Seu quando, viribus valentioribus
Firmoque fretus pectore,
Florentiori vos juventute excolens
Curâ fovebat patriâ;

Seu quando fractus, jamque donatus rude,
Vultu sed usque blandulo,
Miscere gaudebat suas facetias
His annuis leporibus.

Vixit probus, purâque simplex indole,
Blandisque comis moribus,

Et dives æquâ mente,-charus omnibus,

Unius auctus munere.

Ite tituli meritis beatioribus

Aptate laudes debitas!

Nec invidebat ille, si quibus favens

Fortuna plus arriserat.

Placide senex! levi quiescas cespite,

Etsi superbum nec vivo tibi
Decus sit inditum, nec mortuo

Lapis notatus nomine.

elegance will sufficiently recommend them to persons of classical taste and erudition, and I shall be happy if the English version that they have received from me, be found not to dishonour them. Affection for the memory of the worthy man whom they celebrate, alone prompted me to this endeavour. W. COWPER.

2 He was usher and under master of Westminster near fifty years, and retired from his occupation when he was near seventy, with a handsome pension from the King.

THE SAME IN ENGLISH.

OUR good old friend is gone, gone to his rest,
Whose social converse was itself a feast.

ye of riper age, who recollect

How once ye loved and eyed him with respect,
Both in the firmness of his better day,

While yet he ruled you with a father's sway,
And when, impair'd by time and glad to rest,
Yet still with looks in mild complacence drest,
He took his annual seat and mingled here
His sprightly vein with yours,—now drop a tear.
In morals blameless as in manners meek,
He knew no wish that he might blush to speak,
But, happy in whatever state below,

And richer than the rich in being so,

Obtain'd the hearts of all, and such a meed
At length from one', as made him rich indeed.
Hence, then, ye titles, hence, not wanted here!
Go, garnish merit in a brighter sphere,
The brows of those whose more exalted lot
He could congratulate, but envied not.

Light lie the turf, good senior! on thy breast, And tranquil as thy mind was be thy rest! Though, living, thou hadst more desert than fame, And not a stone now chronicles thy name.

See the note in the Latin copy.

TRANSLATIONS OF GREEK VERSES.

FROM THE GREKK OF JULIANUS.

A SPARTAN, his companion slain,
Alone from battle fled;

His mother, kindling with disdain

That she had borne him, struck him dead;
For courage, and not birth alone,
In Sparta, testifies a son!

ON THE SAME BY PALLAADAS.

A SPARTAN 'scaping from the fight,
His mother met him in his flight,
Upheld a falchion to his breast,
And thus the fugitive address'd :

"Thou canst but live to blot with shame

Indelible thy mother's name,

While every
breath that thou shalt draw
Offends against thy country's law;
But, if thou perish by this hand,
Myself indeed throughout the land,
To my dishonour, shall be known
The mother still of such a son;

But Sparta will be safe and free,

.

And that shall serve to comfort me."

My name

AN EPITAPH.

-my country—what are they to thee?
What, whether base or proud my pedigree?
Perhaps I far surpass'd all other men ;
Perhaps I fell below them all; what then?
Suffice it, stranger! that thou seest a tomb;
Thou know'st its use; it hides-no matter whom.

ANOTHER.

TAKE to thy bosom, gentle Earth! a swain
With much hard labour in thy service worn;
He set the vines that clothe yon ample plain,
And he these olives that the vale adorn.

He fill'd with grain the glebe; the rills he led
Through this green herbage, and those fruitful bowers;
Thou, therefore, Earth! lie lightly on his head,
His hoary head, and deck his grave with flowers.

ANOTHER.

PAINTER, this likeness is too strong,
And we shall mourn the dead too long.

ANOTHER.

AT threescore winters' end I died
A cheerless being, sole and sad;
The nuptial knot I never tied,
And wish my father never had.

BY CALLIMACHUS.

Ar morn we placed on his funereal bier
Young Melanippus; and at eventide,
Unable to sustain a loss so dear,

By her own hand his blooming sister died.
Thus Aristippus mourn'd his noble race,
Annihilated by a double blow,

Nor son could hope, nor daughter more to embrace,
And all Cyrene sadden'd at his woe.

ON MILTIADES.

MILTIADES! thy valour best
(Although in every region known)
The men of Persia can attest,
Taught by thyself at Marathon.

ON AN INFANT.

BEWAIL not much, my parents! me, the prey
Of ruthless Hades, and sepulchred here.
An infant, in my fifth scarce finish'd year,
He found all sportive, innocent, and gay,
Your young Callimachus; and if I knew
Not many joys, my griefs were also few.

BY HERACLIDES.

IN Cnidus born, the consort I became
Of Euphron. Aretimias was my name.
His bed I shared, nor proved a barren bride,
But bore two children at a birth, and died.