Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone, Whole treasure. Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads, The faster. Who seeks him must be worse than blind (He and his house are so combined,) If, finding it, he fails to find Its master. THE CANTAB. WITH two spurs or one, and no great matter which, Boots bought, or boots borrow'd, a whip or a switch, Five shillings or less for the hire of his beast, And is look'd at and laugh'd at by old and by young. Till, at length overspent, and his sides smear'd with blood, Down tumbles his horse, man and all in the mud. In a wagon or chaise, shall he finish his route? Oh! scandalous fate! he must do it on foot. Young gentlemen, hear!-I am older than you! The advice that I give I have proved to be true, Wherever your journey may be, never doubt it, The faster you ride, you're the longer about it. TRANSLATIONS OF GREEK VERSES. FROM THE GREEK OF JULIANUS. His mother, kindling with disdain That she had borne him, struck him dead; For courage, and not birth alone, In Sparta, testifies a son ! ON THE SAME BY PALLADAS. A SPARTAN 'scaping from the fight, And thus the fugitive address'd: "Thou canst but live to blot with shame Indelible thy mother's name, While every breath that thou shalt draw But Sparta will be safe and free AN EPITAPH. My name-my country-what are they to thee! What, whether base or proud my pedigree? Perhaps I far surpass'd all other menPerhaps I fell below them all-what then? Suffice it, stranger! that thou seest a tombThou know'st its use-it hides-no matter whom. ANOTHER. TAKE to thy bosom, gentle earth, a swain He fill'd with grain the glebe; the rills he led Through this green herbage, and those fruitful, bowers; Thou, therefore, earth! lie lightly on his head, His hoary head, and deck his grave with flowers. ANOTHER. PAINTER, this likeness is too strong, ANOTHER. AT threescore winters' end I died BY CALLIMACHUS. Ar morn we placed on his funeral bier By her own hand his blooming sister died. [brace, Nor son could hope nor daughter more to emAnd all Cyrene sadden'd at his woe. ON MILTIADES. MILTIADES! thy valor best (Although in every region known) ON AN INFANT. BEWAIL not much, my parents! me, the prey BY HERACLIDES. IN Cnidus born, the consort I became ON THE REED. I WAS of late a barren plant, Nor fig, nor grape, nor apple bore, |