51 Corinth.

(Antipater. Jac. b. ix. ep. 151.)

Where is thy grandeur, Corinth? Shrunk from sight,
Thy ancient treasures, and thy ramparts' height;
Thy god-like fanes and palaces! Oh, where
Thy mighty myriads and majestic fair !
Relentless war has pour'd around thy wall,
And hardly spared the traces of thy fall!

52

On Lais's Looking-glass.

(Plato. Jac. b. vi. ep. 1.)

E. Dodwell.

I Lais, (7) once of Greece the pride,
For whom so many suitors sigh'd,
Now aged grown, at Venus' shrine
The mirror of my youth resign;
Since what I am, I will not see;
And what I was, I cannot be.

Thus condensed by Prior:

Venus, take my votive glass,
Since I am not what I was :
What from this day I shall be,
Venus, let me never see.

53

On Envy.

(Palladas. Jac. bk. x. ep. 51.)

Pity, says the Theban bard,
From my wishes I discard;

E. L. Swift.

Envy, let me rather be,
Rather far, a theme for thee !
Pity to distress is shown,
Envy to the great alone.

So the Theban: but to shine
Less conspicuous be mine!
I prefer the golden mean,
Pomp and penury between ;
For alarm and peril wait
Ever on the loftiest state,
And the lowest to the end
Obloquy and scorn attend.

54

(Planudean. Jac. b. i. ep. 17.)

W. Cowper.

Ill-timed is all excess. 'Tis known to all
That even too much honey turns to gall.

55

On Time.

(Plato. Jac. b. ix. ep. 51.)

H. W.

Time bears the world away: a little date
Will change name, beauty, nature,—ay, and fate.

The broad high way to poverty and need
Is, much to build and many mouths to feed.

57

(Jac. b. 10. ep. 125.)

'Tis hard to find a friend: many seem so,

Nay almost all-so far as words can go.

C

Major M.

58

On Homer.

(Antipater of Sidon. Planud. Jac. b. i. ep. 296.)
From Colophon some deem thee sprung,
From Smyrna some, and some from Chios;
These noble Salamis have sung,

While those proclaim thee born in Ios;
And others cry up Thessaly,

The mother of the Lapitha.

Thus each to Homer has assign'd

The birthplace just which suits his mind :
But if I read the volume right,

By Phoebus to his followers given,
I'd say, they are mistaken quite,
And that his real country's Heaven;
While for his mother, she can be
No other than Calliope.

Merivale.

Antipater's Epigram on Homer was also written in Latin by Sannazaro the Italian poet, who, in two lines, has most beautifully compressed it :

Smyrna, Rhodos, Colophon, Salamis, Chios, Argos, Athenæ,

Cedite, jam cœlum patria Mæonidæ est.'

59

(Planud. b. i. ep. 302.)

Nature, with difficulty, Homer found;

And, him produced, her travail then was done;

She all her vigour to that effort wound,

To show a matchless and immortal one.

Major M.

IMITATION OF

GREEK VERSES FOR LIFE AGAINST LIFE.

60

For London.

(Metrodorus. Jac. b. ix. ep. 360.)

Can we through London streets be led,
Without rejoicing as we tread?

The city's wealth our eye surveys,
The court attracts our lighter gaze;
Whilst charity her arm extends,
And sick and poor find hosts of friends.
Wit sparkles round our rosy wine,
And beauty boasts her charms divine;
Music prolongs our festive nights,
And morning calls to fresh delights ;
A London residence then give,
For here alone I seem to live.

Against London.

(Posidippus. Jac. b. ix. ep. 359.)

Can London streets by man be trod
Without repenting on the road?

Where nobles, whelm'd in shame or debt,
And bankrupts swell each sad gazette ;
All licensed death our frame attacks,
And to his aid calls hosts of quacks ;
False smiles on beauty's face appear,
And wit evaporates in a sneer.

Dangers impede our days' delights,
And vermin vex our sleepless nights;
From London, then, let's quickly fly,
In rural shades to live or die.

From The Adventurer,'

FROM LATIN AUTHORS,

I

The Mortgage.

(Catullus.)

'Dear Furius, you may rest assured,
My country-house is well secured.'
'How? with good timber, stone, and plaster
From wind, and rain, and all disaster?'

Ah, no! but by a certain skin,

Which is encased in painted tin;

It is secured for money lent,

To a curst son of ten-per-cent.'

Theodore Martin.

FROM MARTIAL.

2

(B. i. ep. 13.)

When Arria to her Pætus gave the steel (8)
Which from her bleeding side did newly part,
"For my own wound,' she said, 'no pain I feel;
And yet thy wound will stab me to the heart.'
Sir Charles Sedley.