake: 12 178 Passages for Translation into Thus health and strength he to a third age enjoys, And sees a long posterity of boys. About the spacious world let others roam, The voyage, life, is longest made at home. COWLEY. 384 Disappointed of her game, Panting up the hill she came, But her story was begun Ere the summit quite she won. “Mother, Mother! I have been Such a chase across the green, By a cruel bird outwitted, Still from bush to bush it flitted. Bising oft, but soon alighting, Still avoiding, still inviting: Now I thought it all my own, In a moment it was gone: Onward still my steps it drew, Then it spread its wing and flew;— What a world of pains it cost! Now the pretty treasure’s lost!” While the maid her tale repeated, Angry to be thus defeated, First the prudent mother smiled, Then bespoke her pouting child: “Let thy chase, my darling, give Lesson to thee how to live. From thine own pursuit and sorrow, From that bird a warning borrow: Bash and headlong, child, like thee, Man pursues felicity. Still illusive prospects cheer him, Still he thinks the treasure near him, When he on the prize would spring, Bliss is ever on the wing; Thus his weary life he spends In a chase that never ends, Hopes conceived and baffled ever, Bootless quest and vain endeavour.” TRANS. FROM DE ROSSI. Latin Elegiac Verse. 179 385 Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O’er the grave, where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly, at dead of night, The sod with our bayonets turning, By the struggling moonbeam’s misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Nor in sheet nor in shroud we bound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we stedfastly gazed on the face of the dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow. We thought, as we hollow’d his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o’er his head, And we far away- on the billow. Lightly they’ll talk of the spirit that’s gone, And o’er his cold ashes upbraid him;' But nothing he’ll reck, if they let him sleep on, In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done, When the clock toll’d the hour for retiring: And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line—we raised not a stone, But left him alone in his glory. » CHARLES WOLFE. 180 Passages for Translation into 386 0 God, whose thunder shakes the sky; Whose eye this atom globe surveys; To Thee, my only rock, I fly, Thy mercy in thy justice praise; The mystic mazes of thy will, The shadows of celestial light, Are past the power of human skill— But what the Eternal acts is right. O teach me in the trying hour, When anguish swells the dewy tear, To still my sorrows, own thy power, Thy goodness love, thy justice fear. If in this bosom aught but Thee Encroaching sought a boundless sway, Omniscience could the danger see, And Mercy took the cause away. Then why, my soul, dost thou complain? Why, drooping, seek the dark recess? Shake off the melancholy chain, For God created all to bless. But ah! my breast is human still; The rising sigh, the falling tear, My languid vitals’ feeble rill . The sickness of my soul declare. But yet, with fortitude resigned, I’ll thank the inflictor of the blow; Forbid the sigh, compose my mind, Nor let the gush of misery flow. The gloomy mantle of the night, Which on my sinking spirit steals, Will vanish at the morning light, Which God, my East, my Sun, reveals. * CHATTERTON. Latin Elegiac Verse. 387 The sailor sighs as sinks his native shore, As all its lessening turrets bluely fade; He climbs the mast to feast his eye once more, And busy fancy fondly lends her aid. Ah! now each dear domestic scene he knew, Recalled and cherished in a foreign clime, Charms with the magic of a moonlight view; Its colours mellowed, not impaired, by time. True as the needle, homeward points his heart, Through all the horrors of the stormy main; This, the last wish that would with life depart, To see the smile of her he loves again. When morn first faintly draws her silver line, Or eve’s gray cloud descends to drink the wave; When sea and sky in midnight darkness join, Still, still he views the parting look she gave. Her gentle spirit lightly hovering o’er, Attends his little bark from pole to pole; And when the beating billows round him roar, Whispers sweet hope to soothe his troubled soul. Carved is her name in many a spicy grove, In many a plantain forest, waving wide; Where dusky youths in painted plumage rove, And giant palms o’er-arch the golden tide. But lo, at last he comes with crowded sail! Lo, o’er the cliff what eager figures bend ! And hark, what mingled murmurs swell the gale! In each he hears the welcome of a friend. —’Tis she, ’tis she herself! she waves her hand! Soon is the anchor cast, the canvass furled; Soon through the whitening surge he springs to land, And clasps the maid he singled from the world. S. ROGERS. 181 * 182 Passages for Translation into 388 If I had thought thou could’st have died, I might not weep for thee ; But I forgot, when by thy side, That thou could’st mortal be : It never through my mind had past, The time would e’er be o’er— And I on thee should look my last, And thou should’st smile no more ! And still upon that face I look, And think ’twill smile again ; And still the thought I will not brook. That I must look in vain ! But when I speak—thou dost not say What thou ne’er left’st unsaid; And now I feel, as well I may, Sweet Mary l thou art dead 1 If thou would’st stay, e’en as thou art. All cold, and all serene— I still might press thy silent heart. And where thy smiles have been ! While e’en thy chill, bleak corse I have, Thou seemest still mine own ; But there I lay thee in the grave— And I am now alone ! I do not think, where’er thou art. Thou hast forgotten me ; And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart. In thinking too of thee; Yet there was round thee such a dawn Of light ne’er seen before, As fancy never could have drawn And never can restore ! C. WOLFE. 389 My dear and only Love, I pray. This little world of thee Be governed by no other sway Than purest monarchy. Latin Elegiac Verse. 183 For, if confusion have a part, Which virtuous souls abhor, And call a synod in thy heart, I’ll never love thee more. Like Alexander I would reign, And I would reign alone; My soul did ever more disdain A rival in my throne. He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, Who dares not put it to the touch, To win or lose it all. Then, in the empire of thy heart, Where I alone would be, If others should pretend a part, Or dare to share with me; By Love my peace shall ne’er be wreck’d, I’ll spurn him from my door; I’ll, smiling, mock at thy neglect, An d never love thee more. But if no faithless action stain Thy truth and constant word, I’ll make thee famous by my pen, And glorious by my sword. I’ll serve thee in such noble ways As ne’er before were known; I’ll deck and crown thy head with bays, And love thee more and more. MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. ’Twas on a lofty vase’s side, Where China’s gayest art had dy’d, The azure flowers that blow; Demurest of the tabby kind, The pensive Selima, reclin’d, Gazed on the lake below. 184 Passages for Translation into Her conscious tail her joy declar’d; The fair round face, the snowy beard, The velvet of her paws, Her coat, that with the tortoise vies, Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes, She saw, and purr’d applause. Still had she gazed; but midst the tide Two angel forms were seen to glide, The genii of the stream ; Their scaly armour’s Tyrian hue, Through richest purple to the view, Betray’d a golden gleam. The hapless Nymph with wonder saw A whisker first, and then a claw, With many an ardent wish, She stretch’d, in vain, to reach the prize: What female heart can gold despise ? What Cat’s averse to fish ? Presumptuous Maid! with looks intent, Again she stretch’d, again she bent, Nor knew the gulf between. (Malignant Fate sat by, and smil’d,) The slipp’ry verge her feet beguil’d, She tumbled headlong in. Eight times emerging from the flood, She mew’d to every watery god, Some speedy aid to send. No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr’d; Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard; A fav’rite has no friend ! From hence, ye beauties, undeceiv’d, Know, one false step is ne’er retriev’d, And be with caution bold. Not all that tempts your wandering eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize, Nor all that glisters gold. GRAY. 185 Latin Elegiac Verse. 391 Above the rest a rural nymph was famed, Thy offspring, Thames ! the fair Lodona named ; (Lodona’s fate, in long oblivion cast, The Muse shall sing, and what she sings shall last.) Scarce could the goddess from her nymph be known, But by the crescent and the golden zone. She scorned the praise of beauty, and the care; A belt her waist, a fillet binds her air ; A painted quiver on her shoulder sounds, And with her dart the flying deer she wounds. It chanced, as eager of the chase, the maid Beyond the forest’s verdant limits strayed, Pan saw and lov d, and swift through brake and brier Pursued her flight, her flight increased his fire. Not half so swift the trembling doves can fly, When the fierce eagle cleaves the liquid sky; Not half so swiftly the fierce eagle moves, When through the clouds lie drives the trembling doves; As from the god she flew with furious pace, Or as the god, more furious, urged the chase. Now fainting, sinking, pale, the nymph appears; Now close behind his sounding steps she hears; And now his shadow reached her as she run, His shadow lengthened by the setting sun; And now his shorter breath, with sultry air, Pants on her neck, and fans her parting hair. In vain on father Thames she calls for aid, Nor could Diana help her injured maid. Paint, breathless, thus she prayed, nor prayed in vain; “Ah, Cynthia! ah—though banished from thy train, Let me, oh, let me, to the shades repair, My native shades—there weep, and murmur there.” She said, and melting as in tears she lay, In a soft silver stream dissolved away. The silver stream her virgin coldness keeps, Por ever murmurs, and for ever weeps; Still bears the name the hapless virgin bore, And bathes the forest where she ranged before. In her chaste current oft the goddess laves, And with celestial tears augments the waves. 186 Passages for Translation into Oft in her glass the musing shepherd spies The headlong mountains and the downward skies, The watery landscape of the pendent woods, And absent trees that tremble in the floods; In the clear azure gleam the flocks are seen, And floating forests paint the waves with green, Through the fair scene roll slow the lingering streams, Then foaming pour along and rush into the Thames. POPE. Arethusa arose From her couch of snows In the Acroceraunian mountains,— From cloud and from crag, With many a jag, Shepherding her bright fountains. She leapt down the rocks With her rainbow locks Streaming among the streams, Her steps paved with green The downward ravine Which slopes to the western gleams;—• And gliding and springing, She went, ever singing, In murmurs as soft as sleep ; The Earth seemed to love her, And Heaven smiled above her, As she lingered towards the deep. Then Alpheus bold, On his glacier cold, With his trident the mountains strook; And opened a chasm In the rocks ;—with the spasm All Erymanthus shook. ^ And the black south wind It concealed behind The urns of the silent snow, And earthquake and thunder Did rend in sunder Latin Elegiac Verse. 187 The bars of the springs below. The beard and the hair Of the river God were Seen through the torrent’s sweep, As he followed the light Of the fleet nymph’s flight To the brink of the Dorian deep. “Oh, save me! Oh, guide me! And bid the deep hide me, For he grasps me now by the hair!” The loud Ocean heard, To its blue depths stirred, And divided at her prayer; And under the water The earth’s white daughter Fled like a sunny beam : Behind her descended Her billows, unblended With the brackish Dorian stream: Like a gloomy stain On the emerald main Alpheus rushed behind,— As an eagle pursuing A dove to its ruin Down the streams of the cloudy wind. * * * * And now from their fountains In Enna’s mountains, Down one vale where the morning basks, Like friends once parted Grown single-hearted, They ply their watery tasks. At sun-rise they leap From their cradles steep In the cave of the shelving. hill ; At noon-tide they flow Through the woods below And the meadows of Asphodel; 188 Passages for Translation into Latin Elegiacs . And at night they sleep In the rocking deep Beneath the Ortygian shore;—- Like spirits that lie In the azure sky When they love, but live no more. SHELLEY. 393 Friendship, peculiar boon of Heaven, The noblest mind’s delight and pride, To men and angels only given, To all the lower world denied! While Love, unknown among the bless’d, Parent of thousand wild desires, The savage and the human breast Torments alike with raging fires: With bright but oft destructive gleam Alike o’er all his lightnings fly; Thy lambent glories only beam Around the favourites of the sky. Thy gentle flows of guiltless joys On fools and villains ne’er descend; In vain for thee the tyrant sighs, And hugs the flatterer for a friend. Directress of the brave and just, Oh! guide us through life’s darksome way; And let the tortures of mistrust On selfish bosoms only prey. Nor shall thine ardours cease to glow, When souls to blissful climes remove; What raised our virtue here below, Shall aid our happiness above. S. JOHNSON. PASSAGES FOE TRANSLATION Into Latin Hexameter Verse. 394 The mind contemplative finds nothing here On earth that’s worthy of a wish or fear: He whose sublime pursuit is God and truth, Burns, like some absent and impatient youth, To join the object of his warm desires; Thence to sequester’d shades and streams retires, And there delights his passion to rehearse In wisdom’s sacred voice or in harmonious verse. S. JENYNS. 395 As when a sudden storm of hail and rain Beats to the ground the yet unbearded grain, Think not the hopes of harvest are destroy’d On the flat field, and on the naked void; The light, unloaded stem, from tempests freed, Will raise the youthful honours of its head; And soon restor’d by native vigour, bear The timely product of the bounteous year. DRYDEN. 396 Nations behold, remote from Reason’s beams, Where Indian Ganges rolls his sandy streams, Of life impatient, rush into the fire, And willing victims to their gods expire ! Persuaded the loos’d soul to regions flies Blest with eternal spring and cloudless skies. s. JENYXS. 190 Passages for Translation into 397 Thus the gay moth, by sun and vernal gales Call’d forth to wander o’er the dewy vales, From flower to flower, from sweet to sweet will stray, Till, tired and satiate with her food and play, Deep in the shades she builds her peaceful nest, In loved seclusion pleased at length to rest; There folds those wings that erst so wildly bore, Becomes a household nymph and seeks to range no more. 398 The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build Her humble nest, lies silent on the field; But if (the promise of a cloudless day) Aurora smiling bids her rise and play, Then straight she shows, ’twas not for want of choice, Or power to climb, she made so low a choice; Singing, she mounts ; her airy wings are stretched Towards heaven, as if from heaven her note she fetched. WALLER. 399 Ho. 20, p. 4. 400 As when around the clear bright moon the stars Shine in full splendour, and the winds are hushed, The groves, the mountain-tops, the headland heights Stand all apparent, not a vapour streaks The boundless blue, but ether opened wide All glitters, and the shepherd’s heart is cheered. COWPER. 401 And such is Human Life!—so gliding on, It glimmers like a meteor, and is gone! Yet is the tale, brief though it be, as strange, As full methinks of wild and wondrous change, Latin Hexameter Verse. 191 As any that the wandering, tribes require, Stretched in the desert round their evening fire; As any sung of old in hall or bower To minstrel-harps at midnight’s witching hour ! S. ROGERS. 403 Between two worlds life hovers like a star, ’Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon’s verge; How little do we know that which we are! How less what we may be! the eternal surge Of time and tide rolls on, and bears afar Our bubbles; as the old burst, new emerge, Lashed from the foam of ages, while the graves Of empires heave but like some passing waves. BYRON. 403 So the struck eagle, stretcht upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, View’d his own feather on the fatal dart, And wing’d the shaft that quiver’d in his heart. Keen were his pangs, but keener far, to feel He nurs’d the pinion that imped’d the steel; Whilst the same plumage, which had warmed his nest, Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast. BYRON. 404 OYK odaves, Upcorr], peTeftrjs S’ os apclvova opov, Kai valois pciKapcov vijcrovs 6 oXltj eVt 7 roXX#, ov6a tear ’H \vcr'ia>v nobloav aKipTcoaa yeyrjOas avOeaiv ev pakanolai, kokccv oktoctOov anavraiv- ov x CL l ia)V Xv7rei or , ov icavpov voveros eVo^Xei, ov Troivfjs , ov dtyos o^ocs- aXX’ ovde 7ro6eivbs avOpunoiv otl