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3. A WELCOME TO WINTER. — Thomson. See, Winter comes to rule the varied ycar, Sullen and sad, with all his rising train, Vapors, and clouds, and storms. Be these my thems, These! that exalt the soul to solemn thought, And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms ! Congenial horrors, hail ! with frequent foot, Pleased have I, in my cheerful morn of life, When nursed by careless Solitude I lived, And sung of Nature with unceasing joy, Pleased have I wandered through your rough domain Trod the pure virgin-snows, myself as pure; Heard the winds roar, and the big torrents burst; Or seen the deep-fermenting tempest brewed In the grim evening sky. Thus passed the time, Till through the lucid chămbers of the South Looked out the joyous Spring, looked out and smiled
4. THE NEW YEAR. — Willis.
« God hath been very good." "T is Ile whose hand
CCVI. — POPE'S EPISTLE TO DOCTOR ARBUTINOT.
When Pope had reached the meridian of his fame, he was beset, as many distinguished literary persons are at the present day, with applications from numerous writers, who had mistaken a desire to write for the ability, to read and revise their compositions, and to use his influence in having them pube lished. In this poetical epistle to his friend and physician, he humorously describes his annoyances; and expresses his fears that Bedlam (the mad. house) or Parnassus has sent forth the troop of poetasters and scribblor who lie in wait for him.
1. “Shut, shut the door, good John!" fatigued, I said ;
“ Tie up the knocker ; say I'm sick-I'm dead!”
What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide ?
2. Is there a parson much be-mused in beer,
A maudlin El poetess, a rhyming peer,
3. Friend to my life, which, did not you prolong,
The world had wanted many an idle song,
* Pope's villa, on the Thames.
4. “ Nine years!” cries he, who, high in Drury Lane,
Lulled by soft zephyrs through the broken pane,
5. Bless me! a packet. — “ 'Tis a stranger sues,
A virgin tragedy, an orphan muse.".
CCVII. — THE CHARIOT RACE, WITH THE DEATH OF ORESTES 1. They took their stand where the appointed judges
Hlad cast their lots and ranged the rival cars.
Scatter the flaking foam.
Aye,t as he swept around the perilous pillar,
• A publisher in Popo’s day. + Pronounced a ; meaning, always, ever.
The left rein curbed - that on the dexter hand
. Behind, Orestes, hitherto the last,
Had yet kept back his coursers for the close;
4 Loud from that mighty multitude arose
A shriek - a shout! But yesterday such deeds -
SOPHOCLES, TRANSLATED BY SIR E. B. LYTTON.
CCVIII. — ADVICE TO AN AFFECTED SPEAKER.
1. What do you say? What? I really do not understand you. Be so good as to explain yourself again. Upon my word, I do not !-0! now I know : you mean to tell me it is a cold day. Why did you not say at once, “It is cold to-day”? If you wish to inform me it rains or snows, pray say, “It rains," “It snows;” or, if you think I look well, and you choose to compliment me, say, “I think you look well.” — But,” you answer, “ that is so common and so plain, and what everybody can say.” “Well, and what if everybody can? Is it so great a misfortune to be understood when one speaks, and to speak like the rest of the world ?
2. I will tell you what, my friend, — you do not suspect it, and I shall astonish you, – but you, and those like you, want common sense! Nay, this is not all; it is not only in the direction of your wants that you are in fault, but of your superfluities; you have too much conceit; you possess an opinion that you have more sense than others. That is the source of all your pompous nothings, your cloudy sentences, and your big words without a meaning. Before you accost a person, or enter a room, let me pull you by the sleeve and whisper in your ear, “Do not try to show off your sense : have none at all; that is your cue. Use plain language, if you can; just such as you find others use, who, in your idea, have no understanding; and then, perhaps, you will get credit for having some.”
ccIX. — LAMENT OVER LOST OPPORTUNITIES. 1. O, FOR the days and years that are gone by and perished from me, as water spilt on the sea-sand, uselessly and irretrievably! « Where is the fable of my former life?” Alas! the brilliancy of my day was spent utterly in its dawning. Feeble, and abortive, and fleeting, has been the time that I have passed; but other elements than these were within it, and had I but nurtured them, to me that foolish time had been the parent of a blissful eternity. But occasions are past, the hour of their reckoning is nigh at hand, even now my twilight is coming on, and my hopes are darkening into regrets.
2. Could I once again but so much as touch the hem of “the mantling train of far departed years," surely it should be my salvation. But time, as it speeds on, gives us the pass but glancingly, like the rush of a carriage on a railway, or a rocket into the air; we take no note of it while within our reach, and not till it is far away in the distance can we settle our sight steadily upon it, and estimate it duly. Days of my youth, it is even so, - ye were sent to me on an angelic mission, your bosoms overflowing with flowers, and fruit, and all things, whatever there be, of use and loveliness; these would ye have emptied into my hands, but I would not, and so it was your law to leave me, taking with ye no token of my thankful acceptance!
3. Even now, methinks, I see ye through the far air“ gliding metē'orous,” sinking into the dimness of distance, yet ever and