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Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire Help waste a sullen day, what may be won From the hard season gaining? Time will run On smoother, till Favonius reinspire
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun. What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,
Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?
He who of those delights can judge, and spare
[TO CYRIACK SKINNER.]
CYRIACK, whose grandsire on the royal bench
And what the Swede intend, and what the French. To measure life learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way; For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
[TO THE SAME.]
CYRIACK, this three years' day these eyes, though clear To outward view, of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot; Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not
Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask? The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied In Liberty's defence, my noble task,
Of which all Europe rings from side to side.
This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask
Content, though blind, had I no better guide.
[ON HIS DECEASED WIFE.]
METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint
Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,
Mine, as whom washed from spot of child-bed taint
And such as yet once more I trust to have Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint, Came vested all in white, pure as her mind.
Her face was veiled; yet to my fancied sight Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined So clear as in no face with more delight.
But, oh! as to embrace me she inclined,
I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.
THE FIFTH ODE OF HORACE, LIB. I.,
Quis multâ gracilis te puer in rosâ,
Rendered almost word for word, without rhyme, according tc the Latin measure, as near as the language will permit.
WHAT slender youth, bedewed with liquid odours,
Plain in thy neatness? Oh, how oft shall he
Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold;
Who always vacant, always amiable,
Hopes thee, of flattering gales
To whom thou untried seem'st fair! Me, in my vowed
My dank and dropping weeds
[As Milton inserts the original with his translation, as if to challenge comparison, it is right that we should do so too.]
AD PYRRHAM. ODE V.
Horatius ex Pyrrhæ illecebris tanquam e naufragio enataverat, cujus amore irretitos affirmat esse miseros.
QUIS multâ gracilis te puer in rosâ
Cui flavam religas comam
Qui nunc te fruitur credulus aureâ ;
Fallacis ! Miseri quibus
Vestimenta maris Deo.
April, 1648.- -J. M.
Nine of the Psalms done into metre; wherein all, but what is in a different character, are the very words of the Text, translated from the original.
I THOU Shepherd that dost Israel keep,
Who leadest like a flock of sheep
Thy loved Joseph's seed,
That sitt'st between the Cherubs bright,
Shine forth, and from thy cloud give light,
2 In Ephraim's view and Benjamin's,
Awake1 thy strength, come, and be seen
3 Turn us again; thy grace divine
Cause thou thy face on us to shine,
4 Lord God of Hosts, how long wilt thou,
How long wilt thou declare
Thy 2 smoking wrath, and angry brow, 2 Gnashanta.
6 A strife thou mak'st us and a prey
To every neighbour foe;
Among themselves they laugh, they play,
7 Return us, and thy grace divine,
O God of Hosts, vouchsafe;
5 Thou feed'st them with the bread of tears;
Their bread with tears they eat ;
And mak'st them largely 3 drink the tears 3 Shalish
8 A Vine from Egypt thou hast brought,
Thy free love made it thine,
And drov'st out nations proud and haut,
9 Thou didst prepare for it a place,
And root it deep and fast,
IO With her green shade that covered all