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On Marston,' with Rupert,* 'gainst traitors contending,

Four brothers enrich'd with their blood the bleak field;
For the rights of a monarch their country defending,

Till death their attachment to royalty seal’d.'

Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant departing

From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu !
Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting

New courage, he'll think upon glory and you.

Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation,

"Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret; Far distant he goes, with the same emulation,

The fame of his fathers he ne'er can forget.

That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish;

He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown:
Like you will he live, or like you will he perish;
When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with your own!

1803.

LINES

WRITTEN IN “LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN AND AN ENGLISH CENTLEMAN :

BY J. J. ROUSSEAU : FOUNDED ON FACTS."

“Away, away, your flattering arts
May now betray some simpler hearts;
And you will smile at their believing, ,
And they shall weep at your deceiving."

ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING, ADDRESSED TO MISS
Dear, simple girl, those flattering arts,

From which thou’dst guard frail female hearts, 1 The battle of Marston Moor, where the adherents of Charles I. were defeated.

? Son of the Elector Palatine, and nephew to Charles I. He afterwards commanded the fleet in the reign of Charles II.

3 [On the monument of Richard, the second Lord Byron, who lies buried in the chancel of Hucknal-Tokard church, there is the following inscription :-“ Beneath, in a vault, is interred the body of Richard Lord Byron, who, with the rest of his family, being seven brothers, faithfully served King Charles the First in the civil wars, who suffered much for their loyalty, and lost all their present fortunes : yet it pleased God 80 to bless the humble endeavours of the said Richard Lord Byron, that he re-purchased part of their ancient inheritance, which he left to his posterity, with a laudable memory for his great piety and charity.” The first Lord, ennobled by Charles I. in 1643, was the eldest brother of this Richard.]

Exist but in imagination, -
Mere phantoms of thine own creation;
For he who views that witching grace,
That perfect form, that lovely face,
With eyes admiring, oh! believe me,
He never wishes to deceive thee:
Once in thy polish'd mirror glance,
Thou'lt there descry that elegance
Which from our sex demands such praises,
But envy in the other raises :
Then lie who tells thee of thy beauty,
Believe me, only does his duty:
Ah! fly not froin the candid youth,
It is not flattery,—'tis truth.

July, 1804.

ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL WHEN DYING."

[ANIMULA ! vagula, blandula,
Hospes, comesque corporis,
Que nunc abibis in loca-
Pallidula, rigida, nudula,
Nec, ut soles, dabis jocos ?]

Au! gentle, fleeting, wav’ring sprite,
Friend and associate of this clay!

To what unknown region borne,
Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight?
No more with wonted humour gay,

But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn.

TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS.

AD LESBIAN.

Equal to Jove that youth must be-
Greater than Jove he seems to me-
Who, free from Jealousy’s alarms,
Securely views thy matchless charms.
That cheek, which ever dimpling glows,
That mouth, from whence sucli music flows,

• [This and several little pieces that follow, appear to be fragments of school exercises.)

To him, alike, are always known,
Reserved for him, and him alone.
Ah! Lesbia! though 'tis death to me,
I cannot choose but look on thee;
But, at the sight, my senses fly;
I needs must gaze, but, gazing, die ;
Whilst trembling with a thousand fears,
Parch'd to the throat my tongue adheres,
My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short,
My limbs deny their slight support,
Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread,
With deadly languor droops my head,
My ears with tingling eclioes ring,
And life itself is on the wing;
My eyes refuse the cheering

light,
Their orbs are veil'd in starless night :
Such pangs my nature sinks beneath,
And feels a temporary death.

TRANSLATION OF THE EPITAPH ON VIRGIL AND

TIBULLUS.

BY DOMITIUS MARSUS.

He who sublime in epic numbers rollid,

And he who struck the softer lyre of love,
By Death's' unequal hand alike controllid,

Fit comrades in Elysian regions move !

IMITATION OF TIBULLUS.

“Sulpicia ad Cerinthum."-Lib. 4.
CRUEL Cerinthus ! does the fell disease
Which racks my breast your fickle bosom please?
Alas ! I wish'd but to o'ercome the pain,
That I might live for love and you again :
But now I scarcely shall bewail my fate:

By death alone 1 can avoid your hate. * [The hand of Death is said to be unjust or unequal, as Virgil died older thaa Tibullus.)

TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS.

[Lugete, Veneres, Cupidinesque, &c.]
YE Cupids, droop each little head,
Nor let your wings with joy be spread,
My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead,

Whom dearer than her eyes she loved :
For he was gentle, and so true,
Obedient to her call he flew,
No fear, no wild alarm he knew,

But lightly o'er her bosom moved :

And softly fluttering here and there,
He never sought to cleave the air,
But chirrup'd oft, and, free from care,

Tuned to her ear his grateful strain.
Now having pass'd the gloomy bourn
From whence be never can return,
His death and Lesbia's grief I mourn,

Who sighs, alas ! but sighs in vain.

Oh! curst be thou, devouring grave !
Whose jaws eternal victims crave,
From whom no earthly power can save,

For thou hast ta'en the bird away :
From thee my Lesbia's eyes o'erflow,
Her swollen cheeks with weeping glow;
Thou art the cause of all her woe,

Receptacle of life's decay.

IMITATED FROM CATULLUS.

TO ELLEN

OH! might I kiss those eyes of fire,
A million scarce would quench desire :
Still would I steep my lips in bliss,
And dwell an age on every kiss :
Nor then my soul should sated be;
Still would I kiss and cling to thee:
Nought should my kiss from thine dissever;
Still would we kiss and kiss for ever;

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