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Is promised by the Lord of heaven's great vineyard,
Stricken, transfixt, enkindled in a blaze,
And burning with eternal love for man.
FROM THE GREEK OF JULIANUS.
A Spartan, his companions slain,
Alone from battle fled;
That she had borne him, struck him dead;
ON THE SAME, BY PALLADIUS.
A Spartan 'scaping from the fight,
His mother met him in his flight,
Upheld a falchion to his breast,
And thus the fugitive addressed
"Thou canst but live to blot with shame
Indelible thy mother's name,
While every breath that thou shalt draw
Offends against thy country's law;
Tut, if thou perish by this hand.
Myself indeed throughout the land,
To my dishonour, shall be known
The mother still of such a son;
But Sparta will be safe and free,
And that shall serve to comfort me."
My name—my country—what are they to thee?
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.
Painter, this likeness is too strong,
At three-score winters' end I died
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.
Miltiades! thy valour best
ON AN INFANT.
Bewail not much, my parents! me, the prey
Tn Cniilus born, the consort I became
ON THE REED.
I Was of late a barren plant,
Eldf.st born of powers divine!
Far happier are the dead, methinks, than they
ON THE ASTROLOGERS.
The astrologers did all alike presage
ON AN OLD WOMAN.
MvciLLA dyes her locks, 'tis said;
But 'tis a foul aspersion;
No subsequent immersion.
No mischief worthier of our fear
In nature can be found
But hollow and unsound;
We close enfold a foe,
The inevitable blow.
ON A TRUE FRIEND.
Hast thou a friend? Thou hast indeed
A rich and large supply,
Well managed, till you die.