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.

The latter is mentioned with respect by Quintilian.

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· The author of the fragment says, sero cognovit (nempc 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.

IDOS

TA

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 situation. When he died he left a sum of money, together with his books, to Cornutus. The philosopher accepted the books, and delivered the money to the sisters of his pupil.

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It appears that Persius wrote seldom and slowly. His Satires were much valued by his cotemporaries. The poet Lucan particularly ad. mired them.

Heis 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.

SY

Nay, spare your censures, nor condemn the lays: '"
The town-the town may yet accord its praise. ..
Enlighten'd Warton may approve the style ;
And classic Giffard nod the head and smile.
F. have I not told you o'er and o'er again,
Not to indulge your rhiming scribbling vein ? ;
Besides, your age: consider, Sir, your age,
And learn to temper your poetic rage. .
P. As time speeds on, and years revolve, my friend,
I grow too idle, or too old to mend.
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;
Soft numbers fell unstudied from my tongue,
Fancy was pleased, and Judgment yet was young:
Gay Hope then smoothed the wrinkled brow of Time,
Love waved his torch, and youth was in its prime.
But soon the tempest gather'd o'er my head,
Health lost her bloom, and faithless Pleasure fled;
Friendship retired, and left me to decay,
And Love desponding threw his torch away.
'Twas then, when sickness and when sorrow drew
Their sable curtain on my clouded view;
When lost to hope, I wander'd, wan and pale,
O'er Cintra's rocks, or sought Vaucluse’s vale ;
That left in distant climes to droop and pine,
The Muse's converse and her art were mine :
Nor less beloved has been the tuneful lay,
Since fortune smiled, and fate restored my day,
F. O idle talk ! your early song, 'tis true,
Might please the rustic and unletter'd crew;
But now the strain has lost its wonted fire,
His art the Poet, and its tones the lyre.
P. And yet for me the Muses still have charms,
Their light yet guides me, and their fire yet warms.