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النشر الإلكتروني

For in power if pleasure be,
Wealth or numerous progeny,
Or in amorous embrace

Where no spy infests the place;
Or in aught that Heaven bestows
To alleviate human woes
When the wearied heart despairs
Of a respite from its cares;
These and every true delight
Flourish only in thy sight;
And the sister Graces three

Owe, themselves, their youth to thee,
Without whom we may possess
Much, but never happiness.

ON INVALIDS

FAR happier are the dead, methinks, than they Who look for death, and fear it every day.

ON THE ASTROLOGERS

THE astrologers did all alike presage
My uncle's dying in extreme old age;
One only disagreed. But he was wise,

And spoke not till he heard the funeral cries.

ON AN OLD WOMAN

MYCILLA dyes her locks, 'tis said;
But 'tis a foul aspersion :

She buys them black; they therefore need
No subsequent immersion.

ON FLATTERERS

No mischief worthier of our fear
In nature can be found

Than friendship, in ostent sincere,

But hollow and unsound;

For lulled into a dangerous dream

We close infold a foe,

Who strikes, when most secure we seem,

The inevitable blow.

ON A TRUE FRIEND

HAST thou a friend? Thou hast indeed
A rich and large supply,
Treasure to serve your every need,
Well managed, till you die.

TO THE SWALLOW

ATTIC maid! with honey fed,
Bear'st thou to thy callow brood
Yonder locust from the mead,
Destined their delicious food?

Ye have kindred voices clear,
Ye alike unfold the wing,
Migrate hither, sojourn here,
Both attendant on the spring!

Ah, for pity drop the prize;

Let it not with truth be said
That a songster gasps and dies
That a songster may be fed.

ON LATE-ACQUIRED WEALTH

POOR in my youth, and in life's later scenes
Rich to no end, I curse my natal hour,

Who nought enjoyed while young, denied the means;
And nought when old enjoyed, denied the power.

ON A BATH, BY PLATO

DID Cytherea to the skies

From this pellucid lymph arise ?

Or was it Cytherea's touch,

When bathing here, that made it such?

ON A FOWLER, BY ISIODORUS

WITH Seeds and birdlime, from the desert air,
Eumelus gathered free, though scanty, fare.
No lordly patron's hand he deigned to kiss,
Nor luxury knew, save liberty, nor bliss.
Thrice thirty years he lived, and to his heirs
His seeds bequeathed, his birdlime, and his snares.

ON NIOBE

CHARON! receive a family on board,
Itself sufficient for thy crazy yawl;
Apollo and Diana, for a word

By me too proudly spoken, slew us all.

ON A GOOD MAN

TRAVELLER, regret me not; for thou shalt find
Just cause of sorrow none in my decease,
Who, dying, children's children left behind,
And with one wife lived many a year in peace:
Three virtuous youths espoused my daughters three,
And oft their infants in my bosom lay,

Nor saw I one, of all derived from me,

Touched with disease, or torn by death away.
Their duteous hands my funeral rites bestowed,
And me, by blameless manners fitted well

To seek it, sent to the serene abode
Where shades of pious men for ever dwell.

ON A MISER

THEY call thee rich!-I deem thee poor;
Since, if thou darest not use thy store,
But savest it only for thine heirs,
The treasure is not thine, but theirs.

ANOTHER

A MISER, traversing his house,
Espied, unusual there, a mouse,
And thus his uninvited guest
Briskly inquisitive addressed:
"Tell me, my dear, to what cause is it
"I owe this unexpected visit?”
The mouse her host obliquely eyed,
And, smiling, pleasantly replied:
"Fear not, good fellow, for your hoard!
"I come to lodge, and not to board."

ANOTHER

ART thou some individual of a kind
Long-lived by nature as the rook or hind?
Heap treasure, then; for if thy need be such,

Thou hast excuse, and scarce canst heap too much.

But man thou seem'st: clear therefore from thy breast

This lust of treasure-folly at the best!

For why shouldst thou go wasted to the tomb,

To fatten with thy spoils thou know'st not whom?

ON FEMALE INCONSTANCY

RICH, thou hadst many lovers ;-poor, hast none;
So surely want extinguishes the flame,
And she who called thee once her pretty one,
And her Adonis, now inquires thy name.

Where wast thou born, Sosicrates, and where,
In what strange country, can thy parents live,
Who seem'st, by thy complaints, not yet aware
That want's a crime no woman can forgive?

ON THE GRASSHOPPER

HAPPY songster, perched above,
On the summit of the grove,
Whom a dewdrop cheers to sing
With the freedom of a king!

From thy perch survey the fields
Where prolific nature yields
Nought that, willingly as she,
Man surrenders not to thee.
For hostility or hate

None thy pleasures can create.
Thee it satisfies to sing

Sweetly the return of spring,
Herald of the genial hours,
Harming neither herbs nor flowers.
Therefore man thy voice attends
Gladly,-thou and he are friends;
Nor thy never-ceasing strains
Phoebus or the Muse disdains
As too simple or too long,
For themselves inspire the song.
Earth-born, bloodless, undecaying,
Ever singing, sporting, playing,
What has nature else to show
Godlike in its kind as thou?

ON HERMOCRATIA

HERMOCRATIA named-save only one,
Twice fifteen births I bore, and buried none;
For neither Phoebus pierced my thriving joys,
Nor Dian-she my girls, or he my boys.
But Dian rather, when my daughters lay
In parturition, chased their pangs away.
And all my sons, by Phœbus' bounty, shared
A vigorous youth, by sickness unimpaired.
O Niobe! far less prolific! see

Thy boast against Latona shunned by me!

FROM MENANDER

FOND youth who dream'st that hoarded gold Is needful, not alone to pay

For all thy various items sold,

To serve the wants of every day;

Bread, vinegar, and oil, and meat,
For savoury viands seasoned high;
But somewhat more important yet-
I tell thee what it cannot buy.

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