this side to be desired, nor on that to be guarded against, so much as at first sight would appear, it needs that we bear ourselves so much the more submissively to the will of God.

LII.

Into the gloomy prison we can enter, no heavy bolts can keep us out; and do we but know some poor being is there immured, who repents him of his crime, we enter there to cheer and comfort him. The dark hold of the mighty ship tossed on the cold waters we visit too, bringing back sweet thoughts of their own land to the exiles from their home. By the sick and the sorrowing we take our place: we are with all who seek us, who try to find us; with all who lift their eyes from the earth, from the world and its grovelling cares, and seek us where alone we are to be found,-in our own bright sky. Though clouds may obscure us for a while, we are still there, and shine the brighter for the passing gloom.

A Trap to catch a Sunbeam.

LII.

Into ELEGIACS.

A light band, they enter the recesses of the dark prison; the iron bars of the house of captivity prevent them not. If any one lie hid there, they rejoice to succour the wretched man, and remove his burden, if he confess his fault. They are not absent if anywhere the hold floats upon the dark

waters, and they remind what it is to have left one's country. Ever a friendly troop, it sits beside the downcast sick, and, whoever will, may experience its aid. They are near to all who know how to spurn the earth, and who as companions seek them in their seat among proper There they the stars.

ever shine forth, though envious night hide them : hidden for a little while, they glitter more bright.

LIII.

Behind her neck her comely tresses ty'd,
Her iv'ry quiver graceful by her side,
A-hunting Cloe went: she lost her way,

And through the woods uncertain chanced to stray.
Apollo, passing by, beheld the maid;

And, "Sister dear, bright Cynthia, turn," he said:
"The hunted hind lies close in yonder brake."
Loud Cupid laugh'd to see the god's mistake;
And, laughing, cry'd, "Learn better, great divine,
To know thy kindred and to honour mine.
Rightly advised, far hence thy sister seek,
Or on Mæander's bank, or Latmus' peak.
But in this nymph, my friend, my sister know:
She draws my arrows, and she bends my bow.
Fair Thames she haunts, and every neighb'ring grove,
Sacred to soft recess, and gentle love.

Go, with thy Cynthia, hurl the pointed spear

At the rough boar; or chase the flying deer:

I and my Cloe take a nobler aim:

At human hearts we fling, nor ever miss the game.

Prior.

Into HEXAMETERS.

LIII.

Her hair being bound in a knot upon her snowy neck, and her quiver, wrought in ivory, suspended at her side, the huntress Delia went forth. Perchance ignorant of the way, as she wandered among the by-paths of the mid-wood, Apollo, meeting her, eyed the roving nymph. "Dear sister," he said, "bright Cynthia, turn hither; see the stag, shunning the hunting spear, lies in the brakes." Cupid saw, and laughed at the mistake of the deity. "Hence learn better, O seer, to know your own kin

dred," he says, "and let not mine be robbed of her honour. Hence afar, admonished, far hence seek out your sister, either along the banks of Meander, or on the height of Latmus; but this virgin is mine, is my sister: she will either hurl such spears as I, or know how to bend (my) bow. Along the green banks of Thames, in the retreats she roves, which the light Loves disdain not to inhabit. Go, pursue the bristly boars, and, Cynthia with you, with pointed spear transfix ye the flying deer. I and my love, pursuing how much greater things, with unerring hand will aim at mortal hearts.

LIV.

If wine and musick have the pow'r
To ease the sickness of the soul;
Let Phoebus ev'ry string explore,
And Bacchus fill the sprightly bowl.
Let them their friendly aid employ
To make my Cloe's absence light;
And seek for pleasure, to destroy
The sorrows of this live-long night.

But she to-morrow will return:

Venus, be Thou to-morrow great:
Thy myrtles strow, thy odours burn,
And meet thy fav'rite nymph in state.
Kind Goddess, to no other pow'rs

Let us to-morrow's blessings own:
Thy darling loves shall guide the hours,

And all the day be thine alone.

LIV.

Prior.

Into ALCAICS.

If it be the power of song and wine to blot out the sadness of the mind, strike, O Apollo, the strings of the lyre with your plectrum, and let Bacchus fill up the cups. Let them not now refuse auspicious aid, that I may grieve the less my nymph being absent; let them add pleasures which may lessen the misery of the lingering night. But to-morrow Celia will return; to-morrow, Venus, assume thou a fuller power; and with myrtle and scented garlands let honour be given to the returning damsel. I would wish to owe to-morrow's gifts to none of the Gods but to Thee; Cupids shall rule the hours, and the whole day shall flow on, hallowed to thee alone.

LV.

Sappho, the Lesbian, in love with Phaon, arrived at the temple of Apollo, habited like a bride, in garments as white as snow. She wore a garland of myrtle on her head, and carried in her hand the little musical instrument of her

own invention. After having sung a hymn to Apollo, she hung up her garland on one side of his altar, and her harp on the other. She then tucked up her vestments like a Spartan virgin, and, amidst thousands of spectators, who were anxious for her safety, and offered up vows for her deliverance, marched directly forwards to the utmost summit of the promontory, where, after having repeated a stanza of her own verses, which we could not hear, she threw herself off the rock with such an intrepidity, as was never before observed in any who had attempted that dangerous leap. Many, who were present, related that they saw her fall into the sea, from whence she never rose again; though there were others who affirmed, that she never came to the bottom of her leap; but that she was changed into a swan as she fell, and that they saw her hovering in the air under that shape.

Spectator.

LIV.

Into PROSE, literally rendered.

The Lesbian Sappho, since she was desperately in love with Phaon, approached the temple of Apollo, clad as a bride, in snow-white garments. She bore on her head a myrtle crown, in her right hand an instrument of music, which she herself, too, had invented. When she had sung a hymn to Apollo, she suspended before his shrine, on the one side her fillet, on the other her harp. Afterwards, her garments being tucked up, after the manner of a Spartan maiden, and while thousands of spectators, anxious, were offering up vows for her safety, she advanced straight to the extreme top of the promontory. There, when she had sung certain of her own verses, and yet