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HOPE, like the short-lived ray that gleams awhile
Through wintry skies, upon the frozen waste,
Cheers e'en the face of Misery to a smile;
But soon the momentary pleasure's past.

How oft, my Delia, since our last farewell

(Years that have rolled since that distressful hour), Grieved I have said, when most our hopes prevail, Our promised happiness is least secure.

Oft I have thought the scene of troubles closed,
And hoped once more to gaze upon your charms;
As oft some dire mischance has interposed,

And snatched the expected blessing from my arms.

The seaman thus, his shattered vessel lost,

Still vainly strives to shun the threatening death;
And while he thinks to gain the friendly coast,
And drops his feet, and feels the sands beneath,

Borne by the wave steep-sloping from the shore,
Back to the inclement deep, again he beats
The surge aside, and seems to tread secure;
And now the refluent wave his baffled toil defeats.

Had you, my love, forbade me to pursue
My fond attempt; disdainfully retired,

And with proud scorn compelled me to subdue
The ill-fated passion by yourself inspired;
Then haply to some distant spot removed,
Hopeless to gain, unwilling to molest
With fond entreaties whom I dearly loved,
Despair or absence had redeemed my rest.

But now, sole partner in my Delia's heart,
Yet doomed far off in exile to complain,
Eternal absence cannot ease my smart,

And Hope subsists but to prolong my pain.

Oh then, kind Heaven, be this my latest breath!
Here end my life, or make it worth my care;
Absence from whom we love is worse than death,
And frustrate hope severer than despair.

ON THE DEATH OF SIR W. RUSSELL.

DOOMED, as I am, in solitude to waste
The present moments, and regret the past;
Deprived of every joy I valued most,

My friend torn from me, and my mistress lost,

Call not this gloom I wear, this anxious mien,
The dull effect of humour, or of spleen!
Still, still I mourn, with each returning day,
Him snatched by fate in early youth away,
And her, through tedious years of doubt and pain,
Fixed in her choice, and faithful, but in vain!
O prone to pity, generous, and sincere,
Whose eye ne'er yet refused the wretch a tear;
Whose heart the real claim of friendship knows,
Nor thinks a lover's are but fancied woes;
See me-ere yet my destined course half done,
Cast forth a wanderer on a world unknown!
See me neglected on the world's rude coast,
Each dear companion of my voyage lost!
Nor ask why clouds of sorrow shade my brow,
And ready tears wait only leave to flow!

Why all that soothes a heart from anguish free,
All that delights the happy-palls with me!

THE FIFTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE.

A HUMOROUS DESCRIPTION OF THE AUTHOR'S JOURNEY FROM ROME TO BRUNDUSIUM.

'I WAS a long journey lay before us,
When I and honest Heliodorus,
Who far in point of rhetoric
Surpasses every living Greek,
Each leaving our respective home,
Together sallied forth from Rome.
First at Aricia we alight,

And there refresh and pass the night,
Our entertainment rather coarse
Than sumptuous, but I've met with

worse.

Thence o'er the causeway soft and fair
To Appii Forum we repair.
But as this road is well supplied
(Temptation strong!) on either side
With inns commodious, snug, and warm,
We split the journey, and perform
In two days' time what's often done
By brisker travellers in one.
Here rather choosing not to sup
Than with bad water mix my cup,
After a warm debate in spite
Of a provoking appetite,
I sturdily resolve at last

To balk it, and pronounce a fast,

And in a moody humour wait,

While my less dainty comrades bait.
Now o'er the spangled hemisphere
Diffused the starry train appear,
When there arose a desperate brawl;
The slaves and bargemen, one and all,
Rending their throats (have mercy on
us!)

As if they were resolved to stun us.
"Steer the barge this way to the shore!
I tell you we'll admit no more!
Plague! will you never be content?"
Thus a whole hour at least is spent,
While they receive the several fares,
And kick the mule into his gears.
Happy, these difficulties past,
Could we have fallen asleep at last!
But, what with humming, croaking,
biting,

Gnats, frogs, and all their plagues
uniting,

These tuneful natives of the lake
Conspired to keep us broad awake.
Besides, to make the concert full,
Two maudlin wights, exceeding dull,

The bargeman and a passenger,
Each in his turn, essayed an air
In honour of his absent fair.
At length the passenger, oppressed
With wine, left off, and snored the rest.
The weary bargeman too gave o'er,
And hearing his companion snore,
Seized the occasion, fixed the barge,
Turned out his mule to graze at large,
And slept forgetful of his charge.

;

And now the sun o'er eastern hill Discovered that our barge stood still When one, whose anger vexed him sore, With malice fraught, leaps quick on *shore,

Plucks up a stake, with many a thwack Assails the mule and driver's back.

Then slowly moving on with pain, At ten Feronia's stream we gain, And in her pure and glassy wave Our hands and faces gladly lave. Climbing three miles, fair Anxur's height We reach, with stony quarries white.

While here, as was agreed, we wait, Till, charged with business of the state, Mæcenas and Cocceius come (The messengers of peace) from Rome, My eyes, by watery humours blear And sore, I with black balsam smear. At length they join us, and with them Our worthy friend Fonteius came; A man of such complete desert, Antony loved him at his heart. At Fundi we refused to bait, And laughed at vain Aufidius' state, A prætor now, a scribe before, The purple-bordered robe he wore, His slave the smoking censer bore. Tired, at Muræna's we repose, At Formia sup at Capito's.

With smiles the rising morn we greet, At Sinuessa pleased to meet With Plotius, Varius, and the bard Whom Mantua first with wonder heard. The world no purer spirits knows, For none my heart more warmly glows. Oh! what embraces we bestowed, And with what joy our breasts o'erflowed! Sure while my sense is sound and clear, Long as I live, I shall prefer A gay, good-natured, easy friend, To every blessing Heaven can send.

C

At a small village, the next night,
Near the Vulturnus, we alight;
Where, as employed on state affairs,
We were supplied by the purveyors
Frankly at once, and without hire,
With food for man and horse, and fire.
Capua next day betimes we reach,
Where Virgil and myself, who each
Laboured with different maladies,
His such a stomach, mine such eyes,
As would not bear strong exercise,
In drowsy mood to sleep resort;
Mæcenas to the tennis-court.
Next at Cocceius' farm we're treated,
Above the Caudian tavern seated;
His kind and hospitable board
With choice of wholesome food was
stored.

Now, O ye Nine, inspire my lays!
To nobler themes my fancy raise!
Two combatants, who scorn to yield
The noisy, tongue-disputed field,
Sarmentus and Cicirrus, claim
A poet's tribute to their fame;
Cicirrus of true Oscian breed,
Sarmentus, who was never freed,

But ran away. We won't defame him;
His lady lives, and still may claim him.
Thus dignified, in harder fray
These champions their keen wit display,
And first Sarmentus led the way.
"Thy locks," quoth he, so rough and

coarse,

66

Look like the mane of some wild horse." We laugh: Cicirrus undismayed, "Have at you!" cries, and shakes his head.

""Tis well," Sarmentus says, "you've lost

That horn your forehead once could boast;

Since maimed and mangled as you are,
You seem to butt." A hideous scar
Improved ('tis true) with double grace
The native horrors of his face.
Well; after much jocosely said
Of his grim front, so fiery red,
(For carbuncles had blotched it o'er,
As usual on Campania's shore,)
"Give us," he cried, since you're so

big,

66

A sample of the Cyclops' jig!

C

Your shanks methinks no buskins ask,
Nor does your phiz require a mask."
To this Cicirrus: "In return

Of you, sir, now I fain would learn,
When 'twas, no longer deemed a slave,
Your chains you to the Lares gave.
For though a scrivener's right you claim,
Your lady's title is the same.
But what could make you run away,
Since, pigmy as you are, each day
A single pound of bread would quite
O'erpower your puny appetite?"
Thus joked the champions, while we
laughed,

And many a cheerful bumper quaffed.
To Beneventum next we steer;
Where our good host by over care
In roasting thrushes lean as mice
Had almost fallen a sacrifice.
The kitchen soon was all on fire,
And to the roof the flames aspire.
There might you see each man and

master

Striving, amidst this sad disaster,

To save the supper. Then they came
With speed enough to quench the flame.
From hence we first at distance see
The Apulian hills, well known to me,
Parched by the sultry western blast;
And which we never should have past,
Had not Trivicus by the way
Received us at the close of day.
But each was forced at entering here
To pay the tribute of a tear,

For more of smoke than fire was seen,
The hearth was piled with logs so green.

From hence in chaises we were carried
Miles twenty-four, and gladly tarried
At a small town, whose name my verse
(So barbarous is it) can't rehearse.
Know it you may by many a sign,
Water is dearer far than wine.
There bread is deemed such dainty fare,
That every prudent traveller
His wallet loads with many a crust;
For at Canusium, you might just
As well attempt to gnaw a stone
As think to get a morsel down.
That too with scanty streams is fed;
Its founder was brave Diomed.

Good Varius (ah, that friends must part!)
Here left us all with aching heart.
At Rubi we arrived that day,
Well jaded by the length of way,
And sure poor mortals ne'er were wetter.
Next day no weather could be better;
No roads so bad; we scarce could crawl
Along to fishy Barium's wall.

The Egnatians next, who by the rules
Of common sense are knaves or fools,
Made all our sides with laughter heave,
Since we with them must needs believe,
That incense in their temples burns,
And without fire to ashes turns.
To circumcision's bigots tell
Such tales! for me, I know full well,
That in high heaven, unmoved by care,
The gods eternal quiet share :

Nor can I deem their spleen the cause
Why fickle Nature breaks her laws.
Brundusium last we reach and there
Stop short the Muse and Traveller.

THE NINTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE.

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Beckoned my boy, and pulled him near, And whispered nothing in his ear.

Teased with his loose unjointed chat, "What street is this? What house is that?"

O Harlow! how I envied thee
Thy unabashed effrontery,

Who darest a foe with freedom blame,
And call a coxcomb by his name!
When I returned him answer none,
Obligingly the fool ran on,

"I see you're dismally distressed, Would give the world to be released, But, by your leave, sir, I shall still Stick to your skirts, do what you will. Pray which way does your journey tend?" "Oh! 'tis a tedious way, my friend, Across the Thames, the Lord knows where:

I would not trouble you so far.”—
"Well, I'm at leisure to attend you."-
Are you?" thought I, "the De'il
befriend you!"

No ass with double panniers racked,
Oppressed, o'erladen, broken-backed,
E'er looked a thousandth part so dull
As I, nor half so like a fool.
"Sir, I know little of myself,"
Proceeds the pert conceited elf,
"If Gray or Mason you will deem
Than me more worthy your esteem.
Poems I write by folios,

As fast as other men write prose.
Then I can sing so loud, so clear,
That Beard cannot with me compare.
In dancing, too, I all surpass,

Not Cooke can move with such a grace."

Here I made shift, with much ado,
To interpose a word or two.-
"Have you no parents, sir? No friends,
Whose welfare on your own depends?"
"Parents, relations, say you? No.
They're all disposed of long ago.'
'Happy to be no more perplexed!
My fate too threatens, I go next.
Dispatch me, sir, 'tis now too late,
Alas! to struggle with my fate!
Well, I'm convinced my time is come.
When young, a gipsy told my doom;
The beldame shook her palsied head,
As she perused my palm, and said,

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Nay, prithee, Carlos, stop awhile '" 'Faith, sir, in law I have no skill. Besides, I have no time to spare, I must be going, you know where.". "Well, I protest, I'm doubtful now, Whether to leave my suit or you!""Me, without scruple!" I reply,

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'Me, by all means, sir!"-"No, not I. Allons, Monsieur!" "Twere vain, you To strive with a victorious foe. [know, So I reluctantly obey,

And follow where he leads the way.

"You and Newcastle are so close; Still hand and glove, sir, I suppose?" "Newcastle (let me tell you, sir,) Has not his equal everywhere.". "Well. There indeed your fortune's made!

Faith, sir, you understand your trade.
Would you but give me your good word!
Just introduce me to my lord.
I should serve charmingly by way
Of second fiddle, as they say:
What think you, sir? 'twere a good jest.
'Slife, we should quickly scout the
rest."-

"Sir, you mistake the matter far,
We have no second fiddles there.
Richer than I some folks may be:
More learned, but it hurts not me.
Friends though he has of different kind,
Each has his proper place assigned."
"Strange matters these, alleged by
you!"
[true."-
"Strange they may be, but they are

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