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AINLY the heart is steeled

In Wisdom's armour : let her burn her books !
I look upon them as the soldier looks

Upon his cloven shield.

Virtue and Virtue's restHow have they perished ! Through my onward course Repentance dogs my footsteps: black Remorse

Is my familiar guest.

The glory and the glow
Of the world's loveliness have passed away ;
And Fate hath little to inflict to-day,

And nothing to bestow.

No matter! I will turn
To the straight path of Duty: I have wrought
At last my wayward spirit to be taught

What it hath yet to learn.
Labour shall be


lot: My kindred shall be joyful in my praise : And fame shall twine for me in after days

A wreath I covet not.


The Fatal Dilemma.

WE mourrai de trop de plaisir,

Si je la trouve favorable :
Je mourrai de trop de désir,

Si je la trouve inexorable.
Ainsi je ne sçaurai guérir

De la douleur qui me possède :
Je suis assuré de périr

Par le mal ou par le remède.


Retrorsum Vela dare.

ANUM pectoribus dat Sapientia
Munimen: crepitent igne volumina
Qvotqvot sunt: ita fractum

Bellator clipeum videt.
Virtutem sociamqve ut male perdidi
Pacem! Qvidqvid ago, passibus additur
Custos Poena, nec aegrum

Maeror deserit hospitem.
Vitae spes periit credula, palluit
Qvae lux risit heri; iam minus in dies
Parcis qvod mihi demant,

Quod donent superest nihil.
Esto: restat adhuc tramite progredi
Recto Pythagorae: scilicet imbui
Mentem saepe rebellem

Neglectis prius artibus, Clarisqve invigilans usqve laboribus Genti nomen ero : sic mihi postera Nectet Fama perennes

Ultro prodiga laureas.

T. M.

Quocumque aspicio, Mors est.

AETITIA moriar, si faverit Aelia votis,

Tristitia, nostras spreverit illa preces. Me miserum ! neutra sanari parte licebit ;

Sive venit morbus sive medela, necat.


The Noble Maiden.

JIS a happy omen.

Rise, blest one, and speak boldly. On my virtue

I am thy warrant, from so clear a spring
Sweet rivers ever flow.

Then thus to you,
My noble father, and these lords, to whom
I next owe duty: no respect forgotten
To you, my brother, and these bold young men,
For such would I have them, that are, or should be,
The city's sword and target of defence ;
To all of you I speak; and, if a blush
Steal on my cheeks, it is shown to reprove
Your paleness, willingly I would not say
Your cowardice or fear. Think


all treasure
Hid in the bowels of the earth, or shipwrecked
In Neptune's watery kingdom, can hold weight,
When Liberty and Honour fill one scale,
Triumphant Justice sitting on the beam ?


The Wave of Life.

UDDY Wave, whither hastest thou

With tumultuous eagerness,

Like a thief from his capturers ?
66 Man's Life- e-wave thou beholdest :
Foul with mire from my narrow banks,
Sick of Time's petty struggles, I
Speed to plunge and be pure in the
Boundless laver of Ocean.”

8. A. (from TIEDGE).

Γύναι, κατ' άνδρα σώφρον' ευφρόνως λέγεις.
Γ 'Εδεξάμην τον όρνιν· αλλ' ανίστασο,

γύναι μάκαιρα, κάξελευθεροστόμει.
αρετήν γάρ όμνυμ', ώδε καλλιπαρθένου

πηγής γλυκείαι πλείστον αι διαρροαί.
κ. σε τοίνυν, ώ γενναίε, προσφωνώ, πάτερ,

υμάς τ', άνακτες, οίσι δευτέραν νέμειν
μοίραν προσήκει, σου, κασίγνητον κάρα,
επιστραφείσα τώνδε τ' ευθαρσών νέων,
πλείστον γαρ ευθαρσoιεν, οι πολίσματα
τούτω ξίφος τε και φερέγγυον σάκος
ήτοι πάρεισιν ή παρεστάναι χρεών
άπασι δ' ούν λέξαιμ' άν. ει δ' αιδούς βαφή
υπηλθ' εμην παρηΐδ', ουδέν άλλο πλην
χλωροίσιν υμών μέμφεται τοις όμμασι,
φάναι γαρ οκνώ, τώ κακoσπλάγχνω φόβω.
όσος κέκρυπται χρυσός εν χθονός μυχούς,
όσου τε ποντισθέντος εκ ναυαγίων
κρατεί Ποσειδών, τόνδε που θέσθαι πρέπον
οπότε τάλαντον θάτερον καταρρέπει
τούλεύθερόν τ' αιδώς τε, τα ζυγω τ' έπι
η καλλίνικος εγκαθίδρυται Δίκη και

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Sir Hudibras.

E grant, although he had much wit,

H' was very shy of using it,

As being loth to wear it out,
And therefore bore it not about,
Unless on holiday or so,
As men their best apparel do.
Besides 'tis known he could speak Greek
As naturally as pigs squeak,
That Latin was no more difficile
Than to a blackbird 'tis to whistle.
Being rich in both, he never scanted
His bounty unto such as wanted ;
But much of either would afford
To many that had not one word.


Prima Facie Wit.

OU ask why Ned diverts us with his jokes,

Yet, if he write, is dull as other folks.
Why wonder at it? This, sir, is the case :
The jest is lost unless he print his face.


To a Lancashire Witch with a White Rose.

F this pale rose offend your sight,

It in your bosom wear : 'Twill blush to find itself less white,

And turn Lancastrian there.

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