From the hard season gaining? Time will run
On smoother, till Favonius reinspire

The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire
The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor

spun.

What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,
Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may

rise.

To hear the lute well touched, or artful

voice

Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?

He who of those delights can judge, and

CYRIACK, whose grandsire on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean applause,
Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our
laws,

Which others at their bar so often wrench,
To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth that after no repenting draws;
Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intend, and what the
French.

To measure life learn thou betimes, and know A noble Towards solid good what leads the nearest sacrifice

way;

For other things mild Heaven a time
ordains,

And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And, when God sends a cheerful hour,
refrains.

XXII

[TO THE SAME]

CYRIACK, this three years' day these eyes, though clear,

To outward view, of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot;
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not

Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a
jot

Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou

ask?

The conscience, friend, to have lost them
overplied

In Liberty's defence, my noble task,
Of which all Europe rings from side to side.
This thought might lead me through the
world's vain mask

Content, though blind, had I no better
guide.

heavenly vision

XXIII

[ON HIS DECEASED WIFE]

METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint
Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,
Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband
gave,

Rescued from Death by force, though pale
and faint.

Mine, as whom washed from spot of child-bed

taint

Purification in the Old Law did save,

And such as yet once more I trust to have
Full sight of her in Heaven without
restraint,

Came vested, all in white, pure as her mind.
Her face was veiled; yet to my fancied

sight

Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined

So clear as in no face with more delight.

But, oh! as to embrace me she inclined,
I waked, she fled, and day brought back
my night.

[TRANSLATIONS]

THE FIFTH ODE OF HORACE, LIB. I.

Quis multâ gracilis te puer in rosâ.

Rendered almost word for word, without rhyme,
according to the Latin measure, as near as
the language will permit.

WHAT slender youth, bedewed with liquid
odours,

Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,
Pyrrha? For whom bind'st thou

In wreaths thy golden hair,

Plain in thy neatness? Oh, how oft shall he
On faith and changed gods complain, and seas
Rough with black winds and storms
Unwonted shall admire,

Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold;
Who always vacant, always amiable,
Hopes thee, of flattering gales
Unmindful! Hapless they

To whom thou untried seem'st fair! Me, in
my vowed

Picture, the sacred wall declares to have hung
My dank and dropping weeds

To the stern God of Sea.

[As Milton inserts the original with his translation, as if to challenge comparison, it is right that we should do so too.]

A treacherous sea

Miseri

quibus

intentata

AD PYRRHAM. ODE V

nites Horatius ex Pyrrhæ illecebris tanquam e naufragio enataverat,
cujus amore irretitos affirmat esse miseros.

Quis multâ gracilis te puer in rosâ
Perfusus liquidis urget odoribus
Grato, Pyrrha, sub antro?

Cui flavam religas comam

Simplex munditie! Heu, quoties fidem
Mutatosque Deos flebit, et aspera
Nigris æquora ventis

Emirabitur insolens,

Qui nunc te fruitur credulus aureâ ;
Qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem,
Sperat, nescius auræ

Fallacis! Miseri quibus

Intentata nites. Me tabulâ sacer

Votivâ paries indicat uvida

Suspendisse potenti

Vestimenta maris Deo.

April, 1648.-J. M.

Nine of the Psalms done into metre; wherein all, but
what is in a different character, are the very words
of the Text, translated from the original.

PSALM LXXX

I THOU Shepherd that dost Israel keep,
Give ear in time of need,

Who leadest like a flock of sheep
Thy loved Joseph's seed,