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Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,
160 Where the great vision of the guarded mount Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold; Look homeward. Angel, now, and melt with ruth: And, O ye Dolphins, waft the hapless youth.
Weep no.more, woful Shepherds, weep no more, 165 For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the wat'ry floor; So sinks the day.star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks bis beams, and with new spangled ore 176 Flames in the forehead of the morning sky: So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, Through the dear might of him that walk'd the
waves; Where, other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,
160. “ The fable of Bellerus old," &c. the Bellerian promontory, or Land's end in Cornwall, near which is Mount St. Michael, a fortress on a rock, named from a supposed vision or apparition of St. Michaela
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song,
On the new Forcers of Conscience under the
To force our consciences that Christ set free,
Taught ye by mere A. S. and Rotherford ?
Would have been held in high esteem with Paul, 10 Must now be nam'd and printed heretics By shallow Edwards and Scotch what d'ye call : But we do hope to find out all your tricks, Your plots and packing worse than those of Trent,
That so the Parliament 15 May, with their wholesome and preventive shears, Clip your phylacteries, though bauk your ears,
And succour our just fears, When they shall read this clearly in your charge, New Presbyter is but old Priest writ large.
THE FIFTH ODE OF HORACE, Lib. I. Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa....rendered almost word for word without rhyme, according to the Latin
measure, as near as the language will permit. WHAT slender youth, bedew'd with liquid odours, Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,
Pyrrha? for whom bind'st thou
In wreaths thy golden hair,
Rough with black winds, and storms
Unwonted shall admire !
Hopes thee, of flattering gales
Unmindful. Hapless they To whom thou untry'd seem'st fair. Me, in my vow'd Picture, the sacred wall declares t' have hung My dank and dropping weeds
15 To the stern God of sea.
TO THE NIGHTINGALE.
Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill,
First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,
Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Foretel my hopeless doom in some grove nigh; 30
As thou from year to year bast sung too late
Whether the Muse, or Love, call thee his mate,
L'herbosa val di Rheno, e il nobil varco;
Qual tuo spirto gentil non innamora ;
De sui atti soavi giamai parco,
La onde l' alta tua virtu s'infiora.
Che mover possa duro alpestre legno,
Guardi ciascun a gli occhi, ed a gli orecchi