191

INSTABILITY OF HUMAN LIFE

ΟΥΔΕΝ ἐν ἀνθρώποισι μένει χρῆμ ̓ ἔμπεδον αἰεί, ἓν δὲ τὸ κάλλιστον Χῖος ἔειπεν ἀνήρ·

‘οἷη περ φύλλων γενεή, τοιήδε καὶ ἀνδρῶν·
παῦροι μὴν θνητῶν οὔασι δεξάμενοι

στέρνοις ἐγκατέθεντο· πάρεστι γὰρ ἐλπὶς ἑκάστῳ,
ἀνδρῶν ἤ τε νέων στήθεσιν ἐμφύεται.
θνητῶν δ' ὄφρα τις ἄνθος ἔχῃ πολυήρατον ήβης,
κοῦφον ἔχων θυμὸν πόλλ ̓ ἀτέλεστα νοεῖ·
οὔτε γὰρ ἐλπίδ ̓ ἔχει γηρασσέμεν οὔτε θανεῖσθαι,
οὐδ ̓ ὑγιὴς ὅταν ᾖ, φροντίδ ̓ ἔχει καμάτου.
νήπιοι, οἷς ταύτῃ κεῖται νόος, οὐδέ τ ̓ ἴσασιν
ὡς χρόνος ἔσθ' ἥβης καὶ βιότου ὀλίγος
θνητοῖς· ἀλλὰ σὺ ταῦτα μαθὼν βιότου ποτὶ τέρμα
ψυχῇ τῶν ἀγαθῶν τλῆθι χαριζόμενος.

SIMONIDES

192 ON THE SHORTNESS OF MAN'S LIFE AND THE MISERIES OF OLD AGE

ἩΜΕΙΣ δ ̓ οἷά τε φύλλα φύει πολυανθέος ὥρη
ἔαρος, ὅτ ̓ ἂψ αὐγὴ αὔξεται γελίου,

τοῖς ἴκελοι πήχυιον ἐπὶ χρόνον ἄνθεσιν ἥβης
τερπόμεθα, πρὸς θεῶν εἰδότες οὔτε κακὸν
οὔτ ̓ ἀγαθόν· Κῆρες δὲ παρεστήκασι μέλαιναι,
ἡ μὲν ἔχουσα τέλος γήραος αργαλέου,
ἡ δ ̓ ἑτέρη θανάτοιο· μίνυνθα δὲ γίγνεται ἥβης
καρπός, ὅσον τ ̓ ἐπὶ γῆν κίδναται ἠέλιος.
αὐτὰρ ἐπὴν δὴ τοῦτο τέλος παραμείψεαι ώρης,
αὐτίκα τεθνᾶναι βέλτιον ἢ βίοτος•

πολλὰ γὰρ ἐν θυμῷ κακὰ γίγνεται· ἄλλοτε οἶκος
τρυχοῦται, πενίης δ' ἔργ ̓ ὀδυνηρὰ πέλει·
ἄλλος δ ̓ αὖ παίδων ἐπιδεύεται, ὧν τε μάλιστα
ἱμείρων κατὰ γῆς ἔρχεται εἰς ̓Αΐδην

ἄλλος νοῦσον ἔχει θυμοφθόρον· οὐδέ τις ἔστιν
ἀνθρώπων, ᾧ Ζεὺς μὴ κάκα πολλὰ διδοῖ.

MIMNERMVS

195

196

FAIR

AIR marble, tell to future days
that here two virgin sisters lie,
whose life employed each tongue in praise,
whose death gave tears to every eye.
In stature, beauty, years and fame,
together as they grew, they shone;
so much alike, so much the same,
that death mistook them both for one.

REQVIESCAT

AIR is her cottage in its place,

FAIR

where yon broad water sweetly glides;

it sees itself from thatch to base

dream in the sliding tides.

And fairer she, but ah how soon to die!
her quiet dream of life this hour may cease.
Her peaceful being slowly passes by

to some more perfect peace.

Jo

THE CRUSADER'S RETURN

OY to the fair!-thy knight behold,
return'd from yonder land of gold;

A. TENNYSON

no wealth he brings, nor wealth can need,
save his good arms and battle-steed;
his spurs to dash against a foe,

his lance and sword to lay him low;
such all the trophies of his toil,
such-and the hope of Tekla's smile!

Joy to the fair! whose constant knight
her favour fired to feats of might;
unnoted shall she not remain

where meet the bright and noble train;
minstrel shall sing, and herald tell—
'Mark yonder maid of beauty well,
'tis she for whose bright eyes was won
the listed field of Ascalon!'

SIR W. SCOTT

197

198

199

THE WISH OF DR CYRIL JACKSON

MIGHT gently wear my wife away,

not moiled by wealth or power's imperial sway! but rather in some sweet sequestered nook, uttering plain comments on the Holy Book: with modest glebe and tithes paid uncompelled, and not in title only 'reverend' held!

And O the Greek, the Roman Muse be mine!
and mine a wife, worth more than all the nine!
what more? I bid Hope, Care and Fear good bye;
remains but-last great task-to learn and die.

THIS

F. WRANGHAM

EPITAPH ON A YOUNG LADY

HIS humble grave though no proud structure grace, yet truth and goodness sanctify the place: yet blameless virtue that adorned thy bloom, lamented maid, now weeps upon thy tomb: escaped from life, O, safe on that calm shore where sin and pain and passion are no more! what never wealth could buy nor power decree, regard and pity wait sincere on thee: lo! soft remembrance drops a pious tear and holy friendship sits a mourner here.

WHEN

EUTHANASIA

D. MALLET

HEN Time or soon or late shall bring
the dreamless sleep that lulls the dead,

Oblivion, may thy languid wing

wave gently o'er my dying bed!

No band of friends or heirs be there,
to weep or wish the coming blow:
no maiden, with dishevell'd hair,

to feel or feign decorous woe.

But silent let me sink to earth

with no officious mourners near:
I would not mar one hour of mirth,
nor startle friendship with a tear.

LORD BYRON

200

201

202

EE how the day beameth brightly before us! blue is the firmament, green is the earth: grief hath no voice in the universe-chorus; nature is ringing with music and mirth: enter the treasuries pleasure uncloses;

list, how she thrills in the nightingale's lay: breathe, she is wafting the sweets from the roses: feel, she is cool in the rivulet's play:

taste, from the grape and the nectarine gushing flows the red rill in the beams of the sun: green in the hills, in the flower-groves blushing, look! she is always and everywhere one.

THE HARPER

AS! the fervent harper did not know

ALAS!

that for a tranquil soul the lay was framed,
who, long compelled in humble walks to go,
was softened into feeling, soothed and tamed.

Love had he found in huts where poor men lie;
his daily teachers had been woods and rills,
the silence that is in the starry sky,

the sleep that is among the lonely hills.

In him the savage virtue of the race,

revenge and all ferocious thoughts were dead:
nor did he change, but kept in lofty place
the wisdom which adversity had bred.

I

HAPPINESS OF THE SHEPHERD'S LIFE

ENVY not the mighty great,
those powerful rulers of the state

who settle nations as they please,
and govern at the expense of ease.
Far happier the shepherd-swain
who daily drudges on the plain
and nightly in some humble shed
on rushy pillow lays his head.
No cursed ambition breaks his rest,
no factious wars divide his breast;
his flock, his pipe and artless fair,
are all his hope and all his care.

203 TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN WHOM THE

AUTHOR HAD KNOWN IN THE DAYS OF HER INNOCENCE

YRTLE-LEAF that, ill besped,

MYRTLE-LEAF

pinest in the gladsome ray,

soiled beneath the common tread
far from thy protecting spray!

When the partridge o'er the sheaf
whirred along the yellow vale,

sad I saw thee, heedless leaf,
love the dalliance of the gale.

Gaily from thy mother-stalk

wert thou danced and wafted high— soon on this unsheltered walk

flung to fade, to rot and die.

S. T. COLERIDGE

204 THE varying year with blade and sheaf
they and reclothes the happy plains;

here rests the sap within the leaf;
here stays the blood along the veins.
Faint shadows, vapours lightly curled,
faint murmurs from the meadow come,
like hints and echoes of the world

to spirits folded in the womb.
Soft lustre bathes the range of urns

on every slanting terrace lawn;

the fountain to his place returns
deep in the garden lake withdrawn.