To him, though ruined, now extend your hand! So shall I know to weep; For who in sinning knew forbidden joy, Speak thou within, my heart, And say with words of love, See how to mortals, even in perdition, Man, being thus delivered From hell's keen talon, feels unbounded transport, And in his rapture deems Earth turned to heaven, this world a paradise; By these pure splendid dazzling rays of heaven, That in the light of God more lovely blaze, Rich with new beams, and with new suns this day, Day of festivity, The day of paradise, rather a day Blest in itself, and blessing every other ! Let all with festive joy Of God's indulgence sing; Of Adam and of Eve, Now made on earth the denizens of heaven; And let your tuneful songs Become the wonder of futurity. ANGELS SING. Move, let us move our feet There, where this man shall now Wash out his past offence With humble, hallowed drops; And of the mighty Maker Praise we the love and mercy, That in this day to man's envenomed wound Suddenly gives his pity's healing aid; Rejects him and receives, Deeming his every wrong and error light; And now at last with more benignant zeal, And in despite of Satan, Gives him, redeemed from Hell, A seat amid the golden stars of Heaven. Ye progeny of Adam, Whose race we shall behold adorn the world, Ye shall not pray in vain To your high Lord, the fountain of all mercy. Be leaves of that pure branch, On which the Word Incarnate shall be grafted! Be stormy! yet his leaf shall never fall: To him a joyous offspring Is promised by the Lord of heaven's great vineyard, Stricken, transfixt, enkindled in a blaze, And burning with eternal love for man. TRANSLATIONS OF GREEK VERSES. FROM THE GREEK OF JULIANUS. A SPARTAN, his companions slain, Alone from battle fled; His mother, kindling with disdain That she had borne him, struck him dead; In Sparta, testifies a son! ON THE SAME, BY PALLADIUS. A SPARTAN 'scaping from the fight, "Thou canst but live to blot with shame While every breath that thou shalt draw AN EPITAPH. My name-my country-what are they to thee? Thou knowest its use; it hides--no matter whom. ANOTHER. TAKE to thy bosom, gentle Earth! a swain He filled with grain the glebe; the rills he led ANOTHER. PAINTER, this likeness is too strong, ANOTHER. AT three-score winters' end I died BY CALLIMACHUS. AT morn we placed on his funereal bier By her own hand his blooming sister died. Nor son could hope, nor daughter more to embrace, ON MILTIADES. MILTIADES! thy valour best ON AN INFANT. BEWAIL not much, my parents! me, the prey BY HERACLIDES. IN Cnidus born, the consort I became ON THE REED. I WAS of late a barren plant, Nor fig, nor grape, nor apple bore, But gathered for poetic use, And plunged into a sable juice, TO HEALTH. ELDEST born of powers divine! Much, but never happiness. ON INVALIDS. FAR happier are the dead, methinks, than they Who look for death, and fear it every day. |