The gentler virtues too are join'd,

In youth immortal warm,

The soft relations, which, combin'd,

Give life her ev'ry charm.

The Arts come smiling in the close,

And lend celestial fire,

The marble breathes, the canvas glows, The Muses sweep the lyre.

"Still may my melting bosom cleave

To suff'rings not my own,

And still the sigh responsive heave,
Where'er is heard a groan.

So Pity shall take Virtue's part,

Her natural ally,

And fashioning my soften'd heart,

Prepare it for the sky."

This artless vow may Heav'n receive,

And

you,

fond maid, approve :

So may your guiding angel give

So

Whate'er you wish or love.

may the rosy-finger'd hours

Lead on the various year,

And ev'ry joy, which now is yours,

Extend a larger sphere.

And suns to come, as round they wheel,

Your golden moments bless,

With all a tender heart can feel,

Or lively fancy guess.

TRANSLATION FROM VIRGIL.

ÆENEID, BOOK VIII. LINE 18.

THUS Italy was moved-nor did the chief
Eneas in his mind less tumult feel.

On every side his anxious thought he turns,
Restless, unfixt, not knowing what to choose.
And as a cistern that in brim of brass

Confines the crystal flood, if chance the sun
Smite on it, or the moon's resplendent orb,
The quiv'ring light now flashes on the walls,
Now leaps uncertain to the vaulted roof:
Such were the wav'ring motions of his mind.
'Twas night-and weary nature sunk to rest.
The birds, the bleating flocks were heard no more.
At length, on the cold ground, beneath the damp
And dewy vault, fast by the river's brink,
The Father of his country sought repose.

When lo! among the spreading poplar boughs Forth from his pleasant stream, propitious rose The god of Tiber: clear transparent gauze Infolds his loins, his brows with reeds are crown'd: And these his gracious words to sooth his care: “Heav'n-born, who bring'st our kindred home again,

Rescued, and giv'st eternity to Troy,

Long have Laurentum and the Latian plains
Expected thee; behold thy fixt abode.

Fear not the threats of war, the storm is pass'd, The gods appeas'd. For proof that what thou hear'st

Is no vain forgery or delusive dream,

Beneath the grove that borders my green bank, Ailk-white swine, with thirty milk-white young

all greet thy wond'ring eyes. Mark well the

place;

For 'tis thy place of rest, there end thy toils:

There, twice ten years elaps'd, fair Alba's walls

Shall rise, fair Alba, by Ascanius' hand.

Thus shall it be-now listen, while I teach
The means t' accomplish these events at hand.
Th' Arcadians here, a race from Pallas sprung,
Following Evander's standard and his fate,
High on these mountains, a well-chosen spot,
Have built a city, for their Grandsire's sake
Named Pallanteum. These, perpetual war
Wage with the Latians: join'd in faithful league
And arms confed'rate, add them to your camp.
Myself between my winding banks, will speed
Your well-oar'd barks to stem th' opposing tide.
Rise, goddess-born, arise; and with the first

Declining stars, seek Juno in thy pray'r,

And vanquish all her wrath with suppliant vows. When conquest crowns thee, then remember Me. I am the Tiber, whose cærulean stream

Heav'n favours; I with copious flood divide

These grassy banks, and cleave the fruitful meads.

My mansion, This-and lofty cities crown.