XIII.

Rosa infans.

NATA fuit terris, ubi quæ potiora vigescunt,

Prima eadem fato deteriore cadunt;

Illa Rose fragilem cepit cum nomine vitam,

Una dedit cunas, funus et una dies!

B.

XIV.

Viduus.

Uxor mortua viduum alloquitur.

Scis bene quam multos tecum conjuncta per annos, Et quali fuerim, care marite, fide.

Nunc mundi illecebras supra curasque fugaces

Evehor, æthereis consociata choris.

Nec mihi, cœlum hoc et cœlestia gaudia testor,
Vitæ dura fuit meta suprema meæ :

Te solum indolui, te inter mala tanta relinquens,
Heu! mala nunc animo tota ferenda tuo.
Sed tibi pandit iter divinitus insita virtus,
Has cæcas vitæ discutiens tenebras.

Me quoque, ne doleas ! comitem me semper habebis,

Et mihi fida tuæ cura salutis erit ;

Donec viva iterum morienti et pulchra videbor,

Dux tibi in æternas ire parata domos.

G.

XV.

The Arab Maid's Song.

THERE's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream,

And the nightingale sings round it all the day long; In the time of my childhood 't was like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.

That bower and its music I never forget,

But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, I think is the nightingale singing there yet? Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer?

No, the roses soon withered that hung o'er the wave, But some blossoms were gathered, while freshly they

shone,

And a dew was distilled from their flowers, that gave

All the fragrance of summer, when summer was

gone.

Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies,
An essence that breathes of it many a year;

Thus bright to my soul, as 't was then to my eyes,

Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer.

Moore.

XV.

Arabiæ Puellæ Cantiuncula.

SPISSA rosæ texunt in Medi umbracula ripa,
Tristis ubi totos flet Philomela dies.

Dulce mihi parvæ, ceu somnia læta, sedenti
Sub roseo visus tegmine cantus avis.
Illa vident memores umbracula semper ocelli;
Ille mea nunquam cantus in aure silet:
Sæpius at mecum vernas meditata sub horas,
"Luget adhuc illic num Philomela?" rogo.
"Num, mihi qui fulsit, solitus manet ille roseto,

Quod placido Medus præfluit amne, rubor?” Credula, quid volui? melior cito transiit ætas; Pensilis in tremulas et rosa fluxit aquas;

Pressa sed ex ipsa sudavit gutta medulla,
Quam tenero carptæ flore dedere comæ.
Totus et æstatis, vivax æstate peracta,

Mansit in expresso rore superstes odor.
Nec secus, abstrusum mens elicit ante vigorem,
Gaudia quam pereant non reditura, memor;
Deliciasque breves nimium, fructumque caducum,
Qualis erat, talem spiritus ille refert.

Tam mihi sic animo, Medi quæ littus inumbrant,.

Usque nitent, oculis quam nituere, rosæ.

B

XVI.

Lucy.

SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways,
Beside the springs of Dove;

A maid whom there were none to praise,
And very few to love.

A violet by a mossy stone

Half-hidden from the eye;

Fair as a star when only one

Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be;

And she is in her grave, and oh!

The difference to me!

Wordsworth.

XVII.

Ex Anthologia.

ΕΛΚΕ, τάλαν, παρὰ μητρὸς ὃν οὐκ ἔτι μαζὸν ἀμέλξεις, ἕλκυσον, ὑστάτιον νᾶμα καταφθιμένης.

ἤδη γὰρ ξιφέεσσι λιπόπνοος, ἀλλὰ τὰ μητρὸς

φίλτρα καὶ εἶν ̓Αἴδῃ παιδοκομεῖν ἔμαθον.

XVI.

Lucía.

AVIA qua tacito perrepit flumine Dova,
Exiguam tenuit nostra puella domum:
Rarus eam, semper rarus laudator adibat;
Vix quoque, qui colerent, unus et alter erant.

Scilicet occultæ viola crescebat ad instar,

Quæ lapidis musco semioperta latet ;

Tam pulcra, ætherio quam quæ nitet unica cœlo
Stella, tenebroso clarior orta polo.

Vitæ sors humilis; vix qui te sciret ademtam
Mortali ex cœtu, Lucia dulcis, erat:

Nunc tumulo placida dormis composta quiete ;
Væ mihi dehinc vitæ quam grave restat onus!

G. B.

XVII.

Puer Matrem Gladiis confectam lactens.

SUME, puer, tibi quæ præbent dona ultima lactis

Materni, vita deficiente, sinus!

Sume, miser! tua te non ipsa in morte relinquit,

Sed vivum exanimo pectore mater alit.

G.