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The worm, more expensively fed,

The pride of the garden devours ; And birds peck the seed from the bed,

Still less to be spar'd than the flow'rs. But she, with such delicate skill,

Her pillage so fits for her use,
That the chemist in vain with his still

Would labour the like to produce.
Then grudge not her temperate meals,

Nor a benefit blame as a theft ; Since, stole she not all that she steals,

Neither honey nor wax would be left.

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A joy!

PELLES, hearing that his boy Although the sight with anguish tore him Bade place his dear remains before him. He seized his brush, his colours spread ; And—"Oh! my child, accept,"—he said " ('Tis all that I can now bestow), This tribute of a father's woe !" Then faithful to the two-fold part, Both of his feelings and his art, He clos'd his eyes, with tender care, And form'd at once a fellow pair. His brow with amber locks beset, And lips he drow, not livid yet ; And shaded all that he had dono To a just image of his son.

Thus far is well. But view again
The cause of thy paternal pain !
Thy melancholy task fulfil !
It needs the last, last touches still,
Again his pencil's powers he tries,
For on his lips a smile he spies :
And still his cheek unfaded shows
The deepest damask of the rose.
Then, heedful to the finish'd whole,
With fondest eagerness he stole,
Till scarce himself distinctly knew
The cherub copied from the true.

Now, painter, cease! Thy task is done.
Long lives this image of thy son ;
Nor short-liv'd shall thy glory prove,
Or of thy lalour, or thy love.


To ,

The snail sticks close, nor fears to fall, As if he grew there, house and all

Within that house secure he hides,
When danger imminent betides
Of storm, or other larm besides

Of weather,
Give but his horns the slightest touch,
His self-collecting power is such,
He shrinks into his house with much


Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone,
Except himself has chattels none,
Well satisfied to be his own

Whole treasure,
Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads,
Nor partner of his banquet needs,
And if he meets one, only feeds

The faster, Who seeks him must be worse than blind (He and his house are so combined), If, finding it, he fails to find

Its master.

Translations of Greek Verses.


A . ons slain,

Alone from battle fled,
His mother, kindling with disdain

That she had borne him, struck him dead; For courage, and not birth alone,

In Sparta testifies a son !



WAS of late a barren plant,
Nor fig, nor grape, nor apple bore,
A native of the marshy shore ;

But gather'd for poetic use,
And plung'd into a sable juice,
Of which my modicum I sip,
With narrow mouth and slender tip,
At once, although by nature dumb,
All eloquent I have become,
And speak with fluency untired,
As if by Phoebus' self inspired.



Y name—my country-what are they to thee ? Perhaps I far surpass'd all other menPerhaps I fell below them all—what then ? Suffice it, Stranger ! that thou seest a tomb Thou know'st its use—it hides no matter whom.


AKE to thy bosom, gentle earth, a swain


He set the vines that clothe yon ample plain,
And he these olives that the vale adorn.

He fill'd with grain the glebe; the rills he led
Through this green herbage, and those fruitful bow'rs;
Thou, therefore, earth ! lie lightly on his head,
His hoary head, and deck his grave with flow'rs.



T threescore winters' end I died,

A cheerless being, sole and sad; The nuptial knot I never tied,

And wish my father never had.


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Blest Hygeia ! be it nine
To enjoy what thou canst give,
And henceforth with thee to live :
For in pow'r if pleasure be,
Wealth, or nun'rous progeny.
Or in amorous embrace,
Where no spy infests the place :
Or in aught that Heav'n bestows,
To alleviate human woes,
When the wearied heart despairs
Of a respite from its cares ;
These and ev'ry true delight
Flourish only in thy sight;
And the sister Graces Three
Owe, themselves, their youth to thee,
Without whom we may possess
Much, but never happiness.

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