Which shaken oft, shoots Ceres through refin'd,
And better dress'd, her husks all left behind.
This done, at once, his future plain repast,
Unleaven'd, on a shaven board he cast,
With tepid lymph, first largely soak'd it all,
Then gather'd it with both hands to a ball.
And spreading it again with both hands wide,
With sprinkled salt the stiffen'd mass supplied;
At length, the stubborn substance, duly wrought,
Takes from his palms impress'd the shape it ought,
Becomes an orb-and quarter'd into shares,
The faithful mark of just division bears.
Last, on his hearth it finds convenient space,
For Cybale before had swept the place,
And there, with tiles and embers overspread,
She leaves it-reeking in its sultry bed.
Nor Similus, while Vulcan thus, alone,
His part perform'd, proves heedless of his own,
But sedulous, not merely to subdue
His hunger, but to please his palate too,
Preparcs more sav'ry food. His chimney-side
Could boast no gammon, salted well, and dried,
And cook'd behind him; but sufficient store
Of bundled anise, and a cheese it bore;
A broad round cheese, which, thro' its centre strung,
With a tough broom-twig, in the corner hung;
The prudent hero therefore with address,
And quick despatch, now seeks another mess
Close to his cottage lay a garden-ground, With weeds and osiers sparely girt around, Small was the spot, but lib'ral to produce: Nor wanted aught that serves a parent's use, And sometimes ev'n the rich would borrow thence, Although its tillage was his sole expense, For oft, as from his toils abroad he ceas'd, Home-bound by weather, or some stated feast,
His debt of culture here he duly paid,
And only left the plough to wield the spade.
He knew to give each plant the soil it needs,
To drill the ground, and cover close the seeds,
And could with ease compel the wanton rill
To turn, and wind, obedient to his will.
There flourish'd starwort, and the branching beet,
The sorrel acid, and the mallow sweet,
The skirret and the leek's aspiring kind,
The noxious poppy-quencher of the mind!
Salubrious sequel of a sumptuous board,
The lettuce, and the long huge bellied gourd ;
But these (for none his appetite controll'd
With stricter sway) the thrifty rustick sold
With broom-twigs neatly bound, each kind apart,
He bore them ever to the publick mart:
Whence, laden still, but with a lighter load,
Of cash well-earn'd, he took his homeward road,
Expending seldom, ere he quitted Rome,
His gains, in flesh-meat for a feast at home.
There, at no cost, on onions, rank and red,
Or the curl'd endive's bitter leaf, he fed :
On scallions slic'd, or with a sensual gust,
On rockets-foul provocatives of lust!
Nor even shunn'd with smarting gums to press
Nasturtium-pungent face-distorting mess!
Some such regale now also in his thought,
With hasty steps his garden-ground he sought;
There delving with his hands, he first displac'd
Four plants of garlick, large, and rooted fast ;
The tender tops of parsley next he culls,
Then the old rue-bush shudders as he pulls,
And coriander last to these succeeds,
That hangs on slightest threads her trembling seeds
Plac'd near his sprightly fire he now demands The mortar at his sable servant's hands:
When stripping all his garlick first, he tore
Th' exteriour coats, and cast them on the floor,
Then cast away with like contempt the skin,
Flimsier concealment of the cloves within.
These search'd, and perfect found, he one by one,
Rins'd, and dispos'd within the hollow stone.
Salt added, and a lump of salted cheese,
With his injected herbs he cover'd these,
And tucking with his left his tunick tight,
And seizing fast the pestle with his right,
The garlick bruising first, he soon express'd,
And mix'd the various juices of the rest.
He grinds, and by degrees his herbs below,
Lost in each other, their own pow'rs forego,
And with the cheese in compound, to the sight
Nor wholly green appear, nor wholly white.
His nostrils oft the forceful fume resent,
He curs'd full oft his dinner for its scent,
Or with wry faces, wiping as he spoke,
The trickling tears, cried "vengeance on the smoke.”
The work proceeds: not roughly turns he now
The pestle, but, in circles smooth and slow,
With cautious hand, that grudges what it spills,
Some drops of olive-oil he next instils.
Then vinegar with caution scarcely less,
And gathering to a ball the medley mess,
Last, with two fingers frugally applied,
Sweeps the small remnant from the mortar's side
And thus complete in figure and in kind,
Obtains at length the Salad he design'd.
And now black Cybale before him stands,
The cake drawn newly glowing in her hands,
He glad receives it, chasing far away
All fears of famine for the passing day;
His legs enclos'd in buskins, and his head
In its tough casque of leather, forth he led
And yok'd his steers, a dull obedient pair,
Then drove afield, and plung'd the pointed share
TRANSLATIONS OF GREEK VERSES.
THE GEEEK OF JULIANUS.
A SPARTAN, his companions 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!
THE SAME, BY PALAADAS.
A SPARTAN, 'scaping from the fight, His mother met him in his flight,
Upheld a faulchion to his breast,
And thus the fugitive address'd:
"Thou canst but live to blot with shame
Indelible thy mother's name,
While ev'ry breath, that thou shalt draw,
Offends against thy country's law;
But, if thou perish by this hand,
Myself indeed throughout the land,
To my dishonour, shall be known
The mother still of such a son;
But Sparta will be safe and free,
And that shall serve to comfort me."
VOL. IIJ
My name-my country-what are they to thee's What, whether base or proud, my pedigree , l'erhaps 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.
TAKE to thy bosom, gentle earth, a swain With much hard labour in thy service worn! 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 Thro' 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.
PAINTER, this likeness is too strong,
And we shall mourn the dead too long.
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