ANOTHER TRANSLATION OF THE SAME ODE.

[English Sapphics have been attempted, but with little success, because in our language we have no certain rules by which to determine the quantity. The following version was made merely in the way of experiment how far it might be possible to imitate Latin Sapphic in English without any attention to that circumstance.]

Boy! I detest all Persian fopperies,

Fillet-bound garlands are to me disgusting;

Task not thyself with any search, I charge thee,
Where latest roses linger.

Bring me alone (for thou wilt find that readily)
Plain myrtle. Myrtle neither will disparage
Thee occupied to serve me, or me drinking
Beneath my vine's cool shelter.

HOR. LIB. II. ODE XV.

Otium Divos rogat in patenti.

EASE is the weary merchant's prayer,
Who ploughs by night the Ægean flood,
When neither moon nor stars appear,
Or faintly glimmer through the cloud.

For ease the Mede with quiver graced,
For ease the Thracian hero sighs;
Delightful ease all pant to taste,

A blessing which no treasure buys.

For neither gold can lull to rest,

Nor all a Consul's guard beat off
The tumults of a troubled breast,

The cares that haunt a gilded roof.

Happy the man whose table shows
A few clean ounces of old plate;
No fear intrudes on his repose,

No sordid wishes to be great.

Poor short-lived things, what plans we lay!
Ah, why forsake our native home,

To distant climates speed away?

For self sticks close where'er we roam!

Care follows hard, and soon o'ertakes
The well-rigged ship, the warlike steed;
Her destined quarry ne'er forsakes;

Not the wind flies with half her speed.

From anxious fears of future ill

Guard well the cheerful, happy now;
Gild e'en your sorrows with a smile,
No blessing is unmixed below.

Thy neighing steeds and lowing herds,
Thy numerous flocks around thee graze,
And the best purple Tyre affords
Thy robe magnificent displays.

On me indulgent Heaven bestowed
A rural mansion, neat and small;
This lyre; and as for yonder crowd,
The happiness to hate them all.

EPIGRAMS, TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN OF OWEN.

ON ONE IGNORANT AND ARROGANT,

THOU mayst of double ignorance boast,
Who know'st not that thou nothing know'st.

PRUDENT SIMPLICITY.

THAT thou mayst injure no man, dove-like be,
And serpent-like, that none may injure thee!

TO A FRIEND IN DISTRESS.

I WISH thy lot, now bad, still worse, my friend;
For when at worst, they say, things always mend.

RETALIATION.

THE works of ancient bards divine,
Aulus, thou scorn'st to read;
And should posterity read thine,
It would be strange indeed!

SELF-KNOWLEDGE.

WHEN little more than boy in age,
I deemed myself almost a sage;
But now seem worthier to be styled,
For ignorance, almost a child.

SUNSET AND SUNRISE.

CONTEMPLATE, when the sun declines,
Thy death, with deep reflection;
And when again he rising shines,
Thy day of resurrection !

K K

My name-my country-what are they to thee?
What, whether base or proud my pedigree?
Perhaps I far surpassed all other men ;
Perhaps I fell below them all; what then?
Suffice it, stranger! that thou seest a tomb;
Thou know'st its use; it hides-no matter whom.

ANOTHER.

TAKE to thy bosom, gentle Earth! a swain
With much hard labour in thy service worn;
He set the vines that clothe yon ample plain,
And he these olives that the vale adorn.

He filled 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,
And we shall mourn the dead too long.

ANOTHER.

AT threescore winters' end I died,
A cheerless being, sole and sad;
The nuptial knot I never tied,
And wish my father never had.

BY CALLIMACHUS.

AT morn we placed on his funereal bier
Young Melanippus; and at eventide,
Unable to sustain a loss so dear,

By her own hand his blooming sister died.

Thus Aristippus mourned his noble race,

Annihilated by a double blow,

Nor son could hope, nor daughter more to embrace,
And all Cyrene saddened at his woe.

ON AN UGLY FELLOW.

BEWARE, my friend! of crystal brook,
Or fountain, lest that hideous hook,
Thy nose, thou chance to see ;
Narcissus' fate would then be thine,
And self-detested thou wouldst pine,
As self-enamoured he.