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Calverley</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +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: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERSES AND TRANSLATIONS*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1862 Deighton, Bell, and Co. edition by +David Price, email ccx074@pglag.org</p> +<h1>VERSES<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">AND</span><br /> +TRANSLATIONS.</h1> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">BY C. S. C.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall"><i>SECOND +EDITION</i></span><span class="GutSmall">, </span><span +class="GutSmall"><i>REVISED</i></span><span +class="GutSmall">.</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">CAMBRIDGE:<br /> +DEIGHTON, BELL, AND CO.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">LONDON: BELL AND DALDY.</span><br /> +1862.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="pageiv"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. iv</span><span +class="GutSmall">Cambridge:</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">PRINTED BY JONATHAN PALMER, SIDNEY +STREET.</span></p> +<h2><a name="pagev"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +v</span>CONTENTS.</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">Page</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Visions</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Gemini and Virgo</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page6">6</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>“<span class="smcap">There Stands a +City</span>”</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page14">14</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Striking</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page18">18</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Voices of the Night</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page21">21</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Lines Suggested by the 14th of +February</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page24">24</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A, B, C.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page26">26</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">To Mrs. Goodchild</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Ode—‘On a Distant +Prospect’ of Making a Fortune</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page33">33</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Isabel</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page37">37</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Dirge</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page40">40</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Lines Suggested by the 14th of +February</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page45">45</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>“<span class="smcap">Hic Vir, Hic +Est</span>”</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page47">47</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Beer</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page52">52</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Ode to Tobacco</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page60">60</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Dover to Munich</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page63">63</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Charades</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page77">77</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Proverbial Philosophy</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page97">97</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><a name="pagevi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vi</span>TRANSLATIONS:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> <span class="smcap">Lycidas</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page106">106</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> <span class="smcap">In +Memoriam</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page128">128</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> <span class="smcap">Laura +Matilda’s Dirge</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page132">132</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> “<span class="smcap">Leaves have +their time to Fall</span>”</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page136">136</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> “<span class="smcap">Let us turn +Hitherward our Bark</span>”</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page140">140</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Carmen Sæculare</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page144">144</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> <span class="smcap">To a Ship</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page152">152</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> <span class="smcap">To Virgil</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page154">154</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> <span class="smcap">To the Fountain of +Bandusia</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page156">156</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> <span class="smcap">To Ibycus’s +Wife</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page158">158</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> <span class="smcap">Soracte</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page160">160</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> <span class="smcap">To +Leuconöe</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page162">162</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> <span class="smcap">Juno’s +Speech</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page163">163</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> <span class="smcap">To a Faun</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page168">168</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> <span class="smcap">To Lyce</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page170">170</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> <span class="smcap">To his +Slave</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page172">172</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>TRANSLATIONS:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> <span class="smcap">From +Virgil</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page173">173</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> <span class="smcap">From +Theocritus</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page175">175</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> <span class="smcap">Speech of +Ajax</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page177">177</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> <span class="smcap">From +Lucretius</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page180">180</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> <span class="smcap">From +Homer</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page188">188</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +1</span>VISIONS.</h2> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">“She was a +phantom,” &c.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> lone +Glenartney’s thickets lies couched the lordly stag,<br /> +The dreaming terrier’s tail forgets its customary wag;<br +/> +And plodding ploughmen’s weary steps insensibly grow +quicker,<br /> +As broadening casements light them on towards home, or +home-brewed liquor.</p> +<p class="poetry">It is (in fact) the evening—that pure and +pleasant time,<br /> +When stars break into splendour, and poets into rhyme;<br /> +<a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 2</span>When in the +glass of Memory the forms of loved ones shine—<br /> +And when, of course, Miss Goodchild’s is prominent in +mine.</p> +<p class="poetry">Miss Goodchild!—Julia +Goodchild!—how graciously you smiled<br /> +Upon my childish passion once, yourself a fair-haired child:<br +/> +When I was (no doubt) profiting by Dr. Crabb’s +instruction,<br /> +And sent those streaky lollipops home for your fairy suction!</p> +<p class="poetry">“She wore” her natural +“roses, the night when first we met”—<br /> +Her golden hair was gleaming ’neath the coercive net:<br /> +“Her brow was like the snawdrift,” her step was like +Queen Mab’s,<br /> +<a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span>And gone was +instantly the heart of every boy at Crabb’s.</p> +<p class="poetry">The parlour-boarder chasséed +tow’rds her on graceful limb;<br /> +The onyx decked his bosom—but her smiles were not for +him:<br /> +With <i>me</i> she danced—till drowsily her eyes +“began to blink,”<br /> +And <i>I</i> brought raisin wine, and said, “Drink, pretty +creature, drink!”</p> +<p class="poetry">And evermore, when winter comes in his garb of +snows,<br /> +And the returning schoolboy is told how fast he grows;<br /> +Shall I—with that soft hand in mine—enact ideal +Lancers,<br /> +And dream I hear demure remarks, and make impassioned +answers:—</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +4</span>I know that never, never may her love for me +return—<br /> +At night I muse upon the fact with undisguised concern—<br +/> +But ever shall I bless that day: (I don’t bless, as a +rule,<br /> +The days I spent at “Dr. Crabb’s Preparatory +School.”)</p> +<p class="poetry">And yet—we two <i>may</i> meet +again—(Be still, my throbbing heart!)—<br /> +Now rolling years have weaned us from jam and raspberry +tart:—<br /> +One night I saw a vision—’Twas when musk-roses +bloom<br /> +I stood—<i>we</i> stood—upon a rug, in a sumptuous +dining-room:</p> +<p class="poetry">One hand clasped hers—one easily reposed +upon my hip—<br /> +<a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 5</span>And +“<span class="smcap">Bless ye</span>!” burst abruptly +from Mr. Goodchild’s lip:<br /> +I raised my brimming eye, and saw in hers an answering +gleam—<br /> +My heart beat wildly—and I woke, and lo! it was a +dream.</p> +<h2><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 6</span>GEMINI +AND VIRGO.</h2> +<p class="poetry">Some vast amount of years ago,<br /> + Ere all my youth had vanished from me,<br /> +A boy it was my lot to know,<br /> + Whom his familiar friends called Tommy.</p> +<p class="poetry">I love to gaze upon a child;<br /> + A young bud bursting into blossom;<br /> +Artless, as Eve yet unbeguiled,<br /> + And agile as a young opossum:</p> +<p class="poetry">And such was he. A calm-browed lad,<br /> + Yet mad, at moments, as a hatter:<br /> +Why hatters as a race are mad<br /> + I never knew, nor does it matter.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +7</span>He was what nurses call a ‘limb;’<br /> + One of those small misguided creatures,<br /> +Who, though their intellects are dim,<br /> + Are one too many for their teachers:</p> +<p class="poetry">And, if you asked of him to say<br /> + What twice 10 was, or 3 times 7,<br /> +He’d glance (in quite a placid way)<br /> + From heaven to earth, from earth to heaven:</p> +<p class="poetry">And smile, and look politely round,<br /> + To catch a casual suggestion;<br /> +But make no effort to propound<br /> + Any solution of the question.</p> +<p class="poetry">And so not much esteemed was he<br /> + Of the authorities: and therefore<br /> +He fraternized by chance with me,<br /> + Needing a somebody to care for:</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +8</span>And three fair summers did we twain<br /> + Live (as they say) and love together;<br /> +And bore by turns the wholesome cane<br /> + Till our young skins became as leather:</p> +<p class="poetry">And carved our names on every desk,<br /> + And tore our clothes, and inked our collars;<br /> +And looked unique and picturesque,<br /> + But not, it may be, model scholars.</p> +<p class="poetry">We did much as we chose to do;<br /> + We’d never heard of Mrs. Grundy;<br /> +All the theology we knew<br /> + Was that we mightn’t play on Sunday;</p> +<p class="poetry">And all the general truths, that cakes<br /> + Were to be bought at four a-penny,<br /> +And that excruciating aches<br /> + Resulted if we ate too many:</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +9</span>And seeing ignorance is bliss,<br /> + And wisdom consequently folly,<br /> +The obvious result is this—<br /> + That our two lives were very jolly.</p> +<p class="poetry">At last the separation came.<br /> + Real love, at that time, was the fashion;<br /> +And by a horrid chance, the same<br /> + Young thing was, to us both, a passion.</p> +<p class="poetry">Old <span class="smcap">Poser</span> snorted +like a horse:<br /> + His feet were large, his hands were pimply,<br /> +His manner, when excited, coarse:—<br /> + But Miss P. was an angel simply.</p> +<p class="poetry">She was a blushing gushing thing;<br /> + All—more than all—my fancy painted;<br +/> +Once—when she helped me to a wing<br /> + Of goose—I thought I should have fainted.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +10</span>The people said that she was blue:<br /> + But I was green, and loved her dearly.<br /> +She was approaching thirty-two;<br /> + And I was then eleven, nearly.</p> +<p class="poetry">I did not love as others do;<br /> + (None ever did that I’ve heard tell of;)<br /> +My passion was a byword through<br /> + The town she was, of course, the belle of.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh sweet—as to the toilworn man<br /> + The far-off sound of rippling river;<br /> +As to cadets in Hindostan<br /> + The fleeting remnant of their liver—</p> +<p class="poetry">To me was <span class="smcap">Anna</span>; dear +as gold<br /> + That fills the miser’s sunless coffers;<br /> +As to the spinster, growing old,<br /> + The thought—the dream—that she had +offers.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +11</span>I’d sent her little gifts of fruit;<br /> + I’d written lines to her as Venus;<br /> +I’d sworn unflinchingly to shoot<br /> + The man who dared to come between us:</p> +<p class="poetry">And it was you, my Thomas, you,<br /> + The friend in whom my soul confided,<br /> +Who dared to gaze on her—to do,<br /> + I may say, much the same as I did.</p> +<p class="poetry">One night I <i>saw</i> him squeeze her hand;<br +/> + There was no doubt about the matter;<br /> +I said he must resign, or stand<br /> + My vengeance—and he chose the latter.</p> +<p class="poetry">We met, we ‘planted’ blows on +blows:<br /> + We fought as long as we were able:<br /> +My rival had a bottle-nose,<br /> + And both my speaking eyes were sable.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +12</span>When the school-bell cut short our strife,<br /> + Miss P. gave both of us a plaster;<br /> +And in a week became the wife<br /> + Of Horace Nibbs, the writing-master.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * *</p> +<p class="poetry">I loved her then—I’d love her +still,<br /> + Only one must not love Another’s:<br /> +But thou and I, my Tommy, will,<br /> + When we again meet, meet as brothers.</p> +<p class="poetry">It may be that in age one seeks<br /> + Peace only: that the blood is brisker<br /> +In boy’s veins, than in theirs whose cheeks<br /> + Are partially obscured by whisker;</p> +<p class="poetry">Or that the growing ages steal<br /> + The memories of past wrongs from us.<br /> +But this is certain—that I feel<br /> + Most friendly unto thee, oh Thomas!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +13</span>And wheresoe’er we meet again,<br /> + On this or that side the equator,<br /> +If I’ve not turned teetotaller then,<br /> + And have wherewith to pay the waiter,</p> +<p class="poetry">To thee I’ll drain the modest cup,<br /> + Ignite with thee the mild Havannah;<br /> +And we will waft, while liquoring up,<br /> + Forgiveness to the heartless <span +class="smcap">Anna</span>.</p> +<h2><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +14</span>“There Stands a City.”</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Ingoldsby</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Year</span> by year do +Beauty’s daughters,<br /> + In the sweetest gloves and shawls,<br /> +Troop to taste the Chattenham waters,<br /> + And adorn the Chattenham balls.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘<i>Nulla non donanda lauru</i>’<br +/> + Is that city: you could not,<br /> +Placing England’s map before you,<br /> + Light on a more favoured spot.</p> +<p class="poetry">If no clear translucent river<br /> + Winds ’neath willow-shaded paths,<br /> +“Children and adults” may shiver<br /> + All day in “Chalybeate baths:”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +15</span>If “the inimitable Fechter”<br /> + Never brings the gallery down,<br /> +Constantly “the Great Protector”<br /> + There “rejects the British crown:”</p> +<p class="poetry">And on every side the painter<br /> + Looks on wooded vale and plain<br /> +And on fair hills, faint and fainter<br /> + Outlined as they near the main.</p> +<p class="poetry">There I met with him, my chosen<br /> + Friend—the ‘long’ but not +‘stern swell,’ <a name="citation15a"></a><a +href="#footnote15a" class="citation">[15a]</a><br /> +Faultless in his hats and hosen,<br /> + Whom the Johnian lawns know well:—</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh my comrade, ever valued!<br /> + Still I see your festive face;<br /> +Hear you humming of “the gal you’d<br /> + Left behind” in massive bass:</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +16</span>See you sit with that composure<br /> + On the eeliest of hacks,<br /> +That the novice would suppose your<br /> + Manly limbs encased in wax:</p> +<p class="poetry">Or anon,—when evening lent her<br /> + Tranquil light to hill and vale,—<br /> +Urge, towards the table’s centre,<br /> + With unerring hand, the squail.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah delectablest of summers!<br /> + How my heart—that “muffled +drum”<br /> +Which ignores the aid of drummers—<br /> + Beats, as back thy memories come!</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, among the dancers peerless,<br /> + Fleet of foot, and soft of eye!<br /> +Need I say to you that cheerless<br /> + Must my days be till I die?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +17</span>At my side she mashed the fragrant<br /> + Strawberry; lashes soft as silk<br /> +Drooped o’er saddened eyes, when vagrant<br /> + Gnats sought watery graves in milk:</p> +<p class="poetry">Then we danced, we walked together;<br /> + Talked—no doubt on trivial topics;<br /> +Such as Blondin, or the weather,<br /> + Which “recalled us to the tropics.”</p> +<p class="poetry">But—oh! in the deuxtemps peerless,<br /> + Fleet of foot, and soft of eye!—<br /> +Once more I repeat, that cheerless<br /> + Shall my days be till I die.</p> +<p class="poetry">And the lean and hungry raven,<br /> + As he picks my bones, will start<br /> +To observe ‘M. N.’ engraven<br /> + Neatly on my blighted heart.</p> +<h2><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>STRIKING.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">It</span> was a railway +passenger,<br /> + And he lept out jauntilie.<br /> +“Now up and bear, thou stout portèr,<br /> + My two chattèls to me.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Bring hither, bring hither my bag so +red,<br /> + And portmanteau so brown:<br /> +(They lie in the van, for a trusty man<br /> + He labelled them London town:)</p> +<p class="poetry">“And fetch me eke a cabman bold,<br /> + That I may be his fare, his fare;<br /> +And he shall have a good shilling,<br /> +If by two of the clock he do me bring<br /> + To the Terminus, Euston Square.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +19</span>“Now,—so to thee the saints alway,<br /> + Good gentleman, give luck,—<br /> +As never a cab may I find this day,<br /> + For the cabman wights have struck:<br /> +And now, I wis, at the Red Post Inn,<br /> + Or else at the Dog and Duck,<br /> +Or at Unicorn Blue, or at Green Griffin,<br /> +The nut-brown ale and the fine old gin<br /> + Right pleasantly they do suck.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now rede me aright, thou stout +portèr,<br /> + What were it best that I should do:<br /> +For woe is me, an I reach not there<br /> + Or ever the clock strike two.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“I have a son, a lytel son;<br /> + Fleet is his foot as the wild roebuck’s:<br /> +Give him a shilling, and eke a brown,<br /> +And he shall carry thy chattels down,<br /> +<a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 20</span>To Euston, +or half over London town,<br /> + On one of the station trucks.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then forth in a hurry did they twain fare,<br +/> +The gent, and the son of the stout portèr,<br /> +Who fled like an arrow, nor turned a hair,<br /> + Through all the mire and muck:<br /> +“A ticket, a ticket, sir clerk, I pray:<br /> +For by two of the clock must I needs away.”<br /> +“That may hardly be,” the clerk did say,<br /> + “For indeed—the clocks have +struck.”</p> +<h2><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 21</span>VOICES +OF THE NIGHT.</h2> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">“The tender Grace +of a day that is past.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> dew is on the +roses,<br /> + The owl hath spread her wing;<br /> +And vocal are the noses<br /> + Of peasant and of king:<br /> +“Nature” (in short) “reposes;”<br /> + But I do no such thing.</p> +<p class="poetry">Pent in my lonesome study<br /> + Here I must sit and muse;<br /> +Sit till the morn grows ruddy,<br /> + Till, rising with the dews,<br /> +“Jeameses” remove the muddy<br /> + Spots from their masters’ shoes.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>Yet are sweet faces flinging<br /> + Their witchery o’er me here:<br /> +I hear sweet voices singing<br /> + A song as soft, as clear,<br /> +As (previously to stinging)<br /> + A gnat sings round one’s ear.</p> +<p class="poetry">Does Grace draw young Apollos<br /> + In blue mustachios still?<br /> +Does Emma tell the swallows<br /> + How she will pipe and trill,<br /> +When, some fine day, she follows<br /> + Those birds to the window-sill?</p> +<p class="poetry">And oh! has Albert faded<br /> + From Grace’s memory yet?<br /> +Albert, whose “brow was shaded<br /> + By locks of glossiest jet,”<br /> +Whom almost any lady’d<br /> + Have given her eyes to get?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +23</span>Does not her conscience smite her<br /> + For one who hourly pines,<br /> +Thinking her bright eyes brighter<br /> + Than any star that shines—<br /> +I mean of course the writer<br /> + Of these pathetic lines?</p> +<p class="poetry">Who knows? As quoth Sir Walter,<br /> + “Time rolls his ceaseless course:<br /> +“The Grace of yore” may alter—<br /> + And then, I’ve one resource:<br /> +I’ll invest in a bran-new halter,<br /> + And I’ll perish without remorse.</p> +<h2><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>LINES +SUGGESTED BY THE FOURTEENTH OF FEBRUARY.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Ere</span> the morn the +East has crimsoned,<br /> + When the stars are twinkling there,<br /> +(As they did in Watts’s Hymns, and<br /> + Made him wonder what they were:)<br /> +When the forest-nymphs are beading<br /> + Fern and flower with silvery dew—<br /> +My infallible proceeding<br /> + Is to wake, and think of you.</p> +<p class="poetry">When the hunter’s ringing bugle<br /> + Sounds farewell to field and copse,<br /> +And I sit before my frugal<br /> + Meal of gravy-soup and chops:<br /> +When (as Gray remarks) “the moping<br /> + Owl doth to the moon complain,”<br /> +<a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 25</span>And the +hour suggests eloping—<br /> + Fly my thoughts to you again.</p> +<p class="poetry">May my dreams be granted never?<br /> + Must I aye endure affliction<br /> +Rarely realised, if ever,<br /> + In our wildest works of fiction?<br /> +Madly Romeo loved his Juliet;<br /> + Copperfield began to pine<br /> +When he hadn’t been to school yet—<br /> + But their loves were cold to mine.</p> +<p class="poetry">Give me hope, the least, the dimmest,<br /> + Ere I drain the poisoned cup:<br /> +Tell me I may tell the chymist<br /> + Not to make that arsenic up!<br /> +Else, this heart shall soon cease throbbing;<br /> + And when, musing o’er my bones,<br /> +Travellers ask, “Who killed Cock Robin?”<br /> +They’ll be told, “Miss Sarah J—s.”</p> +<h2><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>A, B, +C.</h2> +<p class="poetry">A is an Angel of blushing eighteen:<br /> +B is the Ball where the Angel was seen:<br /> +C is her Chaperone, who cheated at cards:<br /> +D is the Deuxtemps, with Frank of the Guards:<br /> +E is the Eye which those dark lashes cover:<br /> +F is the Fan it peeped wickedly over:<br /> +G is the Glove of superlative kid:<br /> +H is the Hand which it spitefully hid:<br /> +I is the Ice which spent nature demanded:<br /> +J is the Juvenile who hurried to hand it:<br /> +K is the Kerchief, a rare work of art:<br /> +L is the Lace which composed the chief part.<br /> +M is the old Maid who watch’d the girls dance:<br /> +N is the Nose she turned up at each glance:<br /> +<a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>O is the +Olga (just then in its prime):<br /> +P is the Partner who wouldn’t keep time:<br /> +Q ’s a Quadrille, put instead of the Lancers:<br /> +R the Remonstrances made by the dancers:<br /> +S is the Supper, where all went in pairs:<br /> +T is the Twaddle they talked on the stairs:<br /> +U is the Uncle who ‘thought we’d be going’:<br +/> +V is the Voice which his niece replied ‘No’ in:<br /> +W is the Waiter, who sat up till eight:<br /> +X is his Exit, not rigidly straight:<br /> +Y is a Yawning fit caused by the Ball:<br /> +Z stands for Zero, or nothing at all.</p> +<h2><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>TO +MRS. GOODCHILD.</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">The</span> night-wind’s shriek is pitiless +and hollow,<br /> + The boding bat flits by on sullen +wing,<br /> + And I sit desolate, like that “one +swallow”<br /> + Who found (with horror) that +he’d not brought spring:<br /> + Lonely as he who erst with venturous thumb<br /> +Drew from its pie-y lair the solitary plum.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And to my gaze the phantoms +of the Past,<br /> + The cherished fictions of my +boyhood, rise:<br /> + I see Red Ridinghood observe, aghast,<br /> + The fixed expression of her +grandam’s eyes;<br /> + I hear the fiendish chattering and chuckling<br /> +Which those misguided fowls raised at the Ugly Duckling.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page29"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 29</span>The House that Jack built—and +the Malt that lay<br /> + Within the House—the Rat +that ate the Malt—<br /> + The Cat, that in that sanguinary way<br /> + Punished the poor thing for its +venial fault—<br /> + The Worrier-Dog—the Cow with Crumpled +horn—<br /> +And then—ah yes! and then—the Maiden all forlorn!</p> +<p class="poetry"> O Mrs. Gurton—(may I +call thee Gammer?)<br /> + Thou more than mother to my infant +mind!<br /> + I loved thee better than I loved my +grammar—<br /> + I used to wonder why the Mice were +blind,<br /> + And who was gardener to Mistress Mary,<br /> +And what—I don’t know still—was meant by +“quite contrary”?</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Tota contraria,” +an “<i>Arundo Cami</i>”<br /> + Has phrased it—which is +possibly explicit,<br /> + Ingenious certainly—but all the same I<br /> + Still ask, when coming on the +word, ‘What is it?’<br /> + <a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +30</span>There were more things in Mrs. Gurton’s eye,<br /> +Mayhap, than are dreamed of in our philosophy.</p> +<p class="poetry"> No doubt the Editor of +‘Notes and Queries’<br /> + Or ‘Things not generally +known’ could tell<br /> + That word’s real force—my only lurking +fear is<br /> + That the great Gammer “didna +ken hersel”:<br /> + (I’ve precedent, yet feel I owe apology<br /> +For passing in this way to Scottish phraseology).</p> +<p class="poetry"> Alas, dear Madam, I must ask +your pardon<br /> + For making this unwarranted +digression,<br /> + Starting (I think) from Mistress Mary’s +garden:—<br /> + And beg to send, with every +expression<br /> + Of personal esteem, a Book of Rhymes,<br /> +For Master G. to read at miscellaneous times.</p> +<p class="poetry"> There is a youth, who keeps a +‘crumpled Horn,’<br /> + (Living next me, upon the selfsame +story,)<br /> + And ever, ’twixt the midnight and the morn,<br +/> + <a name="page31"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 31</span>He solaces his soul with Annie +Laurie.<br /> + The tune is good; the habit p’raps +romantic;<br /> +But tending, if pursued, to drive one’s neighbours +frantic.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And now,—at this +unprecedented hour,<br /> + When the young Dawn is +“trampling out the stars,”—<br /> + I hear that youth—with more than usual +power<br /> + And pathos—struggling with +the first few bars.<br /> + And I do think the amateur cornopean<br /> +Should be put down by law—but that’s perhaps +Utopian.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Who knows what “things +unknown” I might have “bodied<br /> + Forth,” if not checked by +that absurd Too-too?<br /> + But don’t I know that when my friend has +plodded<br /> + <a name="page32"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 32</span>Through the first verse, the second +will ensue?<br /> + Considering which, dear Madam, I will merely<br /> +Send the aforesaid book—and am yours most sincerely.</p> +<h2><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +33</span>ODE—‘ON A DISTANT PROSPECT’ OF MAKING +A FORTUNE.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span> the “rosy +morn appearing”<br /> + Floods with light the dazzled heaven;<br /> +And the schoolboy groans on hearing<br /> + That eternal clock strike seven:—<br /> +Now the waggoner is driving<br /> + Towards the fields his clattering wain;<br /> +Now the bluebottle, reviving,<br /> + Buzzes down his native pane.</p> +<p class="poetry">But to me the morn is hateful:<br /> + Wearily I stretch my legs,<br /> +Dress, and settle to my plateful<br /> + Of (perhaps inferior) eggs.<br /> +Yesterday Miss Crump, by message,<br /> + Mentioned “rent,” which +“p’raps I’d pay;”<br /> +<a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>And I have +a dismal presage<br /> + That she’ll call, herself, to-day.</p> +<p class="poetry">Once, I breakfasted off rosewood,<br /> + Smoked through silver-mounted pipes—<br /> +Then how my patrician nose would<br /> + Turn up at the thought of “swipes!”<br +/> +Ale,—occasionally claret,—<br /> + Graced my luncheon then:—and now<br /> +I drink porter in a garret,<br /> + To be paid for heaven knows how.</p> +<p class="poetry">When the evening shades are deepened,<br /> + And I doff my hat and gloves,<br /> +No sweet bird is there to “cheep and<br /> + Twitter twenty million loves:”<br /> +No dark-ringleted canaries<br /> + Sing to me of “hungry foam;”<br /> +No imaginary “Marys”<br /> + Call fictitious “cattle home.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +35</span>Araminta, sweetest, fairest!<br /> + Solace once of every ill!<br /> +How I wonder if thou bearest<br /> + Mivins in remembrance still!<br /> +If that Friday night is banished<br /> + Yet from that retentive mind,<br /> +When the others somehow vanished,<br /> + And we two were left behind:—</p> +<p class="poetry">When in accents low, yet thrilling,<br /> + I did all my love declare;<br /> +Mentioned that I’d not a shilling—<br /> + Hinted that we need not care:<br /> +And complacently you listened<br /> + To my somewhat long address—<br /> +(Listening, at the same time, isn’t<br /> + Quite the same as saying Yes).</p> +<p class="poetry">Once, a happy child, I carolled<br /> + O’er green lawns the whole day through,<br /> +<a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>Not +unpleasingly apparelled<br /> + In a tightish suit of blue:—<br /> +What a change has now passed o’er me!<br /> + Now with what dismay I see<br /> +Every rising morn before me!<br /> + Goodness gracious, patience me!</p> +<p class="poetry">And I’ll prowl, a moodier Lara,<br /> + Through the world, as prowls the bat,<br /> +And habitually wear a<br /> + Cypress wreath around my hat:<br /> +And when Death snuffs out the taper<br /> + Of my Life, (as soon he must),<br /> +I’ll send up to every paper,<br /> + “Died, T. Mivins; of disgust.”</p> +<h2><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +37</span>ISABEL.</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Now</span> o’er the landscape crowd the +deepening shades,<br /> + And the shut lily cradles not the bee;<br /> +The red deer couches in the forest glades,<br /> + And faint the echoes of the slumberous sea:<br /> + And ere I rest, one prayer I’ll breathe for +thee,<br /> +The sweet Egeria of my lonely dreams:<br /> + Lady, forgive, that ever upon me<br /> + Thoughts of thee linger, as the soft starbeams<br /> +Linger on Merlin’s rock, or dark Sabrina’s +streams.</p> +<p class="poetry"> On gray Pilatus once we loved +to stray,<br /> + And watch far off the glimmering roselight break<br +/> +O’er the dim mountain-peaks, ere yet one ray<br /> + Pierced the deep bosom of the mist-clad lake.<br /> + <a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +38</span>Oh! who felt not new life within him wake,<br /> +And his pulse quicken, and his spirit burn—<br /> + (Save one we wot of, whom the cold <i>did</i> +make<br /> +Feel “shooting pains in every joint in turn,”)<br /> +When first he saw the sun gild thy green shores, Lucerne?</p> +<p class="poetry"> And years have past, and I +have gazed once more<br /> + On blue lakes glistening beneath mountains blue;<br +/> +And all seemed sadder, lovelier than before—<br /> + For all awakened memories of you.<br /> + Oh! had I had you by my side, in lieu<br /> +Of that red matron,<sub> </sub>whom the flies would worry,<br /> + (Flies in those parts unfortunately do,)<br /> +Who walked so slowly, talked in such a hurry,<br /> +And with such wild contempt for stops and Lindley Murray!</p> +<p class="poetry">O Isabel, the brightest, heavenliest theme<br +/> + That ere drew dreamer on to poësy,<br /> +<a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>Since +“Peggy’s locks” made Burns neglect his team,<br +/> + And Stella’s smile lured Johnson from his +tea—<br /> + I may not tell thee what thou art to me!<br /> +But ever dwells the soft voice in my ear,<br /> + Whispering of what Time is, what Man might be,<br /> + Would he but “do the duty that lies +near,”<br /> +And cut clubs, cards, champagne, balls, billiard-rooms, and +beer.</p> +<h2><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +40</span>DIRGE.</h2> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">“Dr. +Birch’s young friends will reassemble to-day, Feb. +1st.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">White</span> is the wold, +and ghostly<br /> + The dank and leafless trees;<br /> +And ‘M’s and ‘N’s are mostly<br /> + Pronounced like ‘B’s and +‘D’s:<br /> +’Neath bleak sheds, ice-encrusted,<br /> + The sheep stands, mute and stolid:<br /> +And ducks find out, disgusted,<br /> + That all the ponds are solid.</p> +<p class="poetry">Many a stout steer’s work is<br /> + (At least in this world) finished;<br /> +The gross amount of turkies<br /> + Is sensibly diminished:<br /> +The holly-boughs are faded,<br /> + The painted crackers gone;<br /> +<a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>Would I +could write, as Gray did,<br /> + An Elegy thereon!</p> +<p class="poetry">For Christmas-time is ended:<br /> + Now is “our youth” regaining<br /> +Those sweet spots where are “blended<br /> + Home-comforts and school-training.”<br /> +Now they’re, I dare say, venting<br /> + Their grief in transient sobs,<br /> +And I am “left lamenting”<br /> + At home, with Mrs. Dobbs.</p> +<p class="poetry">O Posthumus! “Fugaces<br /> + Labuntur anni” still;<br /> +Time robs us of our graces,<br /> + Evade him as we will.<br /> +We were the twins of Siam:<br /> + Now <i>she</i> thinks <i>me</i> a bore,<br /> +And I admit that <i>I</i> am<br /> + Inclined at times to snore.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +42</span>I was her own Nathaniel;<br /> + With her I took sweet counsel,<br /> +Brought seed-cake for her spaniel,<br /> + And kept her bird in groundsel:<br /> +We’ve murmured, “How delightful<br /> +A landscape, seen by night, is,”—<br /> + And woke next day in frightful<br /> + Pain from acute bronchitis.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * *</p> +<p class="poetry">But ah! for them, whose laughter<br /> + We heard last New Year’s Day,—<br /> +(They reeked not of Hereafter,<br /> + Or what the Doctor’d say,)—<br /> +For those small forms that fluttered<br /> + Moth-like around the plate,<br /> +When Sally brought the buttered<br /> + Buns in at half-past eight!</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah for the altered visage<br /> + Of her, our tiny Belle,<br /> +<a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>Whom my +boy Gus (at his age!)<br /> + Said was a “deuced swell!”<br /> +P’raps now Miss Tickler’s tocsin<br /> + Has caged that pert young linnet;<br /> +Old Birch perhaps is boxing<br /> + My Gus’s ears this minute.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet, though your young ears be as<br /> + Red as mamma’s geraniums,<br /> +Yet grieve not! Thus ideas<br /> + Pass into infant craniums.<br /> +Use not complaints unseemly;<br /> + Tho’ you must work like bricks;<br /> +And it <i>is</i> cold, extremely,<br /> + Rising at half-past six.</p> +<p class="poetry">Soon sunnier will the day grow,<br /> + And the east wind not blow so;<br /> +Soon, as of yore, L’Allegro<br /> + Succeed Il Penseroso:<br /> +<a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>Stick to +your Magnall’s Questions<br /> + And Long Division sums;<br /> +And come—with good digestions—<br /> + Home when next Christmas comes.</p> +<h2><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 45</span>LINES +SUGGESTED BY THE FOURTEENTH OF FEBRUARY.</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Darkness</span> succeeds to twilight:<br /> + Through lattice and through skylight<br /> +The stars no doubt, if one looked out,<br /> + Might be observed to shine:<br /> + And sitting by the embers<br /> + I elevate my members<br /> +On a stray chair, and then and there<br /> + Commence a Valentine.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Yea! by St. Valentinus,<br /> + Emma shall not be minus<br /> +What all young ladies, whate’er their grade is,<br /> + Expect to-day no doubt:<br /> + Emma the fair, the stately—<br /> + Whom I beheld so lately,<br /> +<a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>Smiling +beneath the snow-white wreath<br /> + Which told that she was +“out.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Wherefore fly to her, +swallow,<br /> + And mention that I’d “follow,”<br +/> +And “pipe and trill,” et cetera, till<br /> + I died, had I but wings:<br /> + Say the North’s “true and +tender,”<br /> + The South an old offender;<br /> +And hint in fact, with your well-known tact,<br /> + All kinds of pretty things.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Say I grow hourly thinner,<br +/> + Simply abhor my dinner—<br /> +Tho’ I do try and absorb some viand<br /> + Each day, for form’s sake +merely:<br /> + And ask her, when all’s ended,<br /> + And I am found extended,<br /> +With vest blood-spotted and cut carotid,<br /> + To think on Her’s +sincerely.</p> +<h2><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +47</span>“HIC <i>VIR</i>, HIC EST.”</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Often</span>, when +o’er tree and turret,<br /> + Eve a dying radiance flings,<br /> +By that ancient pile I linger<br /> + Known familiarly as “King’s.”<br +/> +And the ghosts of days departed<br /> + Rise, and in my burning breast<br /> +All the undergraduate wakens,<br /> + And my spirit is at rest.</p> +<p class="poetry">What, but a revolting fiction,<br /> + Seems the actual result<br /> +Of the Census’s enquiries<br /> + Made upon the 15th ult.?<br /> +Still my soul is in its boyhood;<br /> + Nor of year or changes recks.<br /> +<a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>Though my +scalp is almost hairless,<br /> + And my figure grows convex.</p> +<p class="poetry">Backward moves the kindly dial;<br /> + And I’m numbered once again<br /> +With those noblest of their species<br /> + Called emphatically ‘Men’:<br /> +Loaf, as I have loafed aforetime,<br /> + Through the streets, with tranquil mind,<br /> +And a long-backed fancy-mongrel<br /> + Trailing casually behind:</p> +<p class="poetry">Past the Senate-house I saunter,<br /> + Whistling with an easy grace;<br /> +Past the cabbage-stalks that carpet<br /> + Still the beefy market-place;<br /> +Poising evermore the eye-glass<br /> + In the light sarcastic eye,<br /> +Lest, by chance, some breezy nursemaid<br /> + Pass, without a tribute, by.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +49</span>Once, an unassuming Freshman,<br /> + Through these wilds I wandered on,<br /> +Seeing in each house a College,<br /> + Under every cap a Don:<br /> +Each perambulating infant<br /> + Had a magic in its squall,<br /> +For my eager eye detected<br /> + Senior Wranglers in them all.</p> +<p class="poetry">By degrees my education<br /> + Grew, and I became as others;<br /> +Learned to court delirium tremens<br /> + By the aid of Bacon Brothers;<br /> +Bought me tiny boots of Mortlock,<br /> + And colossal prints of Roe;<br /> +And ignored the proposition<br /> + That both time and money go.</p> +<p class="poetry">Learned to work the wary dogcart<br /> + Artfully through King’s Parade;<br /> +<a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>Dress, and +steer a boat, and sport with<br /> + Amaryllis in the shade:<br /> +Struck, at Brown’s, the dashing hazard;<br /> + Or (more curious sport than that)<br /> +Dropped, at Callaby’s, the terrier<br /> + Down upon the prisoned rat.</p> +<p class="poetry">I have stood serene on Fenner’s<br /> + Ground, indifferent to blisters,<br /> +While the Buttress of the period<br /> + Bowled me his peculiar twisters:<br /> +Sung ‘We won’t go home till morning’;<br /> + Striven to part my backhair straight;<br /> +Drunk (not lavishly) of Miller’s<br /> + Old dry wines at 78:—</p> +<p class="poetry">When within my veins the blood ran,<br /> + And the curls were on my brow,<br /> +I did, oh ye undergraduates,<br /> + Much as ye are doing now.<br /> +<a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>Wherefore +bless ye, O beloved ones:—<br /> + Now unto mine inn must I,<br /> +Your ‘poor moralist,’ <a name="citation51a"></a><a +href="#footnote51a" class="citation">[51a]</a> betake me,<br /> + In my ‘solitary fly.’</p> +<h2><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +52</span>BEER.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> those old days +which poets say were golden—<br /> + (Perhaps they laid the gilding on themselves:<br /> +And, if they did, I’m all the more beholden<br /> + To those brown dwellers in my dusty shelves,<br /> +Who talk to me “in language quaint and olden”<br /> + Of gods and demigods and fauns and elves,<br /> +Pans with his pipes, and Bacchus with his leopards,<br /> +And staid young goddesses who flirt with shepherds:)</p> +<p class="poetry">In those old days, the Nymph called +Etiquette<br /> + (Appalling thought to dwell on) was not born.<br /> +They had their May, but no Mayfair as yet,<br /> + No fashions varying as the hues of morn.<br /> +<a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>Just as +they pleased they dressed and drank and ate,<br /> + Sang hymns to Ceres (their John Barleycorn)<br /> +And danced unchaperoned, and laughed unchecked,<br /> +And were no doubt extremely incorrect.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet do I think their theory was pleasant:<br /> + And oft, I own, my ‘wayward fancy +roams’<br /> +Back to those times, so different from the present;<br /> + When no one smoked cigars, nor gave At-homes,<br /> +Nor smote a billiard-ball, nor winged a pheasant,<br /> + Nor ‘did’ their hair by means of +long-tailed combs,<br /> +Nor migrated to Brighton once a-year,<br /> +Nor—most astonishing of all—drank Beer.</p> +<p class="poetry">No, they did not drink Beer, “which +brings me to”<br /> + (As Gilpin said) “the middle of my +song.”<br /> +Not that “the middle” is precisely true,<br /> + Or else I should not tax your patience long:<br /> +If I had said ‘beginning,’ it might do;<br /> + But I have a dislike to quoting wrong:<br /> +<a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>I was +unlucky—sinned against, not sinning—<br /> +When Cowper wrote down ‘middle’ for +‘beginning.’</p> +<p class="poetry">So to proceed. That abstinence from +Malt<br /> + Has always struck me as extremely curious.<br /> +The Greek mind must have had some vital fault,<br /> + That they should stick to liquors so +injurious—<br /> +(Wine, water, tempered p’raps with Attic salt)—<br /> + And not at once invent that mild, luxurious,<br /> +And artful beverage, Beer. How the digestion<br /> +Got on without it, is a startling question.</p> +<p class="poetry">Had they digestions? and an actual body<br /> + Such as dyspepsia might make attacks on?<br /> +Were they abstract ideas—(like Tom Noddy<br /> + And Mr. Briggs)—or men, like Jones and +Jackson?<br /> +Then Nectar—was that beer, or whiskey-toddy?<br /> + Some say the Gaelic mixture, <i>I</i> the Saxon:<br +/> +I think a strict adherence to the latter<br /> +Might make some Scots less pigheaded, and fatter.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +55</span>Besides, Bon Gaultier definitely shews<br /> + That the real beverage for feasting gods on<br /> +Is a soft compound, grateful to the nose<br /> + And also to the palate, known as +‘Hodgson.’<br /> +I know a man—a tailor’s son—who rose<br /> + To be a peer: and this I would lay odds on,<br /> +(Though in his Memoirs it may not appear,)<br /> +That that man owed his rise to copious Beer.</p> +<p class="poetry">O Beer! O Hodgson, Guinness, Allsop, +Bass!<br /> + Names that should be on every infant’s +tongue!<br /> +Shall days and months and years and centuries pass,<br /> + And still your merits be unrecked, unsung?<br /> +Oh! I have gazed into my foaming glass,<br /> + And wished that lyre could yet again be strung<br /> +Which once rang prophet-like through Greece, and taught her<br /> +Misguided sons that “the best drink was water.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +56</span>How would he now recant that wild opinion,<br /> + And sing—as would that I could sing—of +you!<br /> +I was not born (alas!) the “Muses’ minion,”<br +/> + I’m not poetical, not even blue:<br /> +And he (we know) but strives with waxen pinion,<br /> + Whoe’er he is that entertains the view<br /> +Of emulating Pindar, and will be<br /> +Sponsor at last to some now nameless sea.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! when the green slopes of Arcadia burned<br +/> + With all the lustre of the dying day,<br /> +And on Cithæron’s brow the reaper turned,<br /> + (Humming, of course, in his delightful way,<br /> +How Lycidas was dead, and how concerned<br /> + The Nymphs were when they saw his lifeless clay;<br +/> +And how rock told to rock the dreadful story<br /> +That poor young Lycidas was gone to glory:)</p> +<p class="poetry">What would that lone and labouring soul have +given,<br /> + At that soft moment, for a pewter pot!<br /> +<a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>How had +the mists that dimmed his eye been riven,<br /> + And Lycidas and sorrow all forgot!<br /> +If his own grandmother had died unshriven,<br /> + In two short seconds he’d have recked it +not;<br /> +Such power hath Beer. The heart which Grief hath +canker’d<br /> +Hath one unfailing remedy—the Tankard.</p> +<p class="poetry">Coffee is good, and so no doubt is cocoa;<br /> + Tea did for Johnson and the Chinamen:<br /> +When ‘Dulce et desipere in loco’<br /> + Was written, real Falernian winged the pen.<br /> +When a rapt audience has encored ‘Fra Poco’<br /> + Or ‘Casta Diva,’ I have heard that +then<br /> +The Prima Donna, smiling herself out,<br /> +Recruits her flagging powers with bottled stout.</p> +<p class="poetry">But what is coffee, but a noxious berry,<br /> + Born to keep used-up Londoners awake?<br /> +<a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 58</span>What is +Falernian, what is Port or Sherry,<br /> + But vile concoctions to make dull heads ache?<br /> +Nay stout itself—(though good with oysters, very)—<br +/> + Is not a thing your reading man should take.<br /> +He that would shine, and petrify his tutor,<br /> +Should drink draught Allsop in its “native +pewter.”</p> +<p class="poetry">But hark! a sound is stealing on my +ear—<br /> + A soft and silvery sound—I know it well.<br /> +Its tinkling tells me that a time is near<br /> + Precious to me—it is the Dinner Bell.<br /> +O blessed Bell! Thou bringest beef and beer,<br /> + Thou bringest good things more than tongue may +tell:<br /> +Seared is (of course) my heart—but unsubdued<br /> +Is, and shall be, my appetite for food.</p> +<p class="poetry">I go. Untaught and feeble is my pen:<br +/> + But on one statement I may safely venture;<br /> +<a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span>That few +of our most highly gifted men<br /> + Have more appreciation of the trencher.<br /> +I go. One pound of British beef, and then<br /> + What Mr. Swiveller called a “modest +quencher;”<br /> +That home-returning, I may ‘soothly say,’<br /> +“Fate cannot touch me: I have dined to-day.”</p> +<h2><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span>ODE TO +TOBACCO.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Thou</span> who, when fears +attack,<br /> +Bid’st them avaunt, and Black<br /> +Care, at the horseman’s back<br /> + Perching, unseatest;<br /> +Sweet when the morn is grey;<br /> +Sweet, when they’ve cleared away<br /> +Lunch; and at close of day<br /> + Possibly sweetest:</p> +<p class="poetry">I have a liking old<br /> +For thee, though manifold<br /> +Stories, I know, are told,<br /> + Not to thy credit;<br /> +<a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 61</span>How one +(or two at most)<br /> +Drops make a cat a ghost—<br /> +Useless, except to roast—<br /> + Doctors have said it:</p> +<p class="poetry">How they who use fusees<br /> +All grow by slow degrees<br /> +Brainless as chimpanzees,<br /> + Meagre as lizards;<br /> +Go mad, and beat their wives;<br /> +Plunge (after shocking lives)<br /> +Razors and carving knives<br /> + Into their gizzards.</p> +<p class="poetry">Confound such knavish tricks!<br /> +Yet know I five or six<br /> +Smokers who freely mix<br /> + Still with their neighbours;<br /> +Jones—who, I’m glad to say,<br /> +<a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>Asked +leave of Mrs. J.)—<br /> +Daily absorbs a clay<br /> + After his labours.</p> +<p class="poetry">Cats may have had their goose<br /> +Cooked by tobacco-juice;<br /> +Still why deny its use<br /> + Thoughtfully taken?<br /> +We’re not as tabbies are:<br /> +Smith, take a fresh cigar!<br /> +Jones, the tobacco-jar!<br /> + Here’s to thee, Bacon!</p> +<h2><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 63</span>DOVER +TO MUNICH.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Farewell</span>, +farewell! Before our prow<br /> + Leaps in white foam the noisy channel,<br /> +A tourist’s cap is on my brow,<br /> + My legs are cased in tourists’ flannel:</p> +<p class="poetry">Around me gasp the invalids—<br /> + (The quantity to-night is fearful)—<br /> +I take a brace or so of weeds,<br /> + And feel (as yet) extremely cheerful.</p> +<p class="poetry">The night wears on:—my thirst I quench<br +/> + With one imperial pint of porter;<br /> +Then drop upon a casual bench—<br /> + (The bench is short, but I am shorter)—</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +64</span>Place ’neath my head the <i>harve-sac</i><br /> + Which I have stowed my little all in,<br /> +And sleep, though moist about the back,<br /> + Serenely in an old tarpaulin.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * *</p> +<p class="poetry">Bed at Ostend at 5 <span +class="GutSmall">A.M.</span><br /> + Breakfast at 6, and train 6.30.<br /> +Tickets to Königswinter (mem.<br /> + The seats objectionably dirty).</p> +<p class="poetry">And onward through those dreary flats<br /> + We move, with scanty space to sit on,<br /> +Flanked by stout girls with steeple hats,<br /> + And waists that paralyse a Briton;—</p> +<p class="poetry">By many a tidy little town,<br /> + Where tidy little Fraus sit knitting;<br /> +(The men’s pursuits are, lying down,<br /> + Smoking perennial pipes, and spitting;)</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +65</span>And doze, and execrate the heat,<br /> + And wonder how far off Cologne is,<br /> +And if we shall get aught to eat,<br /> + Till we get there, save raw polonies:</p> +<p class="poetry">Until at last the “grey old +pile”<br /> + Is seen, is past, and three hours later<br /> +We’re ordering steaks, and talking vile<br /> + Mock-German to an Austrian waiter.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * *</p> +<p class="poetry">Königswinter, hateful +Königswinter!<br /> + Burying-place of all I loved so well!<br /> +Never did the most extensive printer<br /> + Print a tale so dark as thou could’st +tell!</p> +<p class="poetry">In the sapphire West the eve yet lingered,<br +/> + Bathed in kindly light those hill-tops cold;<br /> +Fringed each cloud, and, stooping rosy-fingered,<br /> + Changed Rhine’s waters into molten +gold;—</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +66</span>While still nearer did his light waves splinter<br /> + Into silvery shafts the streaming light;<br /> +And I said I loved thee, Königswinter,<br /> + For the glory that was thine that night.</p> +<p class="poetry">And we gazed, till slowly disappearing,<br /> + Like a day-dream, passed the pageant by,<br /> +And I saw but those lone hills, uprearing<br /> + Dull dark shapes against a hueless sky.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then I turned, and on those bright hopes +pondered<br /> + Whereof yon gay fancies were the type;<br /> +And my hand mechanically wandered<br /> + Towards my left-hand pocket for a pipe.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah! why starts each eyeball from its socket,<br +/> + As, in Hamlet, start the guilty Queen’s?<br /> +There, deep-hid in its accustomed pocket,<br /> + Lay my sole pipe, smashed to smithereens!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * *</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +67</span>On, on the vessel steals;<br /> +Round go the paddle-wheels,<br /> +And now the tourist feels<br /> + As he should;<br /> +For king-like rolls the Rhine,<br /> +And the scenery’s divine,<br /> +And the victuals and the wine<br /> + Rather good.</p> +<p class="poetry">From every crag we pass’ll<br /> +Rise up some hoar old castle;<br /> +The hanging fir-groves tassel<br /> + Every slope;<br /> +And the vine her lithe arms stretches<br /> +O’er peasants singing catches—<br /> +And you’ll make no end of sketches,<br /> + I should hope.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +68</span>We’ve a nun here (called Therèse),<br /> +Two couriers out of place,<br /> +One Yankee, with a face<br /> + Like a ferret’s:<br /> +And three youths in scarlet caps<br /> +Drinking chocolate and schnapps—<br /> +A diet which perhaps<br /> + Has its merits.</p> +<p class="poetry">And day again declines:<br /> +In shadow sleep the vines,<br /> +And the last ray through the pines<br /> + Feebly glows,<br /> +Then sinks behind yon ridge;<br /> +And the usual evening midge<br /> +Is settling on the bridge<br /> + Of my nose.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +69</span>And keen’s the air and cold,<br /> +And the sheep are in the fold,<br /> +And Night walks sable-stoled<br /> + Through the trees;<br /> +And on the silent river<br /> +The floating starbeams quiver;—<br /> +And now, the saints deliver<br /> + Us from fleas.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * *</p> +<p class="poetry">Avenues of broad white houses,<br /> + Basking in the noontide glare;—<br /> +Streets, which foot of traveller shrinks from,<br /> + As on hot plates shrinks the bear;—</p> +<p class="poetry">Elsewhere lawns, and vista’d gardens,<br +/> + Statues white, and cool arcades,<br /> +Where at eve the German warrior<br /> + Winks upon the German maids;—</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +70</span>Such is Munich:—broad and stately,<br /> + Rich of hue, and fair of form;<br /> +But, towards the end of August,<br /> + Unequivocally <i>warm</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">There, the long dim galleries threading,<br /> + May the artist’s eye behold,<br /> +Breathing from the “deathless canvass”<br /> + Records of the years of old:</p> +<p class="poetry">Pallas there, and Jove, and Juno,<br /> + “Take” once more “their walks +abroad,”<br /> +Under Titian’s fiery woodlands<br /> + And the saffron skies of Claude:</p> +<p class="poetry">There the Amazons of Rubens<br /> + Lift the failing arm to strike,<br /> +And the pale light falls in masses<br /> + On the horsemen of Vandyke;</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +71</span>And in Berghem’s pools reflected<br /> + Hang the cattle’s graceful shapes,<br /> +And Murillo’s soft boy-faces<br /> + Laugh amid the Seville grapes;</p> +<p class="poetry">And all purest, loveliest fancies<br /> + That in poets’ souls may dwell<br /> +Started into shape and substance<br /> + At the touch of Raphael.—</p> +<p class="poetry">Lo! her wan arms folded meekly,<br /> + And the glory of her hair<br /> +Falling as a robe around her,<br /> + Kneels the Magdalene in prayer;</p> +<p class="poetry">And the white-robed Virgin-mother<br /> + Smiles, as centuries back she smiled,<br /> +Half in gladness, half in wonder,<br /> + On the calm face of her Child:—</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +72</span>And that mighty Judgment-vision<br /> + Tells how man essayed to climb<br /> +Up the ladder of the ages,<br /> + Past the frontier-walls of Time;</p> +<p class="poetry">Heard the trumpet-echoes rolling<br /> + Through the phantom-peopled sky,<br /> +And the still voice bid this mortal<br /> + Put on immortality.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * *</p> +<p class="poetry">Thence we turned, what time the blackbird<br /> + Pipes to vespers from his perch,<br /> +And from out the clattering city<br /> + Pass’d into the silent church;</p> +<p class="poetry">Marked the shower of sunlight breaking<br /> + Thro’ the crimson panes o’erhead,<br /> +And on pictured wall and window<br /> + Read the histories of the dead:</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +73</span>Till the kneelers round us, rising,<br /> + Cross’d their foreheads and were gone;<br /> +And o’er aisle and arch and cornice,<br /> + Layer on layer, the night came on.</p> +<h2><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +74</span>CHARADES.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">I.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">She</span> stood at +Greenwich, motionless amid<br /> + The ever-shifting crowd of passengers.<br /> +I marked a big tear quivering on the lid<br /> + Of her deep-lustrous eye, and knew that hers<br /> + Were days of bitterness. But, “Oh! what +stirs”<br /> +I said “such storm within so fair a breast?”<br /> + Even as I spoke, two apoplectic curs<br /> +Came feebly up: with one wild cry she prest<br /> +Each singly to her heart, and faltered, “Heaven be +blest!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet once again I saw her, from the deck<br /> + Of a black ship that steamed towards Blackwall.<br +/> +<a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 75</span>She walked +upon <i>my first</i>. Her stately neck<br /> + Bent o’er an object shrouded in her shawl:<br +/> + I could not see the tears—the glad +tears—fall,<br /> +Yet knew they fell. And “Ah,” I said, +“not puppies,<br /> + Seen unexpectedly, could lift the pall<br /> +From hearts who <i>know</i> what tasting misery’s cup +is,<br /> +As Niobe’s, or mine, or Mr. William +Guppy’s.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * *</p> +<p class="poetry">Spake John Grogblossom the coachman to Eliza +Spinks the cook:<br /> +“Mrs. Spinks,” says he, “I’ve foundered: +‘Liza dear, I’m overtook.<br /> +Druv into a corner reglar, puzzled as a babe unborn;<br /> +Speak the word, my blessed ‘Liza; speak, and John the +coachman’s yourn.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Eliza Spinks made answer, blushing, to the +coachman John:<br /> +<a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +76</span>“John, I’m born and bred a spinster: +I’ve begun and I’ll go on.<br /> +Endless cares and endless worrits, well I knows it, has a +wife:<br /> +Cooking for a genteel family, John, it’s a goluptious +life!</p> +<p class="poetry">“I gets £20 per annum—tea and +things o’ course not reckoned,—<br /> +There’s a cat that eats the butter, takes the coals, and +breaks <i>my second</i>:<br /> +There’s soci’ty—James the footman;—(not +that I look after him;<br /> +But he’s aff’ble in his manners, with amazing length +of limb;)—</p> +<p class="poetry">“Never durst the missis enter here until +I’ve said ‘Come in’:<br /> +If I saw the master peeping, I’d catch up the +rolling-pin.<br /> +<a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +77</span>Christmas-boxes, that’s a something; perkisites, +that’s something too;<br /> +And I think, take all together, John, I won’t be on with +you.”</p> +<p class="poetry">John the coachman took his hat up, for he +thought he’d had enough;<br /> +Rubbed an elongated forehead with a meditative cuff;<br /> +Paused before the stable doorway; said, when there, in accents +mild,<br /> +“She’s a fine young ’oman, cook is; but +that’s where it is, she’s spiled.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * *</p> +<p class="poetry">I have read in some not marvellous tale,<br /> + (Or if I have not, I’ve dreamed)<br /> +Of one who filled up the convivial cup<br /> + Till the company round him seemed</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +78</span>To be vanished and gone, tho’ the lamps upon<br /> + Their face as aforetime gleamed:<br /> +And his head sunk down, and a Lethe crept<br /> +O’er his powerful brain, and the young man slept.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then they laid him with care in his moonlit +bed:<br /> + But first—having thoughtfully fetched some +tar—<br /> +Adorned him with feathers, aware that the weather’s<br /> + Uncertainty brings on at nights catarrh.</p> +<p class="poetry">They staid in his room till the sun was +high:<br /> + But still did the feathered one give no sign<br /> +Of opening a peeper—he might be a sleeper<br /> + Such as rests on the Northern or Midland line.</p> +<p class="poetry">At last he woke, and with profound<br /> +Bewilderment he gazed around;<br /> +Dropped one, then both feet to the ground,<br /> + But never spake a word:</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +79</span>Then to my <i>whole</i> he made his way;<br /> +Took one long lingering survey;<br /> +And softly, as he stole away,<br /> + Remarked, “By Jove, a bird!”</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><a +name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 80</span>II.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">If</span> you’ve seen +a short man swagger tow’rds the footlights at +Shoreditch,<br /> +Sing out “Heave aho! my hearties,” and perpetually +hitch<br /> +Up, by an ingenious movement, trousers innocent of brace,<br /> +Briskly flourishing a cudgel in his pleased companion’s +face;</p> +<p class="poetry">If he preluded with hornpipes each successive +thing he did,<br /> +From a sun-browned cheek extracting still an ostentatious +quid;<br /> +And expectorated freely, and occasionally cursed:—<br /> +<a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>Then have +you beheld, depicted by a master’s hand, <i>my +first</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">O my countryman! if ever from thy arm the +bolster sped,<br /> +In thy school-days, with precision at a young companion’s +head;<br /> +If ’twas thine to lodge the marble in the centre of the +ring,<br /> +Or with well-directed pebble make the sitting hen take wing:</p> +<p class="poetry">Then do thou—each fair May morning, when +the blue lake is as glass,<br /> +And the gossamers are twinkling star-like in the beaded grass;<br +/> +When the mountain-bee is sipping fragrance from the +bluebell’s lip,<br /> +And the bathing-woman tells you, Now’s your time to take a +dip:</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +82</span>When along the misty valleys fieldward winds the lowing +herd,<br /> +And the early worm is being dropped on by the early bird;<br /> +And Aurora hangs her jewels from the bending rose’s cup,<br +/> +And the myriad voice of Nature calls thee to <i>my second</i> +up:—</p> +<p class="poetry">Hie thee to the breezy common, where the +melancholy goose<br /> +Stalks, and the astonished donkey finds that he is really +loose;<br /> +There amid green fern and furze-bush shalt thou soon <i>my +whole</i> behold,<br /> +Rising ‘bull-eyed and majestic’—as Olympus +queen of old:</p> +<p class="poetry">Kneel,—at a respectful distance,—as +they kneeled to her, and try<br /> +<a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 83</span>With +judicious hand to put a ball into that ball-less eye:<br /> +Till a stiffness seize thy elbows, and the general public +wake—<br /> +Then return, and, clear of conscience, walk into thy well-earned +steak.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><a +name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>III.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Ere</span> yet +“knowledge for the million”<br /> + Came out “neatly bound in boards;”<br /> +When like Care upon a pillion<br /> + Matrons rode behind their lords:<br /> +Rarely, save to hear the Rector,<br /> + Forth did younger ladies roam;<br /> +Making pies, and brewing nectar<br /> + From the gooseberry-trees at home.</p> +<p class="poetry">They’d not dreamed of Pan or Vevay;<br /> + Ne’er should into blossom burst<br /> +At the ball or at the levée;<br /> + Never come, in fact, <i>my first</i>:<br /> +Nor illumine cards by dozens<br /> + With some labyrinthine text,<br /> +Nor work smoking-caps for cousins<br /> + Who were pounding at <i>my next</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +85</span>Now have skirts, and minds, grown ampler;<br /> + Now not all they seek to do<br /> +Is create upon a sampler<br /> + Beasts which Buffon never knew:<br /> +But their venturous muslins rustle<br /> + O’er the cragstone and the snow,<br /> +Or at home their biceps muscle<br /> + Grows by practising the bow.</p> +<p class="poetry">Worthier they those dames who, fable<br /> + Says, rode “palfreys” to the war<br /> +With gigantic Thanes, whose “sable<br /> + Destriers caracoled” before;<br /> +Smiled, as—springing from the war-horse<br /> + As men spring in modern +‘cirques’—<br /> +They plunged, ponderous as a four-horse<br /> + Coach, among the vanished Turks:—</p> +<p class="poetry">In the good times when the jester<br /> + Asked the monarch how he was,<br /> +<a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>And the +landlady addrest her<br /> + Guests as ‘gossip’ or as +‘coz’;<br /> +When the Templar said, “Gramercy,”<br /> + Or, “’Twas shrewdly thrust, i’ +fegs,”<br /> +To Sir Halbert or Sir Percy<br /> + As they knocked him off his legs:</p> +<p class="poetry">And, by way of mild reminders<br /> + That he needed coin, the Knight<br /> +Day by day extracted grinders<br /> + From the howling Israelite:<br /> +And <i>my whole</i> in merry Sherwood<br /> + Sent, with preterhuman luck,<br /> +Missiles—not of steel but firwood—<br /> + Thro’ the two-mile-distant buck.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><a +name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>IV.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Evening</span> threw soberer hue<br /> + Over the blue sky, and the few<br +/> + Poplars that grew just in the +view<br /> + Of the hall of Sir Hugo de Wynkle:<br /> + “Answer me true,” +pleaded Sir Hugh,<br /> + (Striving to woo no matter +who,)<br /> + “What shall I do, Lady, for +you?<br /> + ’Twill be done, ere your eye may twinkle.<br +/> +Shall I borrow the wand of a Moorish enchanter,<br /> +And bid a decanter contain the Levant, or<br /> +The brass from the face of a Mormonite ranter?<br /> +Shall I go for the mule of the Spanish Infantar—<br /> +(That <i>r</i>, for the sake of the line, we must grant +her,)—<br /> +<a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 88</span>And race +with the foul fiend, and beat in a canter,<br /> +Like that first of equestrians Tam o’ Shanter?<br /> +I talk not mere banter—say not that I can’t, or<br /> +By this <i>my first</i>—(a Virginia planter<br /> +Sold it me to kill rats)—I will die instanter.”<br /> + The Lady bended her ivory neck, and<br /> + Whispered mournfully, “Go for—<i>my +second</i>.”<br /> + She said, and the red from Sir Hugh’s cheek +fled,<br /> + And “Nay,” did he say, as he stalked +away<br /> + The fiercest of injured men:<br /> + “Twice have I humbled my haughty soul,<br /> + And on bended knee I have pressed <i>my +whole</i>—<br /> + But I never will press it +again!”</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><a +name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 89</span>V.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">On</span> pinnacled St. +Mary’s<br /> + Lingers the setting sun;<br /> +Into the street the blackguards<br /> + Are skulking one by one:<br /> +Butcher and Boots and Bargeman<br /> + Lay pipe and pewter down;<br /> +And with wild shout come tumbling out<br /> + To join the Town and Gown.</p> +<p class="poetry">And now the undergraduates<br /> + Come forth by twos and threes,<br /> +From the broad tower of Trinity,<br /> + From the green gate of Caius:<br /> +The wily bargeman marks them,<br /> + And swears to do his worst;<br /> +To turn to impotence their strength,<br /> + And their beauty to <i>my first</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +90</span>But before Corpus gateway<br /> + <i>My second</i> first arose,<br /> +When Barnacles the freshman<br /> + Was pinned upon the nose:<br /> +Pinned on the nose by Boxer,<br /> + Who brought a hobnailed herd<br /> +From Barnwell, where he kept a van,<br /> +Being indeed a dogsmeat man,<br /> +Vendor of terriers, blue or tan,<br /> + And dealer in <i>my third</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Twere long to tell how Boxer<br /> + Was ‘countered’ on the cheek,<br /> +And knocked into the middle<br /> + Of the ensuing week:<br /> +How Barnacles the Freshman<br /> + Was asked his name and college;<br /> +And how he did the fatal facts<br /> + Reluctantly acknowledge.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +91</span>He called upon the Proctor<br /> + Next day at half-past ten;<br /> +Men whispered that the Freshman cut<br /> + A different figure then:—<br /> +That the brass forsook his forehead,<br /> + The iron fled his soul,<br /> +As with blanched lip and visage wan<br /> +Before the stony-hearted Don<br /> + He kneeled upon <i>my whole</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><a +name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>VI.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sikes</span>, housebreaker, +of Houndsditch,<br /> + Habitually swore;<br /> +But so surpassingly profane<br /> + He never was before,<br /> +As on a night in winter,<br /> + When—softly as he stole<br /> +In the dim light from stair to stair,<br /> +Noiseless as boys who in her lair<br /> +Seek to surprise a fat old hare—<br /> +He barked his shinbone, unaware<br /> + Encountering <i>my whole</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">As pours the Anio plainward,<br /> + When rains have swollen the dykes,<br /> +So, with such noise, poured down <i>my first</i>,<br /> + Stirred by the shins of Sikes.<br /> +<a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span>The Butler +Bibulus heard it;<br /> + And straightway ceased to snore,<br /> +And sat up, like an egg on end,<br /> + While men might count a score:<br /> +Then spake he to Tigerius,<br /> + A Buttons bold was he:<br /> +“Buttons, I think there’s thieves about;<br /> +Just strike a light and tumble out;<br /> +If you can’t find one, go without,<br /> + And see what you may see.”</p> +<p class="poetry">But now was all the household,<br /> + Almost, upon its legs,<br /> +Each treading carefully about<br /> + As if they trod on eggs.<br /> +With robe far-streaming issued<br /> + Paterfamilias forth;<br /> +And close behind him,—stout and true<br /> + And tender as the North,—<br /> +<a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>Came Mrs. +P., supporting<br /> + On her broad arm her fourth.</p> +<p class="poetry">Betsy the nurse, who never<br /> + From largest beetle ran,<br /> +And—conscious p’raps of pleasing caps—<br /> + The housemaids, formed the van:<br /> +And Bibulus the Butler,<br /> + His calm brows slightly arched;<br /> +(No mortal wight had ere that night<br /> + Seen him with shirt unstarched;)<br /> +And Bob, the shockhaired knifeboy,<br /> + Wielding two Sheffield blades,<br /> +And James Plush of the sinewy legs,<br /> + The love of lady’s maids:<br /> +And charwoman and chaplain<br /> + Stood mingled in a mass,<br /> +And “Things,” thought he of Houndsditch,<br /> + “Is come to a pretty pass.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +95</span>Beyond all things a Baby<br /> + Is to the schoolgirl dear;<br /> +Next to herself the nursemaid loves<br /> + Her dashing grenadier;<br /> +Only with life the sailor<br /> + Parts from the British flag;<br /> +While one hope lingers, the cracksman’s fingers<br /> + Drop not his hard-earned ‘swag.’</p> +<p class="poetry">But, as hares do <i>my second</i><br /> + Thro’ green Calabria’s copses,<br /> +As females vanish at the sight<br /> + Of short-horns and of wopses;<br /> +So, dropping forks and teaspoons,<br /> + The pride of Houndsditch fled,<br /> +Dumbfoundered by the hue and cry<br /> + He’d raised up overhead.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * * *</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +96</span>They gave him—did the Judges—<br /> + As much as was his due.<br /> +And, Saxon, should’st thou e’er be led<br /> + To deem this tale untrue;<br /> +Then—any night in winter,<br /> + When the cold north wind blows,<br /> +And bairns are told to keep out cold<br /> + By tallowing the nose:<br /> +When round the fire the elders<br /> + Are gathered in a bunch,<br /> +And the girls are doing crochet,<br /> + And the boys are reading Punch:—<br /> +Go thou and look in Leech’s book;<br /> + There haply shalt thou spy<br /> +A stout man on a staircase stand,<br /> +With aspect anything but bland,<br /> +And rub his right shin with his hand,<br /> + To witness if I lie.</p> +<h2><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +97</span>PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY.</h2> +<h3>Introductory.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Art</span> thou beautiful, +O my daughter, as the budding rose of April?<br /> +Are all thy motions music, and is poetry throned in thine eye?<br +/> +Then hearken unto me; and I will make the bud a fair flower,<br +/> +I will plant it upon the bank of Elegance, and water it with the +water of Cologne;<br /> +And in the season it shall “come out,” yea bloom, the +pride of the parterre;<br /> +Ladies shall marvel at its beauty, and a Lord shall pluck it at +the last.</p> +<h3><a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>Of +Propriety.</h3> +<p class="poetry">Study first Propriety: for she is indeed the +Polestar<br /> +Which shall guide the artless maiden through the mazes of Vanity +Fair;<br /> +Nay, she is the golden chain which holdeth together Society;<br +/> +The lamp by whose light young Psyche shall approach unblamed her +Eros.<br /> +Verily Truth is as Eve, which was ashamed being naked;<br /> +Wherefore doth Propriety dress her with the fair foliage of +artifice:<br /> +And when she is drest, behold! she knoweth not herself +again.—<br /> +I walked in the Forest; and above me stood the Yew,<br /> +<a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 99</span>Stood like +a slumbering giant, shrouded in impenetrable shade;<br /> +Then I pass’d into the citizen’s garden, and marked a +tree clipt into shape,<br /> +(The giant’s locks had been shorn by the Dalilahshears of +Decorum;)<br /> +And I said, “Surely nature is goodly; but how much goodlier +is Art!”<br /> +I heard the wild notes of the lark floating far over the blue +sky,<br /> +And my foolish heart went after him, and lo! I blessed him as he +rose;<br /> +Foolish! for far better is the trained boudoir bulfinch,<br /> +Which pipeth the semblance of a tune, and mechanically draweth up +water:<br /> +And the reinless steed of the desert, though his neck be clothed +with thunder,<br /> +<a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 100</span>Must +yield to him that danceth and ‘moveth in the circles’ +at Astley’s.<br /> +For verily, O my daughter, the world is a masquerade,<br /> +And God made thee one thing, that thou mightest make thyself +another:<br /> +A maiden’s heart is as champagne, ever aspiring and +struggling upwards,<br /> +And it needeth that its motions be checked by the silvered cork +of Propriety:<br /> +He that can afford the price, his be the precious treasure,<br /> +Let him drink deeply of its sweetness, nor grumble if it tasteth +of the cork.</p> +<h3>Of Friendship.</h3> +<p class="poetry">Choose judiciously thy friends; for to discard +them is undesirable,<br /> +<a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 101</span>Yet it +is better to drop thy friends, O my daughter, than to drop thy +‘H’s’.<br /> +Dost thou know a wise woman? yea, wiser than the children of +light?<br /> +Hath she a position? and a title? and are her parties in the +Morning Post?<br /> +If thou dost, cleave unto her, and give up unto her thy body and +mind;<br /> +Think with her ideas, and distribute thy smiles at her +bidding:<br /> +So shalt thou become like unto her; and thy manners shall be +“formed,”<br /> +And thy name shall be a Sesame, at which the doors of the great +shall fly open:<br /> +Thou shalt know every Peer, his arms, and the date of his +creation,<br /> +His pedigree and their intermarriages, and cousins to the sixth +remove:<br /> +<a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>Thou +shalt kiss the hand of Royalty, and lo! in next morning’s +papers,<br /> +Side by side with rumours of wars, and stories of shipwrecks and +sieges,<br /> +Shall appear thy name, and the minutiæ of thy head-dress +and petticoat,<br /> +For an enraptured public to muse upon over their matutinal +muffin.</p> +<h3>Of Reading.</h3> +<p class="poetry">Read not Milton, for he is dry; nor +Shakespeare, for he wrote of common life;<br /> +Nor Scott, for his romances, though fascinating, are yet +intelligible:<br /> +Nor Thackeray, for he is a Hogarth, a photographer who flattereth +not:<br /> +Nor Kingsley, for he shall teach thee that thou shouldest not +dream, but do.<br /> +<a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 103</span>Read +incessantly thy Burke; that Burke who, nobler than he of old,<br +/> +Treateth of the Peer and Peeress, the truly Sublime and +Beautiful:<br /> +Likewise study the “creations” of “the Prince +of modern Romance;”<br /> +Sigh over Leonard the Martyr, and smile on Pelham the puppy:<br +/> +Learn how “love is the dram-drinking of +existence;”<br /> +And how we “invoke, in the Gadara of our still closets,<br +/> +The beautiful ghost of the Ideal, with the simple wand of the +pen.”<br /> +Listen how Maltravers and the orphan “forgot all but +love,”<br /> +And how Devereux’s family chaplain “made and unmade +kings:”<br /> +How Eugene Aram, though a thief, a liar, and a murderer,<br /> +<a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 104</span>Yet, +being intellectual, was amongst the noblest of mankind.<br /> +So shalt thou live in a world peopled with heroes and +master-spirits;<br /> +And if thou canst not realise the Ideal, thou shalt at least +idealise the Real.</p> +<h2>TRANSLATIONS. <a name="citation105"></a><a +href="#footnote105" class="citation">[105]</a></h2> +<h3><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +106</span>LYCIDAS.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Yet</span> once more, O ye +laurels! and once more<br /> +Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,<br /> +I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,<br /> +And with forced fingers rude<br /> +Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.<br /> +Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear,<br /> +Compels me to disturb your season due;<br /> +For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,<br /> +Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer:<br /> +Who would not sing for Lycidas? He knew<br /> +Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.<br /> +He must not float upon his watery bier<br /> +Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,<br /> +Without the meed of some melodious tear.<br /> + <a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +108</span>Begin then, sisters, of the sacred well,<br /> +That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring;<br /> +Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string.<br /> +Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse,<br /> +So may some gentle muse<br /> +With lucky words favour my destined urn,<br /> +And, as he passes, turn<br /> +And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud:<br /> +For we were nursed upon the self-same hill,<br /> +Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill.<br /> + Together both, ere the high lawns appeared<br /> +Under the opening eyelids of the morn,<br /> +We drove afield, and both together heard<br /> +What time the gray fly winds her sultry horn,<br /> +Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night,<br /> +Oft till the star that rose, at evening, bright,<br /> +Toward Heaven’s descent had sloped his westering wheel.<br +/> +<a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +110</span>Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute,<br /> +Tempered to the oaten flute;<br /> +Rough satyrs danced, and fauns with cloven heel<br /> +From the glad sound would not be absent long,<br /> +And old Damætas loved to hear our song.<br /> + But oh, the heavy change, now thou art gone,<br /> +Now thou art gone, and never must return!<br /> +Thee, shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves<br /> +With wild thyme and the gadding vine o’ergrown,<br /> +And all their echoes mourn.<br /> +The willows, and the hazel copses green,<br /> +Shall now no more be seen,<br /> +Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays.<br /> +As killing as the canker to the rose,<br /> +Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze,<br /> +Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear,<br /> +When first the white-thorn blows;<br /> +Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd’s ear<br /> + Where were ye, nymphs, when the remorseless deep<br +/> +<a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 112</span>Closed +o’er the head of your loved Lycidas?<br /> +For neither were ye playing on the steep,<br /> +Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie;<br /> +Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high,<br /> +Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream:<br /> +Ay me! I fondly dream!<br /> +Had ye been there, for what could that have done?<br /> +What could the muse herself that Orpheus bore,<br /> +The muse herself for her enchanting son,<br /> +Whom universal nature did lament,<br /> +When by the rout that made the hideous roar,<br /> +His gory visage down the stream was sent,<br /> +Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?<br /> + Alas! what boots it with incessant care<br /> +To tend the homely slighted shepherd’s trade,<br /> +And strictly meditate the thankless muse?<br /> +Were it not better done as others use,<br /> +To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,<br /> +Or with the tangles of Neæra’s hair?<br /> +<a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 114</span>Fame is +the spur that the clear spirit doth raise<br /> +(That last infirmity of noble mind)<br /> +To scorn delights, and live laborious days,<br /> +But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,<br /> +And think to burst out into sudden blaze,<br /> +Comes the blind fury with the abhorred shears,<br /> +And slits the thin-spun life. “But not the +praise,”<br /> +Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears;<br /> +“Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,<br /> +Nor in the glistering foil<br /> +Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies,<br /> +But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes,<br /> +And perfect witness of all-judging Jove;<br /> +As he pronounces lastly on each deed,<br /> +Of so much fame in Heaven expect thy meed.”<br /> + O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood,<br /> +Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds,<br /> +That strain I heard was of a higher mood:<br /> +<a name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 116</span>But now +my oat proceeds,<br /> +And listens to the herald of the sea<br /> +That came in Neptune’s plea;<br /> +He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds,<br /> +What hard mishap had doomed this gentle swain?<br /> +And questioned every gust of rugged wings,<br /> +That blows from off each beaked promontory:<br /> +They knew not of his story,<br /> +And sage Hippotades their answer brings,<br /> +That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed,<br /> +The air was calm, and on the level brine<br /> +Sleek Panope with all her sisters played.<br /> +It was that fatal and perfidious bark<br /> +Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark,<br /> +That sunk so low that sacred head of thine.<br /> + Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow,<br /> +His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge,<br /> +Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge,<br /> +Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe.<br /> +“Ah! who hath reft,” quoth he, “my dearest +pledge?”<br /> +<a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 118</span>Last +came, and last did go,<br /> +The pilot of the Galilean lake,<br /> +Two massy keys he bore, of metals twain<br /> +(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain).<br /> +He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake:<br /> +“How well could I have spared for thee, young swain,<br /> +Enow of such as for their bellies’ sake<br /> +Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold!<br /> +Of other care they little reckoning make,<br /> +Than how to scramble at the shearer’s feast,<br /> +And shove away the worthy bidden guest;<br /> +Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold<br /> +A sheep-hook, or have learned aught else the least<br /> +That to the faithful herdsman’s art belongs!<br /> +What reeks it them? What need they? They are sped;<br +/> +And when they list, their lean and flashy songs<br /> +Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw;<br /> +The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,<br /> +But swollen with wind, and the rank mist they draw,<br /> +Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread:<br /> +Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw<br /> +Daily devours apace, and nothing said.<br /> +<a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 120</span>But that +two-handed engine at the door<br /> +Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.”<br /> + Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past,<br /> +That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian muse,<br /> +And call the vales, and bid them hither cast<br /> +Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues.<br /> +Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use<br /> +Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks,<br /> +On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks,<br /> +Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes,<br /> +That on the green turf suck the honeyed showers,<br /> +And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.<br /> +Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,<br /> +The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine,<br /> +The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet,<br /> +The glowing violet,<br /> +The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine,<br /> +With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,<br /> +And every flower that sad embroidery wears:<br /> +Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed,<br /> +And daffodillies fill their cups with tears,<br /> +<a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 122</span>To strow +the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.<br /> +For so to interpose a little ease,<br /> +Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.<br /> +Ay me! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas<br /> +Wash far away, where ere thy bones are hurled,<br /> +Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,<br /> +Where thou, perhaps, under the whelming tide<br /> +Visit’st the bottom of the monstrous world;<br /> +Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied,<br /> +Sleep’st by the fable of Bellerus old,<br /> +Where the great vision of the guarded mount<br /> +Looks toward Namancos and Bayona’s hold;<br /> +Look homeward, angel now, and melt with ruth:<br /> +And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.<br /> + Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more,<br /> +For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead,<br /> +Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor;<br /> +So sinks the day-star in the ocean-bed,<br /> +And yet anon repairs his drooping head,<br /> +<a name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>And +tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore<br /> +Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:<br /> +So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high,<br /> +Through the dear might of him that walked the waves,<br /> +Where other groves and other streams along,<br /> +With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,<br /> +And hears the unexpressive nuptial song,<br /> +In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.<br /> +There entertain him all the saints above,<br /> +In solemn troops, and sweet societies,<br /> +That sing, and singing in their glory move,<br /> +And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.<br /> +Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more;<br /> +Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore,<br /> +In thy large recompense, and shalt be good<br /> +To all that wander in that perilous flood.<br /> + Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and +rills,<br /> +While the still morn went out with sandals gray,<br /> +<a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 126</span>He +touched the tender stops of various quills,<br /> +With eager thought warbling his Doric lay:<br /> +And now the sun had stretched out all the hills,<br /> +And now was dropped into the western bay;<br /> +At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue,<br /> +Tomorrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.</p> +<h2><a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +107</span>LYCIDAS.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">En</span>! iterum laurus, +iterum salvete myricæ<br /> +Pallentes, nullique hederæ quæ ceditis ævo.<br +/> +Has venio baccas, quanquam sapor asper acerbis,<br /> +Decerptum, quassumque manu folia ipsa proterva,<br /> +Maturescentem prævortens improbus annum.<br /> +Causa gravis, pia cansa, subest, et amara deûm lex;<br /> +Nec jam sponte mea vobis rata tempora turbo.<br /> +Nam periit Lycidas, periit superante juventa<br /> +Imberbis Lycidas, quo non præstantior alter.<br /> +Quis cantare super Lycida neget? Ipse quoque artem<br /> +Nôrat Apollineam, versumque imponere versu<br /> +Non nullo vitreum fas innatet ille feretrum<br /> +Flente, voluteturque arentes corpus ad auras,<br /> +Indotatum adeo et lacrymæ vocalis egenum.<br /> + <a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +109</span>Quare agite, o sacri fontis queis cura, sorores,<br /> +Cui sub inaccessi sella Jovis exit origo:<br /> +Incipite, et sonitu graviore impellite chordas.<br /> +Lingua procul male prompta loqui, suasorque morarum<br /> +Sit pudor: alloquiis ut mollior una secundis<br /> +Pieridum faveat, cui mox ego destiner, urnæ:<br /> +Et gressus prætergrediens convertat, et +“Esto”<br /> +Dicat “amoena quies atra tibi veste latenti:”<br /> +Uno namque jugo duo nutribamur: eosdem<br /> +Pavit uterque greges ad fontem et rivulum et umbram.<br /> + Tempore nos illo, nemorum convexa priusquam,<br /> +Aurora reserante oculos, cæpere videri,<br /> +Urgebamus equos ad pascua: novimus horam<br /> +Aridus audiri solitus qua clangor asili;<br /> +Rore recentes greges passi pinguescere noctis<br /> +Sæpius, albuerat donec quod vespere sidus<br /> +Hesperios axes prono inclinasset Olympo.<br /> +<a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 111</span>At +pastorales non cessavere camœnæ,<br /> +Fistula disparibus quas temperat apta cicutis:<br /> +Saltabant Satyri informes, nec murmure læto<br /> +Capripedes potuere diu se avertere Fauni;<br /> +Damætasque modos nostros longævus amabat.<br /> + Jamque, relicta tibi, quantum mutata videntur<br /> +Rura—relicta tibi, cui non spes ulla regressûs!<br /> +Te sylvæ, teque antra, puer, deserta ferarum,<br /> +Incultis obducta thymis ac vite sequaci,<br /> +Decessisse gemunt; gemitusque reverberat Echo.<br /> +Non salices, non glauca ergo coryleta videbo<br /> +Molles ad numeros lætum motare cacumen:—<br /> +Quale rosis scabies; quam formidabile vermis<br /> +Depulso jam lacte gregi, dum tondet agellos;<br /> +Sive quod, indutis verna jam veste, pruinæ<br /> +Floribus, albet ubi primum paliurus in agris:<br /> +Tale fuit nostris, Lycidam periisse, bubulcis.<br /> + Qua, Nymphæ, latuistis, ubi crudele +profundum<br /> +<a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 113</span>Delicias +Lycidam vestras sub vortice torsit?<br /> +Nam neque vos scopulis tum ludebatis in illis<br /> +Quos veteres, Druidæ, Vates, illustria servant<br /> +Nomina; nec celsæ setoso in culmine Monæ,<br /> +Nec, quos Deva locos magicis amplectitur undis.<br /> +Væ mihi! delusos exercent somnia sensus:<br /> +Venissetis enim; numquid venisse juvaret?<br /> +Numquid Pieris ipsa parens interfuit Orphei,<br /> +Pieris ipsa suæ sobolis, qui carmine rexit<br /> +Corda virum, quem terra olim, quam magna, dolebat,<br /> +Tempore quo, dirum auditu strepitante caterva,<br /> +Ora secundo amni missa, ac foedata cruore,<br /> +Lesbia præcipitans ad litora detulit Hebrus?<br /> + Eheu quid prodest noctes instare diesque<br /> +Pastorum curas spretas humilesque tuendo,<br /> +Nilque relaturam meditari rite Camoenam?<br /> +Nonne fuit satius lusus agitare sub umbra,<br /> +(Ut mos est aliis,) Amaryllida sive Neæram<br /> +Sectanti, ac tortis digitum impediisse capillis?<br /> +<a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 115</span>Scilcet +ingenuum cor Fama, novissimus error<br /> +Illa animi majoris, uti calcaribus urget<br /> +Spernere delicias ac dedi rebus agendis.<br /> +Quanquam—exoptatam jam spes attingere dotem;<br /> +Jam nec opinata remur splendescere flamma:—<br /> +Cæca sed invisa cum forfice venit Erinnys,<br /> +Quæ resecet tenui hærentem subtemine vitam.<br /> +“At Famam non illa,” refert, tangitque trementes<br +/> +Phœbus Apollo aures. “Fama haud, vulgaris ad +instar<br /> +Floris, amat terrestre solum, fictosque nitores<br /> +Queis inhiat populus, nec cum Rumore patescit.<br /> +Vivere dant illi, dant increbrescere late<br /> +Puri oculi ac vox summa Jovis, cui sola Potestas.<br /> +Fecerit ille semel de facto quoque virorum<br /> +Arbitrium: tantum famæ manet æthera nactis.”<br +/> + Fons Arethusa! sacro placidus qui laberis alveo,<br +/> +Frontem vocali prætextus arundine, Minci!<br /> +Sensi equidem gravius carmen. Nunc cetera pastor<br /> +<a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +117</span>Exsequor. Adstat enim missus pro rege marino,<br +/> +Seque rogâsse refert fluctus, ventosque rapaces,<br /> +Quæ sors dura nimis tenerum rapuisset agrestem.<br /> +Compellasse refert alarum quicquid ab omni<br /> +Spirat, acerba sonans, scopulo, qui cuspidis instar<br /> +Prominet in pelagus; fama haud pervenerat illuc.<br /> +Hæc ultro pater Hippotades responsa ferebat:<br /> +“Nulli sunt nostro palati carcere venti.<br /> +Straverat æquor aquas, et sub Jove compta sereno<br /> +Lusum exercebat Panope nymphæque sorores.<br /> +Quam Furiæ struxere per interlunia, leto<br /> +Fetam ac fraude ratem,—malos velarat Erinnys,—<br /> +Credas in mala tanta caput mersisse sacratum.”<br /> + Proximus huic tardum senior se Camus agebat;<br /> +Cui setosa chlamys, cui pileus ulva: figuris<br /> +Idem intertextus dubiis erat, utque cruentos<br /> +Quos perhibent flores, inscriptus margine luctum.<br /> +“Nam quis,” ait, “prædulce meum me pignus +ademit?”<br /> + <a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +119</span>Post hos, qui Galilæa regit per stagna +carinas,<br /> +Post hos venit iturus: habet manus utraque clavim,<br /> +(Queis aperit clauditque) auro ferrove gravatam.<br /> +Mitra tegit crines; quassis quibus, acriter infit:<br /> +“Scilicet optassem pro te dare corpora leto<br /> +Sat multa, o juvenis: quot serpunt ventribus acti,<br /> +Vi quot iter faciunt spretis in ovilia muris.<br /> +Hic labor, hoc opus est, pecus ut tondente magistro<br /> +Præripiant epulas, trudatur dignior hospes.<br /> +Capti oculis, non ore! pedum tractare nec ipsi<br /> +Norunt; quotve bonis sunt upilionibus artes.<br /> +Sed quid enim refert, quove eat opus, omnia nactis?<br /> +Fert ubi mens, tenue ac deductum carmen avenam<br /> +Radit stridentem stipulis. Pastore negato<br /> +Suspicit ægra pecus: vento gravis ac lue tracta<br /> +Tabescit; mox foeda capit contagia vulgus.<br /> +Quid dicam, stabulis ut clandestinus oberrans<br /> +Expleat ingluviem tristis lupus, indice nullo?<br /> +<a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>Illa +tamen bimanus custodit machina portam,<br /> +Stricta, paratque malis plagam non amplius unam.”<br /> + En, Alphee, redi! Quibus ima cohorruit unda<br +/> +Voces præteriere: redux quoque Sicelis omnes<br /> +Musa voca valles; huc pendentes hyacinthos<br /> +Fac jaciant, teneros huc flores mille colorum.<br /> +O nemorum depressa, sonant ubi crebra susurri<br /> +Umbrarum, et salientis aquæ, Zephyrique protervi;<br /> +Queisque virens gremium penetrare Canicula parcit:<br /> +Picturata modis jacite huc mihi lumina miris,<br /> +Mellitos imbres queis per viridantia rura<br /> +Mos haurire, novo quo tellus vere rubescat.<br /> +Huc ranunculus, ipse arbos, pallorque ligustri,<br /> +Quæque relicta perit, vixdum matura feratur<br /> +Pnimula: quique ebeno distinctus, cætera flavet<br /> +Flos, et qui specie nomen detrectat eburna.<br /> +Ardenti violæ rosa proxima fundat odores;<br /> +Serpyllumque placens, et acerbo flexile vultu<br /> +Verbascum, ac tristem si quid sibi legit amictum.<br /> +<a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>Quicquid +habes pulcri fundas, amarante: coronent<br /> +Narcissi lacrymis calices, sternantque feretrum<br /> +Tectus ubi lauro Lycidas jacet: adsit ut oti<br /> +Saltem aliquid, ficta ludantur imagine mentes.<br /> +Me miserum! Tua nam litus, pelagusque sonorum<br /> +Ossa ferunt, queiscunque procul jacteris in oris;<br /> +Sive procellosas ultra Symplegadas ingens<br /> +Jam subter mare visis, alit quæ monstra profundum;<br /> +Sive (negavit enim precibus te Jupiter udis)<br /> +Cum sene Bellero, veterum qui fabula, dormis,<br /> +Qua custoditi montis prægrandis imago<br /> +Namancum atque arces longe prospectat Iberas.<br /> +Verte retro te, verte deum, mollire precando:<br /> +Et vos infaustum juvenem delphines agatis.<br /> + Ponite jam lacrymas, sat enim flevistis, +agrestes.<br /> +Non periit Lycidas, vestri moeroris origo,<br /> +Marmorei quanquam fluctus hausere cadentem.<br /> +Sic et in æquoreum se condere sæpe cubile<br /> +Luciferum videas; nec longum tempus, et effert<br /> +<a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 125</span>Demissum +caput, igne novo vestitus; et, aurum<br /> +Ceu rutilans, in fronte poli splendescit Eoi.<br /> +Sic obiit Lycidas, sic assurrexit in altum;<br /> +Illo, quem peditem mare sustulit, usus amico.<br /> +Nunc campos alios, alia errans stagna secundum,<br /> +Rorantesque lavans integro nectare crines,<br /> +Audit inauditos nobis cantari Hymenæos,<br /> +Fortunatorum sedes ubi mitis amorem<br /> +Lætitiamque affert. Hic illum, quotquot Olympum<br /> +Prædulces habitant turbæ, venerabilis ordo,<br /> +Circumstant: aliæque canunt, interque canendum<br /> +Majestate sua veniunt abeuntque catervæ,<br /> +Omnes ex oculis lacrymas arcere paratæ.<br /> +Ergo non Lycidam jam lamentantur agrestes.<br /> +Divus eris ripæ, puer, hoc ex tempore nobis,<br /> +Grande, nec immerito, veniens in munus; opemque<br /> +Poscent usque tuam, dubiis quot in æstubus errant.<br /> + Hæc incultus aquis puer ilicibusque +canebat;<br /> +Processit dum mane silens talaribus albis.<br /> +<a name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>Multa +manu teneris discrimina tentat avenis,<br /> +Dorica non studio modulatus carmina segni:<br /> +Et jam sol abiens colles extenderat omnes,<br /> +Jamque sub Hesperium se præcipitaverat alveum.<br /> +Surrexit tandem, glaucumque retraxit amictum;<br /> +Cras lucos, reor, ille novos, nova pascua quæret.</p> +<h2><a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 128</span>IN +MEMORIAM.</h2> +<h3><span class="GutSmall">CVI.</span></h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> time admits not +flowers or leaves<br /> + To deck the banquet. Fiercely flies<br /> + The blast of North and East, and ice<br /> +Makes daggers at the sharpen’d eaves,</p> +<p class="poetry">And bristles all the brakes and thorns<br /> + To yon hard crescent, as she hangs<br /> + Above the wood which grides and clangs<br /> +Its leafless ribs and iron horns</p> +<p class="poetry">Together, in the drifts that pass,<br /> + To darken on the rolling brine<br /> + That breaks the coast. But fetch the wine,<br +/> +Arrange the board and brim the glass;</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +130</span>Bring in great logs and let them lie,<br /> + To make a solid core of heat;<br /> + Be cheerful-minded, talk and treat<br /> +Of all things ev’n as he were by:</p> +<p class="poetry">We keep the day with festal cheer,<br /> + With books and music. Surely we<br /> + Will drink to him whate’er he be,<br /> +And sing the songs he loved to hear.</p> +<h2><a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 129</span>IN +MEMORIAM.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Non</span> hora myrto, non +violis sinit<br /> +Nitere mensas. Trux Aquilo foras<br /> + Bacchatur, ac passim pruina<br /> + Tigna sagittifera coruscant;</p> +<p class="poetry">Horretque saltus spinifer, algidæ<br /> +Sub falce lunæ, dum nemori imminet,<br /> + Quod stridet illiditque costis<br /> + Cornua, jam vacuis honorum,</p> +<p class="poetry">Ferrata; nimbis prætereuntibus,<br /> +Ut incubent tandem implacido sali<br /> + Qui curvat oras. Tu Falernum<br /> + Prome, dapes strue, dic +coronent</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +131</span>Crateras: ignis cor solidum, graves<br /> +Repone truncos. Jamque doloribus<br /> + Loquare securus fugatis<br /> + Quæ socio loquereris +illo;</p> +<p class="poetry">Hunc dedicamus lætitiæ diem<br /> +Lyræque musisque. Illius, illius<br /> + Da, quicquid audit: nec silebunt<br /> + Qui numeri placuere vivo.</p> +<h2><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +132</span>LAURA MATILDA’S DIRGE.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">From</span> +‘<span class="smcap">Rejected Addresses</span>.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Balmy</span> Zephyrs, +lightly flitting,<br /> + Shade me with your azure wing;<br /> +On Parnassus’ summit sitting,<br /> + Aid me, Clio, while I sing.</p> +<p class="poetry">Softly slept the dome of Drury<br /> + O’er the empyreal crest,<br /> +When Alecto’s sister-fury<br /> + Softly slumb’ring sunk to rest.</p> +<p class="poetry">Lo! from Lemnos limping lamely,<br /> + Lags the lowly Lord of Fire,<br /> +Cytherea yielding tamely<br /> + To the Cyclops dark and dire.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +134</span>Clouds of amber, dreams of gladness,<br /> + Dulcet joys and sports of youth,<br /> +Soon must yield to haughty sadness;<br /> + Mercy holds the veil to Truth.</p> +<p class="poetry">See Erostratas the second<br /> + Fires again Diana’s fane;<br /> +By the Fates from Orcus beckon’d,<br /> + Clouds envelop Drury Lane.</p> +<p class="poetry">Where is Cupid’s crimson motion?<br /> + Billowy ecstasy of woe,<br /> +Bear me straight, meandering ocean,<br /> + Where the stagnant torrents flow.</p> +<p class="poetry">Blood in every vein is gushing,<br /> + Vixen vengeance lulls my heart;<br /> +See, the Gorgon gang is rushing!<br /> + Never, never let us part.</p> +<h2><a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +133</span>NÆNIA.</h2> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">quot</span> odoriferi +voitatis in aëre venti,<br /> + Cæruleum tegmen vestra sit ala mihi:<br /> +Tuque sedens Parnassus ubi caput erigit ingens,<br /> + Dextra veni, Clio: teque docente canam.</p> +<p class="poetry">Jam suaves somnos Tholus affectare Theatri<br +/> + Cœperat, igniflui trans laqueare poli:<br /> +Alectûs consanguineam quo tempore Erinnyn,<br /> + Suave soporatam, coepit adire quies.</p> +<p class="poetry">Lustra sed ecce labans claudo pede Lemnia +linquit<br /> + Luridus (at lente lugubriterque) Deus:<br /> +Amisit veteres, amisit inultus, amores;<br /> + Teter habet Venerem terribilisque Cyclops.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +135</span>Electri nebulas, potioraque somnia vero;<br /> + Quotque placent pueris gaudia, quotque joci;<br /> +Omnia tristiæ fas concessisse superbæ:<br /> + Admissum Pietas scitque premitque nefas.</p> +<p class="poetry">Respice! Nonne vides ut Erostratus alter +ad ædem<br /> + Rursus agat flammas, spreta Diana, tuam?<br /> +Mox, Acheronteis quas Parca eduxit ab antris,<br /> + Druriacam nubes corripuere domum.</p> +<p class="poetry">O ubi purpurei motus pueri alitis? o qui<br /> + Me mihi turbineis surripis, angor, aquis!<br /> +Duc, labyrintheum, duc me, mare, tramite recto<br /> + Quo rapidi fontes, pigra caterva, ruunt!</p> +<p class="poetry">Jamque—soporat enim pectus Vindicta +Virago;<br /> + Omnibus a venis sanguinis unda salit;<br /> +Gorgoneique greges præceps (adverte!) feruntur—<br /> + Sim, precor, o! semper sim tibi junctus ego.</p> +<h2><a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +136</span>“LEAVES HAVE THEIR TIME TO FALL.”</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Felicia +Hemans</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Leaves</span> have their +time to fall,<br /> + And flowers to wither at the North-wind’s +breath,<br /> +And stars to set: but all,<br /> + Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!</p> +<p class="poetry">Day is for mortal care,<br /> + Eve for glad meetings at the joyous hearth,<br /> +Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer,<br /> + But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth!</p> +<p class="poetry">The banquet has its hour,<br /> + The feverish hour of mirth and song and wine:<br /> +There comes a day for grief’s overwhelming shower,<br /> + A time for softer tears: but all are thine.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +138</span>Youth and the opening rose<br /> + May look like things too glorious for decay,<br /> +And smile at thee!—but thou art not of those<br /> + That wait the ripen’d bloom to seize their +prey!</p> +<h2><a name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +137</span>“FRONDES EST UBI DECIDANT.”</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Frondes</span> est ubi decidant,<br /> +Marcescantque rosæ flatu Aquilonio:<br /> + Horis astra cadunt suis;<br /> +Sed, Mors, cuncta tibi tempera vindicas.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Curis nata virûm +dies;<br /> +Vesper colloquiis dulcibus ad focum;<br /> + Somnis nox magis, et preci:<br /> +Sed nil, Terrigenum maxima, non tibi.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Festis hora epulis datur,<br +/> +(Fervens hora jocis, carminibus, mero;)<br /> + Fusis altera lacrymis<br /> +Aut fletu tacito: quæque tamen tua.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page139"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 139</span>Virgo, seu rosa pullulans,<br /> +Tantum quippe nitent ut nequeant mori?<br /> + Rident te? Neque enim soles<br /> +Prædæ parcere, dum flos adoleverit.</p> +<h2><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +140</span>“LET US TURN HITHERWARD OUR BARK.”</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">R. C. <span +class="smcap">Trench</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Let</span> us turn +hitherward our bark,” they cried,<br /> + “And, ’mid the blisses of this happy +isle,<br /> +Past toil forgetting and to come, abide<br /> + In joyfulness awhile.</p> +<p class="poetry">And then, refreshed, our tasks resume again,<br +/> + If other tasks we yet are bound unto,<br /> +Combing the hoary tresses of the main<br /> + With sharp swift keel anew.”</p> +<p class="poetry">O heroes, that had once a nobler aim,<br /> + O heroes, sprung from many a godlike line,<br /> +What will ye do, unmindful of your fame,<br /> + And of your race divine?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +142</span>But they, by these prevailing voices now<br /> + Lured, evermore draw nearer to the land,<br /> +Nor saw the wrecks of many a goodly prow,<br /> + That strewed that fatal strand;</p> +<p class="poetry">Or seeing, feared not—warning taking +none<br /> + From the plain doom of all who went before,<br /> +Whose bones lay bleaching in the wind and sun,<br /> + And whitened all the shore.</p> +<h2><a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +141</span>“QUIN HUC, FREMEBANT.”</h2> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Quin</span> +huc,” fremebant, “dirigimus ratem:<br /> +Hic, dote læti divitis insulæ,<br /> + Paullisper hæremus, futuri<br /> + Nec memores operis, nec acti:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Curas refecti cras iterabimus,<br /> +Si qua supersunt emeritis novæ<br /> + Pexisse pernices acuta<br /> + Canitiem pelagi carina.”</p> +<p class="poetry">O rebus olim nobilioribus<br /> +Pares: origo Dî quibus ac Deæ<br /> + Heroës! oblitine famiæ<br /> + Hæc struitis, generisque +summi?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +143</span>Atqui propinquant jam magis ac magis,<br /> +Ducti magistra voce, solum: neque<br /> + Videre prorarum nefandas<br /> + Fragmina nobilium per oras;</p> +<p class="poetry">Vidisse seu non poenitet—ominis<br /> +Incuriosos tot præëuntium,<br /> + Quorum ossa sol siccantque venti,<br /> + Candet adhuc quibus omnis ora.</p> +<h2><a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +144</span>CARMEN SÆCULARE.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">MDCCCLIII.</span></p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">“Quicquid agunt +homines, nostri est farrago libelli.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Acris</span> hyems jam venit: hyems genus omne +perosa<br /> +Foemineum, et senibus glacies non æqua rotundis:<br /> +Apparent rari stantes in tramite glauco;<br /> +Radit iter, cogitque nives, sua tela, juventus.<br /> +Trux matrona ruit, multos dominata per annos,<br /> +Digna indigna minans, glomeratque volumina crurum;<br /> +Illa parte senex, amisso forte galero,<br /> +Per plateas bacchatur; eum chorus omnis agrestum<br /> +Ridet anhelantem frustra, et jam jamque tenentem<br /> +Quod petit; illud agunt venti prensumque resorbent.<br /> +Post, ubi compositus tandem votique potitus<br /> +Sedit humi; flet crura tuens nive candida lenta,<br /> +<a name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 145</span>Et +vestem laceram, et venturas conjugis iras:<br /> +Itque domum tendens duplices ad sidera palmas,<br /> +Corda miser, desiderio perfixa galeri.<br /> + At juvenis (sed cruda viro viridisque juventus)<br +/> +Quærit bacciferas, tunica pendente, <a +name="citation145a"></a><a href="#footnote145a" +class="citation">[145a]</a> tabernas:<br /> +Pervigil ecce Baco furva depromit ab arca<br /> +Splendidius quiddam solito, plenumque saporem<br /> +Laudat, et antiqua jurat de stripe Jamaicæ.<br /> +O fumose puer, nimium ne crede Baconi:<br /> +Manillas vocat; hoc prætexit nomine caules.<br /> + Te vero, cui forte dedit maturior ætas<br /> +Scire potestates herbarum, te quoque quanti<br /> +Circumstent casus, paucis (adverte) docebo.<br /> +Præcipue, seu raptat amor te simplicis herbæ, <a +name="citation145b"></a><a href="#footnote145b" +class="citation">[145b]</a><br /> +Seu potius tenui Musam meditaris avena,<br /> +Procuratorem fugito, nam ferreus idem est.<br /> +<a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 146</span>Vita +semiboves catulos, redimicula vita<br /> +Candida: de coelo descendit σῶζε +σεαυτόν.<br /> +Nube vaporis item conspergere præter euntes<br /> +Jura vetant, notumque furens quid femina possit:<br /> +Odit enim dulces succos anus, odit odorem;<br /> +Odit Lethæi diffusa volumina fumi.<br /> + Mille modis reliqui fugiuntque feruntque laborem.<br +/> +Hic vir ad Eleos, pedibus talaria gestans,<br /> +Fervidus it latices, nec quidquam acquirit eundo: <a +name="citation146a"></a><a href="#footnote146a" +class="citation">[146a]</a><br /> +Ille petit virides (sed non e gramine) mensas,<br /> +Pollicitus meliora patri, tormentaque <a +name="citation146b"></a><a href="#footnote146b" +class="citation">[146b]</a> flexus<br /> +Per labyrintheos plus quam mortalia tentat,<br /> +Acre tuens, loculisque pilas immittit et aufert.<br /> + Sunt alii, quos frigus aquæ, tenuisque +phaselus<br /> +Captat, et æquali surgentes ordine remi.<br /> +<a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>His +edura cutis, nec ligno rasile tergum;<br /> +Par saxi sinus: esca boves cum robore Bassi.<br /> +Tollunt in numerum fera brachia, vique feruntur<br /> +Per fluctus: sonuere viæ clamore secundo:<br /> +Et piceâ de puppe fremens immane bubulcus<br /> +Invocat exitium cunctis, et verbera rapto<br /> +Stipite defessis onerat graviora caballis.<br /> + Nil humoris egent alii. Labor arva vagari,<br +/> +Flectere ludus equos, et amantem devia <a +name="citation147a"></a><a href="#footnote147a" +class="citation">[147a]</a> currum.<br /> +Nosco purpureas vestes, clangentia nosco<br /> +Signa tubæ, et caudas inter virgulta caninas.<br /> +Stat venator equus, tactoque ferocior armo<br /> +Surgit in arrectum, vix auditurus habenam;<br /> +Et jam prata fuga superat, jam flumina saltu.<br /> +Aspicias alios ab iniqua sepe rotari<br /> +In caput, ut scrobibus quæ sint fastigia quærant;<br +/> +Eque rubis aut amne pigro trahere humida crura,<br /> +Et fœdam faciem, defloccatumque galerum.<br /> + <a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +148</span>Sanctius his animal, cui quadravisse rotundum <a +name="citation148a"></a><a href="#footnote148a" +class="citation">[148a]</a><br /> +Musæ suadet amor, Camique ardentis imago,<br /> +Inspicat calamos contracta fronte malignos,<br /> +Perque Mathematicum pelagus, loca turbida, anhelat.<br /> +Circum dirus “Hymers,” nec pondus inutile, +“Lignum,”<br /> +“Salmoque,” et pueris tu detestate, +“Colenso,”<br /> +Horribiles visu formæ; livente notatæ<br /> +Ungue omnes, omnes insignes aure canina. <a +name="citation148b"></a><a href="#footnote148b" +class="citation">[148b]</a><br /> +Fervet opus; tacitum pertentant gaudia pectus<br /> +Tutorum; “pulchrumque mori,” dixere, +“legendo.”<br /> + Nec vero juvenes facere omnes omnia possunt.<br /> +Atque unum memini ipse, deus qui dictus amicis,<br /> +Et multum referens de rixatore <a name="citation148c"></a><a +href="#footnote148c" class="citation">[148c]</a> secundo,<br /> +Nocte terens ulnas ac scrinia, solus in alto<br /> +Degebat tripode; arcta viro vilisque supellex;<br /> +<a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 149</span>Et sic +torva tuens, pedibus per mutua nexis,<br /> +Sedit, lacte mero mentem mulcente tenellam.<br /> +Et fors ad summos tandem venisset honores;<br /> +Sed rapidi juvenes, queis gratior usus equorum,<br /> +Subveniunt, siccoque vetant inolescere libro.<br /> +Improbus hos Lector pueros, mentumque virili<br /> +Lævius, et duræ gravat inclementia Mortis: <a +name="citation149a"></a><a href="#footnote149a" +class="citation">[149a]</a><br /> +Agmen iners; queis mos alienâ vivere quadrâ, <a +name="citation149b"></a><a href="#footnote149b" +class="citation">[149b]</a><br /> +Et lituo vexare viros, calcare caballos.<br /> +Tales mane novo sæpe admiramur euntes<br /> +Torquibus in rigidis et pelle Libystidis ursæ;<br /> +Admiramur opus <a name="citation149c"></a><a href="#footnote149c" +class="citation">[149c]</a> tunicæ, vestemque <a +name="citation149d"></a><a href="#footnote149d" +class="citation">[149d]</a> sororem<br /> +Iridis, et crurum non enarrabile tegmen.<br /> +<a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 150</span>Hos +inter comites implebat pocula sorbis<br /> +Infelix puer, et sese reereabat ad ignem,<br /> +“Evœ, <a name="citation150a"></a><a +href="#footnote150a" class="citation">[150a]</a> <span +class="smcap">Basse</span>,” fremens: dum velox +præterit ætas;<br /> +Venit summa dies; et Junior Optimus exit.<br /> + Saucius at juvenis nota intra tecta refugit,<br /> +Horrendum ridens, lucemque miserrimus odit:<br /> +Informem famulus laqueum pendentiaque ossa<br /> +Mane videt, refugitque feri meminisse magistri.<br /> + Di nobis meliora! Modum re servat in omni<br +/> +Qui sapit: haud ilium semper recubare sub umbra,<br /> +Haud semper madidis juvat impallescere chartis.<br /> +Nos numerus sumus, et libros consumere nati;<br /> +Sed requies sit rebus; amant alterna Camenæ.<br /> +Nocte dieque legas, cum tertius advenit annus:<br /> +Tum libros cape; claude fores, et prandia defer.<br /> +Quartus venit: ini, <a name="citation150b"></a><a +href="#footnote150b" class="citation">[150b]</a> rebus jam rite +paratis,<br /> +Exultans, et coge gradum conferre magistros.<br /> + <a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +151</span>His animadversis, fugies immane Barathrum.<br /> +His, operose puer, si qua fata aspera rumpas,<br /> +Tu rixator eris. Saltem non crebra revises<br /> +Ad stabulum, <a name="citation151a"></a><a href="#footnote151a" +class="citation">[151a]</a> et tota moerens carpere juventa;<br +/> +Classe nec amisso nil profectura dolentem<br /> +Tradet ludibriis te plena leporis <span +class="smcap">Hirudo</span>. <a name="citation151b"></a><a +href="#footnote151b" class="citation">[151b]</a></p> +<h2><a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +152</span>TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE.</h2> +<h3>TO A SHIP.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Od</span>. i. 14.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Yet</span> on fresh billows +seaward wilt thou ride,<br /> +O ship? What dost thou? Seek a hav’n, and +there<br /> + Rest thee: for lo! thy side<br /> + Is oarless all and bare,</p> +<p class="poetry">And the swift south-west wind hath maimed thy +mast,<br /> +And thy yards creak, and, every cable lost,<br /> + Yield must thy keel at last<br /> + On pitiless sea-waves tossed</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +153</span>Too rudely. Goodly canvas is not thine,<br /> +Nor gods, to hear thee now, when need is sorest:—<br /> + Though thou—a Pontic pine,<br /> + Child of a stately +forest,—</p> +<p class="poetry">Boastest high name and empty pedigree,<br /> +Pale seamen little trust the gaudy sail:<br /> + Stay, unless doomed to be<br /> + The plaything of the gale.</p> +<p class="poetry">Flee—what of late sore burden was to +me,<br /> +Now a sad memory and a bitter pain,—<br /> + Those shining Cyclads flee<br /> + That stud the far-off main.</p> +<h3><a name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 154</span>TO +VIRGIL.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Od</span>. i. 24.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Unshamed</span>, unchecked, +for one so dear<br /> + We sorrow. Lead the mournful choir,<br /> + Melpomene, to whom thy sire<br /> +Gave harp, and song-notes liquid-clear!</p> +<p class="poetry">Sleeps He the sleep that knows no morn?<br /> + Oh Honour, oh twin-born with Right,<br /> + Pure Faith, and Truth that loves the light,<br /> +When shall again his like be born?</p> +<p class="poetry">Many a kind heart for Him makes moan;<br /> + Thine, Virgil, first. But ah! in vain<br /> + Thy love bids heaven restore again<br /> +That which it took not as a loan:</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +155</span>Were sweeter lute than Orpheus given<br /> + To thee, did trees thy voice obey;<br /> + The blood revisits not the clay<br /> +Which He, with lifted wand, hath driven</p> +<p class="poetry">Into his dark assemblage, who<br /> + Unlocks not fate to mortal’s prayer.<br /> + Hard lot! Yet light their griefs who <span +class="GutSmall">BEAR</span><br /> +The ills which they may not undo.</p> +<h3><a name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 156</span>TO +THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Od</span>. iii. 13.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Bandusia</span>, stainless +mirror of the sky!<br /> +Thine is the flower-crown’d bowl, for thee shall die,<br /> + When dawns again yon sun, the kid;<br /> + Whose budding horns, half-seen, half-hid,</p> +<p class="poetry">Challenge to dalliance or to strife—in +vain!<br /> +Soon must the hope of the wild herd be slain,<br /> + And those cold springs of thine<br /> + With blood incarnadine.</p> +<p class="poetry">Fierce glows the Dog-star, but his fiery +beam<br /> +Toucheth not thee: still grateful thy cool stream<br /> + To labour-wearied ox,<br /> + Or wanderer from the flocks:</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +157</span>And henceforth thou shalt be a royal fountain:<br /> +My harp shall tell how from yon cavernous mountain,<br /> + Topt by the brown oak-tree,<br /> + Thou breakest babblingly.</p> +<h3><a name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 158</span>TO +IBYCUS’S WIFE.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Od</span>. ii. 15.</h3> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Spouse</span> of penniless Ibycus,<br /> +Thus late, bring to a close all thy delinquencies,<br /> + All thy studious infamy:—<br /> +Nearing swiftly the grave—(that not an early one)—<br +/> + Cease girls’ sport to participate,<br /> +Blurring stars which were else cloudlessly brilliant.<br /> + What suits her who is beautiful<br /> +Suits not equally thee: rightly devastates<br /> + Thy fair daughter the homes of men,<br /> +Wild as Thyad, who wakes stirred by the kettle-drums.<br /> + Nothus’ beauty constraining her,<br /> +Like some kid at his play, holds she her revelry:<br /> + <a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +159</span>Thy years stately Luceria’s<br /> +Wools more fitly become—not din of harpsichords,<br /> + Not pink-petallèd roseblossoms,<br /> +Not casks drained by an old lip to the sediment.</p> +<h3><a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +160</span>SORACTE.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Od</span>. i. 9.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">One</span> dazzling mass of +solid snow<br /> + Soracte stands; the bent woods fret<br /> + Beneath their load; and, sharpest-set<br /> +With frost, the streams have ceased to flow.</p> +<p class="poetry">Pile on great faggots and break up<br /> + The ice: let influence more benign<br /> + Enter with four-years-treasured wine,<br /> +Fetched in the ponderous Sabine cup:</p> +<p class="poetry">Leave to the Gods all else. When they<br +/> + Have once bid rest the winds that war<br /> + Over the passionate seas, no more<br /> +Grey ash and cypress rock and sway.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +161</span>Ask not what future suns shall bring,<br /> + Count to-day gain, whate’er it chance<br /> + To be: nor, young man, scorn the dance,<br /> +Nor deem sweet Love an idle thing,</p> +<p class="poetry">Ere Time thy April youth hath changed<br /> + To sourness. Park and public walk<br /> + Attract thee now, and whispered talk<br /> +At twilight meetings pre-arranged;</p> +<p class="poetry">Hear now the pretty laugh that tells<br /> + In what dim corner lurks thy love;<br /> + And snatch a bracelet or a glove<br /> +From wrist or hand that scarce rebels.</p> +<h3><a name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 162</span>TO +LEUCONÖE.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Od</span>. i. 11.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Seek</span> not, for thou +shalt not find it, what my end, what thine shall be;<br /> +Ask not of Chaldæa’s science what God wills, +Leuconöe:<br /> +Better far, what comes, to bear it. Haply many a wintry +blast<br /> +Waits thee still; and this, it may be, Jove ordains to be thy +last,<br /> +Which flings now the flagging sea-wave on the obstinate +sandstone-reef.<br /> +Be thou wise: fill up the wine-cup; shortening, since the time is +brief,<br /> +Hopes that reach into the future. While I speak, hath +stol’n away<br /> +Jealous Time. Mistrust To-morrow, catch the blossom of +To-day.</p> +<h3><a name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +163</span>JUNO’S SPEECH.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Od</span>. iii. 3.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> just man’s +single-purposed mind<br /> + Not furious mobs that prompt to ill<br /> + May move, nor kings’ frowns shake his will<br +/> +Which is as rock; not warrior-winds</p> +<p class="poetry">That keep the seas in wild unrest;<br /> + Nor bolt by Jove’s own finger hurled:<br /> + The fragments of a shivered world<br /> +Would crash round him still self-possest.</p> +<p class="poetry">Jove’s wandering son reached, thus +endowed,<br /> + The fiery bastions of the skies;<br /> + Thus Pollux; with them Cæsar lies<br /> +Beside his nectar, radiant-browed.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +164</span>For this rewarded, tiger-drawn<br /> + Rode Bacchus, reining necks before<br /> + Untamed; for this War’s horses bore<br /> +Quirinus up from Acheron,</p> +<p class="poetry">When in heav’n’s conclave Juno +said,<br /> + Thrice welcomed: “Troy is in the dust;<br /> + Troy, by a judge accursed, unjust,<br /> +And that strange woman prostrated.</p> +<p class="poetry">“The day Laomedon ignored<br /> + His god-pledged word, resigned to me<br /> + And Pallas ever-pure, was she,<br /> +Her people, and their traitor lord.</p> +<p class="poetry">“No more the Greek girl’s guilty +guest<br /> + Sits splendour-girt: Priam’s perjured sons<br +/> + Find not against the mighty ones<br /> +Of Greece a shield in Hector’s breast:</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +165</span>“And, long drawn out by private jars,<br /> + The war sleeps. Lo! my wrath is o’er:<br +/> + And him the Trojan vestal bore<br /> +(Sprung of that hated line) to Mars,</p> +<p class="poetry">“To Mars restore I. His be rest<br +/> + In halls of light: by him be drained<br /> + The nectar-bowl, his place obtained<br /> +In the calm companies of the blest.</p> +<p class="poetry">“While betwixt Rome and Ilion raves<br /> + A length of ocean, where they will<br /> + Rise empires for the exiles still:<br /> +While Paris’s and Priam’s graves</p> +<p class="poetry">“Are hoof-trod, and the she-wolf +breeds<br /> + Securely there, unharmed shall stand<br /> + Rome’s lustrous Capitol, her hand<br /> +Impose proud laws on trampled Medes.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +166</span>“Wide-feared, to far-off climes be borne<br /> + Her story; where the central main<br /> + Europe and Libya parts in twain,<br /> +Where full Nile laves a land of corn:</p> +<p class="poetry">“The buried secret of the mine,<br /> + (Best left there) resolute to spurn,<br /> + And not to man’s base uses turn<br /> +With hand that spares not things divine.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Earth’s utmost end, where’er +it be,<br /> + May her hosts reach; careering proud<br /> + O’er lands where watery rain and cloud,<br /> +Or where wild suns hold revelry.</p> +<p class="poetry">“But, to the soldier-sons of Rome,<br /> + Tied by this law, such fates are willed;<br /> + That they seek never to rebuild,<br /> +Too fond, too bold, their grandsires’ home.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +167</span>“With darkest omens, deadliest strife,<br /> + Shall Troy, raised up again, repeat<br /> + Her history; I the victor-fleet<br /> +Shall lead, Jove’s sister and his wife.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Thrice let Apollo rear the wall<br /> + Of brass; and thrice my Greeks shall hew<br /> + The fabric down; thrice matrons rue<br /> +In chains their sons’, their husbands’ +fall.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Ill my light lyre such notes beseem.<br /> + Stay, Muse; nor, wayward still, rehearse<br /> + God-utterances in puny verse<br /> +That may but mar a mighty theme.</p> +<h3><a name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>TO A +FAUN.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Od</span>. iii. 18.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Wooer</span> of young +Nymphs who fly thee,<br /> + Lightly o’er my sunlit lawn<br /> +Trip, and go, nor injured by thee<br /> + Be my weanling herds, O Faun:</p> +<p class="poetry">If the kid his doomed head bows, and<br /> + Brims with wine the loving cup,<br /> +When the year is full; and thousand<br /> + Scents from altars hoar go up.</p> +<p class="poetry">Each flock in the rich grass gambols<br /> + When the month comes which is thine;<br /> +And the happy village rambles<br /> + Fieldward with the idle kine:</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +169</span>Lambs play on, the wolf their neighbour:<br /> + Wild woods deck thee with their spoil;<br /> +And with glee the sons of labour<br /> + Stamp thrice on their foe, the soil.</p> +<h3><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 170</span>TO +LYCE.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Od</span>. iv. 13.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Lyce</span>, the gods have +listened to my prayer;<br /> +The gods have listened, Lyce. Thou art grey,<br /> + And still would’st thou seem fair;<br /> + Still unshamed drink, and +play,</p> +<p class="poetry">And, wine-flushed, woo slow-answering Love with +weak<br /> +Shrill pipings. With young Chia He doth dwell,<br /> + Queen of the harp; her cheek<br /> + Is his sweet citadel:—</p> +<p class="poetry">He marked the withered oak, and on he flew<br +/> +Intolerant; shrank from Lyce grim and wrinkled,<br /> + Whose teeth are ghastly-blue,<br /> + Whose temples +snow-besprinkled:—</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +171</span>Not purple, not the brightest gem that glows,<br /> +Brings back to her the years which, fleeting fast,<br /> + Time hath once shut in those<br /> + Dark annals of the Past.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, where is all thy loveliness? soft hue<br /> +And motions soft? Oh, what of Her doth rest,<br /> + Her, who breathed love, who drew<br /> + My heart out of my breast?</p> +<p class="poetry">Fair, and far-famed, and subtly sweet, thy +face<br /> +Ranked next to Cinara’s. But to Cinara fate<br /> + Gave but a few years’ grace;<br /> + And lets live, all too late,</p> +<p class="poetry">Lyce, the rival of the beldam crow:<br /> +That fiery youth may see with scornful brow<br /> + The torch that long ago<br /> + Beamed bright, a cinder now.</p> +<h3><a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 172</span>TO +HIS SLAVE.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Od</span>. i. 38.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Persian</span> grandeur I +abhor;<br /> +Linden-wreathèd crowns, avaunt:<br /> +Boy, I bid thee not explore<br /> +Woods which latest roses haunt:</p> +<p class="poetry">Try on nought thy busy craft<br /> +Save plain myrtle; so arrayed<br /> +Thou shalt fetch, I drain, the draught<br /> +Fitliest ’neath the scant vine-shade.</p> +<h3><a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 173</span>THE +DEAD OX.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Georg</span>. <span +class="smcap">iv</span>.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Lo</span>! smoking in the +stubborn plough, the ox<br /> +Falls, from his lip foam gushing crimson-stained,<br /> +And sobs his life out. Sad of face the ploughman<br /> +Moves, disentangling from his comrade’s corpse<br /> +The lone survivor: and its work half-done,<br /> +Abandoned in the furrow stands the plough.<br /> +Not shadiest forest-depths, not softest lawns,<br /> +May move him now: not river amber-pure,<br /> +That volumes o’er the cragstones to the plain.<br /> +Powerless the broad sides, glazed the rayless eye,<br /> +And low and lower sinks the ponderous neck.<br /> +What thank hath he for all the toil he toiled,<br /> +The heavy-clodded land in man’s behoof<br /> +<a name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +174</span>Upturning? Yet the grape of Italy,<br /> +The stored-up feast hath wrought no harm to him:<br /> +Green leaf and taintless grass are all their fare;<br /> +The clear rill or the travel-freshen’d stream<br /> +Their cup: nor one care mars their honest sleep.</p> +<h3><a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span>FROM +THEOCRITUS.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Idyll</span>. VII.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Scarce</span> midway were +we yet, nor yet descried<br /> +The stone that hides what once was Brasidas:<br /> +When there drew near a wayfarer from Crete,<br /> +Young Lycidas, the Muses’ votary.<br /> +The horned herd was his care: a glance might tell<br /> +So much: for every inch a herdsman he.<br /> +Slung o’er his shoulder was a ruddy hide<br /> +Torn from a he-goat, shaggy, tangle-haired,<br /> +That reeked of rennet yet: a broad belt clasped<br /> +A patched cloak round his breast, and for a staff<br /> +A gnarled wild-olive bough his right hand bore.<br /> +Soon with a quiet smile he spoke—his eye<br /> +Twinkled, and laughter sat upon his lip:<br /> +“And whither ploddest thou thy weary way<br /> +<a name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 176</span>Beneath +the noontide sun, Simichides?<br /> +For now the lizard sleeps upon the wall,<br /> +The crested lark hath closed his wandering wing.<br /> +Speed’st thou, a bidd’n guest, to some +reveller’s board?<br /> +Or townwards, to the treading of the grape?<br /> +For lo! recoiling from thy hurrying feet<br /> +The pavement-stones ring out right merrily.”</p> +<h3><a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +177</span>SPEECH OF AJAX.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Soph</span>. <span class="smcap">Aj</span>. +645.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">All</span> strangest things +the multitudinous years<br /> +Bring forth, and shadow from us all we know.<br /> +Falter alike great oath and steeled resolve;<br /> +And none shall say of aught, ‘This may not be.’<br /> +Lo! I myself, but yesterday so strong,<br /> +As new-dipt steel am weak and all unsexed<br /> +By yonder woman: yea I mourn for them,<br /> +Widow and orphan, left amid their foes.<br /> +But I will journey seaward—where the shore<br /> +Lies meadow-fringed—so haply wash away<br /> +My sin, and flee that wrath that weighs me down.<br /> +And, lighting somewhere on an untrodden way,<br /> +I will bury this my lance, this hateful thing,<br /> +Deep in some earth-hole where no eye shall see—<br /> +<a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 178</span>Night +and Hell keep it in the underworld!<br /> +For never to this day, since first I grasped<br /> +The gift that Hector gave, my bitterest foe,<br /> +Have I reaped aught of honour from the Greeks.<br /> +So true that byword in the mouths of men,<br /> +“A foeman’s gifts are no gifts, but a +curse.”<br /> + Wherefore henceforward shall I know that God<br /> +Is great; and strive to honour Atreus’ sons.<br /> +Princes they are, and should be obeyed. How else?<br /> +Do not all terrible and most puissant things<br /> +Yet bow to loftier majesties? The Winter,<br /> +Who walks forth scattering snows, gives place anon<br /> +To fruitage-laden Summer; and the orb<br /> +Of weary Night doth in her turn stand by,<br /> +And let shine out, with her white steeds, the Day:<br /> +Stern tempest-blasts at last sing lullaby<br /> +To groaning seas: even the arch-tyrant, Sleep,<br /> +Doth loose his slaves, not hold them chained for ever.<br /> +<a name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 179</span>And +shall not mankind too learn discipline?<br /> +<i>I</i> know, of late experience taught, that him<br /> +Who is my foe I must but hate as one<br /> +Whom I may yet call Friend: and him who loves me<br /> +Will I but serve and cherish as a man<br /> +Whose love is not abiding. Few be they<br /> +Who, reaching Friendship’s port, have there found rest.<br +/> + But, for these things they shall be well. Go +thou,<br /> +Lady, within, and there pray that the Gods<br /> +May fill unto the full my heart’s desire.<br /> +And ye, my mates, do unto me with her<br /> +Like honour: bid young Teucer, if he come,<br /> +To care for me, but to be <i>your</i> friend still.<br /> +For where my way leads, thither I shall go:<br /> +Do ye my bidding; haply ye may hear,<br /> +Though now is my dark hour, that I have peace.</p> +<h3><a name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 180</span>FROM +LUCRETIUS.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Book</span> II.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sweet</span>, when the +great sea’s water is stirred to his depths by the +storm-winds,<br /> +Standing ashore to descry one afar-off mightily struggling:<br /> +Not that a neighbour’s sorrow to you yields blissful +enjoyment;<br /> +But that the sight hath a sweetness, of ills ourselves are exempt +from.<br /> +Sweet ’tis too to behold, on a broad plain mustering, +war-hosts<br /> +Arm them for some great battle, one’s self unscathed by the +danger:—<br /> +Yet still happier this:—To possess, impregnably guarded,<br +/> +<a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 181</span>Those +calm heights of the sages, which have for an origin Wisdom;<br /> +Thence to survey our fellows, observe them this way and that +way<br /> +Wander amidst Life’s paths, poor stragglers seeking a +highway:<br /> +Watch mind battle with mind, and escutcheon rival escutcheon;<br +/> +Gaze on that untold strife, which is waged ’neath the sun +and the starlight,<br /> +Up as they toil to the surface whereon rest Riches and Empire.<br +/> +O race born unto trouble! O minds all lacking of +eyesight!<br /> +’Neath what a vital darkness, amidst how terrible +dangers,<br /> +Move ye thro’ this thing, Life, this fragment! Fools, +that ye hear not<br /> +Nature clamour aloud for the one thing only; that, all pain<br /> +<a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 182</span>Parted +and past from the Body, the Mind too bask in a blissful<br /> +Dream, all fear of the future and all anxiety over!<br /> + So, as regards Man’s Body, a few things only +are needful,<br /> +(Few, tho’ we sum up all,) to remove all misery from +him;<br /> +Aye, and to strew in his path such a lib’ral carpet of +pleasures,<br /> +That scarce Nature herself would at times ask happiness +ampler.<br /> +Statues of youth and of beauty may not gleam golden around +him,<br /> +(Each in his right hand bearing a great lamp lustrously +burning,<br /> +Whence to the midnight revel a light may be furnished always);<br +/> +Silver may not shine softly, nor gold blaze bright, in his +mansion,<br /> +<a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 183</span>Nor to +the noise of the tabret his halls gold-cornicèd +echo:—<br /> +Yet still he, with his fellow, reposed on the velvety +greensward,<br /> +Near to a rippling stream, by a tall tree canopied over,<br /> +Shall, though they lack great riches, enjoy all bodily +pleasure.<br /> +Chiefliest then, when above them a fair sky smiles, and the young +year<br /> +Flings with a bounteous hand over each green meadow the +wild-flowers:—<br /> +Not more quickly depart from his bosom fiery fevers,<br /> +Who beneath crimson hangings and pictures cunningly broidered<br +/> +Tosses about, than from him who must lie in beggarly raiment.<br +/> + Therefore, since to the Body avail not Riches, +avails not<br /> +<a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +184</span>Heraldry’s utmost boast, nor the pomp and the +pride of an Empire;<br /> +Next shall you own, that the Mind needs likewise nothing of these +things.<br /> +Unless—when, peradventure, your armies over the +champaign<br /> +Spread with a stir and a ferment, and bid War’s image +awaken,<br /> +Or when with stir and with ferment a fleet sails forth upon +Ocean—<br /> +Cowed before these brave sights, pale Superstition abandon<br /> +Straightway your mind as you gaze, Death seem no longer +alarming,<br /> +Trouble vacate your bosom, and Peace hold holiday in you.<br /> + But, if (again) all this be a vain impossible +fiction;<br /> +If of a truth men’s fears, and the cares which hourly beset +them,<br /> +<a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 185</span>Heed not +the jav’lin’s fury, regard not clashing of +broadswords;<br /> +But all-boldly amongst crowned heads and the rulers of empires<br +/> +Stalk, not shrinking abashed from the dazzling glare of the red +gold,<br /> +Not from the pomp of the monarch, who walks forth +purple-apparelled:<br /> +These things shew that at times we are bankrupt, surely, of +Reason;<br /> +When too all Man’s life through a great Dark laboureth +onward.<br /> +For, as a young boy trembles, and in that mystery, Darkness,<br +/> +Sees all terrible things: so do we too, ev’n in the +daylight,<br /> +Ofttimes shudder at that, which is not more really alarming<br /> +Than boys’ fears, when they waken, and say some danger is +o’er them.<br /> + <a name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +186</span>So this panic of mind, these clouds which gather around +us,<br /> +Fly not the bright sunbeam, nor the ivory shafts of the +Day-star:<br /> +Nature, rightly revealed, and the Reason only, dispel them.<br /> + Now, how moving about do the prime material atoms<br +/> +Shape forth this thing and that thing; and, once shaped, how they +resolve them;<br /> +What power says unto each, This must be; how an inherent<br /> +Elasticity drives them about Space vagrantly onward;—<br /> +I shall unfold: thou simply give all thyself to my teaching.<br +/> + Matter mingled and massed into indissoluble union<br +/> +Does not exist. For we see how wastes each separate +substance;<br /> +So flow piecemeal away, with the length’ning centuries, all +things,<br /> +<a name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 187</span>Till +from our eye by degrees that old self passes, and is not.<br /> +Still Universal Nature abides unchanged as aforetime.<br /> +Whereof this is the cause. When the atoms part from a +substance,<br /> +That suffers loss; but another is elsewhere gaining an +increase:<br /> +So that, as one thing wanes, still a second bursts into +blossom,<br /> +Soon, in its turn, to be left. Thus draws this Universe +always<br /> +Gain out of loss; thus live we mortals one on another.<br /> +Bourgeons one generation, and one fades. Let but a few +years<br /> +Pass, and a race has arisen which was not: as in a racecourse,<br +/> +One hands on to another the burning torch of Existence.</p> +<h3><a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 188</span>FROM +HOMER.<br /> +<i>Il</i>. I.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sing</span>, O daughter of +heaven, of Peleus’ son, of Achilles,<br /> +Him whose terrible wrath brought thousand woes on Achaia.<br /> +Many a stalwart soul did it hurl untimely to Hades,<br /> +Souls of the heroes of old: and their bones lay strown on the +sea-sands,<br /> +Prey to the vulture and dog. Yet was Zeus fulfilling a +purpose;<br /> +Since that far-off day, when in hot strife parted asunder<br /> +Atreus’ sceptred son, and the chos’n of heaven, +Achilles.<br /> + Say then, which of the Gods bid arise up battle +between them?<br /> +<a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +189</span>Zeus’s and Leto’s son. With the king +was kindled his anger:<br /> +Then went sickness abroad, and the people died of the +sickness:<br /> +For that of Atreus’ son had his priest been lightly +entreated,<br /> +Chryses, Apollo’s priest. For he came to the ships of +Achaia,<br /> +Bearing a daughter’s ransom, a sum not easy to number:<br +/> +And in his hand was the emblem of Him, far-darting Apollo,<br /> +High on a sceptre of gold: and he made his prayer to the +Grecians;<br /> +Chiefly to Atreus’ sons, twin chieftains, ordering +armies<br /> + “Chiefs sprung of Atreus’ loins; and ye, +brazen-greavèd Achaians!<br /> +So may the Gods this day, the Olympus-palacèd, grant +you<br /> +<a name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +190</span>Priam’s city to raze, and return unscathed to +your homesteads:<br /> +Only my own dear daughter I ask; take ransom and yield her,<br /> +Rev’rencing His great name, son of Zeus, far-darting +Apollo.”<br /> + Then from the host of Achaians arose tumultuous +answer:<br /> +“Due to the priest is his honour; accept rich ransom and +yield her.”<br /> +But there was war in the spirit of Atreus’ son, +Agamemnon;<br /> +Disdainful he dismissed him, a right stern fiat +appending:—<br /> + “Woe be to thee, old man, if I find thee +lingering longer,<br /> +Yea or returning again, by the hollow ships of Achaians!<br /> +Scarce much then will avail thee the great god’s sceptre +and emblem.<br /> +<a name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>Her will +I never release. Old age must first come upon her,<br /> +In my own home, yea in Argos, afar from the land of her +fathers,<br /> +Following the loom and attending upon my bed. But avaunt +thee!<br /> +Go, and provoke not me, that thy way may be haply +securer.”<br /> + These were the words of the king, and the old man +feared and obeyed him:<br /> +Voiceless he went by the shore of the great dull-echoing +ocean,<br /> +Thither he got him apart, that ancient man; and a long prayer<br +/> +Prayed to Apollo his Lord, son of golden-ringleted Leto.<br /> + “Lord of the silver bow, whose arm girds +Chryse and Cilla,—<br /> +Cilla, loved of the Gods,—and in might sways Tenedos, +hearken!<br /> +<a name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 192</span>Oh! if, +in days gone by, I have built from floor unto cornice,<br /> +Smintheus, a fair shrine for thee; or burned in the flames of the +altar<br /> +Fat flesh of bulls and of goats; then do this thing that I ask +thee:<br /> +Hurl on the Greeks thy shafts, that thy servant’s tears be +avengèd!”<br /> + So did he pray, and his prayer reached the ears of +Phoebus Apollo.<br /> +Dark was the soul of the god as he moved from the heights of +Olympus,<br /> +Shouldering a bow, and a quiver on this side fast and on that +side.<br /> +Onward in anger he moved. And the arrows, stirred by the +motion,<br /> +Rattled and rang on his shoulder: he came, as cometh the +midnight.<br /> +<a name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 193</span>Hard by +the ships he stayed him, and loosed one shaft from the +bow-string;<br /> +Harshly the stretched string twanged of the bow all +silvery-shining;<br /> +First fell his wrath on the mules, and the swift-footed hound of +the herdsman;<br /> +Afterward smote he the host. With a rankling arrow he smote +them<br /> +Aye; and the morn and the even were red with the glare of the +corpse-fires.<br /> + Nine days over the host sped the shafts of the god: +and the tenth day<br /> +Dawned; and Achilles said, “Be a council called of the +people.”<br /> +(Such thought came to his mind from the goddess, Hera the +white-armed,<br /> +Hera who loved those Greeks, and who saw them dying around +her.)<br /> +<a name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 194</span>So when +all were collected and ranged in a solemn assembly,<br /> +Straightway rose up amidst them and spake swift-footed +Achilles:—<br /> + “Atreus’ son! it were better, I think +this day, that we wandered<br /> +Back, re-seeking our homes, (if a warfare <i>may</i> be +avoided);<br /> +Now when the sword and the plague, these two things, fight with +Achaians.<br /> +Come, let us seek out now some priest, some seer amongst us,<br +/> +Yea or a dreamer of dreams—for a dream too cometh of +God’s hand—<br /> +Whence we may learn what hath angered in this wise Phoebus +Apollo.<br /> +Whether mayhap he reprove us of prayer or of oxen unoffered;<br +/> +<a name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 195</span>Whether, +accepting the incense of lambs and of blemishless he-goats,<br /> +Yet it be his high will to remove this misery from us.”<br +/> + Down sat the prince: he had spoken. And uprose +to them in answer<br /> +Kalchas Thestor’s son, high chief of the host of the +augurs.<br /> +Well he knew what is present, what will be, and what was +aforetime;<br /> +He into Ilion’s harbour had led those ships of Achaia,<br +/> +All by the Power of the Art, which he gained from Phoebus +Apollo.<br /> +Thus then, kindliest-hearted, arising spake he before them:<br /> + “Peleus’ son! Thou demandest, a +man heavenfavor’d, an answer<br /> +<a name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 196</span>Touching +the Great King’s wrath, the afar-off-aiming Apollo:<br /> +Therefore I lift up my voice. Swear thou to me, duly +digesting<br /> +All,—that with right good will, by word and by deed, thou +wilt aid me.<br /> +Surely the ire will awaken of one who mightily ruleth<br /> +Over the Argives all: and upon him wait the Achaians.<br /> +Aye is the battle the king’s, when a poor man kindleth his +anger:<br /> +For, if but this one day he devour his indignation,<br /> +Still on the morrow abideth a rage, that its end be +accomplished,<br /> +Deep in the soul of the king. So bethink thee, wilt thou +deliver.”<br /> + Then unto him making answer arose swift-footed +Achilles:<br /> +<a name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +197</span>“Fearing nought, up and open the god’s +will, all that is told thee:<br /> +For by Apollo’s self, heaven’s favourite, whom thou, +Kalchas,<br /> +Serving aright, to the armies aloud God-oracles op’nest:<br +/> +None—while as yet I breathe upon earth, yet walk in the +daylight—<br /> +Shall, at the hollow ships, lift hand of oppression against +thee,<br /> +None out of all yon host—not and if thou said’st +Agamemnon,<br /> +Who now sits in his glory, the topmost flower of the +armies.”<br /> + Then did the blameless prophet at last wax valiant +and answer:<br /> +“Lo! He doth not reprove us of prayer or of oxen +unoffered;<br /> +<a name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 198</span>But for +his servant’s sake, the disdained of king Agamemnon,<br /> +(In that he loosed not his daughter, inclined not his ear to a +ransom,)—<br /> +Therefore the Far-darter sendeth, and yet shall send on us, +evil.<br /> +Nor shall he stay from the slaughter the hand that is heavy upon +you,<br /> +Till to her own dear father the bright-eyed maiden is yielded,<br +/> +No price asked, no ransom; and ships bear hallowèd oxen<br +/> +Chryse-wards:—then, it may be, will he shew mercy and hear +us.”<br /> + These words said, sat he down. Then rose in +his place and addressed them<br /> +Atreus’ warrior son, Agamemnon king of the nations,<br /> +<a name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 199</span>Sore +grieved. Fury was working in each dark cell of his +bosom,<br /> +And in his eye was a glare as a burning fiery furnace:<br /> +First to the priest he addressed him, his whole mien boding a +mischief.<br /> + “Priest of ill luck! Never heard I of +aught good from thee, but evil.<br /> +Still doth the evil thing unto thee seem sweeter of +utt’rance;<br /> +Leaving the thing which is good all unspoke, all +unaccomplished.<br /> +Lo! this day to the people thou say’st, God-oracles +opening,<br /> +What, but that <i>I</i> am the cause why the god’s hand +worketh against them,<br /> +For that in sooth I rejected a ransom, aye and a rich one,<br /> +<a name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 200</span>Brought +for the girl Briseis. I did. For I chose to possess +her,<br /> +Rather, at home: less favour hath Clytemnestra before me,<br /> +Clytemnestra my wife: unto her Briseis is equal,<br /> +Equal in form and in stature, in mind and in womanly wisdom.<br +/> +Still, even thus, am I ready to yield her, so it be better:<br /> +Better is saving alive, I hold, than slaying a nation.<br /> +Meanwhile deck me a guerdon in her stead, lest of Achaians<br /> +I should alone lack honour; an unmeet thing and a shameful.<br /> +See all men, that my guerdon, I wot not whither it +goeth.”<br /> + Then unto him made answer the swift-foot chieftain +Achilles:<br /> +<a name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 201</span>“O +most vaunting of men, most gain-loving, off-spring of Atreus!<br +/> +How shall the lords of Achaia bestow fresh guerdon upon thee?<br +/> +Surely we know not yet of a treasure piled in abundance:<br /> +That which the sacking of cities hath brought to us, all hath an +owner,<br /> +Yea it were all unfit that the host make redistribution.<br /> +Yield thou the maid to the god. So threefold surely and +fourfold<br /> +All we Greeks will requite thee, should that day dawn, when the +great Gods<br /> +Grant that of yon proud walls not one stone rest on +another.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * * *</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">THE +END.</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote15a"></a><a href="#citation15a" +class="footnote">[15a]</a> “The kites know well the +long stern swell<br /> +That bids the Romans close.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Macaulay</span>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote51a"></a><a href="#citation51a" +class="footnote">[51a]</a> “Poor moralist, and what +art thou?<br /> +A solitary fly.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Gray</span>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote105"></a><a href="#citation105" +class="footnote">[105]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote145a"></a><a href="#citation145a" +class="footnote">[145a]</a> <i>tunicâ pendente</i>: +h. e. ‘suspensâ e brachio.’ Quod +procuratoribus illis valde, ut ferunt, displicebat. Dicunt +vero morem a barbaris tractum, urbem Bosporiam in fl. Iside +habitantibus. <i>Bacciferas tabernas</i>: id q. +nostri vocant “tobacco-shops.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote145b"></a><a href="#citation145b" +class="footnote">[145b]</a> +<i>herbæ—avenâ</i>. Duo quasi genera +artis poeta videtur distinguere. ‘Weed,’ +‘pipe,’ recte Scaliger.</p> +<p><a name="footnote146a"></a><a href="#citation146a" +class="footnote">[146a]</a> <i>nil acquirit +eundo</i>. Aqua enim aspera, et radentibus parum +habilis. Immersum hic aliquem et vix aut ne vix quidem +extractum refert schol.</p> +<p><a name="footnote146b"></a><a href="#citation146b" +class="footnote">[146b]</a> <i>tormenta p. q. +mortalia</i>. 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. <i>Loculis</i>, bene vertas, +‘pockets.<sup>’</sup></p> +<p><a name="footnote147a"></a><a href="#citation147a" +class="footnote">[147a]</a> <i>amantem devio</i>. +Quorsum hoc, quærunt Interpretes. Suspicor equidem +respiciendos, vv. 19–23, de precuratoribus.</p> +<p><a name="footnote148a"></a><a href="#citation148a" +class="footnote">[148a]</a> <i>quadr. +rotm</i>.—<i>Cami ard. im</i><sup><i>o</i></sup>. +Quadrando enim rotundum (Ang. ‘squaring the circle’) +Camum accendere, juvenes ingenui semper nitebantur. Fecisse +vero quemquam non liquet.</p> +<p><a name="footnote148b"></a><a href="#citation148b" +class="footnote">[148b]</a> <i>aure caninâ</i>. +Iterum audi Peile, ‘dog’s-eared.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote148c"></a><a href="#citation148c" +class="footnote">[148c]</a> <i>rixatore</i>. non male +Heins. cum Aldinâ, ‘wrangler.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote149a"></a><a href="#citation149a" +class="footnote">[149a]</a> <i>Mortis</i>. Verbum +generali fere sensu dictum inveni. Suspicor autem poetam +virum quendam innuisse, qui currus, caballos, id genus omne, +mercede non minimâ locaret.</p> +<p><a name="footnote149b"></a><a href="#citation149b" +class="footnote">[149b]</a> <i>aliessâ +quadrâ</i>. Sunt qui de pileis Academicis +accipiunt. Rapidiores enim suas fere amittebant. Sed +judicet sibi lector.</p> +<p><a name="footnote149c"></a><a href="#citation149c" +class="footnote">[149c]</a> <i>opus tunicæ</i>, +‘shirt-work.’ Alii <i>opes</i>. Perperam.</p> +<p><a name="footnote149d"></a><a href="#citation149d" +class="footnote">[149d]</a> <i>vestem</i>. Nota +proprietatem verbi. ‘Vest,’ enim apud politos +id. q. vulgo ‘waistcoat’ appellatur. Quod et +feminæ usurpahant, ut hodiernæ, fibula revinctum, +teste Virgillo:</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘crines nodantur in +aurum,<br /> +Aurea purpuream subnectit fibula vestem.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote150a"></a><a href="#citation150a" +class="footnote">[150a]</a> <i>Basse</i>. cft. +Interpretes illud Horatianum, “Bassum Threicâ vincat +amystide.” Non perspexere viri docti alterum hic +alludi, Anglicanæ originis, neque illum, ut perhibent, a +potu aversum.</p> +<p><a name="footnote150b"></a><a href="#citation150b" +class="footnote">[150b]</a> <i>Ini</i>. Sic nostri, +‘Go in and win.’ <i>rebus</i>, +‘subjects.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote151a"></a><a href="#citation151a" +class="footnote">[151a]</a> <i>crebra r. a. +stabulum</i>. “Turn up year after year at the old +diggings, (i. e. the Senate House,) and be plucked,” +&c. Peile. Quo quid jejunius?</p> +<p><a name="footnote151b"></a><a href="#citation151b" +class="footnote">[151b]</a> Classe—Hirudo. +Obscurior allusio ad picturam quandam (in collectione viri, vel +plusquam viri, Punchii repositam,) in qua juvenis custodem +stationis moerens alloquitur.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERSES AND TRANSLATIONS***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 4096-h.htm or 4096-h.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. 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