Hos inter comites implebat pocula sorbis Infelix puer, et sese recreabat ad ignem, "EVOE, *BASSE," fremens: dum velox præterit ætas; Venit summa dies; et Junior Optimus exit. Saucius at juvenis nota intra tecta refugit, Horrendum ridens, lucemque miserrimus odit: Informem famulus laqueum pendentiaque ossa Di nobis meliora! Modum re servat in omni Qui sapit: haud illum semper recubare sub umbra, Haud semper madidis juvat impallescere chartis. Nos numerus sumus, et libros consumere nati; Sed requies sit rebus; amant alterna Camenæ. Nocte dieque legas, cum tertius advenit annus: Tum libros cape; claude fores, et prandia defer. Quartus venit ini,† rebus jam rite paratis, Exultans, et coge gradum conferre magistros. * Basse. cft. Interpretes illud Horatianum, "Bassum Threiciâ vincat amystide." Non perspexere viri docti alterum hic alludi, Anglicanæ originis, neque illum, ut perhibent, a potu aversum. + Ini. Sic nostri, Go in and win.' rebus, 'subjects.' His animadversis, fugies immane Barathrum. His, operose puer, si qua fata aspera rumpas, Tu rixator eris. Saltem non crebra revises Ad stabulum,* et tota morens carpere juventa; Classe nec amisso nil profectura dolentem Tradet ludibriis te plena leporis HIRUDO.† Quo crebra r. a. stabulum. "Turn up year after year at the old diggings, (i.e. the Senate House,) and be plucked," &c. Peile. quid jejunius! + Classe-Hirudo. Obscurior allusio ad picturam quandam (in collectione viri, vel plusquam viri, Punchii repositam,) in qua juvenis custodem stationis morens alloquitur. TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. TO A SHIP. OD. i. 14. ET on fresh billows seaward wilt thou ride, YET O ship? What dost thou? Seek a hav'n, and there Rest thee for lo! thy side Is oarless all and bare, And the swift south-west wind hath maimed thy mast, And thy yards creak, and, every cable lost, Yield must the keel at last On tyrannous sea-waves tossed Too rudely. Goodly canvas is not thine, Nor gods, to hear thee, when thy need is sorest: True, thou-a Pontic pine, Child of a stately forest, Boast'st race and idle name. Yet little trust The frightened seamen to the gaudy sail: Stay-or become thou must The sport of every gale. Flee-what of late sore burden was to me, Now a sad memory and a bitter pain,— Those shining Cyclads flee That stud the far-off main. TO VIRGIL. OD. i. 24. UNSHAMED, unchecked, for one so dear We sorrow. Lead the mournful choir, Melpomene, to whom thy sire Gave harp, and song-notes liquid-clear ! Sleeps He the sleep that knows no morn? Oh Honour, oh twin-born with Right, Pure Faith, and Truth that loves the light, When shall again his like be born? Many a kind heart for Him makes moan; Thine, Virgil, first. But ah! in vain |