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TRANSLATION

OF PRIOR'S

CHLOE AND EUPHELIA.

I.

MERCATOR; vigiles óculos ut fallere possit,
Nomine fub ficto trans mare mittit

opes; Lené fonat liquidumque meis Euphelia chordis,

Sed folam exoptant te, mea vota, Chlöe.

II.

Ad speculum ornabat nitidos Euphelia crines,

Cum dixit mea lux, heus, cane, sume lyram. Namque lyram juxtà positam cum carmine vidit,

Suave quidem carmen dulcisonamque lyram,

III.

Fila lyræ vocemque paro, suspiria surgunt,

Et miscent numeris murmura mæsta meis, Dumque tuæ memoro laudes, Euphelia, formæ,

Tota anima intereà pendet ab ore Chlöes.

[blocks in formation]

IV.

Subrubet illa pudore, et contrahit altera frontem,

Me torquet mea mens conscia, psallo, tremo; Atque Cupidineâ dixit Dea cincta corona, Heu! fallendi artem quam

didicere

parum.

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When the British warrior queen,

Bleeding from the Roman rods, Sought, with an indignant mien,

Counsel of her country's gods,

II.

Sage beneath the spreading oak

Sat the Druid, hoary chief; Ev'ry burning word he spoke

Full of rage, and full of grief.

III.

Princess! if our aged eyes

Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 'Tis because resentment ties

All the terrors of our tongues.

IV.

Rome shall perish---write that word

In the blood that she has spilt; Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd, Deep in ruin as in guilt.

v.

Rome, for empire far renown'd,

Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the ground

Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!

VI.

Other Romans shall arife,

Heedless of a soldier's name;

Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize

Harmony the path to fame.

VII.

Then the progeny that springs

From the forests of our land,

Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings;

Shall a wider world command,

VIII.

Regions Cesar never knew

Thy pofterity shall sway, Where his eagles never flew,

None invincible as they.

IX.

Such the bard's prophetic words,

Pregnant with celestial fire, Bending, as he swept the chords

Of his sweet but awful lyre.

X.

She, with all a monarch's pride,

Felt them in her bosom glow; Rush'd to battle, fought, and died;

Dying, hurld them at the foe.

XI.

Ruffians, pitiless as proud,

Heav'n awards the vengeance due;
Empire is on us bestow'd,
Shame and ruin wait for

you,

HERO IS M.

THERE was a time when Ætna's silent fire

Slept unperceiv'd, the mountain

yet

entire; When, conscious of no danger from below, She tow'r'd a cloud-capt pyramid of snow. No thunders fhook with deep intestine sound The blooming groves that girdled her around. Her unctuous olives, and her purple vines, (Unfelt the fury of those bursting mines) The peasant's hopes, and not in vain, assur’d, In

peace upon her noping sides matur'd.

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