And finally of her will sing

The Goddess Queen whose smile Beams on the Gnidian bow'rs of spring

And Paphos' favoured Isle,

When steered by swans she skims the seas
That wash the sun-bright Cyclades ;
Till sleep shall close each wearied eye,
And night shall hear our lullaby.

OBSERVATIONS.

He invites Lydia, in very pretty verse, to celebrate in his the feast of Neptune with wine and song.

company

Jan. 19, 1852.

Summo carmine, quæ Gnidon

Fulgentesque tenet Cycladas, et Paphon

Junctis visit oloribus :

Dicetur merita Nox quoque nænia.

ODE XXIX.

DESCENDED of an ancient line,

That long the Tuscan sceptre swayed,
Make haste to meet the generous wine,
Whose piercing is for thee delayed:
The rosy wreath is ready made

And artful hands prepare

The fragrant Syrian oil, that shall perfume thy hair.

When the wine sparkles from afar,

And the well-natured friend cries, Come away; Make haste, and leave thy business and thy care: No mortal int'rest can be worth thy stay.

Leave for awhile thy costly country-seat;
And, to be great indeed, forget
The nauseous pleasures of the great :

Make haste and come :

ODE XXIX.

TYRRHENA regum progenies, tibi
Non ante verso lene merum cado
Cum flore, Mæcenas, rosarum, et
Pressa tuis balanus capillis

Jamdudum apud me est. Eripe te moræ ; Ne semper udum Tibur et Æsulæ

Declive contempleris arvum et

Telegoni juga parricidæ.

Fastidiosam desere copiam et

Molem propinquam nubibus arduis :

Omitte mirari beatæ

Fumum et opes strepitumque Romæ.

Come, and forsake thy cloying store;

Thy turret that surveys from high

The smoke, and wealth, and noise of Rome;

And all the busy pageantry

That wise men scorn, and fools adore :

Come, give thy soul a loose, and taste the pleasures of the poor.

Sometimes 'tis grateful to the rich to try
A short vicissitude, and fit of poverty:
A savoury dish, a homely treat,
Where all is plain, where all is neat,
Without the stately spacious room,
The Persian carpet, or the Tyrian loom,
Clear up the cloudy foreheads of the great.

The sun is in the Lion mounted high;
The Syrian star

Barks from afar,

And with his sultry breath infects the sky;

The ground below is parched, the heav'ns above us fry;

The shepherd drives his fainting flock

Beneath the covert of a rock,

And seeks refreshing rivulets nigh :

The Sylvans to their shades retire,

Those

very shades and streams new shades and streains require,

And want a cooling breeze of wind to fan the raging

fire.