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diff --git a/4096-0.txt b/4096-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ebc1564 --- /dev/null +++ b/4096-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3813 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Verses and Translations, by C. S. Calverley + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Verses and Translations + + +Author: C. S. Calverley + + + +Release Date: November 4, 2014 [eBook #4096] +[This file was first posted on November 26, 2001] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERSES AND TRANSLATIONS*** + + +Transcribed from the 1862 Deighton, Bell, and Co. edition by David Price, +email ccx074@pglag.org + + + + + + VERSES + AND + TRANSLATIONS. + + + * * * * * + + BY C. S. C. + + * * * * * + + _SECOND EDITION_, _REVISED_. + + * * * * * + + CAMBRIDGE: + DEIGHTON, BELL, AND CO. + LONDON: BELL AND DALDY. + 1862. + + * * * * * + + Cambridge: + PRINTED BY JONATHAN PALMER, SIDNEY STREET. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + Page +VISIONS 1 +GEMINI AND VIRGO 6 +“THERE STANDS A CITY” 14 +STRIKING 18 +VOICES OF THE NIGHT 21 +LINES SUGGESTED BY THE 14TH OF FEBRUARY 24 +A, B, C. 26 +TO MRS. GOODCHILD 28 +ODE—‘ON A DISTANT PROSPECT’ OF MAKING A FORTUNE 33 +ISABEL 37 +DIRGE 40 +LINES SUGGESTED BY THE 14TH OF FEBRUARY 45 +“HIC VIR, HIC EST” 47 +BEER 52 +ODE TO TOBACCO 60 +DOVER TO MUNICH 63 +CHARADES 77 +PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY 97 +TRANSLATIONS: + LYCIDAS 106 + IN MEMORIAM 128 + LAURA MATILDA’S DIRGE 132 + “LEAVES HAVE THEIR TIME TO FALL” 136 + “LET US TURN HITHERWARD OUR BARK” 140 +CARMEN SÆCULARE 144 +TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE: + TO A SHIP 152 + TO VIRGIL 154 + TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA 156 + TO IBYCUS’S WIFE 158 + SORACTE 160 + TO LEUCONÖE 162 + JUNO’S SPEECH 163 + TO A FAUN 168 + TO LYCE 170 + TO HIS SLAVE 172 +TRANSLATIONS: + FROM VIRGIL 173 + FROM THEOCRITUS 175 + SPEECH OF AJAX 177 + FROM LUCRETIUS 180 + FROM HOMER 188 + + + + +VISIONS. + + + “She was a phantom,” &c. + + IN lone Glenartney’s thickets lies couched the lordly stag, + The dreaming terrier’s tail forgets its customary wag; + And plodding ploughmen’s weary steps insensibly grow quicker, + As broadening casements light them on towards home, or home-brewed + liquor. + + It is (in fact) the evening—that pure and pleasant time, + When stars break into splendour, and poets into rhyme; + When in the glass of Memory the forms of loved ones shine— + And when, of course, Miss Goodchild’s is prominent in mine. + + Miss Goodchild!—Julia Goodchild!—how graciously you smiled + Upon my childish passion once, yourself a fair-haired child: + When I was (no doubt) profiting by Dr. Crabb’s instruction, + And sent those streaky lollipops home for your fairy suction! + + “She wore” her natural “roses, the night when first we met”— + Her golden hair was gleaming ’neath the coercive net: + “Her brow was like the snawdrift,” her step was like Queen Mab’s, + And gone was instantly the heart of every boy at Crabb’s. + + The parlour-boarder chasséed tow’rds her on graceful limb; + The onyx decked his bosom—but her smiles were not for him: + With _me_ she danced—till drowsily her eyes “began to blink,” + And _I_ brought raisin wine, and said, “Drink, pretty creature, + drink!” + + And evermore, when winter comes in his garb of snows, + And the returning schoolboy is told how fast he grows; + Shall I—with that soft hand in mine—enact ideal Lancers, + And dream I hear demure remarks, and make impassioned answers:— + + I know that never, never may her love for me return— + At night I muse upon the fact with undisguised concern— + But ever shall I bless that day: (I don’t bless, as a rule, + The days I spent at “Dr. Crabb’s Preparatory School.”) + + And yet—we two _may_ meet again—(Be still, my throbbing heart!)— + Now rolling years have weaned us from jam and raspberry tart:— + One night I saw a vision—’Twas when musk-roses bloom + I stood—_we_ stood—upon a rug, in a sumptuous dining-room: + + One hand clasped hers—one easily reposed upon my hip— + And “BLESS YE!” burst abruptly from Mr. Goodchild’s lip: + I raised my brimming eye, and saw in hers an answering gleam— + My heart beat wildly—and I woke, and lo! it was a dream. + + + + +GEMINI AND VIRGO. + + + Some vast amount of years ago, + Ere all my youth had vanished from me, + A boy it was my lot to know, + Whom his familiar friends called Tommy. + + I love to gaze upon a child; + A young bud bursting into blossom; + Artless, as Eve yet unbeguiled, + And agile as a young opossum: + + And such was he. A calm-browed lad, + Yet mad, at moments, as a hatter: + Why hatters as a race are mad + I never knew, nor does it matter. + + He was what nurses call a ‘limb;’ + One of those small misguided creatures, + Who, though their intellects are dim, + Are one too many for their teachers: + + And, if you asked of him to say + What twice 10 was, or 3 times 7, + He’d glance (in quite a placid way) + From heaven to earth, from earth to heaven: + + And smile, and look politely round, + To catch a casual suggestion; + But make no effort to propound + Any solution of the question. + + And so not much esteemed was he + Of the authorities: and therefore + He fraternized by chance with me, + Needing a somebody to care for: + + And three fair summers did we twain + Live (as they say) and love together; + And bore by turns the wholesome cane + Till our young skins became as leather: + + And carved our names on every desk, + And tore our clothes, and inked our collars; + And looked unique and picturesque, + But not, it may be, model scholars. + + We did much as we chose to do; + We’d never heard of Mrs. Grundy; + All the theology we knew + Was that we mightn’t play on Sunday; + + And all the general truths, that cakes + Were to be bought at four a-penny, + And that excruciating aches + Resulted if we ate too many: + + And seeing ignorance is bliss, + And wisdom consequently folly, + The obvious result is this— + That our two lives were very jolly. + + At last the separation came. + Real love, at that time, was the fashion; + And by a horrid chance, the same + Young thing was, to us both, a passion. + + Old POSER snorted like a horse: + His feet were large, his hands were pimply, + His manner, when excited, coarse:— + But Miss P. was an angel simply. + + She was a blushing gushing thing; + All—more than all—my fancy painted; + Once—when she helped me to a wing + Of goose—I thought I should have fainted. + + The people said that she was blue: + But I was green, and loved her dearly. + She was approaching thirty-two; + And I was then eleven, nearly. + + I did not love as others do; + (None ever did that I’ve heard tell of;) + My passion was a byword through + The town she was, of course, the belle of. + + Oh sweet—as to the toilworn man + The far-off sound of rippling river; + As to cadets in Hindostan + The fleeting remnant of their liver— + + To me was ANNA; dear as gold + That fills the miser’s sunless coffers; + As to the spinster, growing old, + The thought—the dream—that she had offers. + + I’d sent her little gifts of fruit; + I’d written lines to her as Venus; + I’d sworn unflinchingly to shoot + The man who dared to come between us: + + And it was you, my Thomas, you, + The friend in whom my soul confided, + Who dared to gaze on her—to do, + I may say, much the same as I did. + + One night I _saw_ him squeeze her hand; + There was no doubt about the matter; + I said he must resign, or stand + My vengeance—and he chose the latter. + + We met, we ‘planted’ blows on blows: + We fought as long as we were able: + My rival had a bottle-nose, + And both my speaking eyes were sable. + + When the school-bell cut short our strife, + Miss P. gave both of us a plaster; + And in a week became the wife + Of Horace Nibbs, the writing-master. + + * * * + + I loved her then—I’d love her still, + Only one must not love Another’s: + But thou and I, my Tommy, will, + When we again meet, meet as brothers. + + It may be that in age one seeks + Peace only: that the blood is brisker + In boy’s veins, than in theirs whose cheeks + Are partially obscured by whisker; + + Or that the growing ages steal + The memories of past wrongs from us. + But this is certain—that I feel + Most friendly unto thee, oh Thomas! + + And wheresoe’er we meet again, + On this or that side the equator, + If I’ve not turned teetotaller then, + And have wherewith to pay the waiter, + + To thee I’ll drain the modest cup, + Ignite with thee the mild Havannah; + And we will waft, while liquoring up, + Forgiveness to the heartless ANNA. + + + + +“There Stands a City.” + + + INGOLDSBY. + + YEAR by year do Beauty’s daughters, + In the sweetest gloves and shawls, + Troop to taste the Chattenham waters, + And adorn the Chattenham balls. + + ‘_Nulla non donanda lauru_’ + Is that city: you could not, + Placing England’s map before you, + Light on a more favoured spot. + + If no clear translucent river + Winds ’neath willow-shaded paths, + “Children and adults” may shiver + All day in “Chalybeate baths:” + + If “the inimitable Fechter” + Never brings the gallery down, + Constantly “the Great Protector” + There “rejects the British crown:” + + And on every side the painter + Looks on wooded vale and plain + And on fair hills, faint and fainter + Outlined as they near the main. + + There I met with him, my chosen + Friend—the ‘long’ but not ‘stern swell,’ {15a} + Faultless in his hats and hosen, + Whom the Johnian lawns know well:— + + Oh my comrade, ever valued! + Still I see your festive face; + Hear you humming of “the gal you’d + Left behind” in massive bass: + + See you sit with that composure + On the eeliest of hacks, + That the novice would suppose your + Manly limbs encased in wax: + + Or anon,—when evening lent her + Tranquil light to hill and vale,— + Urge, towards the table’s centre, + With unerring hand, the squail. + + Ah delectablest of summers! + How my heart—that “muffled drum” + Which ignores the aid of drummers— + Beats, as back thy memories come! + + Oh, among the dancers peerless, + Fleet of foot, and soft of eye! + Need I say to you that cheerless + Must my days be till I die? + + At my side she mashed the fragrant + Strawberry; lashes soft as silk + Drooped o’er saddened eyes, when vagrant + Gnats sought watery graves in milk: + + Then we danced, we walked together; + Talked—no doubt on trivial topics; + Such as Blondin, or the weather, + Which “recalled us to the tropics.” + + But—oh! in the deuxtemps peerless, + Fleet of foot, and soft of eye!— + Once more I repeat, that cheerless + Shall my days be till I die. + + And the lean and hungry raven, + As he picks my bones, will start + To observe ‘M. N.’ engraven + Neatly on my blighted heart. + + + + +STRIKING. + + + IT was a railway passenger, + And he lept out jauntilie. + “Now up and bear, thou stout portèr, + My two chattèls to me. + + “Bring hither, bring hither my bag so red, + And portmanteau so brown: + (They lie in the van, for a trusty man + He labelled them London town:) + + “And fetch me eke a cabman bold, + That I may be his fare, his fare; + And he shall have a good shilling, + If by two of the clock he do me bring + To the Terminus, Euston Square.” + + “Now,—so to thee the saints alway, + Good gentleman, give luck,— + As never a cab may I find this day, + For the cabman wights have struck: + And now, I wis, at the Red Post Inn, + Or else at the Dog and Duck, + Or at Unicorn Blue, or at Green Griffin, + The nut-brown ale and the fine old gin + Right pleasantly they do suck.” + + “Now rede me aright, thou stout portèr, + What were it best that I should do: + For woe is me, an I reach not there + Or ever the clock strike two.” + + “I have a son, a lytel son; + Fleet is his foot as the wild roebuck’s: + Give him a shilling, and eke a brown, + And he shall carry thy chattels down, + To Euston, or half over London town, + On one of the station trucks.” + + Then forth in a hurry did they twain fare, + The gent, and the son of the stout portèr, + Who fled like an arrow, nor turned a hair, + Through all the mire and muck: + “A ticket, a ticket, sir clerk, I pray: + For by two of the clock must I needs away.” + “That may hardly be,” the clerk did say, + “For indeed—the clocks have struck.” + + + + +VOICES OF THE NIGHT. + + + “The tender Grace of a day that is past.” + + THE dew is on the roses, + The owl hath spread her wing; + And vocal are the noses + Of peasant and of king: + “Nature” (in short) “reposes;” + But I do no such thing. + + Pent in my lonesome study + Here I must sit and muse; + Sit till the morn grows ruddy, + Till, rising with the dews, + “Jeameses” remove the muddy + Spots from their masters’ shoes. + + Yet are sweet faces flinging + Their witchery o’er me here: + I hear sweet voices singing + A song as soft, as clear, + As (previously to stinging) + A gnat sings round one’s ear. + + Does Grace draw young Apollos + In blue mustachios still? + Does Emma tell the swallows + How she will pipe and trill, + When, some fine day, she follows + Those birds to the window-sill? + + And oh! has Albert faded + From Grace’s memory yet? + Albert, whose “brow was shaded + By locks of glossiest jet,” + Whom almost any lady’d + Have given her eyes to get? + + Does not her conscience smite her + For one who hourly pines, + Thinking her bright eyes brighter + Than any star that shines— + I mean of course the writer + Of these pathetic lines? + + Who knows? As quoth Sir Walter, + “Time rolls his ceaseless course: + “The Grace of yore” may alter— + And then, I’ve one resource: + I’ll invest in a bran-new halter, + And I’ll perish without remorse. + + + + +LINES SUGGESTED BY THE FOURTEENTH OF FEBRUARY. + + + ERE the morn the East has crimsoned, + When the stars are twinkling there, + (As they did in Watts’s Hymns, and + Made him wonder what they were:) + When the forest-nymphs are beading + Fern and flower with silvery dew— + My infallible proceeding + Is to wake, and think of you. + + When the hunter’s ringing bugle + Sounds farewell to field and copse, + And I sit before my frugal + Meal of gravy-soup and chops: + When (as Gray remarks) “the moping + Owl doth to the moon complain,” + And the hour suggests eloping— + Fly my thoughts to you again. + + May my dreams be granted never? + Must I aye endure affliction + Rarely realised, if ever, + In our wildest works of fiction? + Madly Romeo loved his Juliet; + Copperfield began to pine + When he hadn’t been to school yet— + But their loves were cold to mine. + + Give me hope, the least, the dimmest, + Ere I drain the poisoned cup: + Tell me I may tell the chymist + Not to make that arsenic up! + Else, this heart shall soon cease throbbing; + And when, musing o’er my bones, + Travellers ask, “Who killed Cock Robin?” + They’ll be told, “Miss Sarah J—s.” + + + + +A, B, C. + + + A is an Angel of blushing eighteen: + B is the Ball where the Angel was seen: + C is her Chaperone, who cheated at cards: + D is the Deuxtemps, with Frank of the Guards: + E is the Eye which those dark lashes cover: + F is the Fan it peeped wickedly over: + G is the Glove of superlative kid: + H is the Hand which it spitefully hid: + I is the Ice which spent nature demanded: + J is the Juvenile who hurried to hand it: + K is the Kerchief, a rare work of art: + L is the Lace which composed the chief part. + M is the old Maid who watch’d the girls dance: + N is the Nose she turned up at each glance: + O is the Olga (just then in its prime): + P is the Partner who wouldn’t keep time: + Q ’s a Quadrille, put instead of the Lancers: + R the Remonstrances made by the dancers: + S is the Supper, where all went in pairs: + T is the Twaddle they talked on the stairs: + U is the Uncle who ‘thought we’d be going’: + V is the Voice which his niece replied ‘No’ in: + W is the Waiter, who sat up till eight: + X is his Exit, not rigidly straight: + Y is a Yawning fit caused by the Ball: + Z stands for Zero, or nothing at all. + + + + +TO MRS. GOODCHILD. + + + THE night-wind’s shriek is pitiless and hollow, + The boding bat flits by on sullen wing, + And I sit desolate, like that “one swallow” + Who found (with horror) that he’d not brought spring: + Lonely as he who erst with venturous thumb + Drew from its pie-y lair the solitary plum. + + And to my gaze the phantoms of the Past, + The cherished fictions of my boyhood, rise: + I see Red Ridinghood observe, aghast, + The fixed expression of her grandam’s eyes; + I hear the fiendish chattering and chuckling + Which those misguided fowls raised at the Ugly Duckling. + + The House that Jack built—and the Malt that lay + Within the House—the Rat that ate the Malt— + The Cat, that in that sanguinary way + Punished the poor thing for its venial fault— + The Worrier-Dog—the Cow with Crumpled horn— + And then—ah yes! and then—the Maiden all forlorn! + + O Mrs. Gurton—(may I call thee Gammer?) + Thou more than mother to my infant mind! + I loved thee better than I loved my grammar— + I used to wonder why the Mice were blind, + And who was gardener to Mistress Mary, + And what—I don’t know still—was meant by “quite contrary”? + + “Tota contraria,” an “_Arundo Cami_” + Has phrased it—which is possibly explicit, + Ingenious certainly—but all the same I + Still ask, when coming on the word, ‘What is it?’ + There were more things in Mrs. Gurton’s eye, + Mayhap, than are dreamed of in our philosophy. + + No doubt the Editor of ‘Notes and Queries’ + Or ‘Things not generally known’ could tell + That word’s real force—my only lurking fear is + That the great Gammer “didna ken hersel”: + (I’ve precedent, yet feel I owe apology + For passing in this way to Scottish phraseology). + + Alas, dear Madam, I must ask your pardon + For making this unwarranted digression, + Starting (I think) from Mistress Mary’s garden:— + And beg to send, with every expression + Of personal esteem, a Book of Rhymes, + For Master G. to read at miscellaneous times. + + There is a youth, who keeps a ‘crumpled Horn,’ + (Living next me, upon the selfsame story,) + And ever, ’twixt the midnight and the morn, + He solaces his soul with Annie Laurie. + The tune is good; the habit p’raps romantic; + But tending, if pursued, to drive one’s neighbours frantic. + + And now,—at this unprecedented hour, + When the young Dawn is “trampling out the stars,”— + I hear that youth—with more than usual power + And pathos—struggling with the first few bars. + And I do think the amateur cornopean + Should be put down by law—but that’s perhaps Utopian. + + Who knows what “things unknown” I might have “bodied + Forth,” if not checked by that absurd Too-too? + But don’t I know that when my friend has plodded + Through the first verse, the second will ensue? + Considering which, dear Madam, I will merely + Send the aforesaid book—and am yours most sincerely. + + + + +ODE—‘ON A DISTANT PROSPECT’ OF MAKING A FORTUNE. + + + NOW the “rosy morn appearing” + Floods with light the dazzled heaven; + And the schoolboy groans on hearing + That eternal clock strike seven:— + Now the waggoner is driving + Towards the fields his clattering wain; + Now the bluebottle, reviving, + Buzzes down his native pane. + + But to me the morn is hateful: + Wearily I stretch my legs, + Dress, and settle to my plateful + Of (perhaps inferior) eggs. + Yesterday Miss Crump, by message, + Mentioned “rent,” which “p’raps I’d pay;” + And I have a dismal presage + That she’ll call, herself, to-day. + + Once, I breakfasted off rosewood, + Smoked through silver-mounted pipes— + Then how my patrician nose would + Turn up at the thought of “swipes!” + Ale,—occasionally claret,— + Graced my luncheon then:—and now + I drink porter in a garret, + To be paid for heaven knows how. + + When the evening shades are deepened, + And I doff my hat and gloves, + No sweet bird is there to “cheep and + Twitter twenty million loves:” + No dark-ringleted canaries + Sing to me of “hungry foam;” + No imaginary “Marys” + Call fictitious “cattle home.” + + Araminta, sweetest, fairest! + Solace once of every ill! + How I wonder if thou bearest + Mivins in remembrance still! + If that Friday night is banished + Yet from that retentive mind, + When the others somehow vanished, + And we two were left behind:— + + When in accents low, yet thrilling, + I did all my love declare; + Mentioned that I’d not a shilling— + Hinted that we need not care: + And complacently you listened + To my somewhat long address— + (Listening, at the same time, isn’t + Quite the same as saying Yes). + + Once, a happy child, I carolled + O’er green lawns the whole day through, + Not unpleasingly apparelled + In a tightish suit of blue:— + What a change has now passed o’er me! + Now with what dismay I see + Every rising morn before me! + Goodness gracious, patience me! + + And I’ll prowl, a moodier Lara, + Through the world, as prowls the bat, + And habitually wear a + Cypress wreath around my hat: + And when Death snuffs out the taper + Of my Life, (as soon he must), + I’ll send up to every paper, + “Died, T. Mivins; of disgust.” + + + + +ISABEL. + + + NOW o’er the landscape crowd the deepening shades, + And the shut lily cradles not the bee; + The red deer couches in the forest glades, + And faint the echoes of the slumberous sea: + And ere I rest, one prayer I’ll breathe for thee, + The sweet Egeria of my lonely dreams: + Lady, forgive, that ever upon me + Thoughts of thee linger, as the soft starbeams + Linger on Merlin’s rock, or dark Sabrina’s streams. + + On gray Pilatus once we loved to stray, + And watch far off the glimmering roselight break + O’er the dim mountain-peaks, ere yet one ray + Pierced the deep bosom of the mist-clad lake. + Oh! who felt not new life within him wake, + And his pulse quicken, and his spirit burn— + (Save one we wot of, whom the cold _did_ make + Feel “shooting pains in every joint in turn,”) + When first he saw the sun gild thy green shores, Lucerne? + + And years have past, and I have gazed once more + On blue lakes glistening beneath mountains blue; + And all seemed sadder, lovelier than before— + For all awakened memories of you. + Oh! had I had you by my side, in lieu + Of that red matron, whom the flies would worry, + (Flies in those parts unfortunately do,) + Who walked so slowly, talked in such a hurry, + And with such wild contempt for stops and Lindley Murray! + + O Isabel, the brightest, heavenliest theme + That ere drew dreamer on to poësy, + Since “Peggy’s locks” made Burns neglect his team, + And Stella’s smile lured Johnson from his tea— + I may not tell thee what thou art to me! + But ever dwells the soft voice in my ear, + Whispering of what Time is, what Man might be, + Would he but “do the duty that lies near,” + And cut clubs, cards, champagne, balls, billiard-rooms, and beer. + + + + +DIRGE. + + + “Dr. Birch’s young friends will reassemble to-day, Feb. 1st.” + + WHITE is the wold, and ghostly + The dank and leafless trees; + And ‘M’s and ‘N’s are mostly + Pronounced like ‘B’s and ‘D’s: + ’Neath bleak sheds, ice-encrusted, + The sheep stands, mute and stolid: + And ducks find out, disgusted, + That all the ponds are solid. + + Many a stout steer’s work is + (At least in this world) finished; + The gross amount of turkies + Is sensibly diminished: + The holly-boughs are faded, + The painted crackers gone; + Would I could write, as Gray did, + An Elegy thereon! + + For Christmas-time is ended: + Now is “our youth” regaining + Those sweet spots where are “blended + Home-comforts and school-training.” + Now they’re, I dare say, venting + Their grief in transient sobs, + And I am “left lamenting” + At home, with Mrs. Dobbs. + + O Posthumus! “Fugaces + Labuntur anni” still; + Time robs us of our graces, + Evade him as we will. + We were the twins of Siam: + Now _she_ thinks _me_ a bore, + And I admit that _I_ am + Inclined at times to snore. + + I was her own Nathaniel; + With her I took sweet counsel, + Brought seed-cake for her spaniel, + And kept her bird in groundsel: + We’ve murmured, “How delightful + A landscape, seen by night, is,”— + And woke next day in frightful + Pain from acute bronchitis. + + * * * + + But ah! for them, whose laughter + We heard last New Year’s Day,— + (They reeked not of Hereafter, + Or what the Doctor’d say,)— + For those small forms that fluttered + Moth-like around the plate, + When Sally brought the buttered + Buns in at half-past eight! + + Ah for the altered visage + Of her, our tiny Belle, + Whom my boy Gus (at his age!) + Said was a “deuced swell!” + P’raps now Miss Tickler’s tocsin + Has caged that pert young linnet; + Old Birch perhaps is boxing + My Gus’s ears this minute. + + Yet, though your young ears be as + Red as mamma’s geraniums, + Yet grieve not! Thus ideas + Pass into infant craniums. + Use not complaints unseemly; + Tho’ you must work like bricks; + And it _is_ cold, extremely, + Rising at half-past six. + + Soon sunnier will the day grow, + And the east wind not blow so; + Soon, as of yore, L’Allegro + Succeed Il Penseroso: + Stick to your Magnall’s Questions + And Long Division sums; + And come—with good digestions— + Home when next Christmas comes. + + + + +LINES SUGGESTED BY THE FOURTEENTH OF FEBRUARY. + + + DARKNESS succeeds to twilight: + Through lattice and through skylight + The stars no doubt, if one looked out, + Might be observed to shine: + And sitting by the embers + I elevate my members + On a stray chair, and then and there + Commence a Valentine. + + Yea! by St. Valentinus, + Emma shall not be minus + What all young ladies, whate’er their grade is, + Expect to-day no doubt: + Emma the fair, the stately— + Whom I beheld so lately, + Smiling beneath the snow-white wreath + Which told that she was “out.” + + Wherefore fly to her, swallow, + And mention that I’d “follow,” + And “pipe and trill,” et cetera, till + I died, had I but wings: + Say the North’s “true and tender,” + The South an old offender; + And hint in fact, with your well-known tact, + All kinds of pretty things. + + Say I grow hourly thinner, + Simply abhor my dinner— + Tho’ I do try and absorb some viand + Each day, for form’s sake merely: + And ask her, when all’s ended, + And I am found extended, + With vest blood-spotted and cut carotid, + To think on Her’s sincerely. + + + + +“HIC _VIR_, HIC EST.” + + + OFTEN, when o’er tree and turret, + Eve a dying radiance flings, + By that ancient pile I linger + Known familiarly as “King’s.” + And the ghosts of days departed + Rise, and in my burning breast + All the undergraduate wakens, + And my spirit is at rest. + + What, but a revolting fiction, + Seems the actual result + Of the Census’s enquiries + Made upon the 15th ult.? + Still my soul is in its boyhood; + Nor of year or changes recks. + Though my scalp is almost hairless, + And my figure grows convex. + + Backward moves the kindly dial; + And I’m numbered once again + With those noblest of their species + Called emphatically ‘Men’: + Loaf, as I have loafed aforetime, + Through the streets, with tranquil mind, + And a long-backed fancy-mongrel + Trailing casually behind: + + Past the Senate-house I saunter, + Whistling with an easy grace; + Past the cabbage-stalks that carpet + Still the beefy market-place; + Poising evermore the eye-glass + In the light sarcastic eye, + Lest, by chance, some breezy nursemaid + Pass, without a tribute, by. + + Once, an unassuming Freshman, + Through these wilds I wandered on, + Seeing in each house a College, + Under every cap a Don: + Each perambulating infant + Had a magic in its squall, + For my eager eye detected + Senior Wranglers in them all. + + By degrees my education + Grew, and I became as others; + Learned to court delirium tremens + By the aid of Bacon Brothers; + Bought me tiny boots of Mortlock, + And colossal prints of Roe; + And ignored the proposition + That both time and money go. + + Learned to work the wary dogcart + Artfully through King’s Parade; + Dress, and steer a boat, and sport with + Amaryllis in the shade: + Struck, at Brown’s, the dashing hazard; + Or (more curious sport than that) + Dropped, at Callaby’s, the terrier + Down upon the prisoned rat. + + I have stood serene on Fenner’s + Ground, indifferent to blisters, + While the Buttress of the period + Bowled me his peculiar twisters: + Sung ‘We won’t go home till morning’; + Striven to part my backhair straight; + Drunk (not lavishly) of Miller’s + Old dry wines at 78:— + + When within my veins the blood ran, + And the curls were on my brow, + I did, oh ye undergraduates, + Much as ye are doing now. + Wherefore bless ye, O beloved ones:— + Now unto mine inn must I, + Your ‘poor moralist,’ {51a} betake me, + In my ‘solitary fly.’ + + + + +BEER. + + + IN those old days which poets say were golden— + (Perhaps they laid the gilding on themselves: + And, if they did, I’m all the more beholden + To those brown dwellers in my dusty shelves, + Who talk to me “in language quaint and olden” + Of gods and demigods and fauns and elves, + Pans with his pipes, and Bacchus with his leopards, + And staid young goddesses who flirt with shepherds:) + + In those old days, the Nymph called Etiquette + (Appalling thought to dwell on) was not born. + They had their May, but no Mayfair as yet, + No fashions varying as the hues of morn. + Just as they pleased they dressed and drank and ate, + Sang hymns to Ceres (their John Barleycorn) + And danced unchaperoned, and laughed unchecked, + And were no doubt extremely incorrect. + + Yet do I think their theory was pleasant: + And oft, I own, my ‘wayward fancy roams’ + Back to those times, so different from the present; + When no one smoked cigars, nor gave At-homes, + Nor smote a billiard-ball, nor winged a pheasant, + Nor ‘did’ their hair by means of long-tailed combs, + Nor migrated to Brighton once a-year, + Nor—most astonishing of all—drank Beer. + + No, they did not drink Beer, “which brings me to” + (As Gilpin said) “the middle of my song.” + Not that “the middle” is precisely true, + Or else I should not tax your patience long: + If I had said ‘beginning,’ it might do; + But I have a dislike to quoting wrong: + I was unlucky—sinned against, not sinning— + When Cowper wrote down ‘middle’ for ‘beginning.’ + + So to proceed. That abstinence from Malt + Has always struck me as extremely curious. + The Greek mind must have had some vital fault, + That they should stick to liquors so injurious— + (Wine, water, tempered p’raps with Attic salt)— + And not at once invent that mild, luxurious, + And artful beverage, Beer. How the digestion + Got on without it, is a startling question. + + Had they digestions? and an actual body + Such as dyspepsia might make attacks on? + Were they abstract ideas—(like Tom Noddy + And Mr. Briggs)—or men, like Jones and Jackson? + Then Nectar—was that beer, or whiskey-toddy? + Some say the Gaelic mixture, _I_ the Saxon: + I think a strict adherence to the latter + Might make some Scots less pigheaded, and fatter. + + Besides, Bon Gaultier definitely shews + That the real beverage for feasting gods on + Is a soft compound, grateful to the nose + And also to the palate, known as ‘Hodgson.’ + I know a man—a tailor’s son—who rose + To be a peer: and this I would lay odds on, + (Though in his Memoirs it may not appear,) + That that man owed his rise to copious Beer. + + O Beer! O Hodgson, Guinness, Allsop, Bass! + Names that should be on every infant’s tongue! + Shall days and months and years and centuries pass, + And still your merits be unrecked, unsung? + Oh! I have gazed into my foaming glass, + And wished that lyre could yet again be strung + Which once rang prophet-like through Greece, and taught her + Misguided sons that “the best drink was water.” + + How would he now recant that wild opinion, + And sing—as would that I could sing—of you! + I was not born (alas!) the “Muses’ minion,” + I’m not poetical, not even blue: + And he (we know) but strives with waxen pinion, + Whoe’er he is that entertains the view + Of emulating Pindar, and will be + Sponsor at last to some now nameless sea. + + Oh! when the green slopes of Arcadia burned + With all the lustre of the dying day, + And on Cithæron’s brow the reaper turned, + (Humming, of course, in his delightful way, + How Lycidas was dead, and how concerned + The Nymphs were when they saw his lifeless clay; + And how rock told to rock the dreadful story + That poor young Lycidas was gone to glory:) + + What would that lone and labouring soul have given, + At that soft moment, for a pewter pot! + How had the mists that dimmed his eye been riven, + And Lycidas and sorrow all forgot! + If his own grandmother had died unshriven, + In two short seconds he’d have recked it not; + Such power hath Beer. The heart which Grief hath canker’d + Hath one unfailing remedy—the Tankard. + + Coffee is good, and so no doubt is cocoa; + Tea did for Johnson and the Chinamen: + When ‘Dulce et desipere in loco’ + Was written, real Falernian winged the pen. + When a rapt audience has encored ‘Fra Poco’ + Or ‘Casta Diva,’ I have heard that then + The Prima Donna, smiling herself out, + Recruits her flagging powers with bottled stout. + + But what is coffee, but a noxious berry, + Born to keep used-up Londoners awake? + What is Falernian, what is Port or Sherry, + But vile concoctions to make dull heads ache? + Nay stout itself—(though good with oysters, very)— + Is not a thing your reading man should take. + He that would shine, and petrify his tutor, + Should drink draught Allsop in its “native pewter.” + + But hark! a sound is stealing on my ear— + A soft and silvery sound—I know it well. + Its tinkling tells me that a time is near + Precious to me—it is the Dinner Bell. + O blessed Bell! Thou bringest beef and beer, + Thou bringest good things more than tongue may tell: + Seared is (of course) my heart—but unsubdued + Is, and shall be, my appetite for food. + + I go. Untaught and feeble is my pen: + But on one statement I may safely venture; + That few of our most highly gifted men + Have more appreciation of the trencher. + I go. One pound of British beef, and then + What Mr. Swiveller called a “modest quencher;” + That home-returning, I may ‘soothly say,’ + “Fate cannot touch me: I have dined to-day.” + + + + +ODE TO TOBACCO. + + + THOU who, when fears attack, + Bid’st them avaunt, and Black + Care, at the horseman’s back + Perching, unseatest; + Sweet when the morn is grey; + Sweet, when they’ve cleared away + Lunch; and at close of day + Possibly sweetest: + + I have a liking old + For thee, though manifold + Stories, I know, are told, + Not to thy credit; + How one (or two at most) + Drops make a cat a ghost— + Useless, except to roast— + Doctors have said it: + + How they who use fusees + All grow by slow degrees + Brainless as chimpanzees, + Meagre as lizards; + Go mad, and beat their wives; + Plunge (after shocking lives) + Razors and carving knives + Into their gizzards. + + Confound such knavish tricks! + Yet know I five or six + Smokers who freely mix + Still with their neighbours; + Jones—who, I’m glad to say, + Asked leave of Mrs. J.)— + Daily absorbs a clay + After his labours. + + Cats may have had their goose + Cooked by tobacco-juice; + Still why deny its use + Thoughtfully taken? + We’re not as tabbies are: + Smith, take a fresh cigar! + Jones, the tobacco-jar! + Here’s to thee, Bacon! + + + + +DOVER TO MUNICH. + + + FAREWELL, farewell! Before our prow + Leaps in white foam the noisy channel, + A tourist’s cap is on my brow, + My legs are cased in tourists’ flannel: + + Around me gasp the invalids— + (The quantity to-night is fearful)— + I take a brace or so of weeds, + And feel (as yet) extremely cheerful. + + The night wears on:—my thirst I quench + With one imperial pint of porter; + Then drop upon a casual bench— + (The bench is short, but I am shorter)— + + Place ’neath my head the _harve-sac_ + Which I have stowed my little all in, + And sleep, though moist about the back, + Serenely in an old tarpaulin. + + * * * + + Bed at Ostend at 5 A.M. + Breakfast at 6, and train 6.30. + Tickets to Königswinter (mem. + The seats objectionably dirty). + + And onward through those dreary flats + We move, with scanty space to sit on, + Flanked by stout girls with steeple hats, + And waists that paralyse a Briton;— + + By many a tidy little town, + Where tidy little Fraus sit knitting; + (The men’s pursuits are, lying down, + Smoking perennial pipes, and spitting;) + + And doze, and execrate the heat, + And wonder how far off Cologne is, + And if we shall get aught to eat, + Till we get there, save raw polonies: + + Until at last the “grey old pile” + Is seen, is past, and three hours later + We’re ordering steaks, and talking vile + Mock-German to an Austrian waiter. + + * * * + + Königswinter, hateful Königswinter! + Burying-place of all I loved so well! + Never did the most extensive printer + Print a tale so dark as thou could’st tell! + + In the sapphire West the eve yet lingered, + Bathed in kindly light those hill-tops cold; + Fringed each cloud, and, stooping rosy-fingered, + Changed Rhine’s waters into molten gold;— + + While still nearer did his light waves splinter + Into silvery shafts the streaming light; + And I said I loved thee, Königswinter, + For the glory that was thine that night. + + And we gazed, till slowly disappearing, + Like a day-dream, passed the pageant by, + And I saw but those lone hills, uprearing + Dull dark shapes against a hueless sky. + + Then I turned, and on those bright hopes pondered + Whereof yon gay fancies were the type; + And my hand mechanically wandered + Towards my left-hand pocket for a pipe. + + Ah! why starts each eyeball from its socket, + As, in Hamlet, start the guilty Queen’s? + There, deep-hid in its accustomed pocket, + Lay my sole pipe, smashed to smithereens! + + * * * + + On, on the vessel steals; + Round go the paddle-wheels, + And now the tourist feels + As he should; + For king-like rolls the Rhine, + And the scenery’s divine, + And the victuals and the wine + Rather good. + + From every crag we pass’ll + Rise up some hoar old castle; + The hanging fir-groves tassel + Every slope; + And the vine her lithe arms stretches + O’er peasants singing catches— + And you’ll make no end of sketches, + I should hope. + + We’ve a nun here (called Therèse), + Two couriers out of place, + One Yankee, with a face + Like a ferret’s: + And three youths in scarlet caps + Drinking chocolate and schnapps— + A diet which perhaps + Has its merits. + + And day again declines: + In shadow sleep the vines, + And the last ray through the pines + Feebly glows, + Then sinks behind yon ridge; + And the usual evening midge + Is settling on the bridge + Of my nose. + + And keen’s the air and cold, + And the sheep are in the fold, + And Night walks sable-stoled + Through the trees; + And on the silent river + The floating starbeams quiver;— + And now, the saints deliver + Us from fleas. + + * * * + + Avenues of broad white houses, + Basking in the noontide glare;— + Streets, which foot of traveller shrinks from, + As on hot plates shrinks the bear;— + + Elsewhere lawns, and vista’d gardens, + Statues white, and cool arcades, + Where at eve the German warrior + Winks upon the German maids;— + + Such is Munich:—broad and stately, + Rich of hue, and fair of form; + But, towards the end of August, + Unequivocally _warm_. + + There, the long dim galleries threading, + May the artist’s eye behold, + Breathing from the “deathless canvass” + Records of the years of old: + + Pallas there, and Jove, and Juno, + “Take” once more “their walks abroad,” + Under Titian’s fiery woodlands + And the saffron skies of Claude: + + There the Amazons of Rubens + Lift the failing arm to strike, + And the pale light falls in masses + On the horsemen of Vandyke; + + And in Berghem’s pools reflected + Hang the cattle’s graceful shapes, + And Murillo’s soft boy-faces + Laugh amid the Seville grapes; + + And all purest, loveliest fancies + That in poets’ souls may dwell + Started into shape and substance + At the touch of Raphael.— + + Lo! her wan arms folded meekly, + And the glory of her hair + Falling as a robe around her, + Kneels the Magdalene in prayer; + + And the white-robed Virgin-mother + Smiles, as centuries back she smiled, + Half in gladness, half in wonder, + On the calm face of her Child:— + + And that mighty Judgment-vision + Tells how man essayed to climb + Up the ladder of the ages, + Past the frontier-walls of Time; + + Heard the trumpet-echoes rolling + Through the phantom-peopled sky, + And the still voice bid this mortal + Put on immortality. + + * * * + + Thence we turned, what time the blackbird + Pipes to vespers from his perch, + And from out the clattering city + Pass’d into the silent church; + + Marked the shower of sunlight breaking + Thro’ the crimson panes o’erhead, + And on pictured wall and window + Read the histories of the dead: + + Till the kneelers round us, rising, + Cross’d their foreheads and were gone; + And o’er aisle and arch and cornice, + Layer on layer, the night came on. + + + + +CHARADES. + + + I. + + SHE stood at Greenwich, motionless amid + The ever-shifting crowd of passengers. + I marked a big tear quivering on the lid + Of her deep-lustrous eye, and knew that hers + Were days of bitterness. But, “Oh! what stirs” + I said “such storm within so fair a breast?” + Even as I spoke, two apoplectic curs + Came feebly up: with one wild cry she prest + Each singly to her heart, and faltered, “Heaven be blest!” + + Yet once again I saw her, from the deck + Of a black ship that steamed towards Blackwall. + She walked upon _my first_. Her stately neck + Bent o’er an object shrouded in her shawl: + I could not see the tears—the glad tears—fall, + Yet knew they fell. And “Ah,” I said, “not puppies, + Seen unexpectedly, could lift the pall + From hearts who _know_ what tasting misery’s cup is, + As Niobe’s, or mine, or Mr. William Guppy’s.” + + * * * + + Spake John Grogblossom the coachman to Eliza Spinks the cook: + “Mrs. Spinks,” says he, “I’ve foundered: ‘Liza dear, I’m overtook. + Druv into a corner reglar, puzzled as a babe unborn; + Speak the word, my blessed ‘Liza; speak, and John the coachman’s + yourn.” + + Then Eliza Spinks made answer, blushing, to the coachman John: + “John, I’m born and bred a spinster: I’ve begun and I’ll go on. + Endless cares and endless worrits, well I knows it, has a wife: + Cooking for a genteel family, John, it’s a goluptious life! + + “I gets £20 per annum—tea and things o’ course not reckoned,— + There’s a cat that eats the butter, takes the coals, and breaks _my + second_: + There’s soci’ty—James the footman;—(not that I look after him; + But he’s aff’ble in his manners, with amazing length of limb;)— + + “Never durst the missis enter here until I’ve said ‘Come in’: + If I saw the master peeping, I’d catch up the rolling-pin. + Christmas-boxes, that’s a something; perkisites, that’s something too; + And I think, take all together, John, I won’t be on with you.” + + John the coachman took his hat up, for he thought he’d had enough; + Rubbed an elongated forehead with a meditative cuff; + Paused before the stable doorway; said, when there, in accents mild, + “She’s a fine young ’oman, cook is; but that’s where it is, she’s + spiled.” + + * * * + + I have read in some not marvellous tale, + (Or if I have not, I’ve dreamed) + Of one who filled up the convivial cup + Till the company round him seemed + + To be vanished and gone, tho’ the lamps upon + Their face as aforetime gleamed: + And his head sunk down, and a Lethe crept + O’er his powerful brain, and the young man slept. + + Then they laid him with care in his moonlit bed: + But first—having thoughtfully fetched some tar— + Adorned him with feathers, aware that the weather’s + Uncertainty brings on at nights catarrh. + + They staid in his room till the sun was high: + But still did the feathered one give no sign + Of opening a peeper—he might be a sleeper + Such as rests on the Northern or Midland line. + + At last he woke, and with profound + Bewilderment he gazed around; + Dropped one, then both feet to the ground, + But never spake a word: + + Then to my _whole_ he made his way; + Took one long lingering survey; + And softly, as he stole away, + Remarked, “By Jove, a bird!” + + II. + + IF you’ve seen a short man swagger tow’rds the footlights at + Shoreditch, + Sing out “Heave aho! my hearties,” and perpetually hitch + Up, by an ingenious movement, trousers innocent of brace, + Briskly flourishing a cudgel in his pleased companion’s face; + + If he preluded with hornpipes each successive thing he did, + From a sun-browned cheek extracting still an ostentatious quid; + And expectorated freely, and occasionally cursed:— + Then have you beheld, depicted by a master’s hand, _my first_. + + O my countryman! if ever from thy arm the bolster sped, + In thy school-days, with precision at a young companion’s head; + If ’twas thine to lodge the marble in the centre of the ring, + Or with well-directed pebble make the sitting hen take wing: + + Then do thou—each fair May morning, when the blue lake is as glass, + And the gossamers are twinkling star-like in the beaded grass; + When the mountain-bee is sipping fragrance from the bluebell’s lip, + And the bathing-woman tells you, Now’s your time to take a dip: + + When along the misty valleys fieldward winds the lowing herd, + And the early worm is being dropped on by the early bird; + And Aurora hangs her jewels from the bending rose’s cup, + And the myriad voice of Nature calls thee to _my second_ up:— + + Hie thee to the breezy common, where the melancholy goose + Stalks, and the astonished donkey finds that he is really loose; + There amid green fern and furze-bush shalt thou soon _my whole_ + behold, + Rising ‘bull-eyed and majestic’—as Olympus queen of old: + + Kneel,—at a respectful distance,—as they kneeled to her, and try + With judicious hand to put a ball into that ball-less eye: + Till a stiffness seize thy elbows, and the general public wake— + Then return, and, clear of conscience, walk into thy well-earned + steak. + + III. + + ERE yet “knowledge for the million” + Came out “neatly bound in boards;” + When like Care upon a pillion + Matrons rode behind their lords: + Rarely, save to hear the Rector, + Forth did younger ladies roam; + Making pies, and brewing nectar + From the gooseberry-trees at home. + + They’d not dreamed of Pan or Vevay; + Ne’er should into blossom burst + At the ball or at the levée; + Never come, in fact, _my first_: + Nor illumine cards by dozens + With some labyrinthine text, + Nor work smoking-caps for cousins + Who were pounding at _my next_. + + Now have skirts, and minds, grown ampler; + Now not all they seek to do + Is create upon a sampler + Beasts which Buffon never knew: + But their venturous muslins rustle + O’er the cragstone and the snow, + Or at home their biceps muscle + Grows by practising the bow. + + Worthier they those dames who, fable + Says, rode “palfreys” to the war + With gigantic Thanes, whose “sable + Destriers caracoled” before; + Smiled, as—springing from the war-horse + As men spring in modern ‘cirques’— + They plunged, ponderous as a four-horse + Coach, among the vanished Turks:— + + In the good times when the jester + Asked the monarch how he was, + And the landlady addrest her + Guests as ‘gossip’ or as ‘coz’; + When the Templar said, “Gramercy,” + Or, “’Twas shrewdly thrust, i’ fegs,” + To Sir Halbert or Sir Percy + As they knocked him off his legs: + + And, by way of mild reminders + That he needed coin, the Knight + Day by day extracted grinders + From the howling Israelite: + And _my whole_ in merry Sherwood + Sent, with preterhuman luck, + Missiles—not of steel but firwood— + Thro’ the two-mile-distant buck. + + IV. + + EVENING threw soberer hue + Over the blue sky, and the few + Poplars that grew just in the view + Of the hall of Sir Hugo de Wynkle: + “Answer me true,” pleaded Sir Hugh, + (Striving to woo no matter who,) + “What shall I do, Lady, for you? + ’Twill be done, ere your eye may twinkle. + Shall I borrow the wand of a Moorish enchanter, + And bid a decanter contain the Levant, or + The brass from the face of a Mormonite ranter? + Shall I go for the mule of the Spanish Infantar— + (That _r_, for the sake of the line, we must grant her,)— + And race with the foul fiend, and beat in a canter, + Like that first of equestrians Tam o’ Shanter? + I talk not mere banter—say not that I can’t, or + By this _my first_—(a Virginia planter + Sold it me to kill rats)—I will die instanter.” + The Lady bended her ivory neck, and + Whispered mournfully, “Go for—_my second_.” + She said, and the red from Sir Hugh’s cheek fled, + And “Nay,” did he say, as he stalked away + The fiercest of injured men: + “Twice have I humbled my haughty soul, + And on bended knee I have pressed _my whole_— + But I never will press it again!” + + V. + + ON pinnacled St. Mary’s + Lingers the setting sun; + Into the street the blackguards + Are skulking one by one: + Butcher and Boots and Bargeman + Lay pipe and pewter down; + And with wild shout come tumbling out + To join the Town and Gown. + + And now the undergraduates + Come forth by twos and threes, + From the broad tower of Trinity, + From the green gate of Caius: + The wily bargeman marks them, + And swears to do his worst; + To turn to impotence their strength, + And their beauty to _my first_. + + But before Corpus gateway + _My second_ first arose, + When Barnacles the freshman + Was pinned upon the nose: + Pinned on the nose by Boxer, + Who brought a hobnailed herd + From Barnwell, where he kept a van, + Being indeed a dogsmeat man, + Vendor of terriers, blue or tan, + And dealer in _my third_. + + ’Twere long to tell how Boxer + Was ‘countered’ on the cheek, + And knocked into the middle + Of the ensuing week: + How Barnacles the Freshman + Was asked his name and college; + And how he did the fatal facts + Reluctantly acknowledge. + + He called upon the Proctor + Next day at half-past ten; + Men whispered that the Freshman cut + A different figure then:— + That the brass forsook his forehead, + The iron fled his soul, + As with blanched lip and visage wan + Before the stony-hearted Don + He kneeled upon _my whole_. + + VI. + + SIKES, housebreaker, of Houndsditch, + Habitually swore; + But so surpassingly profane + He never was before, + As on a night in winter, + When—softly as he stole + In the dim light from stair to stair, + Noiseless as boys who in her lair + Seek to surprise a fat old hare— + He barked his shinbone, unaware + Encountering _my whole_. + + As pours the Anio plainward, + When rains have swollen the dykes, + So, with such noise, poured down _my first_, + Stirred by the shins of Sikes. + The Butler Bibulus heard it; + And straightway ceased to snore, + And sat up, like an egg on end, + While men might count a score: + Then spake he to Tigerius, + A Buttons bold was he: + “Buttons, I think there’s thieves about; + Just strike a light and tumble out; + If you can’t find one, go without, + And see what you may see.” + + But now was all the household, + Almost, upon its legs, + Each treading carefully about + As if they trod on eggs. + With robe far-streaming issued + Paterfamilias forth; + And close behind him,—stout and true + And tender as the North,— + Came Mrs. P., supporting + On her broad arm her fourth. + + Betsy the nurse, who never + From largest beetle ran, + And—conscious p’raps of pleasing caps— + The housemaids, formed the van: + And Bibulus the Butler, + His calm brows slightly arched; + (No mortal wight had ere that night + Seen him with shirt unstarched;) + And Bob, the shockhaired knifeboy, + Wielding two Sheffield blades, + And James Plush of the sinewy legs, + The love of lady’s maids: + And charwoman and chaplain + Stood mingled in a mass, + And “Things,” thought he of Houndsditch, + “Is come to a pretty pass.” + + Beyond all things a Baby + Is to the schoolgirl dear; + Next to herself the nursemaid loves + Her dashing grenadier; + Only with life the sailor + Parts from the British flag; + While one hope lingers, the cracksman’s fingers + Drop not his hard-earned ‘swag.’ + + But, as hares do _my second_ + Thro’ green Calabria’s copses, + As females vanish at the sight + Of short-horns and of wopses; + So, dropping forks and teaspoons, + The pride of Houndsditch fled, + Dumbfoundered by the hue and cry + He’d raised up overhead. + + * * * * + + They gave him—did the Judges— + As much as was his due. + And, Saxon, should’st thou e’er be led + To deem this tale untrue; + Then—any night in winter, + When the cold north wind blows, + And bairns are told to keep out cold + By tallowing the nose: + When round the fire the elders + Are gathered in a bunch, + And the girls are doing crochet, + And the boys are reading Punch:— + Go thou and look in Leech’s book; + There haply shalt thou spy + A stout man on a staircase stand, + With aspect anything but bland, + And rub his right shin with his hand, + To witness if I lie. + + + + +PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY. + + +Introductory. + + + ART thou beautiful, O my daughter, as the budding rose of April? + Are all thy motions music, and is poetry throned in thine eye? + Then hearken unto me; and I will make the bud a fair flower, + I will plant it upon the bank of Elegance, and water it with the water + of Cologne; + And in the season it shall “come out,” yea bloom, the pride of the + parterre; + Ladies shall marvel at its beauty, and a Lord shall pluck it at the + last. + + + +Of Propriety. + + + Study first Propriety: for she is indeed the Polestar + Which shall guide the artless maiden through the mazes of Vanity Fair; + Nay, she is the golden chain which holdeth together Society; + The lamp by whose light young Psyche shall approach unblamed her Eros. + Verily Truth is as Eve, which was ashamed being naked; + Wherefore doth Propriety dress her with the fair foliage of artifice: + And when she is drest, behold! she knoweth not herself again.— + I walked in the Forest; and above me stood the Yew, + Stood like a slumbering giant, shrouded in impenetrable shade; + Then I pass’d into the citizen’s garden, and marked a tree clipt into + shape, + (The giant’s locks had been shorn by the Dalilahshears of Decorum;) + And I said, “Surely nature is goodly; but how much goodlier is Art!” + I heard the wild notes of the lark floating far over the blue sky, + And my foolish heart went after him, and lo! I blessed him as he rose; + Foolish! for far better is the trained boudoir bulfinch, + Which pipeth the semblance of a tune, and mechanically draweth up + water: + And the reinless steed of the desert, though his neck be clothed with + thunder, + Must yield to him that danceth and ‘moveth in the circles’ at + Astley’s. + For verily, O my daughter, the world is a masquerade, + And God made thee one thing, that thou mightest make thyself another: + A maiden’s heart is as champagne, ever aspiring and struggling + upwards, + And it needeth that its motions be checked by the silvered cork of + Propriety: + He that can afford the price, his be the precious treasure, + Let him drink deeply of its sweetness, nor grumble if it tasteth of + the cork. + + + +Of Friendship. + + + Choose judiciously thy friends; for to discard them is undesirable, + Yet it is better to drop thy friends, O my daughter, than to drop thy + ‘H’s’. + Dost thou know a wise woman? yea, wiser than the children of light? + Hath she a position? and a title? and are her parties in the Morning + Post? + If thou dost, cleave unto her, and give up unto her thy body and mind; + Think with her ideas, and distribute thy smiles at her bidding: + So shalt thou become like unto her; and thy manners shall be “formed,” + And thy name shall be a Sesame, at which the doors of the great shall + fly open: + Thou shalt know every Peer, his arms, and the date of his creation, + His pedigree and their intermarriages, and cousins to the sixth + remove: + Thou shalt kiss the hand of Royalty, and lo! in next morning’s papers, + Side by side with rumours of wars, and stories of shipwrecks and + sieges, + Shall appear thy name, and the minutiæ of thy head-dress and + petticoat, + For an enraptured public to muse upon over their matutinal muffin. + + + +Of Reading. + + + Read not Milton, for he is dry; nor Shakespeare, for he wrote of + common life; + Nor Scott, for his romances, though fascinating, are yet intelligible: + Nor Thackeray, for he is a Hogarth, a photographer who flattereth not: + Nor Kingsley, for he shall teach thee that thou shouldest not dream, + but do. + Read incessantly thy Burke; that Burke who, nobler than he of old, + Treateth of the Peer and Peeress, the truly Sublime and Beautiful: + Likewise study the “creations” of “the Prince of modern Romance;” + Sigh over Leonard the Martyr, and smile on Pelham the puppy: + Learn how “love is the dram-drinking of existence;” + And how we “invoke, in the Gadara of our still closets, + The beautiful ghost of the Ideal, with the simple wand of the pen.” + Listen how Maltravers and the orphan “forgot all but love,” + And how Devereux’s family chaplain “made and unmade kings:” + How Eugene Aram, though a thief, a liar, and a murderer, + Yet, being intellectual, was amongst the noblest of mankind. + So shalt thou live in a world peopled with heroes and master-spirits; + And if thou canst not realise the Ideal, thou shalt at least idealise + the Real. + + + + +TRANSLATIONS. {105} + + +LYCIDAS. + + + YET once more, O ye laurels! and once more + Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, + I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, + And with forced fingers rude + Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. + Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, + Compels me to disturb your season due; + For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, + Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer: + Who would not sing for Lycidas? He knew + Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. + He must not float upon his watery bier + Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, + Without the meed of some melodious tear. + Begin then, sisters, of the sacred well, + That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring; + Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. + Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse, + So may some gentle muse + With lucky words favour my destined urn, + And, as he passes, turn + And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud: + For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, + Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill. + Together both, ere the high lawns appeared + Under the opening eyelids of the morn, + We drove afield, and both together heard + What time the gray fly winds her sultry horn, + Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night, + Oft till the star that rose, at evening, bright, + Toward Heaven’s descent had sloped his westering wheel. + Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute, + Tempered to the oaten flute; + Rough satyrs danced, and fauns with cloven heel + From the glad sound would not be absent long, + And old Damætas loved to hear our song. + But oh, the heavy change, now thou art gone, + Now thou art gone, and never must return! + Thee, shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves + With wild thyme and the gadding vine o’ergrown, + And all their echoes mourn. + The willows, and the hazel copses green, + Shall now no more be seen, + Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. + As killing as the canker to the rose, + Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, + Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear, + When first the white-thorn blows; + Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd’s ear + Where were ye, nymphs, when the remorseless deep + Closed o’er the head of your loved Lycidas? + For neither were ye playing on the steep, + Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie; + Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, + Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream: + Ay me! I fondly dream! + Had ye been there, for what could that have done? + What could the muse herself that Orpheus bore, + The muse herself for her enchanting son, + Whom universal nature did lament, + When by the rout that made the hideous roar, + His gory visage down the stream was sent, + Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore? + Alas! what boots it with incessant care + To tend the homely slighted shepherd’s trade, + And strictly meditate the thankless muse? + Were it not better done as others use, + To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, + Or with the tangles of Neæra’s hair? + Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise + (That last infirmity of noble mind) + To scorn delights, and live laborious days, + But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, + And think to burst out into sudden blaze, + Comes the blind fury with the abhorred shears, + And slits the thin-spun life. “But not the praise,” + Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears; + “Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, + Nor in the glistering foil + Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies, + But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes, + And perfect witness of all-judging Jove; + As he pronounces lastly on each deed, + Of so much fame in Heaven expect thy meed.” + O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood, + Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds, + That strain I heard was of a higher mood: + But now my oat proceeds, + And listens to the herald of the sea + That came in Neptune’s plea; + He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds, + What hard mishap had doomed this gentle swain? + And questioned every gust of rugged wings, + That blows from off each beaked promontory: + They knew not of his story, + And sage Hippotades their answer brings, + That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed, + The air was calm, and on the level brine + Sleek Panope with all her sisters played. + It was that fatal and perfidious bark + Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark, + That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. + Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, + His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, + Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge, + Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe. + “Ah! who hath reft,” quoth he, “my dearest pledge?” + Last came, and last did go, + The pilot of the Galilean lake, + Two massy keys he bore, of metals twain + (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain). + He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake: + “How well could I have spared for thee, young swain, + Enow of such as for their bellies’ sake + Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold! + Of other care they little reckoning make, + Than how to scramble at the shearer’s feast, + And shove away the worthy bidden guest; + Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold + A sheep-hook, or have learned aught else the least + That to the faithful herdsman’s art belongs! + What reeks it them? What need they? They are sped; + And when they list, their lean and flashy songs + Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw; + The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, + But swollen with wind, and the rank mist they draw, + Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: + Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw + Daily devours apace, and nothing said. + But that two-handed engine at the door + Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.” + Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past, + That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian muse, + And call the vales, and bid them hither cast + Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. + Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use + Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks, + On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks, + Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes, + That on the green turf suck the honeyed showers, + And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. + Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, + The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, + The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, + The glowing violet, + The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, + With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, + And every flower that sad embroidery wears: + Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, + And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, + To strow the laureate hearse where Lycid lies. + For so to interpose a little ease, + Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise. + Ay me! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas + Wash far away, where ere thy bones are hurled, + Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, + Where thou, perhaps, under the whelming tide + Visit’st the bottom of the monstrous world; + Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, + Sleep’st by the fable of Bellerus old, + Where the great vision of the guarded mount + Looks toward Namancos and Bayona’s hold; + Look homeward, angel now, and melt with ruth: + And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth. + Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, + For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, + Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor; + So sinks the day-star in the ocean-bed, + And yet anon repairs his drooping head, + And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore + Flames in the forehead of the morning sky: + So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, + Through the dear might of him that walked the waves, + Where other groves and other streams along, + With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, + And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, + In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. + There entertain him all the saints above, + In solemn troops, and sweet societies, + That sing, and singing in their glory move, + And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. + Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more; + Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore, + In thy large recompense, and shalt be good + To all that wander in that perilous flood. + Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills, + While the still morn went out with sandals gray, + He touched the tender stops of various quills, + With eager thought warbling his Doric lay: + And now the sun had stretched out all the hills, + And now was dropped into the western bay; + At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue, + Tomorrow to fresh woods, and pastures new. + + + + +LYCIDAS. + + + EN! iterum laurus, iterum salvete myricæ + Pallentes, nullique hederæ quæ ceditis ævo. + Has venio baccas, quanquam sapor asper acerbis, + Decerptum, quassumque manu folia ipsa proterva, + Maturescentem prævortens improbus annum. + Causa gravis, pia cansa, subest, et amara deûm lex; + Nec jam sponte mea vobis rata tempora turbo. + Nam periit Lycidas, periit superante juventa + Imberbis Lycidas, quo non præstantior alter. + Quis cantare super Lycida neget? Ipse quoque artem + Nôrat Apollineam, versumque imponere versu + Non nullo vitreum fas innatet ille feretrum + Flente, voluteturque arentes corpus ad auras, + Indotatum adeo et lacrymæ vocalis egenum. + Quare agite, o sacri fontis queis cura, sorores, + Cui sub inaccessi sella Jovis exit origo: + Incipite, et sonitu graviore impellite chordas. + Lingua procul male prompta loqui, suasorque morarum + Sit pudor: alloquiis ut mollior una secundis + Pieridum faveat, cui mox ego destiner, urnæ: + Et gressus prætergrediens convertat, et “Esto” + Dicat “amoena quies atra tibi veste latenti:” + Uno namque jugo duo nutribamur: eosdem + Pavit uterque greges ad fontem et rivulum et umbram. + Tempore nos illo, nemorum convexa priusquam, + Aurora reserante oculos, cæpere videri, + Urgebamus equos ad pascua: novimus horam + Aridus audiri solitus qua clangor asili; + Rore recentes greges passi pinguescere noctis + Sæpius, albuerat donec quod vespere sidus + Hesperios axes prono inclinasset Olympo. + At pastorales non cessavere camœnæ, + Fistula disparibus quas temperat apta cicutis: + Saltabant Satyri informes, nec murmure læto + Capripedes potuere diu se avertere Fauni; + Damætasque modos nostros longævus amabat. + Jamque, relicta tibi, quantum mutata videntur + Rura—relicta tibi, cui non spes ulla regressûs! + Te sylvæ, teque antra, puer, deserta ferarum, + Incultis obducta thymis ac vite sequaci, + Decessisse gemunt; gemitusque reverberat Echo. + Non salices, non glauca ergo coryleta videbo + Molles ad numeros lætum motare cacumen:— + Quale rosis scabies; quam formidabile vermis + Depulso jam lacte gregi, dum tondet agellos; + Sive quod, indutis verna jam veste, pruinæ + Floribus, albet ubi primum paliurus in agris: + Tale fuit nostris, Lycidam periisse, bubulcis. + Qua, Nymphæ, latuistis, ubi crudele profundum + Delicias Lycidam vestras sub vortice torsit? + Nam neque vos scopulis tum ludebatis in illis + Quos veteres, Druidæ, Vates, illustria servant + Nomina; nec celsæ setoso in culmine Monæ, + Nec, quos Deva locos magicis amplectitur undis. + Væ mihi! delusos exercent somnia sensus: + Venissetis enim; numquid venisse juvaret? + Numquid Pieris ipsa parens interfuit Orphei, + Pieris ipsa suæ sobolis, qui carmine rexit + Corda virum, quem terra olim, quam magna, dolebat, + Tempore quo, dirum auditu strepitante caterva, + Ora secundo amni missa, ac foedata cruore, + Lesbia præcipitans ad litora detulit Hebrus? + Eheu quid prodest noctes instare diesque + Pastorum curas spretas humilesque tuendo, + Nilque relaturam meditari rite Camoenam? + Nonne fuit satius lusus agitare sub umbra, + (Ut mos est aliis,) Amaryllida sive Neæram + Sectanti, ac tortis digitum impediisse capillis? + Scilcet ingenuum cor Fama, novissimus error + Illa animi majoris, uti calcaribus urget + Spernere delicias ac dedi rebus agendis. + Quanquam—exoptatam jam spes attingere dotem; + Jam nec opinata remur splendescere flamma:— + Cæca sed invisa cum forfice venit Erinnys, + Quæ resecet tenui hærentem subtemine vitam. + “At Famam non illa,” refert, tangitque trementes + Phœbus Apollo aures. “Fama haud, vulgaris ad instar + Floris, amat terrestre solum, fictosque nitores + Queis inhiat populus, nec cum Rumore patescit. + Vivere dant illi, dant increbrescere late + Puri oculi ac vox summa Jovis, cui sola Potestas. + Fecerit ille semel de facto quoque virorum + Arbitrium: tantum famæ manet æthera nactis.” + Fons Arethusa! sacro placidus qui laberis alveo, + Frontem vocali prætextus arundine, Minci! + Sensi equidem gravius carmen. Nunc cetera pastor + Exsequor. Adstat enim missus pro rege marino, + Seque rogâsse refert fluctus, ventosque rapaces, + Quæ sors dura nimis tenerum rapuisset agrestem. + Compellasse refert alarum quicquid ab omni + Spirat, acerba sonans, scopulo, qui cuspidis instar + Prominet in pelagus; fama haud pervenerat illuc. + Hæc ultro pater Hippotades responsa ferebat: + “Nulli sunt nostro palati carcere venti. + Straverat æquor aquas, et sub Jove compta sereno + Lusum exercebat Panope nymphæque sorores. + Quam Furiæ struxere per interlunia, leto + Fetam ac fraude ratem,—malos velarat Erinnys,— + Credas in mala tanta caput mersisse sacratum.” + Proximus huic tardum senior se Camus agebat; + Cui setosa chlamys, cui pileus ulva: figuris + Idem intertextus dubiis erat, utque cruentos + Quos perhibent flores, inscriptus margine luctum. + “Nam quis,” ait, “prædulce meum me pignus ademit?” + Post hos, qui Galilæa regit per stagna carinas, + Post hos venit iturus: habet manus utraque clavim, + (Queis aperit clauditque) auro ferrove gravatam. + Mitra tegit crines; quassis quibus, acriter infit: + “Scilicet optassem pro te dare corpora leto + Sat multa, o juvenis: quot serpunt ventribus acti, + Vi quot iter faciunt spretis in ovilia muris. + Hic labor, hoc opus est, pecus ut tondente magistro + Præripiant epulas, trudatur dignior hospes. + Capti oculis, non ore! pedum tractare nec ipsi + Norunt; quotve bonis sunt upilionibus artes. + Sed quid enim refert, quove eat opus, omnia nactis? + Fert ubi mens, tenue ac deductum carmen avenam + Radit stridentem stipulis. Pastore negato + Suspicit ægra pecus: vento gravis ac lue tracta + Tabescit; mox foeda capit contagia vulgus. + Quid dicam, stabulis ut clandestinus oberrans + Expleat ingluviem tristis lupus, indice nullo? + Illa tamen bimanus custodit machina portam, + Stricta, paratque malis plagam non amplius unam.” + En, Alphee, redi! Quibus ima cohorruit unda + Voces præteriere: redux quoque Sicelis omnes + Musa voca valles; huc pendentes hyacinthos + Fac jaciant, teneros huc flores mille colorum. + O nemorum depressa, sonant ubi crebra susurri + Umbrarum, et salientis aquæ, Zephyrique protervi; + Queisque virens gremium penetrare Canicula parcit: + Picturata modis jacite huc mihi lumina miris, + Mellitos imbres queis per viridantia rura + Mos haurire, novo quo tellus vere rubescat. + Huc ranunculus, ipse arbos, pallorque ligustri, + Quæque relicta perit, vixdum matura feratur + Pnimula: quique ebeno distinctus, cætera flavet + Flos, et qui specie nomen detrectat eburna. + Ardenti violæ rosa proxima fundat odores; + Serpyllumque placens, et acerbo flexile vultu + Verbascum, ac tristem si quid sibi legit amictum. + Quicquid habes pulcri fundas, amarante: coronent + Narcissi lacrymis calices, sternantque feretrum + Tectus ubi lauro Lycidas jacet: adsit ut oti + Saltem aliquid, ficta ludantur imagine mentes. + Me miserum! Tua nam litus, pelagusque sonorum + Ossa ferunt, queiscunque procul jacteris in oris; + Sive procellosas ultra Symplegadas ingens + Jam subter mare visis, alit quæ monstra profundum; + Sive (negavit enim precibus te Jupiter udis) + Cum sene Bellero, veterum qui fabula, dormis, + Qua custoditi montis prægrandis imago + Namancum atque arces longe prospectat Iberas. + Verte retro te, verte deum, mollire precando: + Et vos infaustum juvenem delphines agatis. + Ponite jam lacrymas, sat enim flevistis, agrestes. + Non periit Lycidas, vestri moeroris origo, + Marmorei quanquam fluctus hausere cadentem. + Sic et in æquoreum se condere sæpe cubile + Luciferum videas; nec longum tempus, et effert + Demissum caput, igne novo vestitus; et, aurum + Ceu rutilans, in fronte poli splendescit Eoi. + Sic obiit Lycidas, sic assurrexit in altum; + Illo, quem peditem mare sustulit, usus amico. + Nunc campos alios, alia errans stagna secundum, + Rorantesque lavans integro nectare crines, + Audit inauditos nobis cantari Hymenæos, + Fortunatorum sedes ubi mitis amorem + Lætitiamque affert. Hic illum, quotquot Olympum + Prædulces habitant turbæ, venerabilis ordo, + Circumstant: aliæque canunt, interque canendum + Majestate sua veniunt abeuntque catervæ, + Omnes ex oculis lacrymas arcere paratæ. + Ergo non Lycidam jam lamentantur agrestes. + Divus eris ripæ, puer, hoc ex tempore nobis, + Grande, nec immerito, veniens in munus; opemque + Poscent usque tuam, dubiis quot in æstubus errant. + Hæc incultus aquis puer ilicibusque canebat; + Processit dum mane silens talaribus albis. + Multa manu teneris discrimina tentat avenis, + Dorica non studio modulatus carmina segni: + Et jam sol abiens colles extenderat omnes, + Jamque sub Hesperium se præcipitaverat alveum. + Surrexit tandem, glaucumque retraxit amictum; + Cras lucos, reor, ille novos, nova pascua quæret. + + + + +IN MEMORIAM. + + +CVI. + + + THE time admits not flowers or leaves + To deck the banquet. Fiercely flies + The blast of North and East, and ice + Makes daggers at the sharpen’d eaves, + + And bristles all the brakes and thorns + To yon hard crescent, as she hangs + Above the wood which grides and clangs + Its leafless ribs and iron horns + + Together, in the drifts that pass, + To darken on the rolling brine + That breaks the coast. But fetch the wine, + Arrange the board and brim the glass; + + Bring in great logs and let them lie, + To make a solid core of heat; + Be cheerful-minded, talk and treat + Of all things ev’n as he were by: + + We keep the day with festal cheer, + With books and music. Surely we + Will drink to him whate’er he be, + And sing the songs he loved to hear. + + + + +IN MEMORIAM. + + + NON hora myrto, non violis sinit + Nitere mensas. Trux Aquilo foras + Bacchatur, ac passim pruina + Tigna sagittifera coruscant; + + Horretque saltus spinifer, algidæ + Sub falce lunæ, dum nemori imminet, + Quod stridet illiditque costis + Cornua, jam vacuis honorum, + + Ferrata; nimbis prætereuntibus, + Ut incubent tandem implacido sali + Qui curvat oras. Tu Falernum + Prome, dapes strue, dic coronent + + Crateras: ignis cor solidum, graves + Repone truncos. Jamque doloribus + Loquare securus fugatis + Quæ socio loquereris illo; + + Hunc dedicamus lætitiæ diem + Lyræque musisque. Illius, illius + Da, quicquid audit: nec silebunt + Qui numeri placuere vivo. + + + + +LAURA MATILDA’S DIRGE. + + + FROM ‘REJECTED ADDRESSES.’ + + BALMY Zephyrs, lightly flitting, + Shade me with your azure wing; + On Parnassus’ summit sitting, + Aid me, Clio, while I sing. + + Softly slept the dome of Drury + O’er the empyreal crest, + When Alecto’s sister-fury + Softly slumb’ring sunk to rest. + + Lo! from Lemnos limping lamely, + Lags the lowly Lord of Fire, + Cytherea yielding tamely + To the Cyclops dark and dire. + + Clouds of amber, dreams of gladness, + Dulcet joys and sports of youth, + Soon must yield to haughty sadness; + Mercy holds the veil to Truth. + + See Erostratas the second + Fires again Diana’s fane; + By the Fates from Orcus beckon’d, + Clouds envelop Drury Lane. + + Where is Cupid’s crimson motion? + Billowy ecstasy of woe, + Bear me straight, meandering ocean, + Where the stagnant torrents flow. + + Blood in every vein is gushing, + Vixen vengeance lulls my heart; + See, the Gorgon gang is rushing! + Never, never let us part. + + + + +NÆNIA. + + + O QUOT odoriferi voitatis in aëre venti, + Cæruleum tegmen vestra sit ala mihi: + Tuque sedens Parnassus ubi caput erigit ingens, + Dextra veni, Clio: teque docente canam. + + Jam suaves somnos Tholus affectare Theatri + Cœperat, igniflui trans laqueare poli: + Alectûs consanguineam quo tempore Erinnyn, + Suave soporatam, coepit adire quies. + + Lustra sed ecce labans claudo pede Lemnia linquit + Luridus (at lente lugubriterque) Deus: + Amisit veteres, amisit inultus, amores; + Teter habet Venerem terribilisque Cyclops. + + Electri nebulas, potioraque somnia vero; + Quotque placent pueris gaudia, quotque joci; + Omnia tristiæ fas concessisse superbæ: + Admissum Pietas scitque premitque nefas. + + Respice! Nonne vides ut Erostratus alter ad ædem + Rursus agat flammas, spreta Diana, tuam? + Mox, Acheronteis quas Parca eduxit ab antris, + Druriacam nubes corripuere domum. + + O ubi purpurei motus pueri alitis? o qui + Me mihi turbineis surripis, angor, aquis! + Duc, labyrintheum, duc me, mare, tramite recto + Quo rapidi fontes, pigra caterva, ruunt! + + Jamque—soporat enim pectus Vindicta Virago; + Omnibus a venis sanguinis unda salit; + Gorgoneique greges præceps (adverte!) feruntur— + Sim, precor, o! semper sim tibi junctus ego. + + + + +“LEAVES HAVE THEIR TIME TO FALL.” + + + FELICIA HEMANS. + + LEAVES have their time to fall, + And flowers to wither at the North-wind’s breath, + And stars to set: but all, + Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death! + + Day is for mortal care, + Eve for glad meetings at the joyous hearth, + Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer, + But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth! + + The banquet has its hour, + The feverish hour of mirth and song and wine: + There comes a day for grief’s overwhelming shower, + A time for softer tears: but all are thine. + + Youth and the opening rose + May look like things too glorious for decay, + And smile at thee!—but thou art not of those + That wait the ripen’d bloom to seize their prey! + + + + +“FRONDES EST UBI DECIDANT.” + + + FRONDES est ubi decidant, + Marcescantque rosæ flatu Aquilonio: + Horis astra cadunt suis; + Sed, Mors, cuncta tibi tempera vindicas. + + Curis nata virûm dies; + Vesper colloquiis dulcibus ad focum; + Somnis nox magis, et preci: + Sed nil, Terrigenum maxima, non tibi. + + Festis hora epulis datur, + (Fervens hora jocis, carminibus, mero;) + Fusis altera lacrymis + Aut fletu tacito: quæque tamen tua. + + Virgo, seu rosa pullulans, + Tantum quippe nitent ut nequeant mori? + Rident te? Neque enim soles + Prædæ parcere, dum flos adoleverit. + + + + +“LET US TURN HITHERWARD OUR BARK.” + + + R. C. TRENCH. + + “LET us turn hitherward our bark,” they cried, + “And, ’mid the blisses of this happy isle, + Past toil forgetting and to come, abide + In joyfulness awhile. + + And then, refreshed, our tasks resume again, + If other tasks we yet are bound unto, + Combing the hoary tresses of the main + With sharp swift keel anew.” + + O heroes, that had once a nobler aim, + O heroes, sprung from many a godlike line, + What will ye do, unmindful of your fame, + And of your race divine? + + But they, by these prevailing voices now + Lured, evermore draw nearer to the land, + Nor saw the wrecks of many a goodly prow, + That strewed that fatal strand; + + Or seeing, feared not—warning taking none + From the plain doom of all who went before, + Whose bones lay bleaching in the wind and sun, + And whitened all the shore. + + + + +“QUIN HUC, FREMEBANT.” + + + “QUIN huc,” fremebant, “dirigimus ratem: + Hic, dote læti divitis insulæ, + Paullisper hæremus, futuri + Nec memores operis, nec acti: + + “Curas refecti cras iterabimus, + Si qua supersunt emeritis novæ + Pexisse pernices acuta + Canitiem pelagi carina.” + + O rebus olim nobilioribus + Pares: origo Dî quibus ac Deæ + Heroës! oblitine famiæ + Hæc struitis, generisque summi? + + Atqui propinquant jam magis ac magis, + Ducti magistra voce, solum: neque + Videre prorarum nefandas + Fragmina nobilium per oras; + + Vidisse seu non poenitet—ominis + Incuriosos tot præëuntium, + Quorum ossa sol siccantque venti, + Candet adhuc quibus omnis ora. + + + + +CARMEN SÆCULARE. + + + MDCCCLIII. + + “Quicquid agunt homines, nostri est farrago libelli.” + + ACRIS hyems jam venit: hyems genus omne perosa + Foemineum, et senibus glacies non æqua rotundis: + Apparent rari stantes in tramite glauco; + Radit iter, cogitque nives, sua tela, juventus. + Trux matrona ruit, multos dominata per annos, + Digna indigna minans, glomeratque volumina crurum; + Illa parte senex, amisso forte galero, + Per plateas bacchatur; eum chorus omnis agrestum + Ridet anhelantem frustra, et jam jamque tenentem + Quod petit; illud agunt venti prensumque resorbent. + Post, ubi compositus tandem votique potitus + Sedit humi; flet crura tuens nive candida lenta, + Et vestem laceram, et venturas conjugis iras: + Itque domum tendens duplices ad sidera palmas, + Corda miser, desiderio perfixa galeri. + At juvenis (sed cruda viro viridisque juventus) + Quærit bacciferas, tunica pendente, {145a} tabernas: + Pervigil ecce Baco furva depromit ab arca + Splendidius quiddam solito, plenumque saporem + Laudat, et antiqua jurat de stripe Jamaicæ. + O fumose puer, nimium ne crede Baconi: + Manillas vocat; hoc prætexit nomine caules. + Te vero, cui forte dedit maturior ætas + Scire potestates herbarum, te quoque quanti + Circumstent casus, paucis (adverte) docebo. + Præcipue, seu raptat amor te simplicis herbæ, {145b} + Seu potius tenui Musam meditaris avena, + Procuratorem fugito, nam ferreus idem est. + Vita semiboves catulos, redimicula vita + Candida: de coelo descendit σῶζε σεαυτόν. + Nube vaporis item conspergere præter euntes + Jura vetant, notumque furens quid femina possit: + Odit enim dulces succos anus, odit odorem; + Odit Lethæi diffusa volumina fumi. + Mille modis reliqui fugiuntque feruntque laborem. + Hic vir ad Eleos, pedibus talaria gestans, + Fervidus it latices, nec quidquam acquirit eundo: {146a} + Ille petit virides (sed non e gramine) mensas, + Pollicitus meliora patri, tormentaque {146b} flexus + Per labyrintheos plus quam mortalia tentat, + Acre tuens, loculisque pilas immittit et aufert. + Sunt alii, quos frigus aquæ, tenuisque phaselus + Captat, et æquali surgentes ordine remi. + His edura cutis, nec ligno rasile tergum; + Par saxi sinus: esca boves cum robore Bassi. + Tollunt in numerum fera brachia, vique feruntur + Per fluctus: sonuere viæ clamore secundo: + Et piceâ de puppe fremens immane bubulcus + Invocat exitium cunctis, et verbera rapto + Stipite defessis onerat graviora caballis. + Nil humoris egent alii. Labor arva vagari, + Flectere ludus equos, et amantem devia {147a} currum. + Nosco purpureas vestes, clangentia nosco + Signa tubæ, et caudas inter virgulta caninas. + Stat venator equus, tactoque ferocior armo + Surgit in arrectum, vix auditurus habenam; + Et jam prata fuga superat, jam flumina saltu. + Aspicias alios ab iniqua sepe rotari + In caput, ut scrobibus quæ sint fastigia quærant; + Eque rubis aut amne pigro trahere humida crura, + Et fœdam faciem, defloccatumque galerum. + Sanctius his animal, cui quadravisse rotundum {148a} + Musæ suadet amor, Camique ardentis imago, + Inspicat calamos contracta fronte malignos, + Perque Mathematicum pelagus, loca turbida, anhelat. + Circum dirus “Hymers,” nec pondus inutile, “Lignum,” + “Salmoque,” et pueris tu detestate, “Colenso,” + Horribiles visu formæ; livente notatæ + Ungue omnes, omnes insignes aure canina. {148b} + Fervet opus; tacitum pertentant gaudia pectus + Tutorum; “pulchrumque mori,” dixere, “legendo.” + Nec vero juvenes facere omnes omnia possunt. + Atque unum memini ipse, deus qui dictus amicis, + Et multum referens de rixatore {148c} secundo, + Nocte terens ulnas ac scrinia, solus in alto + Degebat tripode; arcta viro vilisque supellex; + Et sic torva tuens, pedibus per mutua nexis, + Sedit, lacte mero mentem mulcente tenellam. + Et fors ad summos tandem venisset honores; + Sed rapidi juvenes, queis gratior usus equorum, + Subveniunt, siccoque vetant inolescere libro. + Improbus hos Lector pueros, mentumque virili + Lævius, et duræ gravat inclementia Mortis: {149a} + Agmen iners; queis mos alienâ vivere quadrâ, {149b} + Et lituo vexare viros, calcare caballos. + Tales mane novo sæpe admiramur euntes + Torquibus in rigidis et pelle Libystidis ursæ; + Admiramur opus {149c} tunicæ, vestemque {149d} sororem + Iridis, et crurum non enarrabile tegmen. + Hos inter comites implebat pocula sorbis + Infelix puer, et sese reereabat ad ignem, + “Evœ, {150a} BASSE,” fremens: dum velox præterit ætas; + Venit summa dies; et Junior Optimus exit. + Saucius at juvenis nota intra tecta refugit, + Horrendum ridens, lucemque miserrimus odit: + Informem famulus laqueum pendentiaque ossa + Mane videt, refugitque feri meminisse magistri. + Di nobis meliora! Modum re servat in omni + Qui sapit: haud ilium semper recubare sub umbra, + Haud semper madidis juvat impallescere chartis. + Nos numerus sumus, et libros consumere nati; + Sed requies sit rebus; amant alterna Camenæ. + Nocte dieque legas, cum tertius advenit annus: + Tum libros cape; claude fores, et prandia defer. + Quartus venit: ini, {150b} rebus jam rite paratis, + Exultans, et coge gradum conferre magistros. + His animadversis, fugies immane Barathrum. + His, operose puer, si qua fata aspera rumpas, + Tu rixator eris. Saltem non crebra revises + Ad stabulum, {151a} et tota moerens carpere juventa; + Classe nec amisso nil profectura dolentem + Tradet ludibriis te plena leporis HIRUDO. {151b} + + + + +TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. + + +TO A SHIP. +OD. i. 14. + + + YET on fresh billows seaward wilt thou ride, + O ship? What dost thou? Seek a hav’n, and there + Rest thee: for lo! thy side + Is oarless all and bare, + + And the swift south-west wind hath maimed thy mast, + And thy yards creak, and, every cable lost, + Yield must thy keel at last + On pitiless sea-waves tossed + + Too rudely. Goodly canvas is not thine, + Nor gods, to hear thee now, when need is sorest:— + Though thou—a Pontic pine, + Child of a stately forest,— + + Boastest high name and empty pedigree, + Pale seamen little trust the gaudy sail: + Stay, unless doomed to be + The plaything of the gale. + + Flee—what of late sore burden was to me, + Now a sad memory and a bitter pain,— + Those shining Cyclads flee + That stud the far-off main. + + + +TO VIRGIL. +OD. i. 24. + + + UNSHAMED, unchecked, for one so dear + We sorrow. Lead the mournful choir, + Melpomene, to whom thy sire + Gave harp, and song-notes liquid-clear! + + Sleeps He the sleep that knows no morn? + Oh Honour, oh twin-born with Right, + Pure Faith, and Truth that loves the light, + When shall again his like be born? + + Many a kind heart for Him makes moan; + Thine, Virgil, first. But ah! in vain + Thy love bids heaven restore again + That which it took not as a loan: + + Were sweeter lute than Orpheus given + To thee, did trees thy voice obey; + The blood revisits not the clay + Which He, with lifted wand, hath driven + + Into his dark assemblage, who + Unlocks not fate to mortal’s prayer. + Hard lot! Yet light their griefs who BEAR + The ills which they may not undo. + + + +TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA. +OD. iii. 13. + + + BANDUSIA, stainless mirror of the sky! + Thine is the flower-crown’d bowl, for thee shall die, + When dawns again yon sun, the kid; + Whose budding horns, half-seen, half-hid, + + Challenge to dalliance or to strife—in vain! + Soon must the hope of the wild herd be slain, + And those cold springs of thine + With blood incarnadine. + + Fierce glows the Dog-star, but his fiery beam + Toucheth not thee: still grateful thy cool stream + To labour-wearied ox, + Or wanderer from the flocks: + + And henceforth thou shalt be a royal fountain: + My harp shall tell how from yon cavernous mountain, + Topt by the brown oak-tree, + Thou breakest babblingly. + + + +TO IBYCUS’S WIFE. +OD. ii. 15. + + + SPOUSE of penniless Ibycus, + Thus late, bring to a close all thy delinquencies, + All thy studious infamy:— + Nearing swiftly the grave—(that not an early one)— + Cease girls’ sport to participate, + Blurring stars which were else cloudlessly brilliant. + What suits her who is beautiful + Suits not equally thee: rightly devastates + Thy fair daughter the homes of men, + Wild as Thyad, who wakes stirred by the kettle-drums. + Nothus’ beauty constraining her, + Like some kid at his play, holds she her revelry: + Thy years stately Luceria’s + Wools more fitly become—not din of harpsichords, + Not pink-petallèd roseblossoms, + Not casks drained by an old lip to the sediment. + + + +SORACTE. +OD. i. 9. + + + ONE dazzling mass of solid snow + Soracte stands; the bent woods fret + Beneath their load; and, sharpest-set + With frost, the streams have ceased to flow. + + Pile on great faggots and break up + The ice: let influence more benign + Enter with four-years-treasured wine, + Fetched in the ponderous Sabine cup: + + Leave to the Gods all else. When they + Have once bid rest the winds that war + Over the passionate seas, no more + Grey ash and cypress rock and sway. + + Ask not what future suns shall bring, + Count to-day gain, whate’er it chance + To be: nor, young man, scorn the dance, + Nor deem sweet Love an idle thing, + + Ere Time thy April youth hath changed + To sourness. Park and public walk + Attract thee now, and whispered talk + At twilight meetings pre-arranged; + + Hear now the pretty laugh that tells + In what dim corner lurks thy love; + And snatch a bracelet or a glove + From wrist or hand that scarce rebels. + + + +TO LEUCONÖE. +OD. i. 11. + + + SEEK not, for thou shalt not find it, what my end, what thine shall + be; + Ask not of Chaldæa’s science what God wills, Leuconöe: + Better far, what comes, to bear it. Haply many a wintry blast + Waits thee still; and this, it may be, Jove ordains to be thy last, + Which flings now the flagging sea-wave on the obstinate + sandstone-reef. + Be thou wise: fill up the wine-cup; shortening, since the time is + brief, + Hopes that reach into the future. While I speak, hath stol’n away + Jealous Time. Mistrust To-morrow, catch the blossom of To-day. + + + +JUNO’S SPEECH. +OD. iii. 3. + + + THE just man’s single-purposed mind + Not furious mobs that prompt to ill + May move, nor kings’ frowns shake his will + Which is as rock; not warrior-winds + + That keep the seas in wild unrest; + Nor bolt by Jove’s own finger hurled: + The fragments of a shivered world + Would crash round him still self-possest. + + Jove’s wandering son reached, thus endowed, + The fiery bastions of the skies; + Thus Pollux; with them Cæsar lies + Beside his nectar, radiant-browed. + + For this rewarded, tiger-drawn + Rode Bacchus, reining necks before + Untamed; for this War’s horses bore + Quirinus up from Acheron, + + When in heav’n’s conclave Juno said, + Thrice welcomed: “Troy is in the dust; + Troy, by a judge accursed, unjust, + And that strange woman prostrated. + + “The day Laomedon ignored + His god-pledged word, resigned to me + And Pallas ever-pure, was she, + Her people, and their traitor lord. + + “No more the Greek girl’s guilty guest + Sits splendour-girt: Priam’s perjured sons + Find not against the mighty ones + Of Greece a shield in Hector’s breast: + + “And, long drawn out by private jars, + The war sleeps. Lo! my wrath is o’er: + And him the Trojan vestal bore + (Sprung of that hated line) to Mars, + + “To Mars restore I. His be rest + In halls of light: by him be drained + The nectar-bowl, his place obtained + In the calm companies of the blest. + + “While betwixt Rome and Ilion raves + A length of ocean, where they will + Rise empires for the exiles still: + While Paris’s and Priam’s graves + + “Are hoof-trod, and the she-wolf breeds + Securely there, unharmed shall stand + Rome’s lustrous Capitol, her hand + Impose proud laws on trampled Medes. + + “Wide-feared, to far-off climes be borne + Her story; where the central main + Europe and Libya parts in twain, + Where full Nile laves a land of corn: + + “The buried secret of the mine, + (Best left there) resolute to spurn, + And not to man’s base uses turn + With hand that spares not things divine. + + “Earth’s utmost end, where’er it be, + May her hosts reach; careering proud + O’er lands where watery rain and cloud, + Or where wild suns hold revelry. + + “But, to the soldier-sons of Rome, + Tied by this law, such fates are willed; + That they seek never to rebuild, + Too fond, too bold, their grandsires’ home. + + “With darkest omens, deadliest strife, + Shall Troy, raised up again, repeat + Her history; I the victor-fleet + Shall lead, Jove’s sister and his wife. + + “Thrice let Apollo rear the wall + Of brass; and thrice my Greeks shall hew + The fabric down; thrice matrons rue + In chains their sons’, their husbands’ fall.” + + Ill my light lyre such notes beseem. + Stay, Muse; nor, wayward still, rehearse + God-utterances in puny verse + That may but mar a mighty theme. + + + +TO A FAUN. +OD. iii. 18. + + + WOOER of young Nymphs who fly thee, + Lightly o’er my sunlit lawn + Trip, and go, nor injured by thee + Be my weanling herds, O Faun: + + If the kid his doomed head bows, and + Brims with wine the loving cup, + When the year is full; and thousand + Scents from altars hoar go up. + + Each flock in the rich grass gambols + When the month comes which is thine; + And the happy village rambles + Fieldward with the idle kine: + + Lambs play on, the wolf their neighbour: + Wild woods deck thee with their spoil; + And with glee the sons of labour + Stamp thrice on their foe, the soil. + + + +TO LYCE. +OD. iv. 13. + + + LYCE, the gods have listened to my prayer; + The gods have listened, Lyce. Thou art grey, + And still would’st thou seem fair; + Still unshamed drink, and play, + + And, wine-flushed, woo slow-answering Love with weak + Shrill pipings. With young Chia He doth dwell, + Queen of the harp; her cheek + Is his sweet citadel:— + + He marked the withered oak, and on he flew + Intolerant; shrank from Lyce grim and wrinkled, + Whose teeth are ghastly-blue, + Whose temples snow-besprinkled:— + + Not purple, not the brightest gem that glows, + Brings back to her the years which, fleeting fast, + Time hath once shut in those + Dark annals of the Past. + + Oh, where is all thy loveliness? soft hue + And motions soft? Oh, what of Her doth rest, + Her, who breathed love, who drew + My heart out of my breast? + + Fair, and far-famed, and subtly sweet, thy face + Ranked next to Cinara’s. But to Cinara fate + Gave but a few years’ grace; + And lets live, all too late, + + Lyce, the rival of the beldam crow: + That fiery youth may see with scornful brow + The torch that long ago + Beamed bright, a cinder now. + + + +TO HIS SLAVE. +OD. i. 38. + + + PERSIAN grandeur I abhor; + Linden-wreathèd crowns, avaunt: + Boy, I bid thee not explore + Woods which latest roses haunt: + + Try on nought thy busy craft + Save plain myrtle; so arrayed + Thou shalt fetch, I drain, the draught + Fitliest ’neath the scant vine-shade. + + + +THE DEAD OX. +GEORG. IV. + + + LO! smoking in the stubborn plough, the ox + Falls, from his lip foam gushing crimson-stained, + And sobs his life out. Sad of face the ploughman + Moves, disentangling from his comrade’s corpse + The lone survivor: and its work half-done, + Abandoned in the furrow stands the plough. + Not shadiest forest-depths, not softest lawns, + May move him now: not river amber-pure, + That volumes o’er the cragstones to the plain. + Powerless the broad sides, glazed the rayless eye, + And low and lower sinks the ponderous neck. + What thank hath he for all the toil he toiled, + The heavy-clodded land in man’s behoof + Upturning? Yet the grape of Italy, + The stored-up feast hath wrought no harm to him: + Green leaf and taintless grass are all their fare; + The clear rill or the travel-freshen’d stream + Their cup: nor one care mars their honest sleep. + + + +FROM THEOCRITUS. +IDYLL. VII. + + + SCARCE midway were we yet, nor yet descried + The stone that hides what once was Brasidas: + When there drew near a wayfarer from Crete, + Young Lycidas, the Muses’ votary. + The horned herd was his care: a glance might tell + So much: for every inch a herdsman he. + Slung o’er his shoulder was a ruddy hide + Torn from a he-goat, shaggy, tangle-haired, + That reeked of rennet yet: a broad belt clasped + A patched cloak round his breast, and for a staff + A gnarled wild-olive bough his right hand bore. + Soon with a quiet smile he spoke—his eye + Twinkled, and laughter sat upon his lip: + “And whither ploddest thou thy weary way + Beneath the noontide sun, Simichides? + For now the lizard sleeps upon the wall, + The crested lark hath closed his wandering wing. + Speed’st thou, a bidd’n guest, to some reveller’s board? + Or townwards, to the treading of the grape? + For lo! recoiling from thy hurrying feet + The pavement-stones ring out right merrily.” + + + +SPEECH OF AJAX. +SOPH. AJ. 645. + + + ALL strangest things the multitudinous years + Bring forth, and shadow from us all we know. + Falter alike great oath and steeled resolve; + And none shall say of aught, ‘This may not be.’ + Lo! I myself, but yesterday so strong, + As new-dipt steel am weak and all unsexed + By yonder woman: yea I mourn for them, + Widow and orphan, left amid their foes. + But I will journey seaward—where the shore + Lies meadow-fringed—so haply wash away + My sin, and flee that wrath that weighs me down. + And, lighting somewhere on an untrodden way, + I will bury this my lance, this hateful thing, + Deep in some earth-hole where no eye shall see— + Night and Hell keep it in the underworld! + For never to this day, since first I grasped + The gift that Hector gave, my bitterest foe, + Have I reaped aught of honour from the Greeks. + So true that byword in the mouths of men, + “A foeman’s gifts are no gifts, but a curse.” + Wherefore henceforward shall I know that God + Is great; and strive to honour Atreus’ sons. + Princes they are, and should be obeyed. How else? + Do not all terrible and most puissant things + Yet bow to loftier majesties? The Winter, + Who walks forth scattering snows, gives place anon + To fruitage-laden Summer; and the orb + Of weary Night doth in her turn stand by, + And let shine out, with her white steeds, the Day: + Stern tempest-blasts at last sing lullaby + To groaning seas: even the arch-tyrant, Sleep, + Doth loose his slaves, not hold them chained for ever. + And shall not mankind too learn discipline? + _I_ know, of late experience taught, that him + Who is my foe I must but hate as one + Whom I may yet call Friend: and him who loves me + Will I but serve and cherish as a man + Whose love is not abiding. Few be they + Who, reaching Friendship’s port, have there found rest. + But, for these things they shall be well. Go thou, + Lady, within, and there pray that the Gods + May fill unto the full my heart’s desire. + And ye, my mates, do unto me with her + Like honour: bid young Teucer, if he come, + To care for me, but to be _your_ friend still. + For where my way leads, thither I shall go: + Do ye my bidding; haply ye may hear, + Though now is my dark hour, that I have peace. + + + +FROM LUCRETIUS. +BOOK II. + + + SWEET, when the great sea’s water is stirred to his depths by the + storm-winds, + Standing ashore to descry one afar-off mightily struggling: + Not that a neighbour’s sorrow to you yields blissful enjoyment; + But that the sight hath a sweetness, of ills ourselves are exempt + from. + Sweet ’tis too to behold, on a broad plain mustering, war-hosts + Arm them for some great battle, one’s self unscathed by the danger:— + Yet still happier this:—To possess, impregnably guarded, + Those calm heights of the sages, which have for an origin Wisdom; + Thence to survey our fellows, observe them this way and that way + Wander amidst Life’s paths, poor stragglers seeking a highway: + Watch mind battle with mind, and escutcheon rival escutcheon; + Gaze on that untold strife, which is waged ’neath the sun and the + starlight, + Up as they toil to the surface whereon rest Riches and Empire. + O race born unto trouble! O minds all lacking of eyesight! + ’Neath what a vital darkness, amidst how terrible dangers, + Move ye thro’ this thing, Life, this fragment! Fools, that ye hear + not + Nature clamour aloud for the one thing only; that, all pain + Parted and past from the Body, the Mind too bask in a blissful + Dream, all fear of the future and all anxiety over! + So, as regards Man’s Body, a few things only are needful, + (Few, tho’ we sum up all,) to remove all misery from him; + Aye, and to strew in his path such a lib’ral carpet of pleasures, + That scarce Nature herself would at times ask happiness ampler. + Statues of youth and of beauty may not gleam golden around him, + (Each in his right hand bearing a great lamp lustrously burning, + Whence to the midnight revel a light may be furnished always); + Silver may not shine softly, nor gold blaze bright, in his mansion, + Nor to the noise of the tabret his halls gold-cornicèd echo:— + Yet still he, with his fellow, reposed on the velvety greensward, + Near to a rippling stream, by a tall tree canopied over, + Shall, though they lack great riches, enjoy all bodily pleasure. + Chiefliest then, when above them a fair sky smiles, and the young year + Flings with a bounteous hand over each green meadow the wild-flowers:— + Not more quickly depart from his bosom fiery fevers, + Who beneath crimson hangings and pictures cunningly broidered + Tosses about, than from him who must lie in beggarly raiment. + Therefore, since to the Body avail not Riches, avails not + Heraldry’s utmost boast, nor the pomp and the pride of an Empire; + Next shall you own, that the Mind needs likewise nothing of these + things. + Unless—when, peradventure, your armies over the champaign + Spread with a stir and a ferment, and bid War’s image awaken, + Or when with stir and with ferment a fleet sails forth upon Ocean— + Cowed before these brave sights, pale Superstition abandon + Straightway your mind as you gaze, Death seem no longer alarming, + Trouble vacate your bosom, and Peace hold holiday in you. + But, if (again) all this be a vain impossible fiction; + If of a truth men’s fears, and the cares which hourly beset them, + Heed not the jav’lin’s fury, regard not clashing of broadswords; + But all-boldly amongst crowned heads and the rulers of empires + Stalk, not shrinking abashed from the dazzling glare of the red gold, + Not from the pomp of the monarch, who walks forth purple-apparelled: + These things shew that at times we are bankrupt, surely, of Reason; + When too all Man’s life through a great Dark laboureth onward. + For, as a young boy trembles, and in that mystery, Darkness, + Sees all terrible things: so do we too, ev’n in the daylight, + Ofttimes shudder at that, which is not more really alarming + Than boys’ fears, when they waken, and say some danger is o’er them. + So this panic of mind, these clouds which gather around us, + Fly not the bright sunbeam, nor the ivory shafts of the Day-star: + Nature, rightly revealed, and the Reason only, dispel them. + Now, how moving about do the prime material atoms + Shape forth this thing and that thing; and, once shaped, how they + resolve them; + What power says unto each, This must be; how an inherent + Elasticity drives them about Space vagrantly onward;— + I shall unfold: thou simply give all thyself to my teaching. + Matter mingled and massed into indissoluble union + Does not exist. For we see how wastes each separate substance; + So flow piecemeal away, with the length’ning centuries, all things, + Till from our eye by degrees that old self passes, and is not. + Still Universal Nature abides unchanged as aforetime. + Whereof this is the cause. When the atoms part from a substance, + That suffers loss; but another is elsewhere gaining an increase: + So that, as one thing wanes, still a second bursts into blossom, + Soon, in its turn, to be left. Thus draws this Universe always + Gain out of loss; thus live we mortals one on another. + Bourgeons one generation, and one fades. Let but a few years + Pass, and a race has arisen which was not: as in a racecourse, + One hands on to another the burning torch of Existence. + + + +FROM HOMER. +_Il_. I. + + + SING, O daughter of heaven, of Peleus’ son, of Achilles, + Him whose terrible wrath brought thousand woes on Achaia. + Many a stalwart soul did it hurl untimely to Hades, + Souls of the heroes of old: and their bones lay strown on the + sea-sands, + Prey to the vulture and dog. Yet was Zeus fulfilling a purpose; + Since that far-off day, when in hot strife parted asunder + Atreus’ sceptred son, and the chos’n of heaven, Achilles. + Say then, which of the Gods bid arise up battle between them? + Zeus’s and Leto’s son. With the king was kindled his anger: + Then went sickness abroad, and the people died of the sickness: + For that of Atreus’ son had his priest been lightly entreated, + Chryses, Apollo’s priest. For he came to the ships of Achaia, + Bearing a daughter’s ransom, a sum not easy to number: + And in his hand was the emblem of Him, far-darting Apollo, + High on a sceptre of gold: and he made his prayer to the Grecians; + Chiefly to Atreus’ sons, twin chieftains, ordering armies + “Chiefs sprung of Atreus’ loins; and ye, brazen-greavèd Achaians! + So may the Gods this day, the Olympus-palacèd, grant you + Priam’s city to raze, and return unscathed to your homesteads: + Only my own dear daughter I ask; take ransom and yield her, + Rev’rencing His great name, son of Zeus, far-darting Apollo.” + Then from the host of Achaians arose tumultuous answer: + “Due to the priest is his honour; accept rich ransom and yield her.” + But there was war in the spirit of Atreus’ son, Agamemnon; + Disdainful he dismissed him, a right stern fiat appending:— + “Woe be to thee, old man, if I find thee lingering longer, + Yea or returning again, by the hollow ships of Achaians! + Scarce much then will avail thee the great god’s sceptre and emblem. + Her will I never release. Old age must first come upon her, + In my own home, yea in Argos, afar from the land of her fathers, + Following the loom and attending upon my bed. But avaunt thee! + Go, and provoke not me, that thy way may be haply securer.” + These were the words of the king, and the old man feared and obeyed + him: + Voiceless he went by the shore of the great dull-echoing ocean, + Thither he got him apart, that ancient man; and a long prayer + Prayed to Apollo his Lord, son of golden-ringleted Leto. + “Lord of the silver bow, whose arm girds Chryse and Cilla,— + Cilla, loved of the Gods,—and in might sways Tenedos, hearken! + Oh! if, in days gone by, I have built from floor unto cornice, + Smintheus, a fair shrine for thee; or burned in the flames of the + altar + Fat flesh of bulls and of goats; then do this thing that I ask thee: + Hurl on the Greeks thy shafts, that thy servant’s tears be avengèd!” + So did he pray, and his prayer reached the ears of Phoebus Apollo. + Dark was the soul of the god as he moved from the heights of Olympus, + Shouldering a bow, and a quiver on this side fast and on that side. + Onward in anger he moved. And the arrows, stirred by the motion, + Rattled and rang on his shoulder: he came, as cometh the midnight. + Hard by the ships he stayed him, and loosed one shaft from the + bow-string; + Harshly the stretched string twanged of the bow all silvery-shining; + First fell his wrath on the mules, and the swift-footed hound of the + herdsman; + Afterward smote he the host. With a rankling arrow he smote them + Aye; and the morn and the even were red with the glare of the + corpse-fires. + Nine days over the host sped the shafts of the god: and the tenth + day + Dawned; and Achilles said, “Be a council called of the people.” + (Such thought came to his mind from the goddess, Hera the white-armed, + Hera who loved those Greeks, and who saw them dying around her.) + So when all were collected and ranged in a solemn assembly, + Straightway rose up amidst them and spake swift-footed Achilles:— + “Atreus’ son! it were better, I think this day, that we wandered + Back, re-seeking our homes, (if a warfare _may_ be avoided); + Now when the sword and the plague, these two things, fight with + Achaians. + Come, let us seek out now some priest, some seer amongst us, + Yea or a dreamer of dreams—for a dream too cometh of God’s hand— + Whence we may learn what hath angered in this wise Phoebus Apollo. + Whether mayhap he reprove us of prayer or of oxen unoffered; + Whether, accepting the incense of lambs and of blemishless he-goats, + Yet it be his high will to remove this misery from us.” + Down sat the prince: he had spoken. And uprose to them in answer + Kalchas Thestor’s son, high chief of the host of the augurs. + Well he knew what is present, what will be, and what was aforetime; + He into Ilion’s harbour had led those ships of Achaia, + All by the Power of the Art, which he gained from Phoebus Apollo. + Thus then, kindliest-hearted, arising spake he before them: + “Peleus’ son! Thou demandest, a man heavenfavor’d, an answer + Touching the Great King’s wrath, the afar-off-aiming Apollo: + Therefore I lift up my voice. Swear thou to me, duly digesting + All,—that with right good will, by word and by deed, thou wilt aid me. + Surely the ire will awaken of one who mightily ruleth + Over the Argives all: and upon him wait the Achaians. + Aye is the battle the king’s, when a poor man kindleth his anger: + For, if but this one day he devour his indignation, + Still on the morrow abideth a rage, that its end be accomplished, + Deep in the soul of the king. So bethink thee, wilt thou deliver.” + Then unto him making answer arose swift-footed Achilles: + “Fearing nought, up and open the god’s will, all that is told thee: + For by Apollo’s self, heaven’s favourite, whom thou, Kalchas, + Serving aright, to the armies aloud God-oracles op’nest: + None—while as yet I breathe upon earth, yet walk in the daylight— + Shall, at the hollow ships, lift hand of oppression against thee, + None out of all yon host—not and if thou said’st Agamemnon, + Who now sits in his glory, the topmost flower of the armies.” + Then did the blameless prophet at last wax valiant and answer: + “Lo! He doth not reprove us of prayer or of oxen unoffered; + But for his servant’s sake, the disdained of king Agamemnon, + (In that he loosed not his daughter, inclined not his ear to a + ransom,)— + Therefore the Far-darter sendeth, and yet shall send on us, evil. + Nor shall he stay from the slaughter the hand that is heavy upon you, + Till to her own dear father the bright-eyed maiden is yielded, + No price asked, no ransom; and ships bear hallowèd oxen + Chryse-wards:—then, it may be, will he shew mercy and hear us.” + These words said, sat he down. Then rose in his place and + addressed them + Atreus’ warrior son, Agamemnon king of the nations, + Sore grieved. Fury was working in each dark cell of his bosom, + And in his eye was a glare as a burning fiery furnace: + First to the priest he addressed him, his whole mien boding a + mischief. + “Priest of ill luck! Never heard I of aught good from thee, but + evil. + Still doth the evil thing unto thee seem sweeter of utt’rance; + Leaving the thing which is good all unspoke, all unaccomplished. + Lo! this day to the people thou say’st, God-oracles opening, + What, but that _I_ am the cause why the god’s hand worketh against + them, + For that in sooth I rejected a ransom, aye and a rich one, + Brought for the girl Briseis. I did. For I chose to possess her, + Rather, at home: less favour hath Clytemnestra before me, + Clytemnestra my wife: unto her Briseis is equal, + Equal in form and in stature, in mind and in womanly wisdom. + Still, even thus, am I ready to yield her, so it be better: + Better is saving alive, I hold, than slaying a nation. + Meanwhile deck me a guerdon in her stead, lest of Achaians + I should alone lack honour; an unmeet thing and a shameful. + See all men, that my guerdon, I wot not whither it goeth.” + Then unto him made answer the swift-foot chieftain Achilles: + “O most vaunting of men, most gain-loving, off-spring of Atreus! + How shall the lords of Achaia bestow fresh guerdon upon thee? + Surely we know not yet of a treasure piled in abundance: + That which the sacking of cities hath brought to us, all hath an + owner, + Yea it were all unfit that the host make redistribution. + Yield thou the maid to the god. So threefold surely and fourfold + All we Greeks will requite thee, should that day dawn, when the great + Gods + Grant that of yon proud walls not one stone rest on another.” + + * * * * * * + + THE END. + + * * * * * + + + + +FOOTNOTES + + +{15a} “The kites know well the long stern swell +That bids the Romans close.” + + MACAULAY. + +{51a} “Poor moralist, and what art thou? +A solitary fly.” + + GRAY. + +{105} In the printed book the translation appears on one page and the +Latin on the facing page. In this transcription the Latin has been moved +to end of the English, hence the strange page numbering on both. + +{145a} _tunicâ pendente_: h. e. ‘suspensâ e brachio.’ Quod +procuratoribus illis valde, ut ferunt, displicebat. Dicunt vero morem a +barbaris tractum, urbem Bosporiam in fl. Iside habitantibus. _Bacciferas +tabernas_: id q. nostri vocant “tobacco-shops.” + +{145b} _herbæ—avenâ_. Duo quasi genera artis poeta videtur distinguere. +‘Weed,’ ‘pipe,’ recte Scaliger. + +{146a} _nil acquirit eundo_. Aqua enim aspera, et radentibus parum +habilis. Immersum hic aliquem et vix aut ne vix quidem extractum refert +schol. + +{146b} _tormenta p. q. mortalia_. Eleganter, ut solet, Peile, +‘unearthly cannons.’ (Cf. Ainaw. D. s. v.) Perrecondita autem est +quæstio de lusibus illorum temporum, neque in Smithii Dict. Class. satis +elucidata. Consule omnino Kentf. de Bill. _Loculis_, bene vertas, +‘pockets.’ + +{147a} _amantem devio_. Quorsum hoc, quærunt Interpretes. Suspicor +equidem respiciendos, vv. 19–23, de precuratoribus. + +{148a} _quadr. rotm_.—_Cami ard. imo_. Quadrando enim rotundum (Ang. +‘squaring the circle’) Camum accendere, juvenes ingenui semper +nitebantur. Fecisse vero quemquam non liquet. + +{148b} _aure caninâ_. Iterum audi Peile, ‘dog’s-eared.’ + +{148c} _rixatore_. non male Heins. cum Aldinâ, ‘wrangler.’ + +{149a} _Mortis_. Verbum generali fere sensu dictum inveni. Suspicor +autem poetam virum quendam innuisse, qui currus, caballos, id genus omne, +mercede non minimâ locaret. + +{149b} _aliessâ quadrâ_. Sunt qui de pileis Academicis accipiunt. +Rapidiores enim suas fere amittebant. Sed judicet sibi lector. + +{149c} _opus tunicæ_, ‘shirt-work.’ Alii _opes_. Perperam. + +{149d} _vestem_. Nota proprietatem verbi. ‘Vest,’ enim apud politos +id. q. vulgo ‘waistcoat’ appellatur. Quod et feminæ usurpahant, ut +hodiernæ, fibula revinctum, teste Virgillo: + + ‘crines nodantur in aurum, + Aurea purpuream subnectit fibula vestem.’ + +{150a} _Basse_. cft. Interpretes illud Horatianum, “Bassum Threicâ +vincat amystide.” Non perspexere viri docti alterum hic alludi, +Anglicanæ originis, neque illum, ut perhibent, a potu aversum. + +{150b} _Ini_. Sic nostri, ‘Go in and win.’ _rebus_, ‘subjects.’ + +{151a} _crebra r. a. stabulum_. “Turn up year after year at the old +diggings, (i. e. the Senate House,) and be plucked,” &c. Peile. Quo +quid jejunius? + +{151b} Classe—Hirudo. Obscurior allusio ad picturam quandam (in +collectione viri, vel plusquam viri, Punchii repositam,) in qua juvenis +custodem stationis moerens alloquitur. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERSES AND TRANSLATIONS*** + + +******* This file should be named 4096-0.txt or 4096-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/0/9/4096 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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