acquaintance with Cornutus did not commence till after he had taken the virile gown: Cum primum pavido custos mihi purpura cessit Now the age at which the prætexta was laid aside, was seventeen years. Among the number of friends and companions of Persius, were the poets Lucan and Bassus. The latter is mentioned with respect by Quintilian. The author of the fragment says, sero cognovit (nempe Persius) Senecam, sed non ut caperetur ejus ingenio. By this I can only understand, that Persius could never relish the pompous eloquence, and declamatory style of Seneca. It is impossible that he should not have admired the talents, and respected the virtues of that philosopher, who was also a Stoic. Persius was a person of the mildest manners, remarkable for the beauty of his form, and for the modesty of his appearance. His piety was exemplary, in discharging the relative duties of his siWhen he died he left a sum of money, together with his books, to Cornutus. The phi tuation. losopher accepted the books, and delivered the money to the sisters of his pupil. It appears that Persius wrote seldom and slowly. His satires were much valued by his cotemporaries. The poet Lucan particularly admired them. He is said to have died of a stomach complaint. He forms one of the few examples of a young man, during the course of a short life, having acquired immortality for his name by his virtues, his talents, and his learning. ADVERTISEMENT. In English poetry, where the words beaven, even, &c. are intended to be read as one syllable, they are generally written beav'n, ev'n, with an apostrophe. I have, however, written these words at length; and have left it to the reader to determine the quantity, in which he will be easily guided by his ear. Page 13, line 5, for do, read does. THE TRANSLATOR'S PROLOGUE. POET AND FRIEND. V. I-12. POET. NAY, spare your censures, nor condemn the lays: And classic Gifford nod the head and smile. P. As time speeds on, and years revolve, my friend, While yet a youth, my pure descriptive lays The learn'd could suffer, and the partial praise. Her brilliant tints Imagination threw, O'er the wild scenes my artless pencil drew; And Love desponding threw his torch away. P. And yet for me the Muses still have charms, For me the silvan world has beauties still, Of charms and spells, of treasures lost and found, |