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PASSAGES FOR TRANSLATION
INTO LATIN ELEGIAC VERSE
HE lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day,
had he thy reason, would he skip and play? pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food and licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
CHARMS AND KNOTS
shall ne'er be troubled with ill eyes.
A poor man's rod, when thou dost ride,
Who shuts his hand hath lost his gold,
Who goes to bed and does not pray
Who by aspersions throw a stone
at the head of others, hit their own.
Who looks on ground with humble eyes,
When the hair is sweet through pride or lust,
In shallow waters heaven doth show:
but who drinks on to hell may go.
IN the lines you have sent are the Muses and Graces, you've the Nine in your wit and the Three in your faces.
FRIEND, your t
RIEND, for your epitaphs I'm grieved,
one half will never be believed,
the other never read.
O bright is thy beauty, so charming thy song drawn both the beasts and their Orpheus
but such is thy avarice and such is thy pride,
TO A FRIEND ON HIS BIRTHDAY
N parent knees a naked newborn child
weeping thou sat'st, while all around thee smiled;
so live, that, sinking to thy life's last sleep,
calm thou may'st smile, whilst all around thee weep. SIR W. JONES
EPITAPH ON AN INFANT
RE sin could blight or sorrow fade
death came with friendly care,
to heaven the opening bud conveyed
S. T. COLERIDGE
THE ENVIOUS SNOWS
HE envious snows came down in haste
to prove her breast less fair
but when they found themselves surpassed
This but a barbarous skill;
HE adorning thee with so much art
'tis like the poisoning of the dart,
HOUGH death's strong image in thy form we trace, come sleep! and fold me in thy soft embrace; come genial sleep! that sweetest blessing give
to die thus living and thus dead to live.
SWEET is Love and sweet is the Rose,
each has a flower and each has a thorn; roses die when the cold wind blows,
love, it is killed by lady's scorn!
EPITAPH ON SIR ISAAC NEWTON
ATURE and nature's laws lay hid in night;
THE VICISSITUDES OF HUMAN LIFE
ΠΑΙΓΝΙΟΝ ἐστι τύχης μερόπων βίος, οἰκτρός, αλήτης,
THE SORROWS OF CHILDHOOD
Tis like the dewdrop on the rose;
when next the summer breeze comes by
SIR W. SCOTT
E let the tender office long engage
with lenient aft extend a mother's breath,
make languor smile and smoothe the bed of death, explore the thought, explain the asking eye,
and save awhile one parent from the sky.
APOLOGY FOR VAGRANTS
OLD on Canadian hills or Minden's plain perhaps that parent mourned her soldier slain; bent o'er her babe, her eyes dissolved in dew, the big drops mingling with the milk he drew gave the sad presage of his future years— the child of misery baptized in tears.
EPITAPH ON JAMES CRAGGS IN
TATESMAN, yet friend to truth, of soul sincere;
in action faithful and in honour clear:
who broke no promise, served no private end;
praised wept and honoured by the Muse he loved.
EPITAPH ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE
NDERNEATH this sable herse lies the subject of all verse, Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother: Death, ere thou hast slain another learned and fair and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee.
LOVE OUTLIVES TIME
DEVOURING Time with stealing pace
makes lofty oaks and cedars bow;
and marble towers and gates of brass
SPIRIT OF PLATO
EAGLE, Why Snarest thoury pure home
AGLE, why soarest thou above that tomb?
I am the image of swift Plato's spirit
P. B. SHELLEY