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Thus far is well. But view again
The cause of thy paternal pain
Thy melancholy task fulfil
It needs the last, last touches still.
Again his pencil's powers he tries,
For on his lips a smile he spies:
And still his cheek unfaded shows
The deepest damask of the rose.
Then, heedful to the finish’d whole,
With fondest eagerness he stole,
Till scarce himself distinctly knew
The cherub copied from the true.

Now, painter, cease ! Thy task is done. Long lives this image of thy son ; Nor short-liv'd shall thy glory prove, Or of thy labour; or thy love,

THE SNAIL,

O grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall, The snail sticks close, nor fears to fall, As if he grew there, house and all Together.

Within that house secure he hides,

When danger imminent betides

Of storm, or other harm besides
Of weather.

Give but his horns the slightest touch,
His self-collecting power is such,
He shrinks into his house with much
Displeasure.

Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone,

Except himself has chattels none,

Well satisfied to be his own
Whole treasure,

Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads,

Nor partner of his banquet needs,

And if he meets one, only feeds
The faster.

Who seeks him must be worse than blind
(He and his house are so combined),
If, finding it, he fails to find

Its master.

Translations of Greek Verses.
FROM THE GREEK OF JULIANUS,

SPARTAN, his companions slain, Alone from battle fled, His mother, kindling with disdain That she had borne him, struck him dead;

For courage, and not birth alone,
In Sparta testifies a son 1

ON THE REED.

I WAS of late a barren plant,
Useless, insignificant,

Nor fig, nor grape, nor i. bore,

A native of the marshy shore;

But gather'd for poetic use,
And plung'd into a sable juice,
Of which my modicum I sip,
With narrow mouth and slender lip,
At once, although by nature dumb,
All eloquent I have become,
And speak with fluency untired,
As if by Phoebus' self inspired.

AN EPITAPH.

Y name—my country—what are they to thee! What, whether base or proud, my pedigree ? Perhaps I far surpass'd all other men— Perhaps I fell below them all—what then Suffice it, Stranger that thou seest a tomb— Thou know'st its use—it hides no matter whom.

ANOTHER.

AKE to thy bosom, gentle earth, a swain
With much hard labour in thy service worn
He set the vines that clothe yon ample plain,
And he these olives that the vale adorn.

He fill'd with grain the glebe; the rills he led
Through this green herbage, and those fruitful bow'rs;
Thou, therefore, earth lie lightly on his head,
His hoary head, and deck his grave with flow'rs.

ANOTHER.

T threescore winters' end I died, A cheerless being, sole and sad; The nuptial knot I never tied, And wish my father never had,

TO HEALTH.

LDEST born of pow'rs divine,
Blest Hygeia be it mine

To enjoy what thou canst give,
And henceforth with thee to live :
For in pow'r if pleasure be,
Wealth, or num'rous progeny,
Or in amorous embrace,
Where no spy infests the place:
Or in aught that Heav'n bestows,
To alleviate human woes,
When the wearied heart despairs
Of a respite from its cares;
These and ev'ry true delight
Flourish only in thy sight;
And the sister Graces Three
Owe, themselves, their youth to thee,
Without whom we may possess
Much, but never happiness.

ON FLATTERERS.

O mischief worthier of our fear
In Nature can be found,

Than friendship, in ostent sincere,

But hollow and unsound.
For lull'd into a dangerous dream

We close enfold a foe,
Who strikes, when most secure we seem,

Th' inevitable blow.

ON LATE ACQUIRED WEALTH.

OOR in my youth, and in life's later scenes Rich to no end, I curse my natal hour: Who nought enjoy'd while young, denied the means ; And nought, when old, enjoyd, denied the pow'r,

ON A GOOD MAN.

RAW'LLER, regret not me; for thou shalt find Just cause of sorrow none in my decease, Who, dying, children's children left behind, And with one wife liv'd many a year in peace: Three virtuous youths espous'd my daughters three, And oft their infants in my bosom lay, Nor saw I one, of all deriv'd from me, Touch'd with disease, or torn by death away, Their duteous hands my fun'ral rites bestow'd, And me, by blameless manners fitted well To seek it, sent to the serene abode, Where shades of pious men for ever dwell.

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