I love you, poor old hulk, with heart as warm
A's any man aboard;-'ware then the storm,
Whose thunder roars for-fraudulent Reform.

To dissipate the cloudy atmosphere of politics, here follows the 16th ode, being a “ recantation to Tyndaris."

O than a beauteous mother lovelier still,

Do with my wayward verses what you will,

Let the fierce flame consume them, or the wave
Of Hadrian hide them in a drowning grave.

Not Dindymenës' inspiration fills

Her worshippers, not wine, nor Phoebus thrills
The heart more fiercely, nor the mimic war
With maddening cymbal clashing from afar,

Excites the Corybantes with such ire

As springs from malice! This nor ocean's swell Lash'd with the storm, nor Noric-sword, nor fire Nor Jupiter with all his bolts can quell.

Prometheus, ere his arduous task began,

From various beasts our various passions chose, And plac'd the lion in the breast of man,

Thenceforth to ravin there in wrathful woes.

'Twas anger laid Thyestes low

And levell'd cities with the ground;

Anger the cause of all their woe

Which bade the insulting foe surround

With hostile plough, where erst the rampart frown'd.

Be calmer then: I too ere now

When youth was mine, enrag'd with thee,
In verses made my choler flow:
But O forgive, love, pity me!
Let me recant that impious strain,
And give me thy esteem again.

The twenty-third is playful and pretty.

Chloë, you shun me, timidly,

Like a wanton kid, that seeks
It's dam amid the mountain peaks,
With panting heart and fearful eye,
Trembling, as the zephyr moves
With balmy breath the waving groves.

For whether Spring's soft mildness near
Stirs the forest foliage green,

Or the scaly lizard seen

Rustles in the grass; with fear

It trembles in each quiv'ring knee
And looks around it timidly.

But fear me not: I do not seek

Like some Gætulian great wild-beast

Lion, or bear, or pard at least,

To wound thy neck, or bite thy cheek :
Then bolder leave thy mother's side,
And blooming learn to be a bride.

Our last shall be a very closely translated Anacreontic, in the sapphic metre, to the poet's servant. No! lad, I hate your Persian decorations, Ivy-bound chaplets put me out of humour, Go not to seek where in some nook or other Lingers the last rose :

All that I care your willingness to weave me
Is the neat myrtle; 'twill as well become you
Serving, as me, beneath the matted vine-leaves

Merrily drinking.

But we are warned alike of the claims of other worthies, and of the probable "ohe, jam satis,"-rising to the mind of many, who may do these things far better: let us turn "from gay to grave," from a chapter of humanity not less true to nature because comparatively trifling, to matters of deeper thought and more serious import.

"Sicelides Musæ, paulo majora canamus."

I

MARY THE VIRGIN.

HAIL, Mary! blessed among women, hail!
How should I pass thee by, most favoured one,
As thus I greet thee in this visioned vale

Far other than on earth, when sad and pale

Beneath the bitter cross of that dear Son Thy woman's heart did faint; I note thee now Walking in praise, and on thy modest brow

The coronet that tells of glory won:

8

O blest art thou, but not yet full thy bliss,
Albeit where erst the sword pierc'd through thy heart
Celestial joys in thrilling raptures dart;

For He, the tender firstling of thy love,
The precious child thy virgin lips did kiss, b

Hath still to take his triumph from above.

It has been considered proper, by way of distinction from the profanum vulgus, to place our Lord in his human character between two persons of scriptural excellence and be it duly noted that He is not numbered among our septuagint, but is one above the seventy, the separate from all. The name of the blessed Virgin occurs immediately for one such pyramidal supporter, and the disciple whom Jesus loved, and to whose care from a fearful deathbed he committed his mother, rises to the mind as a fitting counterpart.

The opportunity is here gladly embraced of saying a few words with reference to the very various estimations in which the mother of our Lord is held by Protestants and Romanists. In nothing has the besotted tendency of mankind to run into extremes been more fatally exemplified: the former, in many published instances, scarcely allowing the most favoured of the daughters of Eve superiority for any thing in the sight of heaven or earth; the latter, worshipping Mary in ludicrous idolatry as Queen of heaven, Mother of God, and the Rapture of the Blessed: nay more, some German reformers have gone to lengths for which indecorous would be too mild a term, in endeavouring to prove the wife of