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V.

Then April with her fifter May,
Shali chafe him from the bow'rs,
And weave fresh garlands ev'ry day,
To crown the fmiling hours.

VI.

And if a tear that speaks regret
Of happier times appear,

A glimpse of joy that we have met
Shall fhine, and dry the tear.

TRANSLATION OF PRIOR'S

CHLOE AND

I.

EUPHELIA.

MERCATOR, vigiles oculos ut fallere poffit, Nomine fub ficto trans mare mittit opes; Lené fonat liquidumque meis Euphelia chordis, Sed folam exoptant te, mea vota, Chloe.

II.

Ad fpeculum ornabat nitidos Euphelia crines, Cum dixit mea lux, heus, cane, fume lyram. Namque lyram juxtà pofitam cum carmine vidit, Suave quidem carmen dulcifonamque lyram,

III. Fila

III.

Fila lyræ vocemque paro, fufpiria furgunt,

Et mifcent numeris murmura moefta meis, Dumque tuæ memoro laudes, Euphelia, forme, Tota anima intereá pendet ab ore Chloes.

IV.

Subrubet illa pudore, et contrahit altera frontem,
Me torquet mea mens confcia, pfallo, tremo;
Atque Cupidineâ dixit Dea cincta coronâ,
Heu! fallendi artem quam didicere parum.

BOA DICE A.

AN O D E.

I.

WHEN the British warrior queen,

Bleeding from the Roman rods, Sought with an indignant mien, Counsel of her country's gods,

II.

Sage beneath the spreading oak
Sat the Druid, hoary chief,
Ev'ry burning word he spoke,
Full of rage and full of grief.

III. Princess !

III.

Princefs if our aged eyes

Weep upon the matchlefs wrongs, 'Tis because resentment ties

All the terrors of our tongues.

IV.

Rome half perifh-write that word
In the blood that she has spilt ;
Perish hopeless and abhorr'd,

Deep in ruin as in guilt.

V.

Rome for empire far renown'd

Tramples on a thousand states,

Soon her pride fhall kifs the ground-
Hark! the Gaul is at her gates.

VI.

Other Romans fhall arife,

Heedlefs of a foldier's name,

Sounds, not arms, fhall win the prize,

Harmony the path to fame.

VII. Then

VH.

Then the progeny that fprings

From the forefts of our land, Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings, Shall a wider world command.

VII.

Regions Cæfar never knew,
Thy pofterity shall fway,
Where his eagles never flew,
None invincible as they.

IX.

Such the bards prophetic words,
Pregnant with celeftial fire,
Bending as he fweeps the chords
Of his fweet but awful lyre.

X.

She, with all a monarch's pride,
Felt them in her bofom glow,
Rush'd in battle, fought and died,
Dying, hurl'd them at the foe.

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IV.

Ruffians, pitylefs as proud,

Heav'n awards the vevgeance due,
Empire is on us bestow'd,
Shame and ruin wait for you.

HEROIS

M.

THERE was a time when Ætna's filent fire Slept unperceiv'd, the mountain yet entire, When conscious of no danger from below, She tow'r'd a cloud-capt pyramid of fnow. No thunders shook with deep intestine found The blooming groves that girded her around, Her unctuous olives and her purple vines, (Unfelt the fury of those bursting mines) The peasant's hopes, and not in vain, afsur'd, In peace upon her floping fides matur'd. When on a day, like that of the last doom, A conflagration lab'ring in her womb, She teem'd and heav'd with an infernal birth, That shook the circling feas and folid earth.

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