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The Lotus-eaters.

Hateful is the dark-blue sky

Vaulted o'er the dark-blue sea.
Death is the end of life; ah, why

Should life all labour be?
Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast,

And in a little while our lips are dumb.
Let us alone. What is it that will last ?

All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.

Let us alone. What pleasure can we have To war with evil? Is there any peace

In ever climbing up the climbing wave?

All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave
In silence, ripen, fall, and cease.
Give us long rest, or death, dark death, or dreamful

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Lotophagorum Vota.
Est ipse pontus taedio et imminens
Superne caelum, caerula caerulis
Porrecta; cur tanto labore

Gens terimus peritura vitam?
Tandem precamur, qvisqvis es, abstine
Lassos fatigandi, ut pedibus ruit
Tempus citatis, nostraqve aevo

Functa brevi labra conticebunt.

Qvid non caducum ? Cur brevis inchoet
Spem longiorem, singula cui sua
Raptantur extorqventur eheu

Tristibus adcumulanda fastis?

Cessemus. Ecqvid profuit invidis
Certare divis? Pontum iterantibus
Quae

pax, ubi aeternat labores
Unda superveniens in undam?

Nil non quiescit: nec nisi funeri
Maturat aetas omnia: da mori aut
Cessare nobis; da qvietem

Somniferam tenebrasve leti.

W. G. C.

Amoris Sagitta. 'Ιθύ παλιγνάμπτοισιν "Έρως καλάμοισιν ιάπτει,

τλήθί μιν, ου πικρώς κείσεται η βελόνη. ος δέ μιν υβρίζων πειρά κατά κάρτος αποσπάν, άθλιε, μή την σην εξερύσης κραδίην.

H. J. H.

The Poor Scholar's Song.

Death, old fellow! have we then

Come at last so near each other? Well, shake hands; and be to me

A quiet friend, a faithful brother.

All those merry days are gone,

Gone with cash and health, old fellow, When I read long days and nights,

And sometimes (with a friend) got mellow.

Newton! Euclid ! fine old ghosts!

Noble books of old Greek learning ! Ah, ye left huge aches behind,

Head and heart and brain all burning.

How I toiled! For one now fled

I wore down the midnight taper, Labouring, dreaming ; till one day

I woke, and found my life-a vapour. .

Yet I hoped (ah, laugh not now!)

For wealth and health and fame-the bubble ! So I climbed up wisdom's steeps,

And got a fall, boy, for my trouble.

Now all's over. No one helped,

No one cheered my strong endeavour; So I sank, and called on thee,

And thou 'lt be my friend for ever.

BARRY CORNWALL.

Docta Paupertas.

Mors, geniale caput, non adspernata vocantem,

Tam vicina mihi sicine castra locas? Qvin serimus dextras ? Sociam fidamqve sororem

Te tranqvilla mihi nectat amicitia.

Fugit laeta salus, aurum mihi fugit, et una

Fugerunt hilares iam, mihi crede, dies, Qvando ego per longas luces noctesqve legebam,

Poclaqve cum socio rara levamen erant.

Neutone O tuqve Euclidae venerabilis umbra,

Doctaqve Graiorum vos monumenta, libri, Heu mihi qvam taetros legastis saepe dolores,

Qvanta cor invasit qvantaqve flamma caput!

Sed tamen inmensus, spatiis inclusus iniqvis,

Urere nocturnam lampada iussit amor. Multa laborabam, fingebam somnia multa,

Somnia quae subito dispulit orta dies.

Sed vel adhuc trepidam (noli ridere) fovebant

Spem mihi divitiae, robur, inanis honor. Ergo doctrinae scandens interritus arces

Deciduus lapsu praecipitante ruo.

Actum est! nemo mihi Macte adclamabat et Euge,

Nemo operi magno suppeditabat opem. Sic ego deficiens

aegra te voce vocavi, Tuqve mihi fautrix tempus in omne venis.

K.

The Skylark.

Hail to thee, blithe spirit!

Bird thou never wert,
That from heaven, or near it,

Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Higher still and higher

From the earth thou springest,
Like a cloud of fire;

The blue deep thou wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

In the golden lightning

Of the sunken sun,
O'er which clouds are brightening,

Thou dost float and run,
Like an unbodied joy, whose race is just begun.

The pale purple even

Melts around thy flight;
Like a star of heaven

In the broad daylight
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight.

Keen as are the arrows

Of that silver sphere,
Whose intense lamp narrows

In the white dawn clear,
Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.

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