DE VITA INCERTA (ANTHOLOGIA Græca)

ORIGINAL GREEK (ANTHOLOGIa Græca)

LIFE (ANTHOLOGIA GRÆCA)

DE LINGUÆ HEBRÆE STUDIO

DYING CHILD TO ITS MOTHER

ESSAY ON JOB

HAGAR

EARLY RISING

EXCERPTA E FRAGMENTIS.

Now, hark! our merry village bells
Re-echo through the neighbouring dells,
And strike the soul with fondest thought
Of happier days those sounds have brought.
Associations sweet are theirs!

More hallowed by the lapse of years;
For rude indeed that heart must be
Which cannot feel their melody.

Sweet bells! that lull'd me when a child,
And cradled sleep so soft and mild,
I never can forget your sounds,
Though at the earth's remotest bounds.
Sweet village bells! I know not why,
you awake my sympathy.

But

(From the Author's "Scenes of Childhood.")

ODE TO MY NATIVE VALE.
SWEET vale! that nursed my early years,
How oft I think of thee with tears!
With thee to rove once more I seem,
And stroll beside the Avon's stream,
Or bathe my limbs in peace alone-
Refreshing as in days bygone.
Or sit and fish, with grains for bait,
Near some silent favourite ait,

Where roach and bream are always wont
The hollow banks to make their haunt.
Or bob for chub with humble-bee,
Near some old umbrageous tree;
With wistful eye and anxious look
There dodge about the baited hook.
O happy days! when mornings gay
Shone nought but blessings on the day,
Nor heart possessed one single sigh,
Or thought of sorrow wafted nigh;
Nor life
to me as yet unknown
With treacherous smile or bitter frown,
Did ever damp my placid mind,
Or drop a word that was unkind.
'Twas then the lark did gaily rise,
And tuned aloft the cheerful skies,-
"Twas then the sun, whate'er might be,
Brightened scenes most dear to me.-
Scenes of boyhood, that combine
With nature's ties to make me thine!
Sweet vale! that nursed my early years,
How oft I think of thee with tears!

With thee my soul first dawn'd to good,
Bright guardian spirits round me stood,
And hallow'd in the ways of grace,
I moved along with even pace.
With thee did intellect expand,

And cull'd the flowers of classic land.
Old Greece and Rome to me were kind,

And polished up a willing mind.
With thee I roved-with them I thought,
And pictured scenes of bliss they brought,-
Of halcyon days, whose glories dart
A golden impress round the heart,
Nor told one pang of wounded care,
Or what the man is sure to share,