Yet still that mind whose harmony elate

Rang sweetness, even beneath the crush of fate,-
That mind in whose regard all things were placed
In views that softened them, or lights that graced,
That soul's example could not but dispense
A portion of its own blessed influence;
Invoking him to peace and that self-sway

Which Fortune cannot give, nor take

away:

And though he mourned her long, 'twas with such woe As if her spirit watched him still below."

TRANSLATIONS.

MARTIAL ELEGY.

FROM THE GREEK OF TYRTÆUS.

How glorious fall the valiant, sword in hand,
In front of battle for their native land!

But, O! what ills await the wretch that yields,
A recreant outcast from his country's fields!
The mother whom he loves shall quit her home,
An aged father at his side shall roam;
His little ones shall weeping with him go,
And a young wife participate his woe;
While, scorned and scowled upon by every face,
They pine for food, and beg from place to place.

Stain of his breed, dishonoring manhood's form, All ills shall cleave to him :- Affliction's storm Shall blind him wandering in the vale of years, Till, lost to all but ignominious fears,

He shall not blush to leave a recreant's name,
And children, like himself, inured to shame.

But we will combat for our fathers' land, And we will drain the life-blood where we stand, To save our children: fight ye side by side, And serried close, ye men of youthful pride,

Disdaining fear, and deeming light the cost

Of life itself in glorious battle lost.

Leave not our sires to stem the unequal fight, Whose limbs are nerved no more with buoyant might; Nor, lagging backward, let the younger breast Permit the man of age (a sight unblessed)

To welter in the combat's foremost thrust,

His hoary head dishevelled in the dust,
And venerable bosom bleeding bare.

But youth's fair form, though fallen, is ever fair, And beautiful in death the boy appears, The hero boy, that dies in blooming years: In man's regret he lives, and woman's tears, More sacred than in life, and lovelier far For having perished in the front of war.

SONG OF HYBRIAS THE CRETAN.

My wealth's a burly spear and brand,
And a right good shield of hides untanned,

Which on my arm I buckle ;

With these I plough, I reap, I sow,

With these I make the sweet vintage flow,

And all around me truckle.

But your wights that take no pride to wield
A massy spear and well-made shield,
Nor joy to draw the sword:

O, I bring those heartless, hapless drones,
Down in a trice on their marrow-bones,
To call me King and Lord.

FRAGMENT.

FROM THE GREEK OF ALCMAN.

THE mountain summits sleep: glens, cliffs, and caves

In depths beneath the dark red ocean's waves

Its monsters rest, whilst wrapt in bower and spray
Each bird is hushed that stretched its pinions to the day.

SPECIMENS OF TRANSLATIONS FROM MEDEA.

Σκαιους δε λεγων, κουδέν τι σοφους

Τους προσθε βροτους ουκ αν αμάρτοις.

MEDEA, V. 194, p. 33, Glasg. edit.

TELL me, ye bards, whose skill sublime
First charmed the ear of youthful Time,
With numbers wrapt in heavenly fire,
Who bade delighted Echo swell
The trembling transports of the lyre,
The murmur of the shell

Why to the burst of Joy alone
Accords sweet Music's soothing tone?

Why can no bard, with magic strain,
In slumbers steep the heart of pain?
While varied tones obey your sweep,
The mild, the plaintive, and the deep,
Bends not despairing Grief to hear
Your golden lute, with ravished ear?
Has all your art no power to bind
The fiercer pangs that shake the mind,
And lull the wrath at whose command
Murder bares her gory hand?

When, flushed with joy, the rosy throng
Weave the light dance, ye swell the song!
Cease, ye
vain warblers! cease to charm
The breast with other raptures warm!
Cease, till your hand with magic strain
In slumbers steep the heart of pain!

SPEECH OF THE CHORUS,

IN THE SAME TRAGEDY,

TO DISSUADE MEDEA FROM HER PURPOSE OF PUTTING HER CHILDREN TO DEATH, AND
FLYING FOR PROTECTION TO ATHENS.

O HAGGARD queen! to Athens dost thou guide
Thy glowing chariot, steeped in kindred gore;
Or seek to hide thy foul infanticide

Where Peace and Mercy dwell forevermore?

The land where Truth, pure, precious and sublime,
Woos the deep silence of sequestered bowers,
And warriors, matchless since the first of time,

Rear their bright banners o'er unconquered towers!