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Low, low shall bow the haughty pride of men,
The Lord alone shall be exalted then !
Idols shall utterly be put away ;
Each shall his gods thrust from him in that day,
His precious gods, of silver and of gold,
To where the moles and bats their ruined haunts enfold.
Then shall they seek in dens and holes to hide,
Thro' clefted rock, and ragged mountain's side;
And in each heart the fear of God shall be,
Of God, and of his glorious Majesty.
When he shall rise to make the sinner quake,
And the foul guilty earth full terribly to shake.


from man! breath fails, and he is gone! ('Tis but a moment, and his life is done !) 0, what availeth all, save God alone ?


Κατθανοίσα δε κείσ' ουδέποτα μναμοσύνα σέθεν έσσετουδέποτ' εις ύστερον" ου γαρ πεδέχεις βρόδων των εκ Πιερίας" αλλ' αφανής κήν 'Αΐδα δόμοις φοιτασείς πέδ' αμαυρών νεκύων εκπεποταμένα. .

Quin leto jaceas perpetuo, nec memores tui
Voces te celebrent, Pieriæ participem rosæ ;
Ast incorporea ac sub tenebris Tartareæ domus
Exiles volitans per Lemures tu spatiabere.


Lie in the grave, unheeded lie; no memory of thee
Shall live hereafter; not for thee Pierian roses bloom.
In Pluto's murky mansions a wanderer shalt thou be ;
Flitting amid th' unbodied shades in the cold and dreary tomb.

W. H. c.

είθ' άνεμος γενόμην, συ δε γε στείχουσα παρ' άκτάς

στηθεα γυμνώσεις, και με πνέοντα λάβοις. είθε ρόδον γενόμην λευκόχροον, όφρα με χερσίν αραμένα, κομίσαις στήθεσι χιονέoις.

I would I were a roving wind,

Whilst thou wert straying by the shore ;
Imprisoned in thy bosom kind,

The laughing waves I'd tempt no more.
I would I were a fair white rose,
To live amid thy bosom's snows.

H. E. L.

While on the cliff with calm delight she kneels,

And the blue vales a thousand joys recall ;
See to the last, last verge her infant steals ;

O, fly! yet stir not, speak not, lest it fall.
Far better taught, she lays her bosom bare,
And the fond boy springs back to nestle there.


ησυχία κλινθείσα πετρας ύπερ, άγκος έλευσσεν

κυάνεον, κραδίας δ' όρνυται ευφροσύνης ως δ' έλαθ' ειςέρπων παΐς όφρυα πρόςδραμε, μήτερ,

μη δε δραμής-σίγην αυτ’ έχε, μη προπέση. μάστον γυμνώσασα, σόφη πλέον εύρετο μάστον ως τάχος αμφεχύθη, πρόσθεν έφαλλόμενος.


Ir aught of pleasure to the silent tomb,
My Calvus, from our sorrow, e'er can come,
From those regrets which former loves renew,
Those tears which friendship's long lost ties bedew,
Thy lost one ne'er at her sad fate can be
So grieved, as happy in thy constancy.



No. III.



“ Miscentur sacra profanis.”—HOR.
“ Thro' thick and thin the critics dash,

Mixing diviner things with trash."

We have for some time been engaged in a speculation as to the chief points of excellency in which a “ beau ideal” of a prose article for our Magazine ought to consist. At last we have been so fortunate as to realise our fondest conceptions. This inestimable treasure, in the pursuit of which a life of labour might have been spent in vain, has at length, by one of those chances which occur perhaps but once in a century, thrust itself as it were into our very hands; descended from the soaring imagination of the philosopher, and illumined with its presence the tangible recesses of our editorial bureau.

It came in the shape of “ An Essay on the Chapel.” But stop; we must first explain to our readers the reason we have for contaminating this immortal work, by interspersing it with our own grovelling remarks.


The fact is this, -afraid of departing from that imme morial custom belonging to periodicals, of reviewing some epic poem, or other mighty work of genius, we have seized upon this before us; impelled not a little, perhaps, by the hope that presents itself of gliding into immortality in its train.

The commencement of this master-work, striking in its simplicity, is as follows :

“ As the Chapel is at present an object of interest to all Etonians, we propose to devote a portion of our present number to this subject.”

Now, besides the inestimable qualities of style which this sentence discovers, it possesses attractions for us, as Editors, in which our readers cannot participate. We allude to the kindness of this great unknown genius, in taking our unworthy publication, not only into his notice, but under his very patronage and direction, as manifested in his using the word "we, and speaking of these mortal pages, as “our present number.” What thanks can we render for such condescension ? But to proceed :

Entering at the usual Fifth-form door, we are astonished at finding on the stair those cumbrous wooden pillars which formed a part of the ante-chapel. Having arrived at which, we are told, that here there will be no alteration, but its diminution to one-half its former size. And also the removal hither of one or two mural tablets, amongst which the by-lower-boys-often-read-and-frequently-repeated monument, 'Me forte lector.'

How graphic is this description! How clearly does the expression, “fifth-form door," bring before our eyes the particular entrance described! And how touchingly does he subsequently bring home to our minds the disordered state of the “ stair,” by tripping us in the very threshold over "the cumbrous wooden pillars!” Here how much is left to the suggestion of each individual imagination. What a beautiful field here opens itself for the speculative power of the reader, with regard to the intended antecedent of the relative, in the sentence“ having arrived at which,” He might have said, Having arrived here ; but how much would the harmony and flow of this perfect sentence have suffered by the change. And how would the admirable perspicuity in the definition of the exact inch of ground, on which he at this period is pleased to place us, be impaired.

All this gradually prepares us for the announcement, that “ here there will be no alteration;" although the sight of the cumbrous wooden pillars may at first have inclined us to a contrary opinion. It also might have occurred to us, that a “ diminution to one-half its former size,” could, with some awkwardness perhaps, but nevertheless could be construed into an alteration. This, however, is not for us to decide.

We have,“ en passant,” perceived an evident analogy between Homer and our friend, (if we may dare to call him by such a familiar title,) which will fully account for the truthful and aptly-coined epithet which closes this sentence. Under this head


also be classed that primeval simplicity of language, which prompts him to use the word monument, in the etymological sense of the word, as being any species of record ; and so more applicable to the inscription than

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