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IMITATED FROM CATULLUS.

TO ELLEN.

OH! might I kiss those eyes of fire,
A million scarce would quench desire;
Still, would I steep my lips in bliss,
And dwell an age on every kiss;
Nor then my soul should sated be,
Still would 'I kiss and cling to thee :
Nought should my kiss from thine dissever,
Still would we kiss, and kiss for ever;
E'en though the number did exceed
The yellow harvest's countless seed;
To part would be a vain endeavour,
Could I desist ?-ah! never-never.

TRANSLATION FROM ANACREON.

TO HIS LYRE.

I WISH to tune my quivering lyre,
To deeds of fame, and notes of fire;

To echo from its rising swell,

How heroes fought, and nations fell;
When Atreus' sons advanced to war,
Or Tyrian Cadmus roved afar ;
But, still, to martial strains unknown,
My lyre recurs to love alone.
Fired with the hope of future fame,
I seek some nobler hero's name;
The dying chords are strung anew,
To war, to war my harp is due ;
With glowing strings, the epic strain
To Jove's great son I raise again;
Alcides and his glorious deeds,

Beneath whose arm the Hydra bleeds;
All, all in vain, my wayward lyre
Wakes silver notes of soft desire.
Adieu ! ye chiefs renown'd in arms!
Adieu! the clang of war's alarms.
To other deeds my soul is strung,
And sweeter notes shall now be sung;
My harp shall all its powers reveal,
To tell the tale my heart must feel;
Love, love alone, my lyre shall claim,
In songs of bliss, and sighs of flame.

ODE III.

'Twas now the hour, when Night had driven
Her car half round yon sable heaven;
Bootes, only, seem'd to roll

His Arctic charge around the Pole ;
While mortals, lost in gentle sleep,
Forgot to smile, or ceased to weep;
At this lone hour, the Paphian boy,
Descending from the realms of joy,
Quick to my gate directs his course,
And knocks with all his little force ;
My visions fled, alarm'd I rose;

"What stranger breaks my blest repos e ?” "Alas!" replies the wily child,

In faultering accents, sweetly mild;
"A hapless infant here I roam,
"Far from my dear maternal home;
"Oh! shield me from the wintery blast,
"The mighty storm is pouring fast;
"No prowling robber lingers here.
"A wandering baby, who can fear?”

I heard his seeming artless tale,
I heard his sighs upon the gale;
My breast was never pity's foe,
But felt for all the baby's woe;
I drew the bar, and by the light,
Young Love, the infant, met my sight;
His bow across his shoulders flung,
And thence his fatal quiver hung,

(Ah! little did I think the dart

Would rankle soon within my heart ;)
With care I tend my weary guest,

His little fingers chill my breast;

His glossy curls, his azure wing,

Which droop with nightly showers, I wring;

His shivering limbs the embers warm,
And now, reviving from the storm,
Scarce had he felt his wonted glow,
Than swift he seized his slender bow:
"I fain would know, my gentle host,"
He cried, "if this its strength has lost;
"I fear, relax'd with midnight dews,
"The strings their former aid refuse: "
With poison tipt, his arrow flies,
Deep in my tortured heart it lies:

Then loud the joyous urchin laugh'd,

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My bow can still impel the shaft ;

"Tis firmly fix'd, thy sighs reveal it ;

"Say, courteous host, canst thou not feel it?"

FRAGMENTS OF SCHOOL EXERCISES,

FROM THE PROMETHEUS VINCTUS OF ESCHYLUS.

GREAT Jove! to whose Almighty throne
Both Gods and mortals homage pay,
Ne'er may my soul thy power disown,
Thy dread behests ne'er disobey.
Oft shall the sacred victim fall

In sea-girt Ocean's mossy hall;

My voice shall raise no impious strain

'Gainst him who rules the sky and azure main.

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How different now thy joyless fate,

Since first Hesione thy bride, When placed aloft in godlike state, The blushing beauty by thy side,

VOL. I.

4

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