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TRANSLATION FROM THE MEDEA OF EURIPIDES.
WHEN fierce conflicting passions urge
The breast where love is wont to glow,
Which rolls the tide of human woe?
Can rouse the tortured breast no more ;
Absorbs each wish it felt before.
The soul by purer dreams possess'd,
In love can soothe the aching breast :
Fair Venus ! from thy native heaven,
The sweetest boon the gods have given ?
May I beneath the shaft expire !
Awakes an all-consuming fire:
With others wage internal war;
From me be ever distant far!
The holy calm of sacred love!
Which hover faithful hearts above !
May I with some fond lover sigh,
With me to live, with me to die.
Now dearer as my peaceful home,
A hapless banish'd wretch to roam !
May I resign this fleeting breath!
And seen the exile's silent tear,
A pensive weary wanderer here?
Ah! hapless dame ! no sire bewails,*
No friend thy wretched fate deplores,
Thy steps within a stranger's doors.
To fair affection's truth unknown,
Unpitied, helpless, and alone;
The milder treasures of his soul,-
And ocean's storms between us roll.
THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY A COLLEGE
Happy the youth in Euclid's axioms tried,
Such is the youth whose scientific pate
If to such glorious height he lifts his eyes. • Medea, who accompanied Jason to Corinth, was deserted by him for the daughter of Creon, king of that city. The chorus from which this is taken here addresses Medea ; though a considerable liberty is taken with the original, by expanding the idea, as also in soine other parts of the translation.
The original means literally " disclosing the bright key of the mind."
No reflection is here intended against the person mentioned under the name of Magnus. He is merely represented performing an unavoidable function of his office. Indeed, such an attempt could only recoil upon myself; as that gentleman is now as much distinguished by his eloquence, and the dignified propriety with which he Alls his situation, as he was in his younger days for wit and conviviality.
But lo! no common orator can hope
The man who hopes t' obtain the promised cup
The sons of science these, who, thus repaid,
+ Porson, Greek professor of Trinity College, Cambridge; a man whose powers of mind and writings may, perhaps, justify their preference.
Since this was written, Lord Henry Petty has lost his place, and subsequently (I had almost said consequently, the honour of representing the University. A fact so glaring requires no cominent.
TO A BEAUTIFUL QUAKER. SWEET girl ! though only once we met, That meeting I shall ne'er forget ; And though we ne'er may meet again, Remembrance will thy form retain. I would not say, “I love,” but still My senses struggle with my will ; In vain, to drive thee from my breast, My thoughts are more and more repress'd ; In vain I check the rising sighs, Another to the last replies : Perhaps this is not love, but yet Our meeting I can ne'er forget. What though we never silence broke, Our eyes a sweeter language spoke ; The tongue in flattering falsehood deals, And tells a tale it never feels : Deceit the guilty lips impart; And hush the mandates of the heart; But soul's interpreters, the eyes, Spurn such restraint, and scorn disguise. As thus our glances oft conversed, And all our bosoms felt rehearsed, No spirit, from within, reproved us, Say rather, “'twas the spirit moved us. Though what they utter'd I repress, Yet I conceive thou'lt partly guess ; For as on thee my memory ponders, Perchance to me thine also wanders. This for myself, at least, I'll say, Thy form appears through night, through day ; Awake, with it my fancy teems; In sleep, it smiles in fleeting dreams : The vision charms the hours away, And bids me curse Aurora's ray, For breaking slumbers of delight, Which make me wish for endless night. Since, oh! whate'er my future fate, Shall joy or woe my steps await, Tempted by love, by storms beset, Tbine image I can ne'er forget. Alas! again no more we meet, No more our former looks repeat; Then let me breathe this parting prayer, The dictate of my bosom's care: “May heaven so guard my lovely Quaker, That anguish never can o'ertake her; That peace and virtue ne'er forsake her, But bliss be aye her heart's partaker! Oh ! may the happy mortal, tated To be, by dearest ties, related,
For her each hour new joys discover,
Endears it to my memory ever ;
And blushes modest as the giver.
Have, for my weakness, oft reproved me;
For I am sure the giver loved me.
As fearful that I might refuse it ;
My only fear should be to lose it.
And sparkling as I held it near,
And ever since I've loved a tear.
Nor wealth nor birth their treasures yield ;
Must quit the garden for the field.
Which beautv shows, and sheds perfume ;
In Nature's wild luxuriance bloom.
For once forgetting to be blind,
If well proportion'd to his mind.
His form had fix'd her fickle breast;
And none remain'd to give thee rest.
AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE,
OF FORTUNE" AT A PRIVATE THEATRE.