WHEN DYING.

ANIMULA! vagula, blandula, Hospes comesque corporis, Quæ nunc abibis in loca? Pallidula, rigida, nudula, Nec, ut soles, dabis jocos.

АH! gentle, fleeting, wavering Sprite, Friend and associate of this clay!

To what unknown region borne, Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight? No more, with wonted humour gay, But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn.

TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS.

AD LESBIAM.

EQUAL to Jove that youth must be,
Greater than Jove, he seems to me,
Who, free from Jealousy's alarms,
Securely views thy matchless charms;
That cheek, which ever dimpling glows,
That mouth from whence such music flows,
To him, alike, are always known,
Reserved for him, and him alone.
Ah! Lesbia! though 'tis death to me,
I cannot choose but look on thee;
But, at the sight, my senses fly;
I needs must gaze, but gazing die;
Whilst trembling with a thousand fears,
Parch'd to the throat, my tongue adheres,
My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves
short,

My limbs deny their slight support;
Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread,
With deadly languor droops my head,
My ears with tingling echoes ring,
And life itself is on the wing;
My eyes refuse the cheering light,
Their orbs are veil'd in starless night;
Such pangs my nature sinks beneath,
And feels a temporary death.

LUCTUS DE MORTE PASSERIS.

YB Cupids, droop each little head,
Nor let your wings with joy be spread;
My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead,

Whom dearer than her eyes she loved;
For he was gentle, and so true,
Obedient to her call he flew,
No fear, no wild alarm he knew,

But lightly o'er her bosom moved: And softly fluttering here and there, He never sought to cleave the air; But chirrup'd oft, and free from care,

Tuned to her ear his grateful strain. Now having pass'd the gloomy bourn, From whence he never can return, His death, and Lesbia's grief, I mourn,

Who sighs, alas! but sighs in vain. Oh! curst be thou, devouring grave! Whose jaws eternal victims crave, From whom no earthly power can save, For thou hast ta'en the bird away: From thee, my Lesbia's eyes o'erflow. Her swollen cheeks with weeping glow, Thou art the cause of all her woe, Receptacle of life's decay.

IMITATED FROM CATULLUS.

TO ELLEN.

On! might I kiss those eyes of fire,
A million scarce would quench desire;
Still, would I steep my lips in bliss,
And dwell an age on every kiss;
Nor then my soul should sated be,
Still would I kiss and cling to thee:
Nought should my kiss from thine dissever,
Still would we kiss, and kiss for ever;
E'en though the number did exceed
The yellow harvest's countless seed;
To part would be a vain endeavour,
Could I desist?-ah! never-never,

Or Tyrian Cadmus roved afar;
But, still, to martial strains unknown,
My lyre recurs to love alone.
Fired 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 had driven
Her car half round yon sable heaven;
Bootes, only, seem'd to roll

His Arctic charge around the Pole;
While mortals, lost in gentle sleep,
Forgot to smile, or ceased 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 wintery blast,
The mighty 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 his fatal quiver hung.
(Ah! 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 warm,
And now, reviving from the storm,
Scarce had he felt his wonted glow,
Than swift he seized his slender bow:
"I fain would know, my gentle host,"

A PARAPHRASE FROM THE ÆNEID, LIB.

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 through th' embattled
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 graced 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 gift to share,
A soul heroic, as his form was fair;
These burn with one pure flame of generous
love,

In peace, in war, united still they move; Friendship and glory form their joint reward, And now combined they hold the nightly guard.

"What God!" exclaim'd the first, "instils this fire?

Or, in itself a God, what great desire?
My labouring soul, with anxious thought
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.
Seest thou yon camp, with torches twink-
ling dim,

Where drunken slumbers wrap each lazy limb?

Where confidence and ease the watch disdain, And drowsy Silence holds her sable reign? Then hear my thought :-In deep and sullen grief,

Our troops and leaders mourn their absent chief;

Now could the gifts and promised 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, 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?
And I by thee despised, and left afar,
As one unfit to share the toils of war?
Not thus his son the great Opheltes taught,
Not thus my sire in Argive combats fought;
Not thus, when Ilion fell, by heavenly hate,
I track'd Æneas through the walls of fate;
Thou knowst my deeds, my breast devoid
of fear,

And hostile life-drops dim my gory spear;
Here is a soul with hope immortal burns
And life, ignoble life, for Glory spurns;
Fame, fame is cheaply earn'd by fleeting
breath,

The price of honour is the sleep of death."
Then Nisus "Calm thy bosom's fond alarms,
Thy heart beats fiercely to the din of arms;
More dear thy worth and valour than my own,
I swear by him who fills Olympus' throne!
So may I triumph, as I speak the truth,
And clasp again the comrade of my youth
But should I fall, and he who dares advance
Through hostile legions must abide by
chance;

If some Rutulian arm, with adverse blow,
Should lay the friend who ever loved thee
low;
Live thou, such beauties I would fain pre-

serve,

Thy budding years a lengthened term deserve;

When humbled in the dust, let some one be, Whose gentle eyes will shed one tear for me; Whose manly arm may snatch me back by force,

Or wealth redeem from foes my captive corse:
Or, if my destiny these last deny,
If in the spoiler's power my ashes lie,
Thy pious care may raise a simple tomb,
To mark thy love, and signalize my doom.
Why should thy doating wretched mother
weep

Her only boy, reclined in endless sleep?
Who, for thy sake, the tempest's fury dared,
Who, for thy sake, war's deadly peril shared;
Who braved what woman never braved
before,

And left her native for the Latian shore." "In vain you damp the ardour of my soul," Replied Euryalus, "it scorns control; Hence, let us haste," their brotherguards arose, Roused by their call, nor court again repose; The pair,buoy'd up on Hope's exulting wing, Their stations leave, and speed to seek the king.

Now, o'er the earth a solemn stillness ran, And lull'd alike the cares of brute and man; Save where the Dardan leaders nightly hold Alternate converse, and their plans unfold; On one great point the council are agreed, An instant message to their prince decreed; Each lean'd upon the lance he well could wield,

And poised, with easy arm,his ancient shield; When Nisus and his friend their leave request To offer something to their high behest. With anxious tremors, yet unawed by fear, The faithful pair before the throne appear; Iulus greets them; at his kind command, The elder first address'd the hoary band.

"With patience," thus Hyrtacides began, "Attend, nor judge from youth, our humble plan;

Where yonder beacons, half-expiring, beam, Our slumbering foes of future conquest dream,

Nor heed that we a secret path have traced, Between the ocean and the portal placed: Beneath the covert of the blackening smoke, Whose shade securely our design will cloak. If you, ye Chiefs, and Fortune will allow, We'll bend our course to yonder mountain's brow;

Where Pallas' walls, at distance, meet the sight,

Seen o'er the glade, when not obscured by night;

Then shall Æneas in his pride return, While hostile matrons raise their offsprings'

urn,

And Latian spoils, and purpled heaps of dead, Shall mark the havoc of our hero's tread ; Such is our purpose, not unknown the way, Where yonder torrent's devious waters stray: Oft have we seen, when hunting by the stream,

The distant spires above the valleys gleam."

ye raise,

Yours is the god-like act, be yours the praise; In gallant youth my fainting hopes revive, And Ilion's wonted glories still survive." Then, in his warm embrace, the boys he press'd,

And, quivering, strain'd them to his aged breast;

With tears the burning cheek of each bedew'd.

And, sobbing, thus his first discourse renew'd :

"What gift, my countrymen, what martial prize

Can we bestow, which you may not despise?
Our deities the first, best boon have given,
Internal virtues are the gift of Heaven.
What poor rewards can bless your deeds
on earth,

Doubtless, await such young exalted worth;
Æneas and Ascanius shall combine
To yield applause far, far surpassing mine."
Iulus then: "By all the powers above!
By those Penates who my country love;
By hoary Vesta's sacred fane, I swear,
My hopes are all in you, ye generous pair!
Restore my father to my grateful sight,
And all my sorrows yield to one delight.
Nisus! two silver goblets are thine own,
Saved from Arisba's stately domes
thrown;
My sire secured them on that fatal day,
Nor left such bowls an Argive robber's prey.
Two massy tripods also shall be thine,
Two talents polish'd from the glittering

mine ;

To him Euryalus: “No day shall shame The rising glories, which from this I claim. Fortune may favour or the skies may frown, But valour, spite of fate, obtains renown. Yet, ere from hence our eager steps depart, One boon I beg, the nearest to my heart: My mother sprung from Priam's royal line, Like thine ennobled, hardly less divine; Nor Troy, nor King Acestes' realms restrain Her feeble age from dangers of the main; Alone she came, all selfish fears above, A bright example of maternal love. Unknown, the secret enterprize I brave, Lest grief should bend my parent to the grave:

From this alone no fond adieus I seek, No fainting mother's lips have press'd my cheek;

By gloomy Night, and thy right hand, I vow Her parting-tears would shake my purpose

now.

An ancient cup which Tyrian Dido gave, While yet our vessels press'd the Punic

wave:

But, when the hostile chiefs at length bow down, When great Æneas wears Hesperia's crown, The casque, the buckler, and the fiery steed, Which Turnus guides with more than mortal speed,

Are thine; no envious lot shall then be cast, I pledge my word, irrevocably pass'd; Nay more, twelve slaves and twice six captive dames,

To soothe thy softer hours with amorous flames, And all the realms which now the Latins sway,

The labours of to-night shall well repay. But thou, my generous youth, whose tender years

Are near my own, whose worth my heart

reveres,

Henceforth, affection sweetly thus begun, Shall join our bosoms and our souls in one;

Nor this alone, but many a gift beside;
To cheer thy mother's years shall be my aim,
Creusa's style but wanting to the dame;
Fortune an adverse wayward course may run,
But bless'd thy mother in so dear a son.
Now, by my life, my Sire's most sacred oath,
To thee I pledge my full, my firmest troth,
All the rewards which once to thee were
vow'd,

If thou shouldst fall, on her shall be bestow'd."

Thus spoke the weeping Prince, then forth
to view
A gleaming falchion from the sheath he
drew;
Lycaon's utmost skill had graced the steel,
For friends to envy and for foes to feel.
A tawny hide, the Moorish lion's spoil,
Slain midst the forest, in the hunter's toil,
Mnestheus. to guard the elder youth bestows,
And old Alethes' casque defends his brows;
Arm'd, thence they go, while all the as-
sembled train,

To aid their cause, implore the gods in vain;
More than a boy, in wisdom and in grace,