PARS PRIMA.

B

I.

The Harp.

COME, take thy harp 't is vain to muse
Upon the gathering ills we see:
Oh! take thy harp and let me lose
All thoughts of ill in hearing thee.

Sing to me, love!— though death were near,
Thy song could make my soul forget -

Nay, nay, in pity dry that tear,

All may be well, be happy yet.

Once more upon the dear harp lie; And I will cease to dream of harm,

Will smile at fate, while thou art by.

Moore.

1.

Lyra.

SUME lyram, mea lux! rerum quid proderit ægra Mente procellosas anticipare vices?

Sume lyram nostræ jucunda oblivia curæ,

:

Aure bibam dulces, te modulante, sonos.

Canta, age: mors etiam si, te cantante, veniret, Me neque sentirem, raptus ad astra, mori.

Parce, precor, nimios lacrymis augere dolores;

dies.

Crede dari lætos nunc quoque posse Te niveis videam solita dulcedine captus Implicitas digitis pervolitare fides; Somnia desistam venturi fingere luctus;

Nil mala, te coram, Parca minata valet. Teque mihi tactasque tuo modo pollice chordas Annuat, aversa cætera fronte neget.

Arbitra delicias geminat, fallitque dolorem
Emula cum facili vox tua juncta manu.
Hæc mihi non Orcus rapiet: coloque superstes

Restat adhuc citharæ gratia, restat amor.

B.

II.

Boadicea.

WHEN the British warrior-queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods,

Sought, with an indignant mien,

Counsel of her country's gods;

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

"Princess! if our aged eyes

Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,

Tis because resentment ties