ZOPIRE. My children serve! my children slaves to thee! MAHOMET. Were not their helpless lives preserved by me? ZOPIRE. What! have they never felt thy vengeful ire? MAHOMET. I scorned through them to crush their guilty sire! ZOPIRE. Proceed; inform me of their present state? MAHOMET. I hold the trembling balance of their fate; ZOPIRE. I save them-oh! what price dost thou demand? With joy my life, my liberty receive! MAHOMET. No; teach the world in Mahomet to believe ZOPIRE. Mes enfans dans tes fers! ils pourraient te servir! MAHOMET. Mes bienfesantes mains ont daigné les nourrir. ZOPIRE. Quoi! tu n'as point sur eux étendu ta colère? MAHOMET. Je ne les punis point des fautes de leur père. ZOPIRE. Achève, éclaircis-moi, parle, quel est leur sort? MAHOMET. Je tiens entre mes mains et leur vie et leur mort; ZOPIRE. Moi! je puis les sauver! à quel prix ? à quel titre ? MAHOMET. Non, mais il faut m'aider à tromper l'univers; Desert thy gods, surrender Mecca now; And preach the trembling crowd, the Koran given ZOPIRE. Mahomet! a parent's tender heart is mine; My country, Mahomet, to thy impious sway, MAHOMET. (solus.) Proud citizen, fierce old man, I'll be More proud, more fierce, more pitiless than thee. December 10th, 1830. Il faut rendre la Mecque, abandonner ton temple, ZOPIRE. Mahomet, je suis père, et je porte un cœur tendre. MAHOMET. (seul.) Fier citoyen, vieillard inexorable, Je serai plus que toi cruel, impitoyable. DEAR ISLE OF MY BIRTH, ERE I SAIL FROM THY SHORES. I. DEAR isle of my birth, ere I sail from thy shores, II. In silence, as if to affection untrue For vain were this fevered emotion to quell The throb of the heart, in its lingering adieu, The frenzy of love, in its burning farewell. III. And thou, my adored one! thou never wilt know IV. Were thy lot to be linked through existence to mine, V. "Twould be ruin-ah, Fortune! why hast thou refused To join two fond hearts death alone could divide, But a pittance from all by the worthless abused, VI. Oh! could we believe that Futurity's doom Were the dream of the fool, or the tale of the knaveHow sweet were the refuge from thought in the tomb! How blest the repose of despair in the grave! EPIGRAM, On a ruby-visaged friend, rather partial to his tumbler. WHOEVER, my friend, sees thy nose clad in scarlet, March 30th, 1829. TRANSLATION FROM LUCAN'S PHARSALIA. Book IX. Cato and Labienus, having collected the remains of the Roman republicans after the battle of Pharsalia, arrive in Africa, to continue the war against Cæsar, and march, for that purpose, across the burning deserts of Lybia called the Syrtes, to join their ally Juba, king of Mauritania. On their way, they reach the celebrated temple and oracle of Jupiter Ammon, when Labienus asks Cato to consult the god on the event of the civil war? This occasions Cato's lofty reply, deservedly pronounced by Blair to be the "finest specimen of the moral sublime in all antiquity." Then follows an equally appropriate and noble eulogium of Cato by the poet. Now towards the shrine the wearied Romans came, Far from all other fanes the structure stands, Amid the dreary Garamantian sands : Ventum erat ad templum, Libycis quod gentibus unum Though Ethiopia's tribes his godhead own, From Eastern lands, before the lofty gate, With eager warmth unites in the request, That Cato's self should hear their doom revealed, As yet within the womb of time concealed. 66 66 Chance and our lucky rout," the warrior said, 'To Ammon's fane our wandering host has led. What like its awful counsel can instruct? What o'er the Syrts' our burning march conduct? Gentibus, atque Indis unus sit Iupiter Ammon, |