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النشر الإلكتروني

LYDIA. FINGE nec huic mundo nec amoribus esse

senectam; Pastorumque labris usque subesse fidem : His forte illecebris (est his sua namque venustas)

Mota, comes Mopsi viverem, amantis amans.

Tempus agit pecudes campis in ovile relictis;

Fitque ferox fluvius frigidiusque jugum. Dediscit Philomela modos et conticet ultro;

Venturis querimur cætera turba malis.

Sin amor assidua subolesceret usque juventa,

Nec joca cessarent, pluris egeret anus : His equidem illecebris (est his sua namque venustas)

Mota comes Mopsi viverem, amantis amans.

WHILE MUSING THUS.

WHILE musing thus, with contemplation fed
And thousand fancies buzzing in my brain,
The sweet-tongued Philomel perched o'er my head,
And chanted forth a most melodious strain,
Which rapt me so with wonder and delight,

I judged my hearing better than my sight,
And wished me wings with her awhile to take my

flight.

“O merry bird!” said I, “that fears no snares,
That neither toils, nor hoards up in thy barns,
Feels no sad thought, nor cruciating cares
To gain more good, or shun what might thee

harm; Thy clothes ne'er wear, thy meat is every where,

Thy bed a bough, thy drink the water clear, Remind'st not what is past, nor what's to come

dost fear.”

“ Avis in ramo tecta laremque parat.Woord content

STABAM multa movens, studio sic pastus inani,
Somnia per vacuum dum fervent mille cerebrum :
Jamque canora mihi supra caput adstitit ales,
Et liquido Philomela modos e gutture fudit.
Obstupui; raptusque nova dulcedine dixi,
“Quanto oculis potior, quam traximus aure, voluptas.”
Meque simul volui sumtis quatere æthera pennis.

“Fortunata nimis! Tibi retia nulla timori,
Te nullus labor urget, agis nec in horrea messes;
Nil conscire tibi, nulla tabescere culpa,
Sorte datum, quo plura petas, quo noxia vites.
At passim cibus, at sordent velamina nunquam :
Pocula sunt fontes liquidi tibi, fronsque cubile,
Nec memori veterum, nec mox ventura timenti.

“The dawning morn with songs thou dost pre

vent, Set’st hundred notes unto thy feathered crew, So each one tunes his pretty instrument, And warbling out the old, begins anew. And thus they pass their youth in summer

season, Then follow thee into a better region, Where winter's never felt by that sweet airy

legion.”

summer

ANNE BRADSTREET.

Ante dies quam lucet ades, modulansque catervæ
Dividis aligeræ centum discrimina vocum.
Continuo ad cantum præludunt oribus ille
Suavisonis; peragunt opus instaurantque peracta.
Hisque modis superante fovent æstate juventam.
Te duce dein abeunt in fortunatius arvum
Blanda volans legio, nulli penetrabile brumæ.”

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