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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!

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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.

BY HERACLIDES.

IN Cnidus born, the consort I became
Of Euphron. Aretimias was my name.
His bed I shared, nor proved a barren bride,
But bore two children at a birth, and died.
One child I leave to solace and uphold
Euphron hereafter, when infirm and old,
And one, for his remembrance' sake, I bear
To Pluto's realm, till he shall join me there.

ON THE REED.

I WAS of late a barren plant,
Useless, insignificant,

Nor fig, nor grape, nor apple bore,
A native of the marshy shore;
But gathered for poetic use,
And plunged into a sable juice,
Of which my modicum I sip
With narrow mouth and slender lip,
At once, although by nature dumb,
All eloquent I have become,
And speak with fluency untired,
As if by Phoebus' self inspired.

TO HEALTH.

ELDEST born of powers divine!
Blessed Hygeia ! be it mine
To enjoy what thou canst give,
And henceforth with thee to live:
For in power if pleasure be,
Wealth or numerous progeny,
Or in amorous embrace,
Where no spy infests the place;
Or in aught that Heaven bestows
To alleviate human woes,
When the wearied heart despairs
Of a respite from its cares;
These and every true delight
Flourish only in thy sight;
And the sister Graces three

Owe, themselves, their youth to thee,
Without whom we may possess

Much, but never happiness.

ON AN INFANT.

BEWAIL not much, my parents! me, the prey
Of ruthless Hades, and sepulchred here.
An infant, in my fifth scarce finished year,
He found all sportive, innocent, and gay,
Your young Callimachus; and if I knew
Not many joys, my griefs were also few.

ON THE ASTROLOGERS.

THE astrologers did all alike presage
My uncle's dying in extreme old age;
One only disagreed. But he was wise,
And spoke not till he heard the funeral cries.

ON AN OLD WOMAN.

MYCILLA dyes her locks, 'tis said;
But 'tis a foul aspersion :

She buys them black; they therefore need
No subsequent immersion.

ON INVALIDS.

FAR happier are the dead, methinks, than they Who look for death, and fear it every day.

ON FLATTERERS.

No mischief worthier of our fear

In nature can be found

Than friendship, in ostent sincere,

But hollow and unsound;

For lulled into a dangerous dream

We close infold a foe,

Who strikes, when most secure we seem,
The inevitable blow.

ON A TRUE FRIEND.

HAST thou a friend? Thou hast indeed
A rich and large supply,

Treasure to serve your every need,

Well managed, till you die.

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