"Cease, restless gale! it seems to say, "To-morrow shall the traveller come With eager gaze and wetted cheek Thus, faithful Maiden! thou shalt seek Bur I along the breeze shall roll The voice of feeble power; And dwell, the Moon-beam of thy soul, In Slumber's nightly hour. THE COMPLAINT OF NINATHOMA. OW long will ye round me be swelling, Not always in caves was my dwelling, And they blessed the white-bosomed Maid! A Ghost! by my cavern it darted! In moon-beams the Spirit was drest For lovely appear the departed When they visit the dreams of my rest! But disturbed by the tempest's commotion Fleet the shadowy forms of delight— Ah cease, thou shrill blast of the Ocean! To howl through my cavern by night. CASIMIR. If we except Lucretius and Statius, I know no Latin Poet, ancient or modern, who has equalled Casimir in boldness of conception, opulence of fancy, or beauty of versification. The Odes of this illustrious Jesuit were translated into English about 150 years ago, by a G. Hils, I think.* I never saw the translation. A few of the Odes have been translated in a very animated manner by Watts. I have subjoined the third Ode of the second Book, which, with the exception of the first line, is an effusion of exquisite elegance. In the imitation attempted, I am sensible that I have destroyed the effect of suddenness, by translating into two stanzas what is one in the original. AD LYRAM. ONORA buxi filia sutilis, Sollicitat levis aura frondes. Te sibilantis lenior halitus Perflabit Euri: me juvet interim The Odes of Casimir, translated by G. H. (G. Hils.) London, 1646, 12mo. H: N. C. Collum reclinasse, et virenti Sic temere jacuisse ripa. Eheu! serenum quæ nebulæ tegunt IMITATION. HE solemn-breathing air is ended— From the poplar branch suspended, On thy wires, hovering, dying, In the forest, hollow-roaring, Parent of the soothing measure, Had Casimir any better authority for this quantity than Tertullian's line, Immemor ille Dei temere committere tale-? In the classic poets, the last syllable is, I believe, uniformly cut off. H. N. C. IMITATED FROM THE WELSH. F, while my passion I impart, O place your hand upon my heart— Ah no reject the thoughtless claim That thrilling touch would aid the flame, DARWINIANA. THE HOUR WHEN WE SHALL MEET AGAIN. D' (Composed during Illness and in Absence.) IM Hour! that sleep'st on pillowing clouds afar, O rise, and yoke the turtles to thy car! Bend o'er the traces, blame each lingering dove, And give me to the bosom of my Love! My gentle Love! caressing and carest, E And darts a trembling lustre from her eyes. 1796. A TO AN INFANT. H! cease thy tears and sobs, my little Life! I did but snatch away the unclasped knife: Some safer toy will soon arrest thine eye, And to quick laughter change this peevish cry! Poor stumbler on the rocky coast of woe, Tutored by pain each source of pain to know! Alike the foodful fruit and scorching fire Awake thy eager grasp and young desire; Alike the Good, the Ill offend thy sight, And rouse the stormy sense of shrill affright! Untaught, yet wise! mid all thy brief alarms Thou closely clingest to thy Mother's arms, Nestling thy little face in that fond breast Whose anxious heavings lull thee to thy rest! Man's breathing Miniature! thou mak'st me sighA Babe art thou-and such a Thing am I! To anger rapid and as soon appeased, For trifles mourning and by trifles pleased, Break Friendship's mirror with a tetchy blow, Yet snatch what coals of fire on Pleasure's altar glow! O thou that rearest with celestial aim The future Seraph in my mortal frame, Still let me stretch my arms and cling to thee, Meek nurse of souls through their long infancy! |