To hmm Euryalus: "No day shall shame
The nang glories which from this I claim.
Forte may favour or the skies may frown,
Et vaior, spite of fate, obtains renown.
Yere from hence our eager steps depart,
One on I beg, the nearest to my heart:
Yr mother sprung from Priam's royal line,
Lee ennobied, hardly less divine;
Kar Try or King Acestes' realms restrain
Beedage from dangers of the main;
Ame she came, all selfish fears above,
Atample of maternal love.

secret enterprise I brave, Legof 't bend my parent to the grave: Fe no fond adieus I seek,

Br

ruder's lips have press'd my cheek; y Nign, and thy right hand, I vow B- g tears would shake my purpose now: Dy prince, her failing age sustain, Im-loved child may live again; Br vers with pious conduct bless, Arrats, mueve her fond distress: &rabe must al my soul inflame, Try, or to fai in fame." Strata ual care, so deeply felt, leurs, at once, the Trojan warriors melt; Furer tan ai, Itlas' eyes o'erflow;

we was his, and such had been his woe. 4st ask'd, receive," the prince replied, Ne, bur many a gift beside;

er mother's years shall be my aim, Case but wanting to the dame; For an adverse wayward course may run, But we'd to mother in so dear a son. Sony Lie, my Sare's most sacred oath, Tee I peize my full, my firmest troth, Awards which once to thee were vow'd, I woudst fal, ou bur shall be bestow'd." The the weeping prince, then forth to view Apmag fachon from the sheath he drew; Larae's rost ski, had graced the steel, To envy and for foes to feel. As the Moonsh lion's spoil, Fast forest, in the hunter's toil, Now, to guard the elder youth, bestows,

As

Atter casque defends his brows;

1. ear they 20, wi'e all the assembled train,
De case, implore the gods in vain;
Yewat, a wisdom and in grace,
the chefs his place;

Ha traverse sends, but what can prayers avail,
Low the marmurs of the sighing gale?
The trench s past, and, favour'd by the night,
gh sleepang foes they wheel their wary flight.
the sleep of many a foe be o'er?
A skamber who shall wake no more!

, and wales, mix'd with arms, are seen,
at Swag flasks, and scatter'd troops between;
Bars and Mars to rule the camp combine,
A med chaos thus of war and wine.
S" cries the first, "for deeds of blood prepare,
We the conquest and the labour share;
Hebe our path; lest any hand arise,
Watch thou, wisle many a dreaming chieftain dies;
The sober of lalus, lost on the night when Troy was taken.

I'll carve our passage through the heedless foe,
And clear thy road, with many a deadly blow."
His whispering accents then the youth represt,
And pierced proud Rhamnes through his panting breast;
Stretch'd at his ease, th' incautious king reposed,
Debauch, and not fatigue, his eyes had closed;
To Turnus dear, a prophet and a prince,
His omens more than augur's skill evince;
But he, who thus foretold the fate of all,
Could not avert his own untimely fall.
Next Remus' armour-bearer, hapless, fell,
And three unhappy slaves the carnage swell:
The charioteer along his courser's sides
Expires, the steel his severed neck divides;
And, last, his lord is number'd with the dead,
Bounding convulsive, flies the gasping head;
From the swollen veins the blackening torrents pour,
Stain'd is the couch and earth with clotting gore.
Young Lamyrus and Lamus next expire,
And gay Serranus, fill'd with youthful fire;
Half the long night in childish games was past,
Lull'd by the potent grape, he slept at last;
Ah! happier far, had he the morn survey'd,
And, till Aurora's dawn, his skill display'd.

In slaughter'd folds, the keepers lost in sleep,
His hungry fangs a lion thus may steep;
Mid the sad flock, at dead of night, he prowls,
With murder glutted, and in carnage rolls;
Insatiate still, through teeming herds he roams,
In seas of gore the lordly tyrant foams.

Nor less the other's deadly vengeance came,
But falls on feeble crowds without a name;
His wound unconscious Fadus scarce can feel,
Yet wakeful Rhesus sees the threatening steel;
His coward breast behind a jar he hides,
And, vainly, in the weak defence confides;
Full in his heart, the falchion search'd his veins,
The reeking weapon bears alternate stains;
Through wine and blood, commingling as they flow,
The feeble spirit seeks the shades below.
Now, where Messapus dwelt they bend their way,
Whose fires emit a faint and trembling ray;
There, unconfined behold each grazing steed,
Unwatch'd, unheeded, on the herbage feed;
Brave Nisus here arrests his comrade's arm,
Too flush'd with carnage, and with conquest warm:
"Hence let us haste, the dangerous path is past,
Full foes enough, to-night, have breathed their last;
Soon will the day those eastern clouds adorn.
Now let us speed, nor tempt the rising morn."

What silver arms, with various arts emboss'd,
What bowls and mantles, in confusion toss'd,
They leave regardless! yet, one glittering prize
Attracts the younger hero's wandering eyes;
The gilded harness Rhamnes' coursers felt,
The gems which stud the monarch's golden belt;
This from the pallid corse was quickly torn,
Once by a line of former chieftains worn.
Th' exulting boy the studded girdle wears,
Messapus' helm his head, in triumph, bears;
Then from the tents their cautious steps they bend,
To seek the vale, where safer paths extend.

Just at this hour, a band of Latian horse
To Turus' camp pursue their destined course;

While the slow foot their tardy march delay,
The knights, impatient, spur along the way:
Three hundred mail-clad men, by Volscens led,
To Turnus, with their master's promise sped:
Now, they approach the trench, and view the walls,
When, on the left, a light reflection falls;

The plunder'd helmet, through the waning night,
Sheds forth a silver radiance, glancing bright;
Volscens, with question loud, the pair alarms-
"Stand, stragglers! stand! why early thus in arms?
From whence? to whom?" He meets with no reply;
Trusting the covert of the night, they fly;

The thicket's depth, with hurried pace, they tread,
While round the wood the hostile squadron spread.
With brakes entangled, scarce a path between,
Dreary and dark appears the sylvan scene;
Euryalus his heavy spoils impede,

The boughs and winding turns his steps mislead;
But Nisus scours along the forest's maze,
To where Latinus' steeds, in safety graze,
Then backward o'er the plain his eyes extend,
On every side they seek his absent friend.
"O God! my boy," he cries, "of me bereft,
In what impending perils art thou left!"
Listening he runs-above the waving trees,
Tumultuous voices swell the passing breeze;
The war-cry rises, thundering hoofs around
Wake the dark echoes of the trembling ground;
Again he turns of footsteps hears the noise,
The sound elates-the sight his hope destroys;
The hapless boy a ruffian train surround,
While lengthening shades his weary way confound;
Him, with loud shouts, the furious knights pursue,
Struggling in vain, a captive to the crew.
What can his friend 'gainst thronging numbers dare?
Ah! must he rush, his comrade's fate to share!
What force, what aid, what stratagem essay,
Back to redeem the Latian spoiler's prey!
His life a votive ransom nobly give,

Or die with him for whom he wish'd to live!
Poising with strength his lifted lance on high,
On Luna's orb he cast his phrenzied eye:
"Goddess serene, transcending every star!
Queen of the sky! whose beams are seen afar;
By night, Heaven owns thy sway, by day, the grove,
When, as chaste Dian, here thou deign'st to rove;
If e'er myself or sire have sought to grace
Thine altars with the produce of the chase;
Speed, speed my dart to pierce yon vaunting crowd,
To free my friend, and scatter far the proud."
Thus having said, the hissing dart he flung;
Through parted shades the hurtling weapon sung;
The thirsty point in Sulmo's entrails lay,
Transfix'd his heart, and stretch'd him on the clay:
He sobs, he dies,-the troop, in wild amaze,
Unconscious whence the death, with horror gaze;
While pale they stare, through Tagus' temples riven,
A second shaft with equal force is driven;
Fierce Volscens rolls around his lowering eyes,
Veil'd by the night, secure the Trojan lies.
Burning with wrath, he view'd his soldiers fall;
"Thou youth accurst! thy life shall pay for all."
Quick from the sheath his flaming glaive he drew,
And, raging, on the boy defenceless flew.

Nisus no more the blackening shade conceals,
Forth, forth he starts, and all his love reveals;
Aghast, confused, his fears to madness rise,
And pour these accents, shrieking as he flies:
"Me, me,-your vengeance hurl on me alone,
Here sheathe the steel, my blood is all your own;
Ye starry Spheres! thou conscious Heaven attest!
He could not-durst not-lo! the guile confest!
All, all was mine-his early fate suspend,
He only loved too well his hapless friend;
Spare, spare, ye chiefs! from him your rage remove
His fault was friendship, all his crime was love."
He pray'd in vain, the dark assassin's sword
Pierced the fair side, the snowy bosom gored;
Lowly to earth inclines his plume-clad crest,
And sanguine torrents mantle o'er his breast:
As some young rose, whose blossom scents the air,
Languid in death, expires beneath the share;
Or crimson poppy, sinking with the shower,
Declining gently, falls a fading flower;
Thus, sweetly drooping, bends his lovely head,
And lingering Beauty hovers round the dead.

But fiery Nisus stems the battle's tide,
Revenge his leader, and Despair his guide;
Volscens he seeks, amidst the gathering host,
Volscens must soon appease his comrade's ghost;
Steel, flashing, pours on steel, foe crowds on foe,
Rage nerves his arm, Fate gleams in every blow;
In vain, beneath unnumber'd wounds he bleeds,
Nor wounds, nor death, distracted Nisus heeds;
In viewless circles wheel'd his falchion flies,
Nor quits the Hero's grasp till Volscens dies;
Deep in his throat its end the weapon found,
The tyrant's soul fled groaning through the wound.
Thus Nisus all his fond affection proved,
Dying, revenged the fate of him he loved;
Then on his bosom, sought his wonted place,
And death was heavenly in his friend's embrace.
Celestial pair! if aught my verse can claim,
Wafted on Time's broad pinion, yours is fame!
Ages on ages shall your fate admire;

No future day shall see your names expire;
While stands the Capitol, immortal dome!
And vanquish'd millions hail their Empress, Rome.

TRANSLATION FROM THE MEDEA OF
EURIPIDES.

WHEN fierce conflicting passions urge
The breast where love is wont to glow,
What mind can stem the stormy surge,

Which rolls the tide of human woe?
The hope of praise, the dread of shame,

Can rouse the tortured breast no more; The wild desire, the guilty flame,

Absorbs each wish it felt before.

But, if affection gently thrills

The soul, by purer dreams possest, The pleasing balm of mortal ills,

In love can soothe the aching breast; If thus, thou comest in gentle guise,

Fair Venus! from thy native heaven, What heart, unfeeling, would despise

The sweetest boon the gods have given?

But, ever from thy golden bow
May I beneath the shaft expire,
We creeping venom, sure and slow,
Awäes an all-consuming fire;
Terraing doubts! ye jealous fears!
Win others wage eternal war;
Repentance! source of future tears,
Fan me be ever distant far.
May no distracting thoughts destroy
Tway cam of sacred love!
M. altar hours be wing'd with joy,
War hver faithful hearts above!
Fur Venus! on thy myrtie shrine,

M. I wen some fond lover sigh! We heart may mingle pure with mine, me to live, with me to die.

My rates! beloved before,
Now crearer, as my peaceful home,
Se er may I qut thy rocky shore,

A tareas, human'd wretch to roam;
T:
ay, this very hour,

Mas In this fleeting breath, Ne my sent, humble bowerA, to me, far worse than death.

Have I not heard the exile's sigh,

And seen the exie's silent tear? The tant climes condemn'd to fly, Aw, weary wanderer here: A taz wss dam-! ! no sire bewails, Nfend the wretched fate deplores, 5 red wine wah rapture hails

B

The spa, within a stranger's doors. Perd! whose iron heart, Tarafon's truth unknown, - Soy loved depart, Tunel, bel Sess, and alone; nacks, with silver key, 2 T'er treasures of his soul; M. fmd be far from me,

W

Anu Ooran's storms between us roll!

FUGITIVE PIECES.

As all around sit wrapt in speechless gloom,
His voice, in thunder, shakes the sounding dome,
Denouncing dire reproach to luckless fools,
Unskill'd to plod in mathematic rules.

Happy the youth! in Euclid's axioms tried,
Though little versed in any art beside;
Who, scarcely skill'd an English line to pen,
Scans Attic metres with a critic's ken.
What! though he knows not how his fathers bled,
When civil discord piled the fields with dead;
When Edward bade his conquering bands advance,
Or Henry trampled on the crest of France;
Though, marv'ling at the name of Magna Charta,
Yet well he recollects the laws of Sparta;
Can tell what edicts sage Lycurgus made,
While Blackstone's on the shelf neglected laid;
Of Grecian dramas vaunts the deathless fame,
Of Avon's bard remembering scarce the name.
Such is the youth, whose scientific pate,
Class-honours, medals, fellowsnips, await;
Or even, perhaps, the declamation prize,
If to such glorious height he lifts his eyes.
But, lo! no common orator can hope
The envied silver
cup within his scope:
Not that our Heads much eloquence require,
Th' Athenian's glowing style, or Tully's fire.
A manner clear or warm is useless, since
We do not try, by speaking, to convince:
Be other orators of pleasing proud,

We speak to please ourselves, not move the crowd;
Our gravity prefers the muttering tone,

A proper mixture of the squeak and groan;
No borrow'd grace of action must be seen,
The slightest motion would displease the Dean;
Whilst every staring Graduate would prate
Against what he could never imitate.

The man, who hopes t' obtain the promised cup,
Must in one posture stand, and ne'er look up;
Nor stop, but rattle over every word,
No matter what, so it can not be heard—
Thus let him hurry on, nor think to rest!

Who speaks the fastest's sure to speak the best:
Who utters most within the shortest space,
May safely hope to win the wordy race.
The sons of science these, who, thus repaid,
Linger in ease in Granta's sluggish shade;

EXAMINATION."

Bank, surrounded by his peers, Miss has are front sublime uprears; Past te ta chur of state, he seems a god, and Freshmen tremble at his nod;

Unknown, unhonour'd live,-unwept for, die;
Dull as the pictures which adorn their halls,
They think all learning fix'd within their walls;
In manners rude, in foolish forms precise,
All modern arts affecting to despise;
Yet prizing BENTLEY'S, BRUNCK'S,' or PORSON'S
note,

More than the verse on which the critic wrote;
Vain as their honours, heavy as their ale,
Sad as their wit, and tedious as their tale,
To friendship dead, though not untaught to feel,
When Self and Church demand a bigot zeal.
With eager haste they court the lord of power,
Whether 't is PITT or P-TTY rules the hour: "

FRIEND of my youth! when young we roved, Like striplings mutually beloved,

With Friendship's purest glow;
The bliss which wing'd those rosy hours
Was such as pleasure seldom showers
On mortals here below.

The recollection seems, alone,
Dearer than all the joys I've known,
When distant far from you;

Though pain, 't is still a pleasing pain,
To trace those days and hours again,
And sigh again, adieu!

My pensive memory lingers o'er
Those scenes to be enjoy'd no more,

Those scenes regretted ever;
The measure of our youth is full,
Life's evening dream is dark and dull,

And we may meet-ah! never!

As when one parent spring supplies
Two streams, which from one fountain rise,
Together join'd in vain;

How soon, diverging from their source,
Each murmuring seeks another course,
Till mingled in the main.

Our vital streams of weal or woe,
Though near, alas! distinctly flow,
Nor mingle as before;

Now swift or slow, now black or clear,
Till death's unfathom'd gulf appear,

And both shall quit the shore.

Our souls, my Friend! which once supplied
One wish, nor breathed a thought beside,
Now flow in different channels;
Disdaining humbler rural sports,
'Tis yours to mix in polish'd courts,
And shine in Fashion's annals.

'Tis mine to waste on Love my time,
Or vent my reveries in rhyme,

Without the aid of Reason;
For Sense and Reason (critics know it)
Have quitted every amorous poet,

Nor left a thought to seize on.

and subsequently (I had almost said consequently) the honour of representing the University; a fact so glaring requires no

comment.

Poor LITTLE! sweet, melodious bard!
Of late esteem'd it monstrous hard,

That he, who sang before all;
He, who the love of Love expanded,
By dire reviewers should be branded,
As void of wit and moral.'

And yet, while Beauty's praise is thine,
Harmonious favourite of the Nine!

Repine not at thy lot;

Thy soothing lays may still be read,
When Persecution's arm is dead,
And critics are forgot.

Still, I must yield those worthies merit,
Who chasten, with unsparing spirit,

Bad rhymes, and those who write them;
And though myself may be the next
By critic sarcasm to be vext,

I really will not fight them; 2
Perhaps they would do quite as well,
To break the rudely-sounding shell
Of such a young beginner;
He who offends at pert nineteen,
Ere thirty, may become, I ween,
A very harden'd sinner.
Now, I must return to you,
And sure apologies are due;

Accept then my concession;
In truth, dear, in fancy's flight,
I soar along from left to right;

My muse admires digression.

I think I said 't would be your fate
To add one star to royal state;

May regal smiles attend you;
And should a noble Monarch reign,
You will not seck his smiles in vain,

If worth can recommend you. Yet, since in danger courts abound, Where specious rivals glitter round,

From snares may saints preserve you; And grant your love or friendship ne'er From any claim a kindred care,

But those who best deserve you.
Not for a moment may you stray
From Truth's secure unerring way;
May no delights decoy;
O'er roses may your footsteps move,
Your smiles be ever smiles of love,

Your tears be tears of joy.

Oh! if you wish that happiness
Your coming days and years may bless,
And virtues crown your brow;

Be still, as you were wont to be,
Spotless as you 've been known to me,

Be, still, as you are now.

And though some trifling share of praise,
To cheer my last declining days,

To me were doubly dear;
Whist blessing your beloved name,
I'd wave at once a Poet's fame,
To prove a Prophet here.

GRANTA, A MEDLEY.

Αργόταις λόγχαισι μάχου και παντα Κρατήσαις.

On! could LE SAGE's' demon's gift

Be realized at my desire,
That my trembling form he'd lift,

To place it on St. Mary's spire.
Then would, unroof'd, old Granta's halls

Pedantic inmates full display;
FLOW who dream on lawn, or stalls,
The price of venal votes to pay.
Then would I view each rival wight,

P-tty and P-Im-st-n survey;
We canvass there with all their might,
Against the next elective day.
Lo candidates and voters he,

Aa'd in sleep, a goodly number!

A race renown'd for piety,

Whose conscience won't disturb their slumber.

Lord H, indeed, may not demur,

Fellows are sage, reflecting men! They know preferment can occur

But very seldom,—now and then. They know the Chancellor has got

Se pretty livings in disposal; Each hopes that one may be his lot,

And, therefore, smiles on his proposal. Now, from the soporific scene

turn mine eye, as night grows later, Ton, unheeded and unseen,

The studious sons of Alma Mater.
There, in apartments small and damp,
The candidate for college prizes
Sta
Si porng by the midnight lamp,

Goes late to bed, yet early rises.
He, muly, weil deserves to gain them,
Wal the honours of his college,
W swing hardy to obtain them,

Thas seeks unprofitable knowledge; War sarnices hours of rest,

To scan, precisely, metres Attic, Or apares his anxious breast

In solving problems mathematic; Who made fake quantities in Sele,2

(pazzes o'er the deep triangle, Decret of many a wholesome meal,

Is barbarous Latin doom'd to wrangle;

1 The Dodo Batoux of La Sage, where Asmodeus, the → Don Crafas on an elevated situation, and un• vs Aspection. *

on fireek metres displays considerable *** might be expected in so difficult ere arkade for accuracy. Tits of the school is of the canine species, and not

Renouncing every pleasing page

From authors of historic use;
Preferring to the letter'd sage

The square of the hypothenuse.'
Still, harmless are these occupations,
That hurt none but the hapless student,
Compared with other recreations,

Which bring together the imprudent;
Whose daring revels shock the sight,
When vice and infamy combine,
When drunkenness and dice unite,

And every sense is steep'd in wine. Not so the methodistic crew,

Who plans of reformation lay: In humble attitude they sue,

And for the sins of others pray. Forgetting that their pride of spirit, Their exultation in their trial, Detracts most largely from the merit

Of all their boasted self-denial. "Tis morn,-from these I turn my sight: What scene is this which meets the eye? A numerous crowd, array'd in white, 2 Across the green in numbers fly.

Loud rings, in air, the chapel bell;

'Tis hush'd: What sounds are these I hear?

The organ's soft celestial swell

Rolls deeply on the listening ear.

To this is join'd the sacred song,

The royal minstrel's hallow'd strain;
Though he who hears the music long
Will never wish to hear again.
Our choir would scarcely be excused,

Even as a band of raw beginners;
All mercy, now, must be refused,

To such a set of croaking sinners.

If David, when his toils were ended,

Had heard these blockheads sing before him, To us his psalms had ne'er descended,

In furious mood he would have torn 'em.

The luckless Israelites, when taken,

By some inhuman tyrant's order,
Were ask'd to sing, by joy forsaken,

On Babylonian river's border.
Oh! had they sung in notes like these,
Inspired by stratagem or fear,
They might have set their hearts at ease-
The devil a soul had stay'd to hear.

But, if I scribble longer now,

The deuce a soul will stay to read; My pen is blunt, my ink is low,

'Tis almost time to stop indeed.

Therefore, farewell, old GRANTA's spires,
No more, like Cleofas, I fly;

No more thy theme my Muse inspires,
The reader's tired, and so am I.

1806.

1 The discovery of Pythagoras, that the square of the hypothenuse is equal to the squares of the other two sides of a right-angled triangle.

2 On a Saint day, the students wear surplices in chapel