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Thus far is well. But view again
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,
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
Give but his horns the slightest touch,
Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone,
Except himself has chattels none,
Well satisfied to be his own
Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads,
Nor partner of his banquet needs,
And if he meets one, only feeds
Who seeks him must be worse than blind
Translations of Greek Verses.
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,
ON THE REED.
I WAS of late a barren plant,
Nor fig, nor grape, nor i. bore,
A native of the marshy shore;
But gather'd for poetic use,
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.
AKE to thy bosom, gentle earth, a swain
He fill'd with grain the glebe; the rills he led
T threescore winters' end I died, A cheerless being, sole and sad; The nuptial knot I never tied, And wish my father never had,
LDEST born of pow'rs divine,
To enjoy what thou canst give,
O mischief worthier of our fear
Than friendship, in ostent sincere,
But hollow and unsound.
We close enfold a foe,
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.