non tumulo incumbit simulata doloris imago;

ipse dolor puerum te periisse gemit.

quid si flet genitor stirpem sibi defore gentis? illius an nostro par dolor esse queat? quid si mortem obiens te solatore carebit? cui restat suboles, est medicina mali:

sed quis te potior nostro succedet amori ? ecqua potest vultus esse litura tui?

nemo erit! at patrii cessabunt tempore fletus, mox tenero ut fratri plaga levetur erit; unus ego invenio solatia nulla doloris ;

solus amans, solus tempus in omne fleo.

TO-MORROW.

With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too, As the sunshine or rain may prevail;

And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too, With a barn for the use of the flail:

A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game,

And a purse when a friend wants to borrow;

I'll envy no nabob his riches or fame,

Nor what honours await him to-morrow.

From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely Secured by a neighbouring hill ;

And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly

By the sound of a neighbouring rill:

And while peace and plenty I find at my board,
With a heart free from sickness and sorrow,

With my friends may I share what to-day may afford,

And let them spread the table to-morrow.

J. COLLINS.

Porticus ante fores tegmen mihi praestet et umbram,

seu rutilet Phoebo seu ruat imbre polus; neu parvi desit modus agri aptusque ligoni, quaeque terat flavas area ruris opes.

una mihi det vacca serum, canis una ferinam,
pleni sint loculi cum roget aera comes,
nil Croeso invideam gazas nomenve superbum,
crastina nec quod sit lux paritura decus.

ne petat Arctoo spirans e carcere ventus
limina, sub proprio stent mea tecta iugo,
quoque mihi obrepat iucundius hora soporis,
rivus eat iuxta lene crepantis aquae:

dumque aderit sine lite quies, dum copia victus,
et morbo et trepidis corde carente malis,
cum sociis hodie sit participare parata,

detur et his mensam cras onerare cibo.

THE RIVULET.

O silvery streamlet of the fields,
That flowest full and free,

For thee the rains of Spring return,
The Summer dews for thee:

And when the latest blossoms die
In Autumn's chilly showers,
The Winter fountains gush for thee,
Till May brings back the flowers.

O stream of life, the violet springs
But once beside thy bed;

But one brief Summer on thy path
The dews of heaven are shed:
Thy parent fountains shrink away,

And close their crystal veins,

And where thy glittering current flowed,

The dust alone remains.

BRYANT.

RIVULUS.

Rive, decus prati, clivorum argentea proles, plenus inoffenso qui pede volvis aquas, subsidio veniunt pluviae tibi vere reductae, ducis ab aestivo rore refectus opes.

mox ubi per ripas autumni frigidus imber, seri quidquid hiat floris, id omne ruet, bruma tibi eliciet nimborum prodiga fontes, dum redeat Mai non sine flore calor.

at tibi, Vita, fluis rivi quae more fugacis, bis violam in cursu progenuisse nefas. primaque elapsa non altera riserit aestas, quae te caelesti munere roris alat. ergo ubi rarescent qui te genuere liquores, clausaque deficiet vena micantis aquae; nuper ubi vitreo spectabilis amne fluebas,

sordidus hic pulvis, nec nisi pulvis, erit.