صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

The sacred hearth with seasoned faggots heap, .

When her tired lord draws nigh;
And hurdling, nothing loth, her folded sheep,

Drain their great udders dry:
Then the last vintage draw from the sweet cask,

To grace the home-made feast ?For Lucrine purple-fish I shall not ask,

Nor turbots from the East :
Not char, which-thundering first o'er other seas-

Storms carried to our shore,
Not woodcocks from Ionia would please,

. Or hens from Guinea, more My taste; than oil that, in the rich boughs hid,

Her hands did thence obtain;
And meadow-dock, and mallow that can rid

Our suffering frames from pain,
With lamb that bled for Terminus; and kid

By wolves so nearly slain !

“So banqueting, how sweet to notice how

The fed ewes homeward fare:
How oxen, half asleep, the inverted plough

On drooping shoulders bear;

And slaves-sure signs of wealth-ranged idle now,

Swarm round the glad hearth’s glare!"

So did the money-lender Appius speak,

Resolved to be a swain,
And got his money in. Within a week

Would put it out again.

THE DEAD Ox.

FROM VIRGIL, GEORG. III.

Lo! smoking in the stubborn plough, the ox
Falls, from his lip foam gushing crimson-stained,
And sobs his life out. Sad of face the ploughman
Moves, disentangling from his comrade's corpse
The lone survivor: and its work half-done,
Abandoned in the furrow stands the plough.
Not shadieșt forest-depths, not softest lawns,
May move him now: not river amber-pure,
That tumbles o'er the cragstones to the plain.
Powerless the broad sides, glazed the rayless eye,
And low and lower sinks the ponderous neck.
What thank hath he for all the toil he toiled,
The heavy-clodded land in man’s behoof

Upturning? Yet the grape of Italy,
The stored-up feast hath wrought no harm to him:
Green leaf and taintless grass are all their fare;
The clear rill or the travel-freshened stream
Their cup: nor one care mars their honest sleep.

SPEECH OF AJAX.

SOPH. AJ. 645..

ALL strangest things the multitudinous years
Bring forth, and shadow from us all we know.
Falter alike great oath and steeled resolve; .
And none shall say of aught, “This may not be.”
Lo! I myself, but yesterday so strong,
As new-dipt steel am weak and all unsexed
By yonder woman: yea I mourn for them,
Widow and orphan, left amid their foes.
But I will journey seaward—where the shore
Lies meadow-fringed—so haply wash away
My sin, and flee that wrath that weighs me down.
And, lighting somewhere on an untrodden way,
I will bury this my lance, this hateful thing,

« السابقةمتابعة »