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How happy they who thus escape while young,
Ere vice has time to stifle right with wrong;
Whose visionary life, on wings of wind,
Speeds far away, and leaves all ills bebind.

TRANSLATION OF THE

FORTIETH ODE OF ANACREON.

BY ROBERT FARREN CHEETHAM.

Cupid once, in evil hour,
Cropp'd the pride of Flora's bow'r;
Cropp'd a rose, nor chanc'd to see,
Within the flow's a sleeping bee:
But soon his fingers felt the smart
Inflicted by its tiny dart,
The god, unus'd to suffer pain,
Blew his hand, and shriek'd amain :
Flying then with ruffled mien,
To the fair Idalian queen,
"O mamma!” he wildly cries,
“Wounded, save, thy Cupid dies!
Me a little serpent stung,
Hid the rose-bud leares among,
Deck'd with curious wings like me,
Ploughinen call the thing a bee."

· Wiping Love's tear-streaming eyes,

Archly smiling—she replies:
“Cupid, if a thing so small
Pain thee thus, and give thee thrall,
Thiuk, O think, what torturing woe
They who feel thy dart must know.'

SONNET TO THE RIVER TWEED.

. BY TIE Rev. W. L. Bowles. O TWEED! a stranger that, with wand'ring feet,

O’er hill and dale bas journey'd many a mile;

If so his weary thoughts he might beguile, Delighted turns thy beauteous scenes to greet.

The waving branches that romantic bend

O'er thy tall banks, a soothing charm bestow;

The murmur of thy wand'ring wave below, Seems to his ear the pity of a friend.

Delightful stream! though now along thy shore,

When Spring returns in all her wonted pride, The shepherd's distant pipe is heard no more,

Yet here with pensive peace could I abide: Far from the stormy world's tumultuous roar,

To muse upon thy banks at even tide.

VIRTUE'S REPLY TO PLEASURE.

SPENCE, 'Tis with the gods and godlike men I dwell,

Me, his supreme delight, th’ Almighty sire, Regards well pleas'd; whatever works excel,

All or divine, or human, I inspire.

Counsel with strength, and industry with art,

In union meet, conjoin'd with me reside; My dictates arm, instruct, and mend the heart,

The surest policy, the wisest guide. With ine true friendship dwells: she deigns to bind Those generous souls alone, whom I before have join'd.

Nor need my friends the various costly feast,

Hunger to them th’ effects of art supplies; Labour prepares their weary limbs to rest,

Sweet is their sleep: light, cheerful, strong they rise.

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Thro' health, thro' joy, thro' pleasure and renown,

They tread my paths: and, by a soft descent, At length to age all gently sinking down,

Look back with transport on a life well spent. In which no hour flew unimprov'd away, In which some generous deed distinguish'd every day.

And when, the destin'd term at length complete,

Their ashes rest in peace; eternal fame Sounds wide their praise : triumphant over fate,

In sacred song for ever lives their name.

This Hercules is happiness! obey

My voice, and live. Let thy celestial birth List and enlarge tby thoughts. Behold the way

That leads to fame, and raises thee from earth, Immortal! lo, I guide thy steps. Arise, Pursue the glorious path, and claim thy native skies.

HYMN TO CONTENT.

BY MRS. BARBAULD.
Otrou, the Nympha with placid eye!
O seldom found, yet ever nigh!

Receive my temperate vow:
Not all the storms that shake the pole
Can e'er disturb thy halcyon soul,

And smooth, unalter'd brow.

. O come, in simplest vest array'd,
With all thy sober cheer display'd,

To bless my longing sight;
Thy mien compos'd, thy even pace,
Thy meek regard, thy matron grace,

And chaste subdued delight,

No more by varying passions beat,
O gently guide my pilgrim feet

To find thy hermit cell;
Where in some pure and equal sky,
Beneath thy soft indulgent eye,

Thy modest virtues dwell.

Simplicity in Attic vest,
And Innocence with candid breast,

And clear undaunted eye;
And Hope, who points to distant years,
Fair op'ning through this vale of tears

A vista to the sky.

There Health, through whose calm bosom glide
The temp’rate joys in even tide,

That rarely ebb or flow;
And Patience there, thy sister meek,
Presents her mild unvarying cheek

To meet the offer'd blow.

Her influence taught the Phrygian sage
A tyrant master's wanton rage

With settled smiles to meet;
Inur'd to toil and bitter bread,
He bow'd his meek submitted head,

And kiss'd thy sainted feet,

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