ON FRIENDSHIP.

How sweet is life when passed with those
Whom our own hearts approving chose;
When on some few surrounding friends
Our all of happiness depends!

It is not life to drag, alone,
A miserable being on,

Without one kindred soul to share
Our pleasure or relieve our care.
O welcome falls the stroke of fate,
That frees us from so sad a state.

EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.

Too soon, grim monarch, with unholy hand, Thou'st snatch'd this infant to thy dreary land, Like some fair rose-bud, plucked from mortal

sight,

Ere all its beauties opened into light.
Cease, wretched parents, cease your wailings

wild,

Nor mourn for ever your departed child!
Her youthful graces, and her form so fair,
Deserved a dwelling in the realms of air.
As Hylas once (believe the soothing lay!)—
The Nymphs-not Death-have borne your child

away.

Another.

FIVE years I lived with lightsome heart and gay, Then, tranquil, mingled with my fellow clay. Mourn not my fate! My days of life were few; My pleasures brief,-but brief my sorrows too.

INSCRIPTION ON A FIGURED GEM, REPRESENTING A GOAT GIVING SUCK TO A YOUNG

WOLF.

A WOLF with my own milk I feed, Obedient to a master's will;

By him, I nourish, doomed to bleed, For nature will be nature still.

THE GRASSHOPPER'S REMONSTRANCE.
WHY, shepherds, from the dewy spray,
Chase me thus spitefully away,-
Me, the Nymphs' bard,-who, summer long,
Cheer vale and upland with my song?
The thrush, the blackbird, and the stare,-
"Tis they have laid your gardens bare;
Such thieves 'twere justice to pursue,
But why grudge me my leaves and dew?

ON A GRASSHOPPER IN A SPIDER'S WEB. WHILE with lithe feet his task the spider plied, Within his snares a grasshopper he drew; Under its slender chains the captive sigh'd, And to release the child of song I flew. "Save thee," I cried, "thy chains are off,-be free,

And now indulge thy sweetest minstrelsy."

TO THE LOCUST.

THOU, Locust, soother of my love, whose music slumber brings; Thou, Locust, minstrel of the fields, endowed with shrilly wings; Thou artless mimic of the lyre,

some song of beauty sing,

By striking, with thy pliant feet, each music-speaking wing. Thou, Locust, trill me from thy chords a love-releasing strain,

That thus thou may'st remove my care, my ever-wakeful pain;

And I'll the evergreens to thee,

as morning gifts, assign,

And the dew-drops split in parts to fit that little mouth of thine.

ON MENANDER.

THE bees, Menander, who with active wing Sport midst the flowers that deck the Muses' spring,

Around thy lips in thickening clusters hung,
And tipp'd with honey-drops thine infant tongue;
The Graces, too, on thee their gifts bestow,
And teach thy strains with elegance to flow.
Celestial Bard!-immortal as thy lays,
Thy native Athens shares thy meed of praise.

ON THE STATUE OF MENANDER. BEHOLD Menander! Siren of the stage, Who charm'd, with Love allied, a happier age; Light wanton wreaths, that never shall be dead, Are curl'd luxuriant round the poet's head, Who dress'd the scene in colours bright and gay, And breathed enchantment o'er the living lay.

ON THE STATUE OF THE SAME POET,

PLACED BY THE SIDE OF THE FIGURE OF CUPID.

MENANDER, Sweet Thalia's pride,
Well art thou placed by Cupid's side;
Priest to the god of soft delights,
Thou spread'st on earth his joyous rites;
And sure the boy himself we see

To smile, and please, and breathe in thee.
For, musing o'er yon imaged stone,
To see thee, and to love, are one.

THE GARDENER'S OFFERING.

To Pan, the guardian of my narrow soil,
Who gave my fruits to grow, and blest my toil,
Pure water and a votive fig I bear,
A scant oblation from the teeming year:
The fruit ambrosial in thy garden blush'd,
And from thy rock the living water gush'd:
Receive the tribute from my niggard urn,
Nor with thy bounty weigh my poor return.

SONG OF THE SWALLOW.*

OFFERING TO VENUS.

GODDESS of surf and shore, these cakes receive-
'Tis all thy humble votary has to give:
To-morrow o'er the broad Ionian main

I haste to clasp my Chloe's charms again.
My love, my canvass, ask thy favouring breeze,
Venus, bright queen of spousals and of seas.

SONG OF THE CROW.*

LORDS and ladies, for your ear
We have a petitioner;

Name and lineage would ye know?
'Tis Apollo's child, the Crow;
Waiting till your hands dispense,
Gift of barley, salt, or pence.

He's not one, who picks and chuses;
Nought that's proffered, he refuses.
Who, to-day, gives salt, he knows
Next day fig or honey throws.
Open, open, gate and door:
Mark! the moment we implore,
Comes the daughter of the squire
With such figs as wake desire.
Maiden for this favour done,
May thy fortunes, as they run,
Ever brighten-Be thy spouse
Rich, and of a noble house;
May thy sire, in aged case,

Nurse a boy who calls thee mother;
And his grandam, on her knees,
Rock a girl, who calls him brother;
Kept as bride, in reservation,
For some favoured near relation.
But enough now; I must tread,
Where my feet and eyes are led;
Dropping at each door a strain,
Let me lose my suit or gain.

Then search, worthy gentles, the cupboard's close nook;

To the lord, and still more to the lady, we look: Custom warrants the suit;-let it still then bear sway;

And your Crow, as in duty most bounden, shall pray.

*All persons and all things in Greece seem to have had their own peculiar songs, ploughmen, reapers, millers, weavers, shepherds, &c., as may be seen in Athenæus, xiv. 619. Even the poor unpopular crow could boast of one, and persons went about begging in his name, and piping in strains suitable to his habits and disposition. "The crows," says Mr. Mitchell, “appear to have been in great disfavour with the Athenians; they had the fee-simple of all that society wished to eject from itself; and thus stood to the Greeks somewhat in the relation of that malignant person, who, according to Rabelais, breakfasts on the souls of serjeant-at-arms fricasseed. This song will show that the dislike to the crow did not prevail universally among the Greeks, but that the same use was made of him in some parts, as in others was made of the swallow."

In like manner, (as we learn from Scripture,) the Hebrews also had their songs, adapted to different occupations and employments. The grinder at the mill, the harvest-man in the field, the vintager on his hill-side, all beguiled their labours with song.-See Isaiah ix, 3; Jeremiah xxv, 10; xlviii, 33; Ecclesiasticus xxxii, 5, 9.

THE Swallow is come!

The Swallow is come!

He brings us the season of vernal delight
With his back all of sable, and belly of white.
Have you nothing to spare

That his palate would please
A fig, or a pear,

Or a slice of rich cheese?
Mark, he bars all delay:
At a word, my friend, say,
Is it yes-is it nay?
Do we go? Do we stay?
One gift, and we're gone:
Refuse, and anon

On your gate and your door
All our fury we pour.

Or our strength shall be tried
On your sweet little bride;
From her seat we will tear her,
From her home we will bear her;
She is light, and will ask

But small hands to the task.
Let your bounty then lift
A small aid to our mirth;
And whatever the gift,
Let its size speak its worth.
The Swallow, the Swallow,
Upon you doth wait;

An alms-man and suppliant,
He stands at your gate:-
Let him in then, I say,

For no greybeards are we
To be foiled in our glee;

But boys, who will have our own way.

THE ROSE.

DID Jove a queen of flowers decree,
The Rose the queen of flowers should be.
Of flowers the eye, of plants the gem;
The meadow's blush, earth's diadem:
Glory of colours on the gaze,
Lightning in its beauty's blaze:
It breathes of love: it blooms the guest
Of Aphrodite's fragrant breast:
In gaudy pomp its petals spread:
Light foliage trembles round its head:
With vermeil blossoms fresh and fair,
It laughs to the voluptuous air.

LAIS.

GREECE, once the nurse of generous hearts,
Mistress of nations, Queen of arts,
No longer great, no longer free,
Yields to a willing slavery.
A girl of Corinth holds the chain
Which circled once the Ionian main.

The swallow, as the herald of spring, was an universal favourite amongst the Greeks, and was welcomed by the children in their little songs. The one presented here, was that usually sung by the children of Rhodes, who ran about in troops, carrying a live swallow with them, and choiring its praises from door to door.-See Hase's public and private life of the ancient Greeks.

ON ERINNA.

THOU who hadst lately birth to music given Of bee-engender'd hymns, and swan-voiced lays,

Art now o'er Acheron's dark waters driven

By Fate, the spindle of man's life that sways. Yet still, Erinna, will the Muse proclaim Thy labours-deathless in the choirs of Fame.

INSCRIPTION ON A BATH. OR from this fount, a joyous birth, The Queen of Beauty rose to earth, Or heavenly Venus, bathing, gave Her own quintessence to the wave.

THE OLIVE TO THE VINE.

I AM Minerva's sacred plant;

Press me no more, intruding vine! Unwreathe your wanton arms! Avaunt! A modest maiden loves not wine.

ЕРІТАРН.

FORTUNE and Hope, adieu! I've found my port; You've done with me; be others now your

sport.

The Same paraphrased.

AT length to Fortune, and to you,
Delusive Hope, a last adieu!
The charm, that once beguiled, is o'er,
And I have reached my destined shore.
Away, away! your flattering arts

May now betray some simpler hearts;
And you will smile at their believing,
And they shall weep at your deceiving.

ON A FRIEND.

How often, Lycid, shall I bathe with tears
This little stone, which our great love endears!
Thou, too, in memory of the vows we made,
Drink not of Lethe in the realms of shade.*

Imitated by Jortin in the following beautiful lines.
"QUE te sub tenerâ rapuerunt, Pæta, juventâ
O, utinam me crudelia Fata vocent:
Ut linquam terras, invisaque lumina solis;
Utque tuus rursum corpore sim posito.
Te sequar; obscurum per iter dux ibit eunti
Fidus Amor, tenebras lampade discutiens;
Tu cave Lethæo continguas ora liquore;
Et cito venturi sis memor, oro, Viri."

Oн had the Fate that cut thy tender age,
Made me companion of thy pilgrimage,
That I might say, Farewell to earth and sky,
And once again beside my Pœta lie!
Thee will I follow--on the darksome road
Love lights me onward to thy calm abode :
Refrain thy lip from that oblivious wave,
And think of him who hastens to thy grave.
Bland.
In the same spirit the ghost of Julia addresses Pompey.
"Non me Lethææ, conjux, oblivia vitæ
Immemorem fecêre tui."

THE LOVES OF SAPPHO AND ANACREON.*
Anac. SPIRIT of Love! whose tresses shine
Along the breeze, in golden twine,
Come! within a fragrant cloud,
Blushing with light, thy votary shroud;
And, on those wings that sparkling play,
Waft, oh! waft me hence away!
Love! my soul is full of thee,
Alive to all thy luxury:

But she, the Nymph, for whom I glow,
The pretty Lesbian mocks my woe;
Smiles at the hoar and silver hues
Which Time upon my forehead strews.
Alas! I fear, she keeps her charms
In store for younger, happier arms.

Sapph. O Muse, who sitt'st on golden throne! Full many a hymn of dulcet tone

The Teian Sage is taught by thee. But, Goddess! from thy throne of gold, The sweetest hymn thou'st ever told, He lately learn'd and sang for me.

THE LOVES OF SAPPHO AND ALCÆUS.
Alc. I FAIN would speak-I fain would tell—
But shame and fear my utterance quell.

Sapph. If aught of good, if aught of fair,
Thy tongue were labouring to declare,
Nor shame should dash thy glance, nor fear
Forbid thy suit to reach my ear.

ON SAPPHO.

COME, Lesbian maids, to Juno's royal dome! With steps that hardly press the pavement, come!

Let your own Sappho lead the lovely choir,
And to the altar bear her golden lyre.
Then first, in graceful order, slow advance,
Weaving light mazes of the joyous dance,
While from on high the heav'n-rapt Maid shall
pour

Such strains, that men shall wonder and adore.

DIOGENES TO CROESUS.

WHEN now the Cynic in dark Pluto's reign,
His earthly task of snarling wisdom clos'd;
Laughing he heard the Lydian king complain,
And spread his cloak and near the prince

repos'd.

"Dreamer," he cried, "of streams, that flowed with gold,

My higher dignity in hell behold!

For all I had on earth this nether sphere Receives with me,-but thou hast nothing here."

A FRAGMENT.

Jor follow thee; if joy can reach the dead, And-or my mind misgives-it surely will; For when the miseries of life are fled,

How sweet the deep forgetfulness of ill!

"Mais, par malheur," as Bayle says, "Sappho vint au monde environ cent ou six vingt ans avant Anacreon."

THE LOVER'S WISH.

On, that I were some gentle air,
That when the heats of summer glow,
And lay thy panting bosom bare,

I might upon that bosom blow!-
Oh, that I were yon blushing flower,

Which, even now thy hands have prest, To live, though but for one short hour, Upon the Elysium of thy breast.

EXCLAMATION OF VENUS,

ON SEEING HER STATUE BY PRAXITELES.

Mr naked charms! The Phrygian swain,

And Dardan boy-to those I've shown them, And only those of mortal strain:—

How should Praxiteles have known them?

ON A STATUE OF ENVY. MOULDED with envied skill, black Envy see, A living mass of prostrate misery. Grieved at another's good, the wretch has thrown His aged limbs down on the hard rough stone: And there the shrivell'd form in squalor lies, Heaving with ill-represt, soul-maddening sighs. With one old hand, which props those hoary hairs, His pale, thin temples, see! the madman tears; While, in the other hand, a staff is found, Wherewith he smites, with furious grins, the ground.

Gnashing in double row, those teeth declare How much his neighbour's weal o'erwhelms him with despair.

ON AN INFANT.

RELENTLESS Ades, why of life bereave

The child Callæschrus?-if a toy he be In her dark home to thy Persephone, Still with what sorrow must his parents grieve?

THE INVITATION.

COME, sit by yon shadowy pine,

That covers my sylvan retreat, And see how its branches incline

The breathing of Zephyr to meet. See the fountain that, gurgling, diffuses Around me a glittering spray, By the brink, as the traveller muses, I soothe him to sleep with my lay.

THE TRYSTING TREE.

SEE a meet spot for longing lovers' vows,
Beneath this platane's over-arching boughs,
Where the ripe clusters of the clasping vine
Well-pleased amid the greenery recline.
Grow on, thou platane! may thy sheltering boughs
Conceal fond lovers breathing tender vows.

UNDER A WINGED CUPID. Or shunning Love 'tis vain to talk, When he can fly, and I but walk.