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Where you the way with magic power beguile,
Bassora's deep, or Lybia's deserts smile.

Foes of thy worth, that, insolent and vain,
Deride thy maxims, and reject thy reign,
The frantic tribe of virtue shall depart,
And make no more their ravage in my heart.
Away"The tears that pity taught to flow!"
Away that anguish for a brother's woe!
Adieu to these, and ev'ry tiresome guest,
That drain'd my fortunes, or destroy'd my rest!
Ab, good Avaro! could I thee despise?
Thee, good Avaro; provident and wise?
Plutus, forgive the bitter things I've said!
I love Avaro; poor Avaro's dead.

Yet, yet I'm thine; for Fame's unerring tongue
In thy sooth'd ear thus pours her silver song,
"Immortal Plutus! god of golden case!
Form'd ev'ry heart, and ev'ry eye to please!
For thee Content her downy carpet spreads,
And rosy Pleasure swells her genial beds.
'Tis thine to gild the mansions of Despair,
And beam a glory round the brows of Care;
To cheat the lazy pace of sleepless hours
With marble fountains, and ambrosial bowers."

O grant me, Plutus, scenes like those 1 sung,
My youthful lyre when vernal fancy strung.
For me their shades let other Studleys rear,
Tho' each tree's water'd with a widow's tear.
Detested god!-forgive me! I adore.
Great Plutus, grant me one petition more,
Should Delia, tender, gen'rous, fair and free,
Leave love and truth, and sacrifice to thee,
I charge thee, Plutus, be to Delia kind,
And make her fortunes richer than her mind.
Be her's the wealth all Heaven's broad eye can
view;

Grant her, good god, Don Philip and Peru.

HYMN TO HUMANITY.

PARENT of Virtue, if thine ear
Attend not now to Sorrow's cry;
If now the pity-streaming tear
Should haply on thy cheek be dry;

Indulge my votive strain, O sweet Humanity.

Come, ever welcome to my breast,

A tender, but a cheerful guest;
Nor always in the gloomy cell

Of life-consuming sorrow dwell;
For sorrow, long-indulg'd and slow,
Is to humanity a foe;

And grief, that makes the heart its prey,
Wears sensibility away.

Then comes, sweet nymph, instead of thee,
The gloomy fiend Stupidity.

O may that fiend be banish'd far,
Though passions hold eternal war!
Nor ever let me cease to know
The pulse that throbs at joy or woe.
Nor let my vacant cheek be dry,
When sorrow fills a brother's eye;
Nor may the tear that frequent flows
From private or from social woes,
E'er make this pleasing sense depart;
Ye cares, O harden not my heart.
If the fair star of fortune smile,
Let not its flatt'ring power beguile:

Nor borne along the fav'ring tide,
My full sails swell with bloating pride.
Let me from wealth but hope content,
Rememb'ring still it was but lent;
To modest Merit spread my store;
Unbar my hospitable door!
Nor feed, for pomp, an idle train,
While Want unpity'd pines in vain.

If Heav'n, in ev'ry purpose wise,
The envy'd lot of wealth denies;
If doom'd to drag life's painful load
Thro' poverty's uneven road,
And, for the due bread of the day,
Destin'd to toil as well as pray;
To thee, Humanity, still true,
I'll wish the good I cannot do;
And give the wretch that passes by,
A soothing word—a tear—a sigh.
Howe'er exalted, or deprest,
Be ever mine the feeling breast.
From me remove the stagnant mind
Of languid indolence, reclin'd;
The soul that one long Sabbath keeps,
And thro' the Sun's whole circle sleeps;
Dull Peace, that dwells in Folly's eye,
And self-attending Vanity.

Alike, the foolish, and the vain,
Are strangers to the sense humane.

O, for that sympathetic glow
Which taught the holy tear to flow,
When the prophetic eye survey'd
Sion in future ashes laid;

Or, rais'd to Heav'n, implor'd the bread
That thousands in the desert fed!
Or when the heart o'er Friendship's grave
Sigh'd, and forgot its power to save-
O, for that sympathetic glow,
Which taught the holy tear to flow!

It comes: it fills my labouring breast!
I feel my beating heart opprest.
Oh! hear that lonely widow's wail!
See her dim eye! her aspect pale!
To Heav'n she turns in deep despair,
Her infants wonder at her prayer,
And, mingling tears they know not why,
Lift
up
their little hands and cry.
O God! their moving sorrows see!
Support them, sweet Humanity.

Life, fill'd with grief's distressful train,
For ever asks the tear humane.
Behold in yon unconscious grove
The victims of ill-fated love!
Heard you that agonizing throe?
Sure this is not romantic woe!
The golden day of jôy is o'er;
And now they part-to meet no more.
Assist them, hearts from anguish free!
Assist them, sweet Humanity.

Parent of Virtue, if thine ear
Attend not now to Sorrow's cry;
If now the pity-streaming tear
Should haply on thy cheek be dry,
Indulge my votive strain, O sweet Humanity.

HYMN TO THE RISING SUN.

FROM the red wave rising bright,
Lift on high thy golden head;
O'er the misty mountains spread
Thy smiling rays of orient light!
See the golden god appear;
Flies the fiend of darkness drear;
Flies, and in her gloomy train,
Sable Grief, and Care, and Pain!
See the golden god advance!

On Taurus' heights his coursers prance;
With him haste the vernal Hours,
Breathing sweets, and drooping flowers.
Laughing Summer at his side,
Waves her locks in rosy pride;
And Autumn bland with aspect kind,
Bears his golden sheaf behind.
O haste, and spread the purple day
O'er all the wide ethereal way!
Nature mourns at thy delay:
God of glory haste away!
From the red wave rising bright,

Lift on high thy golden head;
O'er the misty mountains, spread
Thy smiling rays of orient light!

A FAREWELL HYMN TO THE VALLEY OF IRWAN. FAREWELL the fields of Irwan's vale, My infant years where Fancy led; And sooth'd me with the western gale,

Her wild dreams waving round my head, While the blythe blackbird told his tale. Farewell the fields of Irwan's vale!

The primrose on the valley's side,

The green thyme on the mountain's head, The wanton rose, the daisy pied,

The wilding's blossom blushing red; No longer I their sweets inhale Farewell the fields of Irwan's vale! How oft, within yon vacant shade,

Has ev'ning clos'd my careless eye! How oft, along those banks I've stray'd, And watch'd the wave that wander'd by; Full long their loss shall Į bewail. Farewell the fields of Irwan's vale! Yet still, within yon vacant grove,

To mark the close of parting day; Along yon flow'ry banks to rove,

And watch the wave that winds away;

Fair Fancy sure shall never fail,
Tho' far from these, and Irwan's vale!

HYMN TO THE ETERNAL
PROVIDENCE.

LIFE of the world, Immortal Mind,
Father of all the human kind!
Whose boundless eye that knows no rest,
Intent on Nature's ample breast;
Explores the space of Earth and skies,
And sees eternal incense rise!

To thee my humble voice I raise;
Forgive, while I presume to praise.

Tho' thou this transient being gave,
That shortly sinks into the grave;
Yet 'twas thy goodness, still to give
A being that can think and live;
In all thy works thy wisdom see,
And stretch its tow'ring mind to thee.
To thee my humble voice I raise;
Forgive, while I presume to praise.

And still this poor contracted span,
This life, that bears the name of man ;
From thee derives its vital ray,
Eternal Source of life and day!
Thy bounty still the sunshine pours,
That gilds its morn and evʼning hours,
To thee my humble voice I raise;
Forgive, while I presume to praise.

Thro' Errour's maze, thro' Folly's night,
The lamp of Reason lends me light.
When stern Affliction waves her rod,
My heart confides in thee, my God!
When Nature shrinks, oppress'd with woes,
E'en then she finds in thee repose.
To thee my humble voice I raise;
Forgive, while I presume to praise.

Affliction flies, and Hope returns;

Her lamp with brighter splendour burns;
Gay Love with all his smiling train,
And Peace and Joy are here again.
These, these, I know, 'twas thine to give;
I trusted; and, behold, I live!
To thee my humble voice I raise;
Forgive, while I presume to praise.

O may I still thy favour prove!
Still grant me gratitude and love.
Let truth and virtue guide my heart;
Nor peace, nor hope, nor joy depart;
But yet, whate'er my life may be,
My heart shall still repose on thee!
To thee my humble voice I raise;
Forgive, while I presume to praise.

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TRANSLATIONS.

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It is evident, however, that he spent much of his time in Sicily, Moschus, as he tells us, was his scholar; and by him we are informed, that his master was not a poor poet. "Thou hast left to others thy riches, says he, "but to me thy poetry." It appears from the same author, that he died by poison. The best edition of his works, is that of Paris, by M. de Louge-Pierre, with a French translation.

Adonis dead, &c.] Adonis, the favourite of Venus, was the son of Cynaras, king of Cyprus. His chief employment was hunting, though he is represented by Virgil as a Shepherd,

Oves ad flumina pavit Adonis.

He was killed by a wild boar, if we may believe Propertius, in Cyprus:

Percussit Adonim

Venantem Idalio vertice durus Aper. The anniversary of his death was celebrated through the whole Pagan world. Aristophanes, in his Comedy of Peace, reckons the feast of Adonis among the chief festivals of the Athenians. The Syrians observed it with all the violence of grief, and the greatest cruelty of self-castigation. It was celebrated at Alexandria in St. Cyril's time; and when Julian the apostate made his entry at Antioch, in the year 362, they were celebrating the feast of Adonis.

The ancients differ greatly in their accounts of this divinity. Athenæus says, that he was the favourite of Bacchus. Plutarch maintains, that he and Bacchus are the same, and that the Jews

abstain'd from swine's flesh because Adonis was killed by a boar. Ausonius, Epig. 30, affirms that Bacchus, Osiris, and Adonis, are one and

the same.

Stretch'd on this mountain thy torn lover lies: Weep, queen of beauty! for he bleeds-he dies.

Ah! yet behold life's last drops faintly flow, In streams of purple, o'er those limbs of snow! From the pale cheek the perish'd roses fly; And death dims slow the ghastly gazing eye. Kiss, kiss those fading lips, ere chill'd in death; With soothing fondness stay the fleeting breath. 'Tis vain-ah! give the soothing fondness o'er! Adonis feels the warm salute no more. Adonis dead the Muse of woe shall mourn! Adonis dead the weeping Loves return. His faithful dogs bewail their master slain, And mourning dryads pour the plaintive strain.

Not the fair youth alone the wound opprest, The queen of beauty bears it in her breast. Her feet unsandal'd, floating wild her hair, Her aspect woeful, and her bosom bare, Distrest she wanders the wild wastes forlorn, Her sacred limbs by ruthless brambles torn. Loud as she grieves, surrounding rocks complain,

And Echo thro' the long vales calls her absent swain.

Adonis hears not: life's last drops fall slow, In streams of purple, down his limbs of snow. The weeping Cupids round their queen deplore, And mourn her beauty, and her love no more. Each rival grace that glow'd with conscious

pride,

Each charm of Venus, with Adonis dy'd.

Adonis dead, the vocal hills bemoan, And hollow groves return the sadd'ning groan. The swelling floods with sea-born Venus weep, And roll in mournful murmurs to the deep:

His faithful dogs, &c.-The queen of beauty, &c.] The lines in the original run thus:

Αγριον αγριον ἔλκα. ἔχει κατὰ μήρον Αδονις.
Μείζον δ' &' Κυθέρεια φερει ποτι κάρδιον ὅλα.
Κεῖνον μεν περι παιδα φιλοι κυνες ὠρυσαντο,
Και Νύμφαι κλαίωσιν όρειαδες.

The two first of these lines contain a kind of witticism, which it was better to avoid. The author had, however, too much true genius to be fond of these little affected turns of expression, which Museus and others have been industrious to strike out.

These four verses are transposed in the translation for the sake of the connection.

Distrest, she wanders, &c.] This image of the sorrow of Venus is very affecting, and is introduced in this place with great outy and proprie ty. Indeed, most modern poets seem to have observed it, and have profited by it in their scenes of elegiac woe.

The swelling floods, &c] When the poet makes the rivers mourn for Venus, he very properly calls her Appodira; but this propriety perhaps

In melting tears the mountain-springs comply; The flowers, low drooping, blush with grief, and die.

Cythera's groves with strains of sorrow rin g;
The dirge funereal her sad cities sing.

Hark! pitying Echoes Venus' sighs return; When Venus sighs, can aught forbear to mourn?

But when she saw her fainting lover lie, The wide wound gaping on the with'ring thigh; But streaming when she saw life's purple tide, Stretch'd her fair arms, with trembling voice

she cry'd :

"Yet stay,lov'd youth! a moment ere we part, O let me kiss thee !-hold thee to my heart! A little moment, dear Adonis! stay!

And kiss thy Venus, ere those lips are clay. Let those dear lips by mine once more be prest, Till thy last breath expire into my breast; Then, when life's ebbing pulse scarce, scarce

- can move,

I'll catch thy soul, and drink thy dying love. That last-left pledge shall sooth my tortur'd breast,

"When thou art gone

When, far from me, thy gentle ghost explores Infernal Pluto's grimly-glooming shores.

"Wretch that I am! immortal and divine, In life imprison'd whom the Fates confine. He comes! receive him to thine iron-arms; Blest queen of death! receive the prince of charms.

Farhappier thou, to whose wide realms repair
Whatever lovely, and whatever fair.
The smiles of joy, the golden hours are fled :
Grief, only grief, survives Adonis dead."

The Loves around in idle sorrow stand,
And the dim torch falls from the vacant hand.
Hence the vain zone! the myrtle's flow'ry
pride!

Delight and beauty with Adonis died.

"Why didst thou, vent'rous, the wild chase explore,

From his dark lair to rouse the tusky boar?

was merely accidental, as he has given her the same appellation when she wanders the desert. The flowers, low-drooping, blush, &c.]

Ανθεα δ ̓ ἐξ ὀδυνας ἐρυθραίνεται.

Paleness being the known effect of grief, we do not at first sight accept this expression; but when we consider that the first emotions of it are attended with blushes, we are pleased with the observation.

Cythera's groves, &c.]

ἅ δε Κυθήρη Παντας ἀνα αναμὼ καὶ ἀαν πόλιν οικῖρον ἀείδει.

Far other sport might those fair limbs essay, Than the rude combat, or the savage fray.” Thus Venus griev'd-the Cupids round deplore ;

And mourn her beauty, and her love no more.
Now flowing tears in silent grief complain,
Mix with the purple streams, and flood the
plain.

Yet not in vain those sacred drops shall flow,
The purple streams in blushing roses glow;
And catching life from ev'ry falling tear,
Their azure heads anemonies shall rear.

But cease in vain to cherish dire despair,
Nor mourn unpitied to the mountain-air;
The last sad office let thy hand supply,
Stretch the stiff limbs, and close the glaring

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This passage the scholiasts have entirely mis- For the long, &c.] Numa seems to have borunderstood. They make Konpn Venus, for rowed the custom he instituted of mourning a which they have neither any authority, the Do- year for the deceased, from the Greeks. For ric name she borrows from that island being al-though it is said only ten months were set apart, ways Kuipela, nor the least probability from yet ten months were the year of Romulus, till rethe connection. gulated by his successor.

This proves that the island Cythera was the place where Adonis perished, notwithstanding the opinion of Propertius and others to the contrary.

EXTRAIT d'une ode SUR LA

MEDIOCRITE.

PAR M. GRESSET.

SEDUITS par d'aveugles idoles

Du bonheur; fantômes frivoles,

Le vulgaire et les grands ne te suivirent pas :
Tu n'eus pour sujets que ses sages
Qui doivent l'estime des âges

A la sagesse, acquise en marchant sur tes pas.
Tu vis naître dans tes retraites
Ces nobles et tendres poëtes,

Dont la voix n'eut jamais formé de sons brillans.
Si la fracas de la fortune,

Ou si indigence importune

Eat troublé leur silence, ou caché leurs talens.

Mais en vain tu fuyois la gloire.
La renommé, et la victoire
Vinrent dans tes déserts se choisir des héros ;
Mieux formés par tes loix stoïques,
Aux vertus, aux faits héroïques,

Que parmi la mollesse, et l'orgueil des faisceaux.
Pour Mars tu formois, loin des villes
Les Fabrices, et les Camilles,

Et ses sages vainqueurs, philosophes guerriers
Qui, du char de la Dictature
Descendant à l'agriculture,

THE HAPPINESS OF A MODERATE FORTUNE, AND MODERATE DESIRES.

FROM THE FRENCH OF MR. GRESSET.

O GODDESS of the golden mean,
Whom still misjudging folly flies,
Seduc'd by each delusive scene;

Thy only subjects are the wise.
These seek thy paths with nobler aim,
And trace them to the gates of fame.
See foster'd in thy fav'ring shade,

Each tender bar of verse divine! Who lur'd by fortune's vain parade,

Had never form'd the tuneful line; By fortune lur'd or want confin'd, Whose cold hand chills the genial mind. In vain you slight the flow'ry crown,

That fame wreathes round the favour'd head! Whilst laurell'd victory and renown

Their heroes from thy shades have led;
There form'd, from courtly softness free,
By rigid virtue and by thee.

By thee were form'd, from cities far,
Fabricius just, Camillus wise,
Those philosophic sons of war,
That from imperial dignities
Returning, plough'd their native plain,

Sur tes secrets autels rapportoient leurs-lauriers. And plac'd their laurels in thy fane.

Trop heureux, déïté paisible,

Le mortel sagement sensible,

Qui jamais loin de toi a porte ses desirs, Par sa douce mélancolie,

Sauvé de l'humaine folie,

Dans la vérité seul il cherche ses plaisirs.

Ignoré de la multitude,

Libre de tout servitude,

Thrice happy he, on whose calm breast

The smiles of peaceful wisdom play,
With all thy sober charms possest,

Whose wishes never learnt to stray.
Whom truth, of pleasures pure but grave,
And pensive thoughts from folly save.
Far from the crowd's low-thoughted strife,
From all that bounds fair freedom's aim,

Il n'envia jamais, les grands biens, les grand noms, He envies not the pomp of life,

Il n'ignore point que la foudre

A plus souvent réduit en poudre

A length of rent-roll, or of name :

For safe he views the vale-grown elm,

Le pin de monts altiers, que l'ormeau des While thunder-sounding storms the mountain

valons.

Sourd aux censures populaires,

Il ne craint point les yeux vulgaires,

Son œil perce au-delà de leur foible horison:
Quelques bruits que la foule en sème,
Il est satisfait de lui même,

S'il a scû mériter l'aveu de la raison.

Il rit du sort, quand les conquêtes - Promènent de têtes en têtes

Les couronnes du nord, ou celles du midi:
Rien n'altère sa paix profonde,
Et les derniers instans du monde
N'épouvanteroient point son cœur encore hardi.

Amitié, charmante immortelle,

Tu choisis à si cœur fidèle

pine o'erwhelm,

Of censure's frown he feels no dread,
No fear he knows of vulgar eyes,
Whose thought, to nobler objects led,
Far, far o'er their horizon flies:
With reason's suffrage at his side,
Whose firm heart rests self-satisfied.
And while alternate conquest sways
The northern, or the southern shore,
He smiles at fortune's giddy maze,

And calmly bears the wild storm roar.
Ev'n Nature's groans, unmov'd with fear,
And bursting worlds he'd calmly hear.
Such are the faithful hearts you love,
O Friendship fair, immortal maid;

Peu d'amis mais constans, vertueux comme lui: The few caprice could never move,

Tu ne crains point que le caprice,
Que l'intérêt les désunisse,

Ou verse sur leurs jours les poisons de l'ennui.

Ami des frugales demeures,
Sommeil, pendant les sombres heures,

Tu répans sur ses yeux tes songes favoris ;
Ecartant ces songes funèbres

Qui, parmi l'effroi des ténèbres.

The few whom int'rest never sway'd; Nor shed unseen, with hate refin'd, The pale cares o'er the gloomy mind. Soft Sleep, that lov'st the peaceful cell, On these descends thy balmy power; While no terrific dreams dispel

The slumbers of the sober hour; Which oft, array'd in darkness drear,

Vont reveiller les grands sous les riches lambris. Wake the wild eye of pride to fear.

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