PSALM C.

1. O be joyful in the Lord, all ye lands: serve the Lord with gladness, and come before his presence with a song.

2. Be ye sure that the Lord he is God: it is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.

3. O go your way into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise: be thankful unto him, and speak good of his name:

4. For the Lord is gracious, his mercy is everlasting: and his truth endureth from generation to generation.

THE SAME TRANSLATED.

Omnes Terræ jubilate,

Læti Deum adorate,

Cumque cantu festinate

In

conspectum Domini.

Dominum scitote Deum

Nobis esse, solum eum ;

Deus est qui nos creavit ;
Sumus illi, quos curavit,

Pecus atque populi.

Ejus ante portam state,

Ejus curias intrate;

Nomen ejus collaudate ;

Redditote gratias.

Namque Deus laude dignus,
Semper clemens et benignus,

Serus vindex peccatorum ;

Inque sæcla sæculorum

Durat ejus veritas.

FROM THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

How use doth breed a habit in a man!
This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,
I better brook than flourishing peopled towns:
Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,

And to the nightingale's complaining notes
Tune my distresses, and record my woes.
O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,
Leave not the mansion so long tenantless;
Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall,
And leave no memory of what it was!
Repair me with thy presence, Silvia ;

Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain !-
What halloing, and what stir is this to-day?

These are my mates that make their wills their law,

Have some unhappy passenger in chase:

They love me well, yet I have much to do

To keep them from uncivil outrages.

THE SAME TRANSLATED.

Ως τὸ ξυνηθὲς ἐν βροτοῖς τίκτει νόμους ὕλην ἔρημον τήνδε καὶ δρυμῶν σκιὰν ἐγώγε πόλεων μαλλον εὐάνδρων φιλώ. ἐνταῦθ ̓ ἄποπτος ὀμμάτων ἡμαι μόνος, ἀηδόνος τε πενθίμῳ μελωδία ξύμφωνος ᾄδω κἀποδύρομαι πάθη ὦ τῆς ἐμῆς οἰκοῦσα καρδίας μυχούς, μὴ δαρὸν οὕτω δῶμ ̓ ἀοίκητον λίπῃς, μή πως ὄληται πρεμνόθεν σαθρὸν γεγώς, καὶ τοῦ πρὶν ὄντος πᾶν ἀϊστωθῇ τέκμαρ. ὦ πότνια, σῇ με κούφισον παρουσίᾳ, οἴκτειρ ̓ ἐραστὴν Σιλβία δυσδαίμονα. ἔα. τίνος βοῆς ἤκουσα καὶ ποδῶν κτύπον; ἀκόλαστος ὄχλος τῶν ἐμῶν ὀπαόνων ὁδοιπόρον τιν ̓ ἄθλιον διωκάθει.

εὖ τοι φιλοῦσί μ', ἀλλ' ἐμοίγ ̓ οὐ ῥᾴδιον τούτων βιαίαν ἔστ' ἐρητύειν ὕβριν.

FROM MILTON'S PARADISE LOST.

Book VI.

So said, he, o'er his sceptre bowing, rose
From the right hand of Glory where he sat;
And the third sacred morn began to shine,
Dawning through heaven. Forth rush'd with whirl-

wind sound

The chariot of Paternal Deity,

Flashing thick flames, wheel within wheel undrawn,
Itself instinct with spirit, but convoy'd

By four Cherubic shapes; four faces each

Had wondrous; as with stars, their bodies all

And wings were set with eyes; with eyes the wheels

Of beryl, and careering fires between.

Over their heads a crystal firmament,

Whereon a sapphire throne, inlaid with pure
Amber, and colours of the showery arch.
He, in celestial panoply all arm'd
Of radiant Urim, work divinely wrought,
Ascended; at his right hand Victory

Sat eagle-wing'd; beside him hung his bow,
And quiver with three-bolted thunder stored;
And from about him fierce effusion roll'd

Of smoke, and bickering flame, and sparkle's dire.