THE CONTENTED OLD MAN.

FROM THE LATIN OF CLAUDIAN.

HAPPY his life who never pass'd the bounds,
In youth or age, of his paternal grounds!
Whom the same house on crutches sees, before
That saw him crawling on his native floor.
Whose early cradle and whose easy chair
By one fireside have kept him free from care.
Not him has fortune in her varied strife
Dragg'd through the tumults of a public life.
He ne'er has loved o'er barbarous realms to roam,
Nor left the quiet habitudes of home.

Not his the merchant's nor the soldier's fears,
Nor storms, nor wars, nor lawsuits reach his ears.
Unskill'd in business, and the clamorous town,
Freely he breathes, and feels his soul his own;
Counts by his following crops his years increased,
But knows no consul, living or deceased.

His marks of time both use and beauty bring,
His fruits are autumn, and his flowers are spring.
If the sun lights, or darkness shades the plain,
Still his horizon is his own domain.

Yon giant oak he knew with scarce a limb,
And the whole forest has grown old with him.
Unknown to him as India's distant skies,
His own Verona's neighbouring towers arise;
Unknown to him as Erythrean floods,
Thy lake, Benacus, cools his native woods.
Firm is his strength, unconquer'd yet, though now
Three generations to their founder bow.
Let others search the farthest east or west-
They may see life-enjoying it is best.

REV. F. HODGSON.

ON THE MARRIAGE OF HONORIUS.

FROM THE LATIN OF CLAUDIAN.

Lo! Hesper how, to Venus dear,
His silvery shining lamp he rears;
He marks the blushing virgin's fear,

And smiles to see her maiden tears.

Yes; soothe her, bridegroom.—Well he knows,
Though smiles for such an hour were meeter,
These tears, like dewdrops to the rose,
Shall make her morning lip the sweeter.

He of the thorn must take no heed
Who would not let the bud go free;
And he who would on honey feed
Must never mark the angry bee.

As when the rain-clouds make retreat
The sudden day seems doubly clear,
So there can be no kiss so sweet
As one that's usher'd by a tear.-

'War, I have known thee,' shalt thou cry,
The humbled foe-the victor's bliss;

But never flash'd young warrior's eye
For conquest half so blest as this.'

Love, on thy couch, himself enthrones;
Reveal him-for he made ye one-
And hear her tongue respond, in tones
That silence' self might dote upon.

Speak him-in many a broken sigh;
Breathe all affection's holiest balm;
Oh! clasp, with more of constancy

Than e'er the ivy clasp'd the palm.

And when her languid lids shall close
And in oblivious bliss she lies,
Thy breath-like Sleep's-shall shed repose
Upon her silken-fringed eyes.—

At the first peep of blushing morn,

The joyous strain shall be renew'd,
And gladness on each brow be worn,
And mirth unlaced, and garlands strew'd.
Nymphs-grant the smile, extend the hand;
Swains-warriors-put on all your pride;
Winds, waft the voice from land to land,
'Honorius hath brought home his bride.'

ANONYMOUS.

ON A QUIET LIFE.

FROM THE LATIN OF AVIENUS.

SMALL fields are mine; a small and guiltless rent;
In both I prize the quiet of content:

My mind maintains its peace; from feverish dread
Secure, and fear of crimes, that sloth has bred.
Others let toilsome camps or curule chairs
Invite, and joys which vain ambition shares.
May I, my lot among the people thrown,
The badge of rank unsought for and unknown,
Live to myself, and call my time my own.

C. A. ELTON.

Behind her close he came; her arm he press'd,
Her arm just raised to pierce her beauteous breast. p. 302.

Chiswick:

PRINTED BY C. WHITTINGHAM;

FOR CHARLES S. ARNOLD, TAVISTOCK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON.

1824.