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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 advanc'd to war,
Or Tyrian Cadmus rov'd afar;
But, still, to martial strains unknown,
My lyre recurs to Love alone.
Fir'd 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 bad driven Her car half round yon sablc heaven; Bootes, only, seem'd to roll His arctic charge around the pole; While mortals, lost in gentle sleep, Forgot to smile, or ceas’d 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 repose ? » « 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 wintry blast, « The nightly 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 bis fatal quiver hung, (Ab! 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 warın,
And now, reviving from the storm,
Scarce had he felt his wonted glow,
Than swift he seiz'd 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 tortur'd heart it lies :
Then loud the joyous urchin laught,
« My bow can still impel the shaft;
u '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 OESCHYLUS.

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. ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ * * ☆ * ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ * *

How different now thy joyless fate,

Since first Hesione thy bride, When plac'd aloft in godlike state,

The blushing beauty by thy side, Thou sat'st, while reverend Ocean smild, And mirthful strains the hours beguil'd; The Nympbs and Tritons danc'd around, Nor yet thy doom was fix’d, nor Jove relentless frown'd.

Harrow, Dec. 1, 1804.

THE EPISODE

OF NISUS AND EURYALUS.

A PARAPHRASE FROM THE ÆNEID, LIB. IX.

Nisus, the guardian of the portal, stood,
Eager to gild his arms with hostile blood;
Well skill'd in fight, the quivering lance to wield,
Or pour his arrows thro' th'embattld field;
From Ida torn, he left his sylvan cave,
And sought a foreign home, a distant grave;

To watch the movements of the Daunian host,
With him, Euryalus sustains the post,
No lovelier mien adorn’d the ranks of Troy,
And beardless bloom yet grac'd the gallant boy;
Though few the seasons of his youthful life,
As yet a novice in the martial strife,
'Twas his, with beauty, valour's gifts to share,
A soul heroic, as his form was fair ;
These burn with one pure flame of gen'rous love,
In peace, in war, united still they move;

Friendship and glory form their joint reward, "
And now combin'd, they hold the nightly guard.

There this decrest path, perap to Pallas' w

« What God! » exclaim'd the first, « instils this fire? « Or, in itself a God, what great desire ? à My lab’ring soul, with anxious bought opprest, « Abhors this station of inglorious rest; « The love of fame with this can ill accord,

Be’t mine, to seek for glory with my sword. « See'st thou yon camp, with torches twinkling dim, * Where drunken slumbers wrap each lazy limb? « Where confidence and ease the watch disdain, « Add drowsy Silence holds her sable reign? « Then hear my thought :-In deep and sullen grief, a Our troops and leaders mourn their absent chief ; « Now could the gifts and promis'd prize be thine,

(The deed, the danger, and the fame be mine;) « Were this decreed ;-beneath yon rising mound, « Methinks, an easy path, perchance, were found, « Which past, I speed my way to Pallas' walls, a And lead Æneas from Evander's halls. » With equal ardour fired, and warlike joy, His glowing friend address'd the Dardan boy : « These deeds, my Nisus, shalt thou dare alone?

« Must all the fame, the peril, be thine own? . « Am I by thee despis’d, and left afar,

« As one unfit to share the toils of war? « Not thuş,, his son, the great Opheltes taught, « Not thus, my Sire, in Argive combats fought; « Not thus, when llion fell by heavenly hate, « I track'd Æneas through the walks of fate; « Thou know'st my deeds, my breast devoid of fear, « And hostile life-drops dim my gory spear;

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