Lest but deferr'd the tempest's brighten'd gloom, And the next storm should sweep them to the tomb.
Then, if their side with shooting anguish ache,
And their strain'd eyes in restless fever wake,
They deem the sickness mission'd from on high,
And these the stones and arrows of the sky.
No bleating lamb they to the chapel vow,
Nor to the household gods devote they now
A crested cock; for can the wicked pray
In hope? are lambs not worthier life than they?
How mutable and various still we find
The shifts and turnings of a villain's mind!
Bold when they sin; and when the sin is done,
Conscience grows wise; the terror is begun,
Yet nature to the censured crime recurs,
Steadfast to ill, and constant, when she errs.
Who by fix'd bounds could e'er his sin restrain ?
When has the harden'd forehead blush'd again?
Or where the man, in this our virtuous time,
Who breathes content with but a singlé crime?
C. A. ELTON.
APOSTROPHE.
FROM THE LATIN OF JUVENAL.
MAY gentlest earth our fathers' shades inclose,
Light be their turf, and peaceful their repose!
Forth from their urns the breathing crocus fling
The balmy sweets of an eternal spring!
Who will'd that to the tutor should be show'd
The filial reverence to a parent owed.
FROM THE LATIN OF AUSONIUS.
"TWAS spring; the morn return'd in saffron veil,
And breathed a nipping coolness in the gale.
A keener air had harbinger'd the Dawn,
That drove her coursers o'er the eastern lawn.
The breezy cool allured my feet to stray
And thus anticipate the fervid day.
Through the broad walks I trod the garden bowers,
And roam'd, refresh'd against the noontide hours.
I saw the hoary dew's congealing drops
Bend the tall grass and vegetable tops;
On the broad leaves play'd bright the trembling
And airy waters bow'd the laden stems. [gems,
There Pæstan roses blush'd before my view,
Bedropp'd with early morning's freshening dew;
The sprinkled pearls on every rose bush lay,
Anon to melt before the beams of day.
"Twere doubtful, if the blossoms of the rose
Had robb'd the morning, or the morning those.
In dew, in tint the same, the star and flower;
For both confess the queen of beauty's power.
Perchance their sweets the same: but this more
Exhales its breath; and that embalms the sky :
Of flower and star the goddess is the same,
And both she tinged with hues of roseate flame.
I saw a moment's interval divide
The rose that blossom'd from the rose that died,
This with its cap of tufted moss look'd green,
That,tipp'd with reddening purple,peep'd between;
One rear'd its obelisk with opening swell,
The bud unsheath'd its crimson pinnacle;
Another, gathering every purfled fold,
Its foliage multiplied; its blooms unroll'd;
The teeming chives shot forth; the petals spread;
The bowpot's glory rear'd its smiling head:
While this, that ere the passing moment flew,
Flamed forth one blaze of scarlet on the view;
Now shook from withering stalk the waste per-
Its verdure stripp'd, and pale its faded bloom.
I marvel'd at the spoiling flight of time,
That roses thus grew old in earliest prime.
E'en while I speak, the crimson leaves drop round,
And a red brightness veils the blushing ground,
These forms, these births, these changes bloom,
Appear, and vanish in the selfsame day. [sighs,
The flowers brief grace, oh Nature! moves my
Thy gifts just shown are ravish'd from our eyes.
One day the rose's age, and while it blows
In dawn of youth, it withers to its close.
The rose the glittering sun beheld, at morn,
Spread to the light its blossoms newly born,
When in his round he looks from evening skies,
Already droops in age, and fades, and dies.
Yet bless'd, that soon to fade, the numerous flower
Succeeds herself, and still prolongs her hour.
Oh virgins! roses cull, while yet ye may;
So bloom your hours, and so shall haste away.
Return of the Parentalia, or Feast of the Dead.
FROM THE LATIN OF AUSONIUS.
WHEN friends of youth, departed long,
Return to memory's pensive view,
"Tis sweet to chant the votive song,
A meed to fond affection due.
But grief, which fancy dreads to sing,
And deep heart-rending sighs return,
When slow revolve the months that bring
The flowers to lost Sabina's urn.
Ah! first beloved! in youth's fair bloom
From these sad arms untimely torn,-
Still lingering by thy lonely tomb,
Thee, lost Sabina, still I mourn !
The tear at last may cease to flow,
But time can ne'er my peace restore;
If e'er this bosom pause from woe,
'Tis only when I thee deplore.
Ne'er has oblivious length of days
Conceal'd thy form from memory's view,
Nor e'er did second love erase
The lines which first affection drew.
Through my sad hours, of thee bereft,
I linger silent and alone,
No friend to share my joy is left,
Or soothe my grief, since thou art gone.
While others in their cheerful home
Their loves of youth enamour'd see,
Beside the lonely grave I roam,
And only can remember thee.
For pleasures lost, for fortune's scorn,
Ne'er have I shed the useless tear;
But hoary age laments forlorn
The maid to first affection dear.
Though, hallow'd by thy parting prayer,
Thy sons exult in youth's fair bloom,
Yet left too soon, they ne'er can share
The fond regret that haunts thy tomb.
For thee my woes I sacred hold,
No heart shall steal a sigh from mine, Till in the common crumbling mould Mine ashes mingle yet with thine.
FROM THE LATIN OF AUSONIUS.
THIS is Apelles' work.
Sprung from the sea, to captivate the skies,
See with her taper fingers how she presses
The briny dewdrops from her humid tresses;
This let her two celestial rivals see,
And they shall say- Venus, we yield to thee.'
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