ON PALLAS BATHING,

FROM A HYMN OF CALLIMACHUS.

NOR oils of balmy scent produce,
Nor mirror for Minerva's use,

Ye nymphs who lave her; she, array'd
In genuine beauty, scorns their aid.
Not even when they left the skies
To seek on Ida's head the prize
From Paris' hand, did Juno deign,
Or Pallas in the crystal plain

Of Simois' stream her locks to trace,
Or in the mirror's polish'd face,
Though Venus oft with anxious care
Adjusted twice a single hair.

TO DEMOSTHENES.

IT flatters and deceives thy view,
This mirror of ill polish'd ore;
For were it just, and told thee true,
Thou wouldst consult it never more.

ON A SIMILAR CHARACTER.

You give your cheeks a rosy stain,
With washes dye your hair;
But paint and washes both are vain
To give a youthful air.

Those wrinkles mock your daily toil,
No labour will efface 'em,

You wear a mask of smoothest oil,
Yet still with ease we trace 'em.

An art so fruitless then forsake,
Which though you much excel in,
You never can contrive to make
Old Hecuba young Helen.

ON AN UGLY FELLOW.

BEWARE, my friend! of crystal brook,
Or fountain, lest that hideous hook,
Thy nose, thou chance to see;
Narcissus' fate would then be thine,
And self-detested thou wouldst pine,
As self-enamour'd he.

ON A BATTERED BEAUTY.

HAIR, wax, rouge, honey, teeth you buy,
A multifarious store!

A mask at once would all supply,
Nor would it cost you more.

ON A THIEF.

WHEN Aulus, the nocturnal thief, made prize Of Hermes, swift-wing'd envoy of the skies, Hermes, Arcadia's king, the thief divine, Who when an infant stole Apollo's kine,

And whom, as arbiter and overseer

Of our gymnastic sports, we planted here; "Hermes," he cried, "you meet no new disaster; Ofttimes the pupil goes beyond his master."

ON PEDIGREE.

FROM EPICHARMUS.

My mother! if thou love me, name no more
My noble birth! Sounding at every breath
My noble birth, thou kill'st me. Thither fly,
As to their only refuge, all from whom

Nature withholds all good besides; they boast
Their noble birth, conduct us to the tombs
Of their forefathers, and from age to age
Ascending, trumpet their illustrious race:

But whom hast thou beheld, or canst thou name
Derived from no forefathers? Such a man

Lives not; for how could such be born at all?
And if it chance that, native of a land
Far distant, or in infancy deprived

Of all his kindred, one, who cannot trace
His origin, exist, why deem him sprung
From baser ancestry than theirs who can ?
My mother! he whom nature at his birth
Endow'd with virtuous qualities, although
An Æthiop and a slave, is nobly born.

From my wishes I discard;
Envy, let me rather be,
Rather far, a theme for thee!
Pity to distress is shown,
Envy to the great alone.

So the Theban: but to shine
Less conspicuous be mine!
I prefer the golden mean,
Pomp and penury between ;
For alarm and peril wait
Ever on the loftiest state,
And the lowest to the end
Obloquy and scorn attend.

BY MOSCHUS.

I SLEPT when Venus enter'd: to my bed
A Cupid in her beauteous hand she led,
A bashful seeming boy, and thus she said:

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Shepherd, receive my little one! I bring An untaught love, whom thou must teach to sing." She said, and left him. I, suspecting nought, Many a sweet strain my subtle pupil taught, How reed to reed Pan first with osier bound, How Pallas form'd the pipe of softest sound, How Hermes gave the lute, and how the quire Of Phoebus owe to Phoebus' self the lyre.

Such were my themes; my themes nought heeded he, But ditties sang of amorous sort to me,

The pangs that mortals and immortals prove
From Venus' influence, and the darts of love.
Thus was the teacher by the pupil taught;
His lessons I retain'd, and mine forgot.

BY PHILEMON.

OFT we enhance our ills by discontent,
And give them bulk beyond what nature meant.
A parent, brother, friend deceased, to cry—
"He's dead indeed, but he was born to die"-
Such temperate grief is suited to the size
And burthen of the loss; is just and wise.
But to exclaim, "Ah! wherefore was I born,
Thus to be left for ever thus forlorn ?"
Who thus laments his loss invites distress,
And magnifies a woe that might be less,
Through dull despondence to his lot resign'd,
And leaving reason's remedy behind.

TRANSLATION OF AN EPIGRAM OF HOMER'.

PAY me my price, potters! and I will sing.
Attend, O Pallas! and with lifted arm

No title is prefixed to this piece, but it appears to be a translation of one of the Enурaμpara of Homer called 'O Kapivoç, or the Furnace. Herodotus, or whoever was the Author of the Life of Homer ascribed to him, observes," certain potters, while they were busied in baking their ware, seeing Homer at a small distance, and having heard much said of his wisdom, called to him, and promised him a present of their commodity and of such other things as they could afford, if he would sing to them, when he sang as follows."