The sands that line the German coast descried,
To opulent Hamburga turn aside!
So call'd, if legendary fame be true,

From Hama. who a club-arm'd Cumbrian slew!
There lives, deep learn'd and primitively just,
A faithful steward of his Christian trust,
My friend, and favorite inmate of my heart,
That now is forced to want its better part!
What mountains now, and seas alas! how wide!
From me this other. dearer self divide,
Dear as the sage renown'd for moral truth
To the prime spirit of the Attic youth!
Dear as the Stagyrite to Ammon's son,
His pupil who disdain'd the world he won!
Nor so did Chiron, or so Phoenix shine
In young Achilles' eyes. as he in mine.
First led by him through sweet Aonian shade,
Each sacred haunt of Pindus I survey'd;
And, favor'd by the muse. whom I implored,
Thrice on my lip the hallow'd stream I pour'd.
But thrice the sun's resplendent chariot roil'd
To Aries has new tinged his fleece with gold,
And Chloris twice has dress'd the meadows
gay.

And twice has summer parch'd their bloom away,
Since last delighted on his looks I hung
Or my ear drank the music of his tongue:
Fly, therefore, and surpass the tempest's speed;
Aware thyself that there is urgent need!
Him, entering thou shalt haply seated see
Beside his spouse, his infants on his knee;
Or turning page by page, with studious look,
Some bulky father, or God's holy book;
Or ministering (which is his weightiest care)
To Christ's assembled flock their heavenly fare.
Give him, whatever his employment be,
Such gratulation as he claims from me!
And with a downcast eye, and carriage meek,
Addressing him, forget not thus to speak:

"If compass'd round with arms thou canst at-
tend

To verse, verse greets thee from a distant friend.
Long due, and late, I left the English shore;
But make me welcome for that cause the more!
Such from Ulysses, his chaste wife to cheer,
The slow epistle came. though late sincere.
But wherefore this? why palliate I the deed
For which the culprit's self could hardly plead?
Self-charged, and self-condemned, his proper part
He feels neglected, with an aching heart;
But thou forgive-delinquents, who confess,
And pray forgiveness, merit anger less;
From timid foes the lion turns away,
Nor yawns upon or rends a crouching prey.
E'en pike-wielding Thracians learn to spare,
Won by soft influence of a suppliant prayer;
And heaven's dread thunderbolt arrested stands
By a cheap victim and uplifted hands
Long had he wished to write, but was withheld,
And writes at last, by love alone compell'd,
For fame, too often true, when she alarms,
Reports thy neighboring fields a scene of arms;
The city against fierce besiegers barr'd,
And all the Saxon chiefs for fight prepared.
Enyo wastes thy country wide around,
And saturates with blood the tainted ground;
Mars rests contented in his Thrace no more,
But goads his steeds to fields of German gore,
The ever verdant olive fades and dies,
And Peace the trumpet-hating goddess, flies,
Flies from that earth which justice long had left,
And leaves the world of its last guard bereft."

Thou dwell'st, and helpless, in a soil unknown;
Poor, and receiving from a foreign hand
The aid denied thee in thy native land.
Oh. ruthless country, and unfeeling more
Than thy own billow-beaten chalky shore!
Leavest thou to foreign care the worthies given
By Providence to guide thy steps to heaven?
His ministers, commissioned to proclaim
Eternal blessings in a Saviour's name!
Ah then most worthy, with a soul unfed,
In Stygian night to lie forever dead!
So once the venerable Tishbite stray'd
An exiled fugitive from shade to shade,
When, flying Ahab and his fury wife,
In lone Arabian wilds he shelter'd life;
So from Philippa wander'd forth forlorn,
Cilician Paul, with sounding scourges torn;
And Christ himself, so left, and trod no more
The thankless Gergesene's forbidden shore.

But thou take courage! strive against despair!
Quake not with dread nor nourish anxious care!
Grim war indeed on every side appears,
And thou art menaced by a thousand spears;
Yet none shall drink thy blood, or shall offend
E'en the defenceless bosom of my friend.
For thee the Egis of thy God shall hide,
Jehovah's self shall combat on thy side.
The same who vanquish'd under Sion's towers
At silent midnight all Assyria's powers,
The same who overthrew in ages past
Damascus' sons that laid Samaria waste!
Their king he fill'd and them with fatal fears,
By mimic sounds of clarions in their ears,
Of hools, and wheels, and neighings from afar,
Of clashing armor, and the din of war.

Thou, therefore, (as the most afflicted may), Still hope, and triumph o'er thy evil day! Look forth, expecting happier times to come, And to enjoy, once more, thy native home!

ELEGY V.

ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING... TIME, never wandering from his annual round, Bids zephyr breathe the spring, and thaw the ground;

Bleak winter flies, new verdure clothes the plain,
And earth assumes her transient youth again.
Dream I, or also to the spring belong
Increase of genius, and new powers of song?
Spring gives them, and, how strange soe'er it

seems.

Impels me now to some harmonious themes.
Castalia's fountain, and the forked hill
By day, by night, my raptured fancy fill;
My bosom burns and heaves. I hear within
A sacred sound that prompts me to begin.
Lo! Phoebus comes, with his bright hair he

blends

The radiant laurel wreath; Phoebus descends!
I mount, and undepress'd by cumbrous clay,
Through cloudy regions win my easy way;
Rapt through poetic shadowy haunts I fly:
The shrines all open to my dauntless eye,
My spirit searches all the realms of light,
And no Tartarean gulis elude my sight.
But this ecstatic trance-this glorious storm
Of inspiration-what will it perform?

But wherefore should thy muse tempt mine away
From what she loves from darkness into day?
Art thou desirous to be told how well
I love thee, and in verse? verse cannot tell.
For verse has bounds, and must in measure
move;

But neither bounds nor measure knows my love.
How pleasant, in thy lines described, appear
December's harmless sports and rural cheer!
French spirits kindling with cærulean fires,
And all such gambols as the time inspires!
Think not that wine against good verse offends,
The Muse and Bacchus have been always friends;
Nor Phoebus blushes sometimes to be found
With ivy, rather than with laurel, crown'd.
The Nine themselves ofttimes have join'd the

song

And revels of the Bacchanalian throng;
Not even Ovid could in Scythian air [there.
Sing sweetly-why-no vine would flourish
What in brief numbers sung Anacreon's muse?
Wine, and the rose that sparkling wine bedews.
Pindar with Bacchus glows-his every line
Breathes the rich fragrance of inspiring wine,
While, with loud crash o'erturned, the chariot lies,
And brown with dust the fiery courser flies.
The Roman lyrist steep'd in wine his lays
So sweet in Glycera's and Chloe's praise.
Now too the plenteous feast and mantling bowl
Nourish the vigor of thy sprightly soul;
The flowing goblet makes thy numbers flow,
And casks not wine alone but verse bestow.
Thus Phoebus favors, and the arts attend,
Whom Bacchus and whom Ceres both befriend.
What wonder, then, thy verses are so sweet,
In which these triple powers so kindly meet!
The lute now also sounds with gold inwrought,
And touch'd with flying fingers nicely taught,
In tapestried halls, high roofd the sprightly lyre
Directs the dancers of the virgin choir.
If dull repletion fright the muse away,
Sights gay as these may more invite her stay;
And trust ine, while the ivory keys resound,
Fair damsels sport and perfume steam around,
Apollo's influence, like ethereal flame,
Shall animate, at once, thy glowing frame,
And all the muse shall rush into thy breast,
By love and music's blended powers possest.
For numerous powers light Elegy befriend,
Hear her sweet voice and at her call attend;
Her Bacchus Ceres. Venus, all approve,
And, with his blushing mother gentl Love.
Hence to such bards we grant the copious use
Of banquets and the vine's delicious juice.
But they who demigods and heroes praise,
And feats perform'd in Jove's more youthful days,
Who now the counsels of high heaven explore,
Now shades that echo the Cerberean roar,
Simply let these, like him of Samos live,
Let herbs to them a bloodless banquet give;
In beechen goblets let their beverage shine,
Cool from the crystal spring their sober wine!
Their youth should pass in innocence secure
From stain licentious, and in manners pure,
Pure as the priest when robed in white he stands,
The fresh lustration ready in his hands.
Thus Linus lived, and thus as poets write,
Tiresias, wiser for his loss of sight;

Thus exiled Chalcas thus the Bard of Thrace,
Melodious tamer of the savage race;

Through magic Circe's monster-peopled reign,
And shoals insidious with the syren train;
And through the realms where grizzly spectres
dwell,

Whose tribes he fetter'd in a gory spell;
For these are sacred bands and from above
Drink large infusions from the mind of Jove.
Wouldst thou, (perhaps 'tis hardly worth thine
ear.)

Wouldst thou be told my occupation here?
The promised King of Peace employs my pen,
The eternal covenant made for guilty men,
The new-born Deity with infant cries
Filling the sordid hovel where he lies;
The hymning angels, and the herald star,
That led the wise, who sought him from afar,

And idols on their own unhallow'd shore
Dash'd, at his birth to be revered no more,

This theme on reeds of Albion I rehearse :
The dawn of that blest day inspired the verse;
Verse that reserved in secret shall attend
Thy candid voice, my critic and my friend!

ELEGY VII.

As yet a stranger to the gentle fires
That Amathusia's smiling queen inspires,
Not seldom I derided Cupid's darts,
And scorn'd his claim to rule all human hearts.
Go, child," I said transfix the timorous dove!
An easy conquest suits an infant love;
Enslave the sparrow, for such prize shall be
Sufficient triumph to a chief like thee!
Why aim thy idle arms at buman kind?
Thy shafts prevail not 'gainst the noble mind."
The Cyprian heard, and, kindling into ire,
(None kindles sooner) burn'd with double fire.
It was the spring and newly risen day
Peep'd o'er the hamlets on the first of May;
My eyes too tender for the blaze of light,
Still sought the shelter of retiring night.
When Love approach'd, in painted plumes
array'd,

The insidious god his rattling derts betray'd,
Nor less his infant features, and the sly,
Sweet intimations of his threatening eye.
Such the Sigeian boy is seen above,
Filling the goblet for imperial Jove; [charms,
Such he, on whom the nymphs bestow'd their
Hylas, who perish'd in a naiad's arms.
Angry he seem'd, yet graceful in his ire,
And added threats not destitute of fire.

My power." he said, "by others' pain alone,
Twere best to learn; now learn it by thy own!
With those that feel my power that power attest,
And in thy anguish be my sway contest!
I vanquish'd Phoebus though returning vain
From his new triumph o'er the Python slain,
And, when he thinks on Daphne, even he
Will yield the prize of archery to me.

A dart less true the Parthian horseman sped,
Behind him kill'd, and conquer'd as he fled:
Less true the expert Cydonian, and less true
The youth whose shaft his latent Procris slew.
Vanquish'd by me see huge Orion bend,
By me Alcides, and Alcides' friend.

At me should Jove himself a bolt design.
His bosom first should bleed, transfix'd by mine.

His chief of Ithaca from shore to shore,

Nor shall it reach thee with a trivial pain.

Thy muse, vain youth! shall not thy peace en

sure,

Nor Phoebus' serpent yield thy wound a cure."

He spoke, and waving a bright shaft in air, Sought the warm bosom of the Cyprian fair.

That thus a child should bluster in my ear, Provoked my laughter more than moved my fear. I shunn'd not, therefore, public haunts, but stray'd

Careless in city or suburban shade,

And, passing and repassing nymphs, that moved With grace divine, beheld where er I roved. Bright shone the vernal day with double blaze As beauty gave new force to Phoebus' rays. By no grave scruples check'd, I freely eyed The dangerous show, rash youth my only guide, And many a look of many a fair unknown Met full, unable to control my own. But one I mark'd. (then peace forsook my breast,) One-Oh how far superior to the rest! What lovely features! Such the Cyprian queen Herselt might wish, and Juno wish her mien. The very nymph was she, whom, when I dared His arrows, Love had even then prepared! Nor was himself remote, nor unsupplied With torch well trimm'd and quiver at his side; Now to her lips he clung, her eyelids now, Then settled on her cheeks, or on her brow; And with a thousand wounds from every part Pierced and transpierced my undefended heart. A fever new to me, of fierce desire Now seized my soul, and I was all on fire; But she, the while, whom only I adore, Was gone, and vanish'd, to appear no more. In silent sadness I pursue my way; I pause, I turn, proceed, yet wish to stay, And while I follow her in thought, bemoan With tears my soul's delight so quickly flown. When Jove had hurl'd him to the Lemnian coast, So Vulcan sorrow'd for Olympus lost, And so Eclides, sinking into night, From the deep gulf looked up to distant light. Wretch that I am, what hopes for me remain, Who cannot cease to love, yet love in vain? O could I once, once more, behold the fair, Speak to her, tell her of the pangs I bear; Perhaps she is not adamant; would show, Perhaps, some pity at my tale of woe. Oh inauspicious flame-tis mine to prove A matchless instance of disastrous love. Ah. spare me, gentle power!-If such thou be, Let not thy deeds and nature disagree. Spare me, and I will worship at no shrine With vow and sacrifice, save only thine. Now I revere thy fires thy bow, thy darts: Now own thee sovereign of all human hearts. Remove! no-grant me still this raging woe! Sweet is the wretchedness that lovers know: But pierce hereafter (should I chance to see One destined mine) at once both her and me.

Such were the trophies that, in earlier days,
By vanity seduced. I toil'd to raise ;

Studious, yet indolent, and urged by youth,
That worst of teachers, from the ways of truth;
Till Learning taught me in his shady bower
To quit love's servile yoke, and spurn his power.
Then, on a sudden the fierce flame supprest,
A frost continual settled on my breast,
Whence Cupid fears his flame extinct to see,
And Venus dreads a Diomede in me.

EPIGRAMS.

ON THE INVENTOR OF GUNS. PRAISE in old time the sage Prometheus won, Who stole etherial radiance from the sun; But greater be, whose bold invention strove To emulate the fiery bolts of Jove.

[The poems on the subject of the Gunpowder Tresa I have not translated, both because the matter of te

unpleasant, and because they are written with an sper ity, which, however it might be warranted in Milica's day, would be extremely unseasonable now.]

TO LEONORA SINGING AT ROME.
ANOTHER Leonora once inspired
But how much happier, lived he now, were be,
Tasso with fatal love, to frenzy fired:
Since could he hear that heavenly voice of thine,
Pierced with whatever pangs for love of thee!

With Adriana's lute of sound divine
Fiercer than Pentheus' though his eye might roll,
Or idiot apathy benumb his soul

You still, with medicinal sounds might cheer
His senses wandering in a blind career;
And, sweetly breathing through his wounded
breast,
[rest
Charm, with soul-soothing song, his thoughts to

TO THE SAME.

A FABLE.

While following Fate's dark footsteps, I fulfil
The dictates of a hardy people's will.
But sotten'd in thy sight my looks appear,
Not to all queens or kings alike severe.

ON THE DEATH OF THE VICE-CHAN-
CELLOR, A PHYSICIAN.

LEARN, ye nations of the earth,
The condition of your birth,
Now be taught your feeble state!
Know, that all must yield to fate!

If the mournful rover, Death,

Say but once,-" Resign your breath!"
Vainly of escape you dream,
You must pass the Stygian stream.

Could the stoutest overcome
Death's assault, and baffle doom,
Hercules had both withstood,
Undiseased by Nessus' blood.

Ne er had Hector press'd the plain
By a trick of Pallas slain.
Nor the chief to Jove allied
By Achilles' phantom died.
Could enchantments life prolong,
Circe, saved by magic song,
Still had lived and equal skill
Had preserved Medea still.

Dwelt in herbs and drugs a power
To avert man's destined hour.

Learn'd Machaon should have known
Doubtless to avert his own:

Chiron had survived the smart
Of the hydra-tainted dart,

And Jove's bolt had been, with ease,
Foil'd by Asclepiades.

Thou too, sage! of whom forlorn
Helicon and Cirrha mourn,
Still hadst fill'd thy princely place,
Regent of the gowned race:

Hadst advanced to higher fame
Still thy much ennobled name,
Nor in Charon's skiff explored
The Tartarean gulf abhorr'd.

But resentful Proserpine,
Jealous of thy skill divine,
Snapping short thy vital thread,
Thee too number'd with the dead.

Wise and good' untroubled be
The green turf that covers thee!
Thence, in gay profusion grow
All the sweetest flowers that blow!

Pluto's consort bid thee rest!

acus pronounce thee blest!
To her home thy shade consign!
Make Elysium ever thine!

ON THE DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF

ELY.

My lids with grief were tumid yet, And still my sullied check was wet With bring dews profusely shed For venerable Winton dead:

When fame, whose tales of saddest sound,
Alas! are ever truest found,

The news through all our cities spread
Of yet another mitred head
By ruthless fate to death consign'd,
Ely, the honor of his kind!

At once a storm of passion heaved
My boiling bosom much I grieved;
But more I raged. at every breath
Devoting Death himself to death.
With less revenge did Naso teem
When hated Ibis was his theme;
With less Archilochus denied
The lovely Greek his promised bride.
But lo while thus I execrate,
Incensed, the minister of fate,
Wondrous accents, soft, yet clear,
Wafted on the gale I hear.

"Ah, much deluded! lay aside
Thy threats and anger misapplied!
Art not afraid with sounds like these
To offend, where thou canst not appease?
Death is not (wherefore dream'st thou thus ?)
The son of Night and Erebus:
Nor was of fell Erynnis born

On gulfs where Chaos rules forlorn;
But sent from God, his presence leaves,
To gather home his ripen'd sheaves,
To call encumber'd souls away
From fleshy bonds to boundless day,
(As when the winged hours excite,
And summon forth the morning light,)
And each to convoy to her place
Before the Eternal Father's face.
But not the wicked-them severe
Yet just, from all their pleasures here
He hurries to the realms below,
Terrific realms of penal woe!
Myself no sooner heard his call,
Than, 'scaping through my prison wall,
I bade adieu to bolts and bars,
And soared, with angels, to the stars,
Like him of old. to whom 'twas given
To mount on fiery wheels to heaven.
Bootes' wagon, slow with cold,
Appall'd me not; nor to behold
The sword that vast Orion draws,
Or e'en the Scorpion's horrid claws.
Beyond the sun's bright orb I fly,
And far beneath my feet desery
Night's dread goddess, seen with awe,
Whom her winged dragons draw.
Thus, ever wondering at my speed,
Augmented still as I proceed,
I pass the planetary sphere,
The milky way-and now appear
Heaven's crystal battlements her door
Of massy pearl, and emerald floor.
"But here I cease. For never can

The tongue of once a mortal man
In suitable description trace

The pleasures of that happy place ;
Suffice it that those joys divine
Are all, and all forever, mine!"

NATURE UNIMPAIRED BY TIME.

AH, how the human mind wearies herself With her own wanderings, and, involved in gloom

Impenetrable, speculates amiss!