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FROM ANYTE.

I.

Unhappy Delia, when the hand of Death
Choaked the faint struggles of her lingering breath,
And parting life scarce glimmer'd in her face,
Strained her fond father in a last embrace.

"Oh father, I'm no more: dark clouds arise:
"The mists of Death hang heavy o'er my eyes."

II.

In this sad tomb where Phillida is laid,
Her mother oft invokes the gentle shade,
And calls, in hopeless grief, on her who died
In the full bloom of youth, and beauty's pride,
Who left, a virgin, the bright realms of day,
On gloomy Acheron's pale coasts to stray.

III.

ON A STATUE OF VENUS ON THE SEA-COAST.

Cythera, from this craggy steep,

Looks downward on the glassy deep,
And hither calls the breathing gale
Propitious to the venturous sail;
While Ocean flows below serene,
Awed by the smile of Beauty's queen.

See Note 9.

FROM MIMNERMUS.

I.

Oh what is life by golden love unblest?
Better be mine the grave's eternal rest.
The furtive kiss, soft pledge and genial tye,
Are flowers of youth, that passing smile and die :
Old age succeeds, and dulls each finer sense,
When all we hope, at most, is Reverence.
Age brings misfortune clearer to our sight,
Damps every joy and dims the cheerful light,
And scatters frowns, and thins the silvery hair,
Hateful to youth, unlovely to the fair.

II.

We too as leaves that, in the vernal hours,
Greet the new sun, refresh'd by fruitful show'rs,
Rejoice, exulting in our vigorous prime,
Nor good nor evil marks the noiseless time;
But round our birth the gloomy Fates preside,
And smile malignant on our fleeting pride;
One with cold age prepar'd to blast our bloom,
One arm'd with death to hide it in the tomb.
Our better moments smile and pass away,
E'en as the sun that shines and sets to-day:

When Youth is flown, Death only can assuage
And yield a refuge from the ills of age.
All mourn adversity-One, nobly bred,
Toils, a poor slave to him his bounty fed;
One, solitary, seeks the tomb's embrace,
With no transmitter of his name and race;
While sick and faint, or rack'd by ceaseless fears,
Another journeys down the vale of years.

See Notes 10, 11.

FROM THEOGNIS.

I.

Ah me! alike o'er youth and age I sigh,
Impending age, and youth that hastens by;
Swift as a thought the flowing moments roll,
Swift as the racer speeds to reach the goal.
How rich, how happy the contented guest,
Who leaves the banquet soon, and sinks to rest!"
Damps chill my brow, my pulses flutt’ring beat,
Whene'er the vigorous pride of youth I meet
Pleasant, and lovely; hopeful to the view
As golden visions, and as transient too:.

But ah! no terrors stop, nor vows, nor tears,
Life's mournful evening, and the gloom of years.

H

May peace and riches crown my native tow'rs,
Nor war nor tumults break our festive hours;
May glorious Jove, embracing earth and sky,
Exulting view our mortal harmony;

Thou, sweet Apollo, touch the happy crew,
And warm our hearts to raptures strange and new ;
With shell and lute high raise the strain divine,
And rich libations pour on every shrine !
While to the pow'rs above our praises flow,
Inspiring wine shall make us gods below:.

In pleasant converse wrapt, the social soul Heeds not the wars that shake the northern pole.

Thus to be ever charm'd were sure the best, With every fretful feverish pulse at rest, In joy and mirth to drown the din of arms, The frost of years to come, and Death's alarms. Sweet youth is mine-I revel in her bloom; (How soon condemn'd to wither in the tomb!) Tho' fair in fame, for noble lineage known, Mute, cold, and dull, as yon neglected stone, Soon shall I leave the whisp'ring air and sky, And darkly slumber through futurity. Be sooth'd my soul-How soon another race, Shall claim whate'er is mine of pow'r or place; And o'er the mournful spot regardless go, Where my bones mingle with the earth below! But ever shall my conscious heart rejoice At pleasure's breath and music's heav'nly voice; Pleas'd will I sport, while fragrant draughts inspire, Or sing symphonious to the minstrel's lyre: Death's horrid realms no sense of bliss pervades, Nor wine, nor lyre, nor beauty please the shades. Then, while on earth my winged pulses beat, While throbs my heart with youth's delicious heat, Charm'd will I yield to every new delight, Ere mournful age shall tear it from my sight.

See Note 12...

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