Beginning, ΧΟ. Οὔ τοι σοὶ μούνα, τέκνον, οὔθ ̓ ὁ παρὰ τὸν ̓Αχερόντα θεὸς ἀνάσσων. Εἶτ ̓ οὐχ ὅμοια πράττομεν καὶ θύομεν; MENAND. ap. Athen. viii. p. 364. Beginning, "Ηδη γὰρ αὐτῷ, πατρὶ μὲν βωμῶν, κ.τ.λ. Ending, ἵππων φυτεῦσαι. PIND. Olymp. 111. v. 35. For GREEK IAMBICS: WITH our sea-sister at his feet I slept. For LATIN LYRICS (one of the metres of HORACE's Epodes). Or when the winter torrent rolls Down the deep channel'd rain-course foamingly, With bare feet pressing the wet sand The rushing flow, the flowing roar, Or lingers it a vernal brook Floating like streamers on the wind Their lank uplifted leaves. For LATIN ELEGIACS. SOUTHEY. While hunters bold ride homeward with the spoil; While mowers laugh, while reapers sing and toil; While bridals pass, while poor men bless, While Yule is blithe, while Summer fair, Oh! would'st thou change the flowing songs of peace F. TENNYSON. TRANSLATE into GREEK PROSE: THIS is what a wise and virtuous ministry would have done and said. This, therefore, is what our minister could never think of saying or doing, A ministry of another kind would have first improved the country, and have thus laid a solid foundation for future opulence and future force. But on this grand point of the restoration of the country, there is not one syllable to be found in the correspondence of our ministers, from the first to the last; they felt nothing for a land desolated by fire, sword, and famine; their sympathies took another direction; they were touched with pity for bribery, so long tormented with a fruitless itching of its palms; their bowels yearned for usury, that had long missed the harvest of its returning months; they felt for peculation which had been for so many years raking in the dust of an empty treasury; they were melted into compassion for rapine and oppression, licking their dry, parched, unbloody jaws. These were the objects of their solicitude. These were the necessities for which they were studious to provide. TRANSLATE into LATIN PROSE: "BUT with the cry of bereaved families was mingled another cry much less respectable. All the hearers and tellers of news abused the general who furnished them with so little news to hear and to tell. For men of that sort are so greedy after excitement that they far more readily forgive a commander who loses a battle than a commander who declines one. The politicians, who delivered their oracles from the thickest cloud of tobacco-smoke at Garroway's, confidently asked, without knowing anything, either of war in general, or of Irish war in particular, why Schomberg did not fight. They could not venture to say that he did not understand his calling. No doubt he had been an excellent officer: but he was very old. He seemed to bear his years well: but his faculties were not what they had been: his memory was failing; and it was well known that he sometimes forgot in the afternoon what he had done in the morning. It may be doubted whether there ever existed a human being whose mind was quite as firmly toned at eighty as at forty. But that Schomberg's intellectual powers had been little impaired by years is sufficiently proved by his despatches, which are still extant, and which are models of official writing, terse, perspicuous, full of important facts and weighty reasons, compressed into the smallest possible number of words. In those despatches he sometimes alluded, not angrily, but with calm disdain, to the censures thrown upon his conduct by shallow babblers, who, never having seen any military operation more important than the relieving of the guard at Whitehall, imagined that the easiest thing in the world was to gain great victories in any situation and against any odds, and by sturdy patriots who were convinced that one English carter or thresher, who had not yet learned how to load a gun or port a pike, was a match for any five musketeers of King Lewis's household." MACAULAY'S Hist. of England. Vol. III. Bell's Scholarships. February, 1856. Examiners: PROF. JEREMIE, D.D. Trinity College. REV. W. H. BATESON, B.D. Public Orator, St John's College. J. ROBERTS, M.A. Magdalene College. TRANSLATE into LATIN PROSE: THE Carnatick is refreshed by few or no living brooks or running streams, and it has rain only at a season; but its product of rice exacts the use of water subject to perpetual command. This is the national bank of the Carnatick, on which it must have a perpetual credit, or it perishes irretrievably. For that reason, in the happier times of India, a number, almost incredible, of reservoirs have been made in chosen places throughout the whole country; they are formed for the greater part of mounds of earth and stones, with sluices of solid masonry; the whole constructed with admirable skill and labour, and maintained at a mighty charge...... there cannot be in the Carnatick and Tanjore fewer than ten thousand of these reservoirs of the larger and middling dimensions, to say nothing of those for domestic services, and the uses of religious purification. These are not the enterprises of your power, nor in a style of magnificence suited to the taste of your minister. These are the monuments of real kings, who were the fathers of their people; testators to a posterity which they embraced as their own. These are the grand sepulchres built by ambition; but by the ambition of an insatiable benevolence, which, not contented with reigning in the dispensation of happiness during the contracted term of human life, had strained, with all the reachings and graspings of a vivacious mind, to extend the dominion of their bounty beyond the limits of nature, and to perpetuate themselves through generations of generations, the guardians, the protectors, the nourishers of mankind. BURKE. TRANSLATE: Beginning, Hæc omnia sectatorum, spectaculorum, &c. Cic. pro Murena, c. 35. Beginning, Discubuerat Vitellius Ticini, adhibito ad, &c. TACIT. Hist. II. 68. TRANSLATE into GREEK PROSE: WITH what astonishment and veneration may we look into our own souls, where there are such hidden stores of virtue and knowledge, such inexhausted sources of perfection! We know not what we shall be, nor will it ever enter into the heart of man to conceive the glory that will be always in reserve for him. The soul, considered with its Creator, is like one of those mathematical lines which may draw nearer to another for an eternity without a possibility of touching it; and can there be a thought so transporting, as to consider ourselves in these perpetual approaches to Him, who is not only the standard of perfection, but of happiness? TRANSLATE into LATIN ELEGIACS: Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh Death! Day is for mortal care, ADDISON. Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth, The banquet hath its hour, Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine: Youth and the opening rose May look like things too glorious for decay, Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh Death MRS HEMANS. |