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This is a translation from a verse of Sappho found in the Schol. on Soph. El. 147. It is given by Brunck,

Ηρος άγγελος, ἱμερόφωνος ἀηδών.

Bentley, in his Ms. Notes on Hephaestion, preserved in the Library of Trin. Coll. Cam., has altered it to *Προς ἄγγελο, ἱμερόφων ἀηδοῖ.”

R. Walpole's Specimens of Scarce Translations of the 17th Century from the Latin Poets, to which are added Miscellaneous Translations from the Greek, Spanish, Italian, etc. London, 1805. p. 86.

Ovid. Fast. 2,

an veris prænuntia venit hirundo ? "Expressit Sapphonis sententiam, "Hpos ayyeλos, etc." H. Ciofanii Obss. p. 28.

In the Royal Poem entitled the King's Quair James represents himself as "rising at day-break, according to custom, to escape from the dreary meditations of a sleepless pillow :And on the small grene twistis set

The lytel swete Nightingales, and sung
So loud and clear the hymnis consecrate
Of lovis use, now soft, now loud among,
That all the garden and the wallis rung
Right of their song."

Geoffrey Crayon's Sketch Book 1, 142. Ed. 12o.

Thetford, March 1824.

E. H. BARKER.

3.

NUGE.

collecting toys

And trifles for choice matters, worth a sponge;
As children gath'ring pebbles on the shore.

Paradise Regained, iv. 325.

No. IX. [Continued from No. LVII.]

Parallel Passages. (Continued.)

I never saw a fool lean; the chub-faced fop
Shines sleek with full-cramm'd fat of happiness,
Whilst studious contemplation sucks the juice

4.

From wizards' cheeks, who making curious search
For Nature's secrets, the First innating Cause
Laughs them to scorn, as man doth busy apes,
When they will zany men.

Marston ap. Retrosp. xi. 131.

Go, wondrous creature! mount where science guides,
Go, measure earth, weigh air, and state the tides;
Instruct the planets in what orbs to run,

Correct old Time, and regulate the Sun :

*

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Go, teach Eternal Wisdom how to rule-
Then drop into thyself, and be a fool!
Superior beings, when of late they saw
A mortal man unfold all Nature's law,
Admired such wisdom in an earthly shape,
And show'd a Newton as we show an ape.
Pope's Essay on Man, Ep. ii. 19.

Scared at thy frown terrific, fly
Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood,

Wild laughter, noise, and thoughtless joy,
And leave us leisure to be good.

Gray, Ode to Adversity.
The expression in the last line appears to be borrowed from
Oldham.

5.

Let fumbling age be grave and wise,

And Virtue's poor contemn'd idea prize,

Who never knew, or now are past the sweets of vice;
While we whose active pulses beat

With lusty youth and vigorous heat,

Can all their bards and morals too despise.

While my plump veins are fill'd with lust and blood,
Let not one thought of her intrude,

Or dare approach my breast,

But know I have not yet the leisure to be good.

Satire against Virtue.

quot in æquore verso
Tritones, quot monstra natent, quot littus arenas,
Quot freta pisciculos immensi gurgitis unda
Abscondant, quot sylva regat volucresque ferasque,
Quot fumi vomat Ætna globos, quantasque favillas;
Hæc mihi nota parum, fateor; nec notius illud,
Qui status est cœlo, qua sidera lege moventur.

Invenies aliquos astrorum arcana professos
Metirique ausos coelum, terrasque, fretumque,
Ignaros quo nostra tamen corpuscula limo
Subsistant, seu quis clausis sit spiritus umbris.
Heu furor, heu funesta lues, heu flebilis horror,
Omnia malle hominem, quain se, discernere !1 sicne
Ultima cura sui est, quam par fuit esse priorem ?
Petrarch. Epist. Poet. Lib. ii. Ep. iii. p. 1344. col. 2.
Similar are the complaints of a kindred thinker in later times:
And thus they spend

The little wick of life's poor shallow lamp
In playing tricks with nature, giving laws
To distant worlds, and trifling in their own.
Ah! what is life thus spent? and what are they
But frantic, who thus spend it?-

True; I am no proficient, I confess,
In arts like yours. I cannot call the swift
And perilous lightnings from the angry clouds,
And make them hide themselves in earth beneath;
I cannot analyse the air, nor catch

The parallax of yonder luminous point,

That seems half quench'd in the immense abyss.
Such powers I boast not, neither can I rest
A silent witness of the headlong rage,
Or heedless folly, by which thousands die,
Bone of my bone, and kindred souls to mine.

Cowper's Tusk, iii.

6. The river that runs slow and creeps by the banks, and begs leave of every turf to let it pass, is drawn into little hollownesses, and spends itself in smaller portions, and dies with diversion; but when it runs with vigorousness and a full stream, and breaks down every obstacle, making it even as its own brow, it stays not to be tempted by little avocations, and to creep into holes, but runs into the sea through full and useful channels: so is a man's prayer; if it moves upon the feet of an abated appetite, it wanders into the society of every trifling accident, and stays at the corners of the fancy, and talks with every object it meets, and cannot arrive at Heaven, &c.

Jeremy Taylor, Sermon of Lukewarmness and Zeal, p. 125. Ed. 1668. An Italian poet, P. Salandri, in a sonnet translated by Mont

Cf. Thomas à Kempis de Imit. Christi, Lib. i. cap. 2.

gomery, uses a similar image to illustrate the danger of giving way to every small temptation.

Fresh from the bosom of an Alpine hill
When a coy rivulet sparkles into day,
And sunbeams bathe and brighten in its rill,
If here a shrub and there a flower in play
Bending to sip, the little channel fill,

It ebbs, and languishes, and dies away.

7. He that is no fool, but can consider wisely, if he is in love with this world, we need not despair but that a witty man might reconcile him with tortures, and make him think charitably of the rack, and be brought to dwell with vipers and dragons; or to admire the harmony that is made by a herd of evening wolves when they miss their draught of blood in their midnight revels. The groans of a man in a fit of the stone are worse than all these; and the distractions of a troubled conscience are worse than those groans; and yet a careless merry sinner is worse than all that. But if we could from one of the battlements of Heaven espy, how many men and women at this time lie fainting and dying for want of bread, how many young men are hewn down by the sword of war, how many poor orphans are now weeping over the graves of their father, by whose life they were enabled to eat; if we could but hear how many mariners and passengers are at this present in a storm, and shriek out because their keel dashes against a rock, or bulges under them; how many people there are that weep with want, and are mad with oppression, or are desperate by too quick a sense of a constant infelicity; in all reason we should be glad to be out of the noise and participation of so many evils. This is a place of sorrows and tears, of great evils and a constant calamity; let us remove hence, at least in affections and preparation of mind.

Taylor's Holy Dying, Chap. i. Sect. 3. fin.

The first of the extracts, which we shall quote as apposite to the above noble passage, is a striking instance of the manner in which a great poetical mind gives back the conceptions of others modified to its own character; the second, of the difference between the same thoughts as illustrated by a greater or less powerful genius: a difference which will be further illustrated by a comparison of the simile of the Rock (Sermon on the Miracles of the Divine Mercy, p. 261. ed. 1668.) and that of the Rainbow (Sermon on the Faith and Patience of the Saints, p. 83. and again on the Opening of Parliament, p. 92.) with the rifaciamentos of the same images by later writers.

*8.

οἱ δὲ, λύκοι ὡς
ὠμοφάγοι, τοϊσίν τε περὶ φρεσὶν ἄσπετος ἀλκή,
οἶτ ̓ ἔλαφον κεραὸν μέγαν οὔρεσι δηώσαντες
δάπτουσιν· πᾶσιν δὲ παρήϊον αἵματι φοινόν·
καί τ ̓ ἀγεληδὸν ἴασιν, ἀπὸ κρήνης μελανύδρου
λάψοντες γλώσσησιν ἀραιῇσιν μέλαν ὕδωρ
ἄκρον, ἐρευγόμενοι φόνον αἵματος· ἐν δέ τε θυμὸς
στήθεσιν ἄτρομός ἐστι, περιστένεται δέ τε γαστήρ
τοΐοι, κ. τ. λ.

II. xvi. 156.
Ah! little think the gay licentious crowd,

Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround, &c.
Ah! little think they, as they dance along,
How many feel, this very moment, death,
And all the sad variety of pain!
How many sink in the devouring flood,
Or more devouring flame: how many bleed
By shameful variance betwixt man and man!
How many pine in want and dungeon glooms,
Shut from the common air, and common use
Of their own limbs: how many drink the cup
Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread
Of misery: sore pierced by wintry winds,
How many sink into the cheerless hut
Of cheerless poverty: how many shake
With all the fiercer tortures of the mind, &c.
Thomson's Winter.

Ask the crowd

Which flies impatient from the village-walk
To climb the neighbouring cliffs, when far below
The cruel winds have hurl'd upon the coast
Some helpless bark-

While ev'ry mother closer to her breast

Catches her child, and pointing where the waves
Foam through the shatter'd vessel, shrieks aloud,
As one poor wretch that spreads his piteous arms
For succour, swallow'd by the roaring surge,
As now another, dash'd against the rock,
Drops lifeless down-

Akenside's Pleasures of Imagination, Book ii.
Ben veggio avvinta al lido ornata nave,

E il nocchier, che m' alletta, e il mar, che giace
Senza onda, e il freddo Borea, ed Austro tace,

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