66 badness of his prefatory Latin, we strongly surmise-capable of reading any one of them? Or, is this miserable rubbish aimed at the Puseyite movement, and at the exquisite appreciation of the beautiful in religion, as in all other things, which so remarkably distinguishes the members of that body? Has Mr. Linwood an eye to a fat benefice? Is such likely to be obtained by a vilification of the monkish hymns? Or does he wish to win favour with the vulgar editor of the Quarterly Review, who, in his criticism on the Arundines Cami (vol. 69, p. 459), thus writes:-" But the imitation of the old monkish hymns, with their barbarous phrases and barbarous rhymes, appears to us carrying the prevailing passion for mediæval antiquity far beyond its proper bounds." Far otherwise, indeed, is the opinion of those charming old pieces of religion entertained by the accomplished editor of the Arundines Cami, a man whose perfect scholarship does honour to Cambridge, and whose polished taste rendered him the fittest man, perhaps, in England to compile and edit that beautiful volume. In his graceful and modest preface, which furnishes to the preface of Mr. Linwood the same contrast that a diamond from Golconda would present to a Kerry diamond, he thus writes :-" Utrum feliciter necne conati sumus monachorum hymnos rhythmicos imitari, judicent alii; unum id in hoc loco jure lamentamur quod ista species carminum, tam casta, tam pulcra, tam plena exercitationis idoneæ, cum in ludis publicis, tum apud academicos nostros, penitus omissa videatur. Quis autem ignorat quam egregia sit hodie ad versiones sacras opportunitas, seu quis illius Lyra Apostolica fila solicitet, sive circa dædalos flores Anni Christiani fundantur vatum examina?" We believe the only two men living who would have brazen ignorance enough to contradict this would be Messrs. Lockhart and Linwood. We sincerely wish the gentlemen joy of the entire badness of their taste but we protest against their daring to promulgate such doctrines among their readers. Had either of them stood but for an hour beneath one of our holy temples during the solemn celebration of the mass, and marked the ceremonious pomp and splendour with which the Church loves to do honour to the rites of religion; the vesper gloom enwreathing the marble pillars, that rise up like stately forest-trees to the roof resplendent with burnished gold, the carved galleries long and shadowy, and lost apparently in the distant vista, the assembled thou sands kneeling around in every attitude and with all the humility of the most sincere devotion, the venerable greyhaired priests in golden vestments officiating at the lofty altar, that glitters all over with costly splendours, the impressive awful silence, save only when it is broken by the melodious burst of the organ, or the deep chant of the minister who prays, the sweet prelude that introduces the hymn, and, finally, the grand overwhelming burst of music and voices, male and female, softly, beautifully, inextricably blended, till the soul sinks as it were in a dream of rapture, and dissolves in tears before the sublime images which are produced by the occasion-had either of these gentlemen experienced this, we very much doubt whether they would have committed themselves to an opinion, of which we know not whether the rashness, the ignorance, or the audacity is more to be condemned. But let us come to our extracts. The first on which we put our hands is the celebrated Song of Sixpence, which we learned to say some forty or fifty years ago, ere yet we had left the nursery to groan in torture, under the rigid ferula of old The Latin version is by Francis Hodgson, the Provost of Eton-the Greek by Edward Craven Hawtrey, the chief master of that celebrated school. Both, we need scarcely say, are inimitable. They are taken from the Arundines Cami. A SIXPENNY SONG. Sing a song of sixpence, CARMEN DENARIUM. Incipe cui titulo "Denarius," incipe cantum! Mirum opus harmoniæ!-nonne inter fercula posset Rex erat in camera numerans sibi pondera nummi, περὶ δὲ τῶν κοσσύφων, ὡς ἐκ κριβάνων τοῖς δειπνοῦσι παρατεθέντα ᾄδουσι, περὶ δὲ τῶν στρουθίων ὡς των παιδισκῶν τὰς ῥῖνας καθιπτάμενα ἅρπαζει των κωμικών τις όντως γράφει. ̓́ΑΣΜΑ νῦν τετρωβολαῖον, ἄδετ', ἄνδρες δημόται, VOL. IV. E. C. H. After this we insert a few more specimens of the same kind, taken from the venerable Gammer Gurton. Little did the old lady dream that her sing-song stanzas would ever have been put into Greek and Latin, by such a person of honour as the Provost of Eton College. We suppose we need not call particular attention to Porson's miraculous version of the Three children sliding on the ice. JACKY'S FIDDLE. Jacky, come give me thy fiddle, If ever thou mean to thrive. Nay, I'll not give my fiddle To any man alive. If I should give my fiddle, They'll think that I'm gone mad: For many a joyful day My fiddle and I have had. THE MAN IN THE WILDERNESS. The man in the wilderness asked me, I answered him as I thought good, THE DILEMMA. If all the world were apple pie, And all the trees were bread and My stars! what should we drink? Si terra e pistis constaret inhospita pomis, This version would be improved by the omission of the line in italics. Three children sliding on the ice, As it fell out, they all fell in, The rest they ran away. Κρυσαλλοπηκτους τρίπτυχοι κόροι ῥοὰς Now had these children been at "Αλλ' ἔιπερ ἦσαν έγκεκλεισμένοι μοχλοῖς school, *Η ποσὶν ὀλισθάνοντες εν ξηρῳ πέδῳ Sliding upon dry ground, Ten thousand pounds to one penny They had not all been drowned. You parents that have children dear, And eke you that have none, If you would have them safe abroad, Pray keep them safe at home. After this we have a beautiful song by Mrs. Hemans, which the editor of the Arundines Cami has done into Latin. We have marked with italics the blemishes of this version. May we beg him to retouch this song, and in the place of such Haynes Bailey Latinity as cæcis locis, aurati solis (the gilded sun!), intonsi flores, crassis racemis, gemmea prata, &c. &c. favour us with what is only classical and orthodox. THE FIRST GRIEF. Oh! call my brother back to me, I cannot play alone: The summer comes with flower and bee, Where is my brother gone? The butterfly is glancing bright I care not now to chase its flight- PRIMUS DOLOR. O revoca mihi fratrem, et eris carissima Solus enim nequeo ludere, fessus ero, Trans jubar aurati volitans mutabile solis, Et micet incolumis; per me volitabit inultus— The flowers run wild-the flowers Intonsi exultant flores quem sevimus, we sowed Around our garden tree; Our vine is drooping with its load- hortum; Arbore sub patula quæ rubuere rosæ: Vitis dependet crassis onerata racemisSi revocas fratrem, tu mihi mater eris. He would not hear my voice, fair Heu! non audiret matrem, formose, vocantem, child; He may not come to thee: The face that once like springtime smiled, On earth no more thou'lt see. A flower's brief, bright life of joy, And has he left the birds and flowers, And through the long, long summer Will he not come again? And by the brook and in the glade Would I had loved him more! Arundines Cami, p. 168. Quem poterunt nullæ solicitare preces; Ille oculis ridens, faciesque simillima veri, Et nos et nostrum destituere diem. Sole sub aprico quid si breve carpserit ævum? Et mea nequicquam vox repetita sonat? Per totam æstatem non venit usque mihi? Nec rursum in viridi reduces errabimus unda ? H. D. Byron's song of "the Isles of Greece," in Don Juan, has been translated by Oxford and Cambridge; and this enables us to compare the two versions. Neither is remarkably good. In the Oxford version, may we respectfully ask of Mr. Lonsdale, what is the meaning of iniquus amor? And is not the line that follows unworthy of a college scout or bedmaker? The words nisi solis are unmeaning. Scilicet haud potui tumulis insistere Medûm-a little boy of six years old would and ought to write better Latin; and the millia multa ratum, if it be not canine Latinity, we really know not what it is. Mr. Benjamin Heath Drury (the Cambridge translator), is scarcely better. We have strong doubts of fera munia belli, but we have no doubt that surgebat, the imperfect tense, is perfectly bad. Ardet adhuc flammis arsura perennibus æstas is obscure and pedantic. The other faults which we have marked in italics, will suggest appropriate reflections to the classical reader. THE ISLES OF GREECE. The isles of Greece, the isles of O maris Ionii crebris freta consita terris! It is not easy to write a comparison between the two following rival versions, for the metre is entirely different; and if a literal translation of either in prose were written down by a person ignorant of the song, it would be difficult to say which would be more unlike the original. Our readers however will judge of both as they think fit. Our opinion is decidedly in favour of Mr. Kennedy's version. There is scarcely a good line in the other. OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT. Oft in the stilly night, Ere slumber's chain hath bound me, MEMORIA. Nocte sæpius antequam |