Till, those days ended, hungered then at last Among wild beasts: they at His sight grew mild,

Nor sleeping Him nor waking harmed, His walk The fiery serpent fled and noxious worm,

The lion and fierce tiger glared aloof.

But now an aged man in rural weeds,

Following as seemed in quest of some stray ewe,
Or withered sticks to gather, which might serve
Against a winter's day, when winds blow keen,
To warm him wet returned from field at even,
He saw approach, who first with curious eye
Perused Him, then with words thus uttered spake.

MILTON.

ipsa domant ventris ieiunia longa, ferarum

lustra inter cunctantem: ollis mansuescere corda

huius in adspectus, quotiens vigilaret inermis, dormiret quotiens, nihil ausis laedere: fugit igneus hunc serpens et noxius anguis euntem ; et tigres procul et torvi stupuere leones.

Iam vero agresti senior vestitus amictuamissae seu forte sequens vestigia caprae, arida sive legens, Boreae memor acris, in usum hiberni sarmenta foci, queis membra foveret uvidus ex agro prima iam nocte regressus— visus adire procul, cupido qui lumine vultum perscrutans, dictis compellat talibus ultro.

EPITAPH ON A FRIEND.

Oh, Friend! for ever loved, for ever dear!

What fruitless tears have bathed thy honour'd bier! What sighs re-echoed to thy parting breath,

Whilst thou wast struggling in the pangs of death!

Could tears retard the tyrant in his course;

Could sighs avert his dart's relentless force;
Could youth and virtue claim a short delay,
Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey;
Thou still hadst lived to bless my aching sight,
Thy comrade's honour and thy friend's delight.
If yet thy gentle spirit hover nigh

The spot, where now thy mouldering ashes lie,
Here wilt thou read, recorded on my heart,
A grief too deep to trust the sculptor's art.
No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep,
But living statues there are seen to weep;

ERAT TUM DIGNUS AMARI.

Care diu, nec digne minus qui semper ameris! quam vanis maduit fletibus iste rogus! quot respondebant animae lamenta fugaci, mortis ubi incepit te cruciare dolor!

sin lacrimae scirent instantem arcere tyrannum, flectere si, flecti nescia, tela preces;

virtuti si danda foret mora, siqua iuventae,
sciret si Veneri Mors dare capta manus,
vivus eras hodie, qui lumina nostra iuvares
aegra, decus socii deliciaeque tui.

sin mitis tua forte locum circumvolat umbra,
putris ubi factus nunc iacet iste cinis;
hic tibi Phidiacae gravior quam creditur arti
in nostro luctus corde legendus erit.

ergo nulla notant humilem tibi marmora lectum; signa ibi flent, quamvis torpida, viva tamen.

Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb;

Affliction's self deplores thy youthful doom.
What though thy sire lament his failing line,
A father's sorrow cannot equal mine.

Though none like thee his dying hour will cheer,
Yet other offspring soothe his anguish here;
But who with me will hold thy former place?
Thine image what new friendship can efface?
Ah, none!—a father's tears will cease to flow,
Time will assuage an infant brother's woe,
To all, save one, is consolation known,

But solitary friendship sighs alone.

BYRON.