Of whose omniscient and all-spreading love
Aught to implore were impotence of mind!)*
That my mute thoughts are sad before his throne,-
Prepared, when He his healing rays vouchsafes,
Thanksgiving to pour forth with lifted heart,
And praise him gracious with a brother's joy!

1794.

CASIMIR.

Ir we except Lucretius and Statius, I know no Latin Poet, ancient or modern, who has equalled Casimir in boldness of conception, opulence of fancy, or beauty of versification. The Odes of this illustrious Jesuit were translated into English about 150 years ago, by a G. Hils, I think. I never saw the translation. A few of the Odes have been translated in a very animated manner by Watts. I have subjoined the third Ode of the Second Book, which, with the exception of the first line, is an effusion of exquisite elegance. In the imitation attempted, I am sensible that I have destroyed the effect of suddenness, by translating into two stanzas what is one in the original.

AD LYRAM.

SONORA buxi filia sutilis,
Pendebis alta, barbite, populo,
Dum ridet aer, et supinas.

Sollicitat levis aura frondes.

Te sibilantis lenior halitus

Perflabit Euri: me juvet interim
Collum reclinasse, et virenti
Sic temeret jacuisse ripa..

*"I utterly recant the recant the sentiment contained in the lines Of whose omniscient and all-spreading love

Aught to implore were impotence of mind,

it being written in Scripture, Ask, and it shall be given to you! and my human reason being convinced, moreover, of the propriety of offering petitions as well as thanksgivings to Deity. S. T. C., 1797.

The Odes of Casimir, translated by G. H. (G. Hils.) London, 1646, 12mo. H. N. C.

Had Casimir any better authority for this quantity than Tertullian's line,

Immemor ille Dei temere committere tale--?

In the classic poets, the last syllable is, I believe, uniformly cut off. H. N. C

Eheu! serenum quæ nebulæ tegunt
Repente cœlum! quis sonus imbrium !
Surgamus-heu semper fugaci
Gaudia præteritura passu.

IMITATION.

THE solemn-breathing air is ended-
Cease, O Lyre! thy kindred lay!
From the poplar branch suspended,
Glitter to the eye of day!

On thy wires, hovering, dying,
Softly sighs the summer wind;
I will slumber, careless lying,
By yon waterfall reclined.

In the forest, hollow-roaring,

Hark! I hear a deep'ning sound—
Clouds rise thick with heavy lowering!
See the horizon blackens round!

Parent of the soothing measure,

Let me seize thy wetted string!
Swiftly flies the flatterer, Pleasure,
Headlong, ever on the wing!

DARWINIANA.

THE HOUR WHEN WE SHALL MEET AGAIN.

(Composed during Illness and in Absence.)

DIM Hour! that sleep'st on pillowed clouds afar,
O rise, and yoke the turtles to thy car!
Bend o'er the traces, blame each lingering dove,
And give me to the bosom of my Love!

My gentle love! caressing and carest,

With heaving heart shall cradle me to rest; Shed the warm tear-drop from her smiling eyes,

Lull with fond woe, and med'cine me with sighs; While finely-flushing float her kisses meek,

Like melted rubies, o'er my pallid cheek

Chill'd by the night, the drooping rose of May
Mourns the long absence of the lovely Day:
Young Day, returning at her promised hour,
Weeps o'er the sorrows of the fav'rite flower,-
Weeps the soft dew, the balmy gale she sighs,
And darts a trembling lustre from her eyes.
New life and joy th' expanding flow'ret feels :
His pitying mistress mourns, and mourning heals!

1796.

EPIGRAM.

HOARSE Mævius reads his hobbling verse

To all, and at all times;

And finds them both divinely smooth,
His voice as well as rhymes.

Yet folks say " Mævius is no ass;"
But Mævius makes it clear,
That he's a monster of an ass—

An ass without an ear.

ON THE CHRISTENING OF A FRIEND'S CHILD.

I.

THIS day among the faithful placed,

And fed with fontal manna,

O with maternal title graced

Dear Anna's dearest Anna!

II.

While others wish thee wise and fair,
A maid of spotless fame,

I'll breathe this more compendious prayer—
May'st thou deserve thy name!

III.

Thy mother's name-a potent spell,

That bids the virtues hie

From mystic grove and living cell

Confess'd to fancy's eye-

1797.

IV.

Meek quietness without offence;
Content in homespun kirtle;
True love; and true love's innocence,
White blossom of the myrtle!

V.

Associates of thy name, sweet child!
These virtues mayst thou win;
With face as eloquently mild,
To say, they lodge within.

VI.

So, when her tale of days all flown,
Thy mother shall be mist here;

When Heaven at length shall claim its own
And angels snatch their sister;

VII.

Some hoary-headed friend, perchance,
May gaze with stifled breath;
And oft, in momentary trance,
Forget the waste of death.

VIII.

E'en thus a lovely rose I view'd,

In summer-swelling pride;

Nor mark'd the bud that, green and rude, Peep'd at the rose's side.

IX.

It chanced, I pass'd again that way,

In autumn's latest hour,

And wond'ring saw the selfsame spray
Rich with the selfsame flower.

X.

Ah, fond deceit! the rude green bud,
Alike in shape, place, name,

Had bloom'd, where bloom'd its parent stud,
Another and the same!

.

LINES

WRITTEN AT SHURTON BARS, NEAR BRIDGE-WATER, SEPTEMBER, 1795, IN ANSWER TO A LETTER FROM BRISTOL.

Good verse most good, and bad verse then seems better
Received from absent friend by way of Letter,

For what so sweet can labored lay impart

As one rude rhyme warm from a friendly heart?-ANON.

NOR travels my meandering eye
The starry wilderness on high;
Nor now with curious sight

I mark the glow-worm as I pass,

Move with " 'green radiance" through the

An emerald of light.

O ever present to my view!
My wafted spirit is with you,

And soothes your boding fears:
I see you all oppressed with gloom
Sit lonely in that cheerless room—
Ah me! You are in tears!

Beloved Woman! did you fly
Chilled Friendship's dark disliking eye,

Or Mirth's untimely din?
With cruel weight these trifles press
A temper sore with tenderness,
When aches the Void within.

But why with sable wand unblest
Should Fancy rouse within my breast
Dim-visaged shapes of Dread?
Untenanting its beauteous clay
My Sara's soul has winged its way,
And hovers round my head!

I felt it prompt the tender dream,
When slowly sank the day's last gleam;
You roused each gentler sense,

As sighing o'er the blossom's bloom
Meek evening wakes its soft perfume
With viewless influence.

grass,