XXXIII.

The Ocean.

ROLL on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll.
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin; his control
Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed; nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,

He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.

Byron.

XXXIV.

The Rainbow.

My heart leaps up when I behold

A rainbow in the sky!

So was it, when my life began;

So is it now I am a man;

So let it be, when I grow old,

Or let me die.

The child is father of the man,

And I would wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

Wordsworth.

XXXIII.

ΘΑΛΑΣΣΑ.

ΚΛΥΖΕΟ, κυανέη βαθυδινήεσσα θάλασσα, μυρίαι ἦν τ ̓ ἄλλως νηῶν στίχες ἐκπερόωσιν. ἔφθαρται μὲν γαῖ ̓ ὑπ ̓ ὀλοῇσι φρεσὶν ἀνδρῶν, ἄνδρας δ' αἰγιαλὸς περί περ κρατέοντας ἐέργει. ὑγρῷ δ' ἐν πεδίῳ εἴ τις φθόρος αἰνὸς ἐτύχθη, ἐκ σέθεν εὔχεται εἶναι· ἐφάνθη δ ̓ οὐδέ τι τέκμαρ ἀνδρῶν, ὅσσον ὄνειρος, ὀλέθρια ἔργα πυθέσθαι, πλὴν αὐτῶν τινὸς ὀλλυμένου, ὅς τ ̓ εἴκελος ὄμβρῳ σοῖς φάνη ἐν βένθεσσι μίνυνθά περ οὔ τι μάλα δήν, αἶψά τ ̓ ἀνεβρόχθη, περὶ δ ̓ ἔστενε κῦμα χανόντα, οὐ τάφῳ οὐδὲ γόοισι κεκαδμένον οὐδὲ λέβητι.

J. R.

XXXIV.

Frís.

PECTUS exultat trepidum, videnti
Iridis septemgeminos honores:

Hoc erat dudum puero, hoc viriles
Fluxit in annos,

Hoc seni detur precor,-aut perire:

Nam virum gignit puer; inde nostræ
Mutua vellem pietate nexa

Tempora vitæ.

W. B. J.

XXXV.

Birge in Cymbeline.

To fair Fidele's grassy tomb

Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing spring.

No wailing ghost shall dare appear,
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove;
But shepherd lads assemble here,

And melting virgins own their love.

No withered witch shall here be seen, No goblins lead their midnight crew: The female Fays shall haunt the green, And dress thy grave with pearly dew.

The red-breast oft at evening hours
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
With hoary moss and gathered flowers

To deck the ground where thou art laid.

XXXV.

En Tumulum Fidelis Nænia.

QUA tua nunc gelida pallentia morte, Fidelis, Pulcra sub herboso cespite membra jacent, Ruricolæque simul pueri teneræque puellæ

Serta dabunt memori sæpe ferenda manu. Flos inerit nascens, qui se prior explicat, omnis, Quotque novum spirat Ver rapientur opes.

Non poterunt querula stridentes voce per auras Hoc placidum manes sollicitare nemus ; Rustica sed pubes venient; timidusque pudicæ Virginis hic molli se vice prodet amor.

Arida non Stygios audebit saga tumultus, Non Lemures diros nocte ciere choros; Cura sed innocuis hæc fient pascua Nymphis, Ut tibi, qua tegeris, gemmea roret humus.

Pectore de rubro cui nomen amabilis ales

Sæpe pius tenuem vespere junget opem, Floribus ut lectis et cani vellere musci

Conciliet tumulo quod licet ipse decus.

When howling winds and beating rain
In tempests shake the sylvan cell,
Or midst the chase on every plain,

The tender thought on thee shall dwell.

Each lonely scene shall thee restore,
For thee the tear be duly shed;
Beloved, 'till life could charm no more ;

And mourned, 'till pity's self be dead.

Collins.

XXXVI.

Ex Anthologia.

Ον γάμον, ἀλλ ̓ Αΐδαν ἐπινυμφίδιον Κλεαρίστα δέξατο, παρθενίας ἅμματα λυομένα.

ἄρτι γὰρ ἑσπέριοι νύμφας ἐπὶ δικλίσιν ἄχευν λωτοί, καὶ θαλάμων ἐπλαταγεῦντο θύραι· ἠφος δ ̓ ὀλολυγμὸς ἀνέκραγεν, ἐν δ ̓ Υμέναιος σιγαθεὶς γοερὸν φθέγμα μεθαρμόσατο. αἱ δ' αὐταὶ καὶ φέγγος ἐδᾳδούχουν παρὰ παστῷ πεῦκαι, καὶ φθιμένα νέρθεν ἔφαινον ὁδόν.