This be our part-let Heav'n dispose the rest
If Jove command, the winds shall sleep,
That now wage war upon the foamy deep,

And gentle gales spring from the balmy West.
E'en let us shift to-morrow as we may,
When to-morrow's past away,

We at least shall have to say,
We have liv'd another day;

Your auburn locks will soon be silver'd o'er,
Old age is at our heels, and youth returns no more.

HOR. LIB. I. ODE 38.

Persicos odi, puer, apparatus.

Boy, I hate their empty shows,
Persian garlands I detest,
Bring not me the late-blown rose,
Ling'ring after all the rest:

Plainer myrtle pleases me,

Thus out-stretch'd beneath my vine

Myrtle more becoming thee,

Waiting with thy master's wine.

English Sapphicks have been attempted,but with little success, because in our language we have no certain rules by which to determine the quantity. The following version was made merely in the way of experi ment how far it might be possible to imitate a Latin Sapphick in English, without any attention to that cir

cumstance.

HOR. B. I. ODE 39.

Boy! I detest all Persian fopperies
Fillet-bound garlands are to me disgusting,
Task not thyself with any search, I charge thec,
Where latest roses linger.

Bring me alone (for thou wilt find that readily)
Plain myrtle. Myrtle neither will disparage
Thee occupied to serve me, or me drinking
Beneath my vine's cool shelter.

HOR. LIB. II. ODE 16.

Otium Divos rogat in patenti.

EASE is the weary merchant's pray'r,
Who ploughs by night the Egean flood,
When neither moon or stars appear,
Or faintly glimmer through the cloud.

For ease the Mede with quiver graced,
For ease the Thracian hero sighs,
Delightful ease all pant to taste,

A blessing which no treasure buys

For neither gold can lull to rest,
Nor all a Consul's guard beat off,
The tumults of a troubled breast,
The cares that haunt a gilded roof.

Happy the man, whose table shows
A few clean ounces of old plate;
No fear intrudes on his repose,
No sordid wishes to be great.

Poor short-liv'd things, what plans we lay'
Ah, why forsake our native home!
To distant climates speed away :

For self sticks close where'er we roam.

Care follows hard; and soon o'ertakes The well rigg'd ship, the warlike steed, Her destin'd quarry ne'er forsakes,

Not the wind flies with half her speed.

From anxious fears, of future ill

Guard well the cheerful, happy Now; Gild even your sorrows with a smile, No blessing is unmix'd below.

Thy neighing steeds and lowing herds,

Thy num'rous flocks around thee graze,

And the best purple Tyre affords
Thy robe magnificent displays

On me indulgent Heav'n bestow'd

A rural mansion, neat and small, This Lyre; and as for yonder crowd, The happiness to hate them all.

I make no apology for the introduction of the fol lowing lines, though I have never learned who wrote them. Their elegance will sufficiently recommend them to persons of classical taste and erudition, and I shall le happy if the English version that they have received from me, be found not to dishonour them. Affection for the memory of the worthy man whom they celebrate, alone prompted me to this endeavour.

ABIIT senex! periit senex amabilis !
Quo non fuit jucundior.
Lugete vos, ætas quibus maturior

Senem colendum præstitit,

Seu quando, viribus valentioribus
Firmoque fretus pectore,

Florentiori vos juventute excolens
Cura fovebat patria.

Seu quando fractus, jamque donatus rude,

Vultu sed usque blandulo,

Miscere gaudebat suas facetias

His annuis leporibus.

Vixit probus, puraque simplex indole

Blandisque coris moribus,

Et dives æqua mente-charus omnibus,

Unius* auctus munero.

Ite tituli! meritis beatioribus

Aptate laudes debitas!

Nec invidebat ille, si quibus favens
Fortuna plus arriserat.

Placide senex! levi quiescas cespite,
Etsi superbum nec vivo tibi

Decus sit inditum, nec mortuo
Lapis notatus nomine.

THE SAME IN ENGLISH.

OUR good old friend is gone, gone to his rest,
Whose social converse was, itself, a feast.
O ye of riper age, who recollect

How once ye loved, and eyed him with respect.
Both in the firmness of his better day,
While yet he ruled you with a father's sway,
And when, impair'd by time, and glad to rest,
Yet still with looks in mild complacence dress'd,
He took his annual seat, and mingled here
His sprightly vein with yours-now drop a tear.
In morals blameless as in manners meek,

He knew no wish that he might blush to speak,
But, happy in whatever state below,

And richer than the rich in being so,

Obtain'd the hearts of all, and such a meed

At length from One,t as made him rich indeed.

* He was usher and under-master of Westminister near fifty years, and retired from his occupation when he was near se venty, with a handsome pension from the king.

See the note in the Latin copy.