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If a few (to few 'tis given),

Lingering on this earthly stage,
Creep and halt with steps uneven
To the period of an age,

Wherefore live they, but to see
Cunning, arrogance, and force,
Sights lamented much by thee,

Holding their accustomed course?

Oft was seen, in ages past,

All that we with wonder view; Often shall be to the last; Earth produces nothing new.

Thee we gratulate; content

Should propitious Heaven design Life for us, as calmly spent, Though but half the length of thine.

THE CAUSE WON.

Two neighbours furiously dispute;
A field the subject of the suit.
Trivial the spot, yet such the rage
With which the combatants engage,
'Twere hard to tell, who covets most
The prize-at whatsoever cost.

The pleadings swell. Words still suffice;
No single word but has its price :
No term but yields some fair pretence
For novel and increased expense.

Defendant thus becomes a name
Which he that bore it may disclaim;
Since both, in one description blended,
Are plaintiffs ---when the suit is ended.

THE SILKWORM.

THE beams of April, ere it goes,
A worm, scarce visible, disclose;
All winter long content to dwell
The tenant of his native shell.
The same prolific season gives
The sustenance by which he lives,
The mulberry-leaf, a simple store,
That serves him-till he needs no more!
For, his dimensions once complete,
Thenceforth none ever sees him eat;
Though, till his growing time be past,
Scarce ever is he seen to fast.
That hour arrived, his work begins;
He spins and weaves, and weaves and
spins;

Till circle upon circle wound

Careless around him and around,
Conceals him with a veil, though slight,
Impervious to the keenest sight.
Thus self-inclosed, as in a cask,
At length he finishes his task:
And, though a worm when he was lost,
Or caterpillar at the most,
When next we see him, wings he wears,
And in papilio-pomp appears;
Becomes oviparous; supplies
With future worms and future flies
The next ensuing year--and dies!
Well were it for the world, if all
Who creep about this earthly ball,
Though shorter-lived than most he be,
Were useful in their kind as he.

THE INNOCENT THIEF.

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Not thus inoffensively preys

The canker-worm, indwelling foe! His voracity not thus allays

The sparrow, the finch, or the crow.
The worm, more expensively fed,

The pride of the garden devours;
And birds peck the seed from the bed,
Still less to be spared than the flowers.
But she, with such delicate skill,
Her pillage so fits for her use,
That the chemist in vain with his still
Would labour the like to produce.
Then grudge not her temperate meals,
Nor a benefit blame as a theft ;
Since, stole she not all that she steals,
Neither honey nor wax would be left.

DENNER'S OLD WOMAN.

IN this mimic form of a matron in years,
How plainly the pencil of Denner appears!
The matron herself, in whose old age we see
Not a trace of decline, what a wonder is she!
No dimness of eye, and no cheek hanging low,
No wrinkle, or deep-furrowed frown on the brow!
Her forehead indeed is here circled around

With locks like the riband with which they are bound;
While glossy and smooth, and as soft as the skin

Of a delicate peach, is the

down of her chin;
sad, or severe,
Or that indicates life in its winter, is here.
Yet all is expressed, with fidelity due,

But nothing unpleasant, or

Nor a pimple or freckle concealed from the view.
Many, fond of new sights, or who cherish a taste
For the labours of art, to the spectacle haste;
The youths all agree, that could old age inspire
The passion of love, hers would kindle the fire,
And the matrons with pleasure confess that they see
Ridiculous nothing or hideous in thee.

The nymphs for themselves scarcely hope a decline,
O wonderful woman! as placid as thine.

Strange magic of art! which the youth can engage
To peruse, half-enamoured, the features of age;
And force from the virgin a sigh of despair,
That she, when as old, shall be equally fair!
How great is the glory that Denner has gained,
Since Apelles not more for his Venus obtained !

THE TEARS OF A PAINTER.

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Thus far is well. But view again The cause of thy paternal pain! Thy melancholy task fulfil!

It needs the last, last touches still.
Again his pencil's powers he tries,
For on his lips a smile he spies :
And still his cheek unfaded shows
The deepest damask of the rose.
Then, heedful to the finished whole,
With fondest eagerness he stole,
Till scarce himself distinctly knew
The cherub copied from the true.

Now, painter, cease! Thy task is
done.

Long lives this image of thy son; Nor short-lived shall the glory prove, Or of thy labour or thy love.

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NO SORROW PECULIAR TO THE SUFFERER.

THE lover, in melodious verses,
His singular distress rehearses,
Still closing with a rueful cry,
"Was ever such a wretch as I?"

Yes! thousands have endured before
All thy distress; some, haply more.
Unnumbered Corydons complain,
And Strephons, of the like disdain :
And if thy Chloe be of steel,
Too deaf to hear, too hard to feel;
Not her alone that censure fits,

Nor thou alone hast lost thy wits.

THE CANTAB.

WITH two spurs, or one, and no great matter which,
Boots bought, or boots borrowed, a whip or a switch,
Five shillings or less for the hire of his beast,
Paid part into hand;-you must wait for the rest.
Thus equipt, Academicus climbs up his horse,
And out they both sally for better or worse;
His heart void of fear, and as light as a feather;
And in violent haste to go not knowing whither :

Through the fields and the towns (see!) he scampers along,
And is looked at and laughed at by old and by young.
Till at length overspent, and his sides smeared with blood,
Down tumbles his horse, man and all, in the mud.
In a waggon 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 FROM THE LATIN CLASSICS.

VIRGIL'S ENEID, BOOK VIII. LINE 18.

THUS Italy was moved ;-nor did the chief
Æneas in his mind less tumult feel.
On every side his anxious thought he turns,
Restless, unfixed, not knowing what to chuse.
And as a cistern that in brim of brass

Confines the crystal flood, if chance the sun
Smite on it, or the moon's resplendent orb,
The quivering light now flashes on the walls,
Now leaps uncertain to the vaulted roof:
Such were the wavering motions of his mind.
'Twas night-and weary Nature sunk to rest;
The birds, the bleating flocks, were heard no more.
At length, on the cold ground, beneath the damp
And dewy vault, fast by the river's brink,
The Father of this country sought repose.
When lo! among the spreading poplar boughs,
Forth from his pleasant stream, propitious rose
The god of Tiber: clear transparent gauze

Infolds his loins, his brows with reeds are crowned;
And these his gracious words to soothe his care:

"Heaven-born, who bring'st our kindred home again

"Rescued, and givest eternity to Troy,

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Long have Laurentum and the Latian plains

Expected thee; behold thy fixed abode.

"Fear not the threats of war, the storm is passed,

"The gods appeased. For proof that what thou hearest
"Is no vain forgery or delusive dream,

"Beneath the grove that borders my green bank,
"A milk-white swine, with thirty milk-white young,

ΙΟ

20

"Shall greet thy wondering eyes. Mark well the place; 30
"For 'tis thy place of rest, there end thy toils:
"There, twice ten years elapsed, fair Alba's walls
"Shall rise, fair Alba, by Ascanius' 'hand.
"Thus shall it be;-now listen, while I teach
"The means to accomplish these events at hand.
"The Arcadians here, a race from Pallas sprung,
Following Evander's standard and his fate,

66

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High on these mountains, a well-chosen spot, "Have built a city, for their grandsire's sake "Named Pallanteum. These perpetual war

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