Imatges de pàgina
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She dwells in huts with mortals,

She cleaves the sky with birds of air,
Enters alike the wild beasts' lair,
The Gods' celestial portals.

Nor one of all the heavenly band
May dare defy her unarm'd hand;
Nay!-though the tale be treason,
Without a spear, without a sword,
She rules the universal Lord;
Nor against her may aid afford
Divine or human reason.

Anstice.-Translation of Soph. Fragm.

XXXIX.

Into ALCAICS.

Venus ever arrayed in new shapes binds all in the laws of her sway, and distinguished by a thousand names and titles extends her rule. Now ruthless she urges wild desire, now gentler impulses on the senses; pleasure with pain, joys with sorrow, she blends. She excites, in turn she soothes; under her brazen car she curbs the unlike with like; her, too, the resisting confess, the willing. accept as mistress. She wanders through the sea with the mute fishes, and companion of quadrupeds she traverses the extended meadows of the plains, and rejects not the black smoke of the poor cot. Among the birds she floats in the circuit of the air, she walks about the lairs of the wild beasts; in the bands of the gods she is enrolled, light guest of the ethereal mansion. The company of the deities cannot with impunity challenge the Goddess, (though) unarmed; unrestrained to dare anything, not with

sharp barb, not with sword, but with light influence she conquers the supreme king of the gods. Her arts, her wiles, her strength, not the power of heaven, not the reason of man will be able to curb.

XL.

Some men's books are, indeed, mere kites' nests, a collection of stolen things, such as are pure plagiaries, without any grateful acknowledgment; but herein the ingenuity of our Author is commendable, that on the margin he hath entered the names of such at whose torch he hath lighted his taper; and I am confident that, by such quotations, he hath revived the memories of many worthies, and of their speeches, which otherwise had been utterly lost.

Fuller.

XL.

Into LATIN PROSE, literally rendered.

The books of some men, in truth, are to be compared to the nests of kites, inasmuch as they are only a collection of pilfered things, mere thefts, and these indeed not thankfully mentioned. But in this the candour of our Author is praiseworthy, that in the margin he has noted the names of all from whose torches he has himself kindled his own lamp. By which reference indeed I am persuaded that he has recalled both the memory and the speeches of well-deserving men, which otherwise would have perished unknown.

XLI.

Now the bright Morning Star, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May! that dost inspire
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire:
Woods and groves are of thy dressing;
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

Milton.

XLI.

Into ALCAICS.

Even now, Lucifer, the messenger of day, comes rejoicing from the Eastern regions; and Maia, an associated companion, brings forth the flowers of the country and the gardens. Hail, thou fair Maia! you implant in the hearts the warmth of chaste desire; you breathe the vigour of youth, and bring back gifts of gladness. The woods grow green, and the foliage of the woods laughs new-born through your influence: the extent of plains is bright, and the recesses of the moist valley. Thus, at early morn, inducing song, rejoicing we invoke you returned. Long may you deign to linger on earth! late may you return to the stars of heaven!

XLII.

Take mountain and plain, sinuous river and broad, tranquil waters, stately ship and tiny boat, gentle hill and shady valley, bold headland and rich, fruitful fields, frowning bat

tlement and cheerful villa, glittering dome and rural spire, flowery garden and sombre forest; group them all into the choicest picture of ideal beauty your fancy can create; arch it over with a cloudless sky; light it up with a radiant sun; and, lest the sheen should be too dazzling, hang a veil of lighted haze over all, to soften the lines and perfect the repose, you will then have Quebec on this September morning.

Hochelaga.

XLII.

Into ELEGIACS.

Let an extent of plain be in the midst of mountains, let an abundant river roll its tranquil waters. Among the brazen beaked ships let a little skiff course, and let a dark valley lie hid in the bosom of a hill. Let a craggy height run out into the swelling waves; under a lofty tower let a modest villa repose. In these plains let the consecrated spire, the arched roof glitter; the ancient wood shed forth its darkness, the garden its riches. In surpassing beauty let a picture be spread around, such as you can imagine in excited mind. Let the sun shine pure with rays, the air cloudless; and let not that brightness too much put forth its glow. But from above let a glittering shade hang down in the sky, and in the horizon let repose everywhere reign. Thus to thee-but let the first frost of Autumn begin to harden,-there will be the city, the head among the Western cities.

XLIII.

But already the hand which was to crush his iron nature lay heavy upon him. For some time past his health had

been failing, and his illness was now aggravated by domestic sorrows, especially by the loss of his favourite daughter. He declined rapidly, but he struggled against death. The numerous trials he had triumphantly passed through, the great things he had done and had still to do, the urgent need of his presence, the force of his will,-all contributed to persuade him that he had not attained the term of his life. He said among his most intimate friends, "I am sure I shall not die to-day-I know that God will not have me die yet." But God had formed Cromwell to be a striking example to the world of what a great man can do, and of what he cannot do. His destiny was accomplished. By the sole might of his genius he had made himself master of his country, and of the revolution which he had let loose upon his country; he remained, to his last hour, in full possession of his greatness, and he died, consuming his genius and his power in an ineffectual effort to restore what he had destroyed,―a Parliament and a King.

Guizot.

XLIII.

Into PROSE, literally rendered.

Now, however, the hand under which his iron nature was to fall to pieces was lying heavily upon him. For a long time his strength had been broken; and from domestic sorrow, but. especially from the decease of his dearest daughter, his weakly health more oppressed him. He failed indeed rapidly; still, however, he struggled against death. But the dangers, so many of which he had easily overcome, those glorious (deeds) which before had been done, or hereafter were to be done by him; the

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