Multa onerata nive et canis conspersa pruinis, Cætera sunt glacies. Procul hinc, ubi Bruma
Contristat menses, portenta hæc horrida nobis
Illa strui voluit. Quoties de culmine summo
Clivorum fluerent in littora prona, solutæ
Sole, nives, propero tendentes in mare cursu,
Illa gelu fixit. Paulatim attollere sese
Mirum cœpit opus; glacieque ab origine rerum
In glaciem aggesta sublimes vertice tandem
Equavit montes, non crescere nescia moles.
Sic immensa diu stetit, æternumque stetisset
Congeries, hominum neque vi neque mobilis arte,
Littora ni tandem declivia deseruisset,
Pondere victa suo. Dilabitur. Omnia circum
Antra et saxa gemunt, subito concussa fragore,
Dum ruit in pelagum, tanquam studiosa natandi,
Ingens tota strues. Sic Delos dicitur olim,
Insula, in Ægæo fluitasse erratica ponto.
Sed non ex glacie Delos; neque torpida Delum
Bruma inter rupes genuit nudum sterilemque.
Sed vestita herbis erat illa, ornataque nunquam
Decidua lauro; et Delum dilexit Apollo.
At vos, errones horrendi, et caligine digni
Cimmeria, Deus idem odit. Natalia vsetra,
Nubibus involvens frontem, non ille tueri
Sustinuit. Patrium vos ergo requirite cœlum !
Ite! Redite! Timete moras; ni leniter austro
Spirante, et nitidas Phobo jaculante sagittas
Hostili vobis, pereatis gurgite misti!
ON THE ICE ISLANDS SEEN FLOATING
IN THE GERMAN OCEAN.
WHAT portents, from what distant region, ride,
Unseen till now in ours, the astonish'd tide?
In ages past, old Proteus, with his droves Of sea-calves, sought the mountains and the groves.
But now, descending whence of late they stood, Themselves the mountains seem to rove the
Dire times were they, full charged with human
And these, scarce less calamitous than those.
What view we now? More wondrous still!
Behold!
Like burnish'd brass they shine, or beaten gold;
And all around the pearl's pure splendor show,
And all around the ruby's fiery glow.
Come they from India, where the burning earth,
All bounteous, gives her richest treasures birth;
And where the costly gems, that beam around
The brows of mightiest potentates, are found?
No. Never such a countless dazzling store
Had left unseen the Ganges' peopled shore.
Rapacious hands, and ever watchful eyes,
Should sooner far have mark'd and seized the
prize.
Whence sprang they then? Ejected have they
From Vesuvius', or from Ætna's burning womb?
Thus shine they self-illumed, or but display
The borrow'd splendors of a cloudless day?
With borrow'd beams they shine. The gales that
breathe
Now landward, and the current's force beneath,
Have borne them nearer; and the nearer sight,
Advantaged more, contemplates them aright.
Their lofty summits crested high they show,
With mingled sleet, and long-incumbent snow.
The rest is ice. Far hence, where, most severe,
Bleak winter well nigh saddens all the year,
Their infant growth began. He bade arise
Their uncouth forms, portentous in our eyes.
Oft as dissolved by transient suns, the snow
Left the tall cliff, to join the flood below;
He caught, and curdled with a freezing blast
The current, ere it reach'd the boundless waste.
By slow degrees uprose the wondrous pile,
And long successive ages roll'd the while;
Till, ceaseless in its growth, it claim'd to stand,
Tall as its rival mountains on the land.
Thus stood, and, unremovable by skill
Or force of man, had stood the structure still,
But that, though firmly fix'd, supplanted yet
By pressure of its own enormous weight,
It left the shelving beach-and, with a sound
That shook the bellowing waves and rocks
around,
Self-launch'd, and swiftly, to the briny wave,
As if instinct with strong desire to lave,
Down went the ponderous mass. So bards of old
How Delos swam the Ægean deep have told.
But not of ice was Delos. Delos bore
Herb, fruit, and flower. She, crown'd with laurel, wore,
E'en under wintry skies, a summer smile;
And Delos was Apollo's favorite isle.
But, horrid wanderers of the deep, to you
He deems Cimmerian darkness only due.
Your hated birth he deign'd not to survey,
But, scornful, turn'd his glorious eyes away.
Hence, seek your home, nor longer rashly dare
The darts of Phoebus and a softer air;
Lest ye regret, too late, your native coast,
In no congenial gulf forever lost!
MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION TO WIL
LIAM NORTHCOT.
HIC sepultus est
Inter suorum lacrymas
GULIELMUS NORTHCOT,
GULIELMI et MARIE filius
Unicus, unice dilectus,
Qui floris ritu succisus est semihiantis,
Aprilis die septimo,
Care, vale! Sed non æternum, care, valeto! Namque iterum tecum, sim modo dignus, ero. Tum nihil amplexus poterit divellere nostros, Nec tu marcesces, nec lacrymabor ego.
FAREWELL! "But not forever," Hope replies, Trace but his steps and meet him in the skies! There nothing shall renew our parting pain, Thou shalt not wither, nor I weep again.
CORRUPTELIS GALLICIS, UT FERTUR, LONDINI
NUPER EXORTAM.
PERFIDA, crudelis, victa et lymphata furore,
Non armis, laurum Gallia fraude petit.
Venalem pretio plebem conducit, et urit
Undique privatas patriciasque domos.
Nequicquam conata sua, fœdissima sperat
Posse tamen nostra nos superare manu. Gallia, vana struis! Precibus nunc utere! Vinces, Nam mites timidis, supplicibusque sumus.
FALSE, cruel, disappointed, stung to the heart,
France quits the warrior's for the assasin's part,
To dirty hands a dirty bribe conveys,
Bids the low street and lofty palace blaze.
Her sons too weak to vanquish us alone,
She hires the worst and basest of our own.
Kneel, France! a suppliant conquers us with
We always spare a coward on his knees.
WITH A TRANSLATION BY HAYLEY.
QUÆ lenta accedit, quam velox præterit hora! Ut capias, patiens esto, sed esto vigil!
Slow comes the hour; its passing speed how great!
Waiting to seize it-vigilantly wait!
A SIMILE LATINIZED.
SORS adversa gerit stimulum, sed tendit et alas: Pungit api similis, sed velut ista fugit.
ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.
WRITTEN WHEN THE NEWS ARRIVED.
To the March in Scipio.
TOLL for the brave!
The brave that are no more!
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