Long, long may this stern praise Thine honour lift,
A faculty for woes1 and innate gift.

Fierce knife, from which experience sharp He borrowWi,
While the Child hastes to grow the Man of Sorrows;
Fierce knife, 'neath which Thou draw'st Thy gollen
breath,

Advancing as 'twere 'neath the rod of Death. R. WT.

VIRGO.

Ne, pia, ne nimium, Virgo, permitte querelis:

Haud volet, hand poterit natus abesse di L.
Nam quid eum teneat? vel quae magis ostala vent?
Vestri illum indigenam quid vetet ene ein „s!
Quippe illis quae labra genis magis apta putentur!
Quaeve per id collum dignior ire man is l
His sibi quid speret puer ambitiosius ulmo,

Quove sub amplexu dulcius esse queat !
O quae tam teneram sibi vitis amor vim in
Implicet, alternis nexibus immoriens }
Cui circum subitis eat impatientior ulans?

Aut quae tam nimiis vultibus ora notet !
Quae tam prompta puer toties super oscula surgai. Į
Qua signet gemma nobiliore genam!

Illa ubi tam vernis adolescat mitius auris,

Tamve sub apricis pendeat uva jugia?

1 Cf. Wordsworth's A faculty for storms' ("Happy Warrior'). G.

ine rerum!

Euge tibi trux! euge mihi mitissime rerum!

Euge Leo mitis! trux sed et Agne tamen! Macte, puer, macte hoc tam durae laudis honore ! Macte, o paenarum hac indole et ingenio! Ah ferus, ah culter, sub quo, tam docte dolorum, In tristem properas sic, puer, ire virum. Ah ferus, ah culter, sub quo, puer auree, crescis, Mortis proficiens hac quasi sub ferula.

TRANSLATION.

THE CIRCUMCISION OF CHRIST.

Ah, fierce, fierce knife, which such sweet lilies first Into such cruel roses made to burst;

Which first this ivory pure with purple stain'd,

And in the white a deeper dye engrain'd.
Whatever stream hereafter hence shall flow,
Out of this purple fountain-head shall grow.
Now first this tender Child Death's talons knows,
The Fates and Fury now hurl their first blows.
See now His blood begins to pour; and see
Scarce blood enough to pour there seems to be.
Scarce wise to broach the new wine from the wood,
And 'gainst those young limbs call the Furies rude.
Wanton, e'en now He girds on woes too much,
And arms not to be tried by such soft touch :
Wanton, He dares at gentle deaths to play,
And for His age to die, as a child may :

its tendrem ar uni

tual i 11- elen dying found?
f

lin mms more eager go?

Who in this face sal yearning glances throw?

Where 'mid such quick-rain'd kisses could He wake?
Whence His prest cheek a nobler ruby take!
Where could that grape ripen in airs more mild,
Or hang 'neath hills where suns so sweetly smil'd?
Where could such grateful languor o'er Him creep,
Or what more soothing murmur lull to sleep?
Where could He reign in nook so chaste, so dear,
As in this Mother's, Virgin's bosom here?
Could He fly hence, and such blest joys decline,
And could He help hastening to breast of thine?
This balmy bosom's heritage not share,

Of such delights so easily made heir?
Nay, Lady, nay; thy loud complainings stay;
Be cheer'd: this is no Love that flies away.

R. WI.

APOCALYPSE x11. 7.

Arma, viri! aetheriam quocunque sub ordine pubern Siderei proceres ducitis; arma, viri!

Quaeque suis, nec queis solita est, stet dextra sagittin Stet gladii saeva luce corusca sui.

Totus adest, totisque movet se major in iris,

Fertque Draco, quicquid vel Draco ferre potest, Quas secum facies, imae mala pignora noctia; Quot secum nigros ducit in arma deva,

Jam prignas parat, heu saevus! jam pat, et win, Vix potni 'Pagnat' dicere, jam cezadık.