LOVELY courier of the sky,
Whence and whither dost thou fly?
Scattering, as thy pinions play,
Liquid fragrance all the way:
Is it business? is it love?
Tell me, tell me, gentle dove?
Soft Anacreon's vows I bear,
Vows to Myrtale the fair;
Graced with all that charms the heart,
Blushing nature, smiling art.
Venus, courted by an ode,
On the bard her dove bestow'd:
Vested with a master's right,
Now Anacreon rules my flight;
His the letters that you see,
Weighty charge, consign'd to me:
Think not yet my service hard,
Joyless task without reward;
Smiling at my master's gates,
Freedom my return awaits;
But the liberal grant in vain
Tempts me to be wild again.
Can a prudent dove decline
Blissful bondage such as mine?
Over hills and fields to roam,
Fortune's guest without a home;
Under leaves to hide one's head,
Slightly shelter'd, coarsely fed:
Now my better lot bestows
Sweet repast and soft repose;
Now the generous bowl' I sip,
As it leaves Anacreon's lip:
Void of care, and free from dread,
From his fingers snatch his bread;
Then, with luscious plenty gay,
Round his chamber dance and play;
Or, from wine as courage springs,
O'er his face extend my wings;
And, when feast and frolic tire,
Drop asleep upon his lyre.
This is all, be quick and go,
More than all thou canst not know;
Let me now my pinions ply,
I have chatter'd like a pye.'
FROM BOETHIUS.
O THOU whose power ofer moving worlds
Whose voice created, and whose wisdom guides,
On darkling man in pure effulgence shine,
And cheer the clouded mind with light divine.
'Tis thine alone to calm the pious breast
With silent confidence and holy rest;
[bend; From thee, great God! we spring; to thee we Path, motive, guide, original, and end.
DE CONSOLATIONE PHILOSOPHIE.
THOUGH Countless as the grains of sand
That roll at Eurus' loud command;
Though countless as the lamps of night
That glad us with vicarious light;
Fair Plenty, gracious queen, should pour
The blessings of a golden shower,
Not all the gifts of Fate combined
Would ease the hunger of the mind,
But swallowing all the mighty store,
Rapacity would call for more;
For still where wishes most abound
Unquench'd the thirst of gain is found;
In vain the shining gifts are sent,
For none are rich without content.
BOOK II. METRE 4.
WOULDST thou to some steadfast seat, Out of Fortune's power, retreat? Wouldst thou, when fierce Eurus blows,
Calmly rest in safe repose?
Wouldst thou see the foaming main
Tossing rave, but rave in vain ?
Shun the mountain's airy brow,
Shun the seasapp'd sand below;
Soon the' aspiring fabric falls
When loud Auster shakes her walls,
Soon the treacherous sands retreat
From beneath the cumbrous weight.
Fix not where the tempting height
Mingles danger with delight;
Safe upon the rocky ground
Firm and low thy mansion found;
There, mid tempests' loudest roars,
Dashing waves, and shatter'd shores,
Thou shalt sit and smile to see
All the world afraid but thee,
Lead a long and peaceful age,
And deride their utmost rage.
BOOK III. METRE 5.
THE man who pants for ample sway
Must bid his passions all obey;
Must bid each wild desire be still,
Nor yoke his reason with his will:
For though beneath thy haughty brow
Warm India's supple sons should bow,
Though northern climes confess thy sway,
Which erst in frost and freedom lay,
If Sorrow pine, or Avarice crave,
Bow down and own thyself a slave.
PARAPHRASE OF PROVERBS,
CHAP. VI. VERSES 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11.
Go to the Ant, thou sluggard!'
TURN on the prudent ant thy heedful eyes,
Observe her labours, sluggard! and be wise:
No stern command, no monitory voice
Prescribes her duties, or directs her choice;
Yet, timely provident, she hastes away,
To snatch the blessings of the plenteous day;
When fruitful summer loads the teeming plain,
She crops the harvest, and she stores the grain.
How long shall Sloth usurp thy useless hours, Unnerve thy vigour, and enchain thy powers? While artful shades thy downy couch enclose, And soft solicitation courts repose,
Amidst the drowsy charms of dull delight,
Year chases year with unremitted flight,
Till Want now following, fraudulent and slow,
Shall spring to seize thee like an ambush'd foe.
OF A SPEECH OF AQUILEIO, IN THE ADRIANO OF
METASTASIO,
Beginning-Tu che in Corte invechiasti.
GROWN old in courts, thou art not surely one
Who keeps the rigid rules of ancient honour;
Well skill'd to sooth a foe with looks of kindness,
To sink the fatal precipice before him,
And then lament his fall with seeming friendship!
Open to all, true only to thyself,
[praise,
Thou know'st those arts which blast with envious
Which aggravate a fault with feign'd excuses,
And drive discountenanced virtue from the throne:
That leave the blame of rigour to the prince,
And of his every gift usurp the merit;
That hide in seeming zeal a wicked purpose,
And only build upon another's ruin.
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