TO SARA. THE stream with languid murmur creeps Slow waving to the gale. "Cease, restless gale," it seems to say, "Nor wake me with thy sighing: The honours of my vernal day On rapid wings are flying. "To-morrow shall the traveller come, With eager gaze and wetted cheek But I along the breeze will roll The voice of feeble power, And dwell, the moon-beam of thy soul, In slumber's nightly hour. 1794. TO JOSEPH COTTLE. UNBOASTFUL Bard! whose verse concise, yet clear, May your fame fadeless live, as never-sere Is rich with tints heaven-borrow'd ;-the charm'd eye Circling the base of the poetic mount, A stream there is, which rolls in lazy flow A mead of mildest charm delays th' unlabouring feet. Not there the cloud-climb'd rock, sublime and vast, That, like some giant king, o'er-glooms the hill; Nor there the pine-grove to the midnight blast Makes solemn music! but th' unceasing rill To the soft wren or lark's descending trill, Murmurs sweet undersong mid jasmine bowers. In this same pleasant meadow, at your will, I ween, you wander'd-there collecting flowers Of sober tint, and herbs of med'cinable powers! There for the monarch-murder'd soldier's tomb You wove th' unfinish'd wreath of saddest hues; And to that holier chaplet added bloom, Besprinkling it with Jordan's cleansing dews. But lo! your Henderson awakes the MuseHis spirit beckon'd from the mountain's height ! You left the plain, and soar'd mid richer views. So Nature mourn'd, when sank the first day's light, With stars, unseen before, spangling her robe of night! Still soar, my friend! those richer views among, Or autumn's shrill gust moan in plaintive sound, CASIMIR. If we except Lucretius and Statius, I know no Latin poet, ancient or modern, who has equalled Casimir in boldness of conception, opulence of fancy, or beauty of versification. The Odes of this illustrious Jesuit were translated into English about 150 years ago, by a G. Hils, I think.* I never saw the translation. A few of the Odes have been translated in a very animated manner by Watts. I have sub The Odes of Casimire translated by G. H. [G. Hils.] London, 1646. 12mo. Ed. joined the third Ode of the second Book, which, with the exception of the first line, is an effusion of exquisite elegance. In the imitation attempted, I am sensible that I have destroyed the effect of suddenness, by translating into two stanzas what is one in the original. 1796. AD LYRAM. SONORA buxi filia sutilis, Te sibilantis lenior halitus Eheu! serenum quæ nebulæ tegunt IMITATION. THE solemn-breathing air is ended- Had Casimir any better authority for this quantity than Tertullian's line, Immemor ille Dei temere committere tale-? In the classic poets the last syllable is, I believe, uniformly cut off. Ed. On thy wires, hov'ring, dying, In the forest hollow-roaring, Hark! I hear a deep'ning sound— Parent of the soothing measure, DARWINIANA. THE HOUR WHEN WE SHALL MEET AGAIN. (COMPOSED DURING ILLNESS AND IN ABSENCE.) DIM Hour! that sleep'st on pillowing clouds afar, Bend o'er the traces, blame each lingering dove, |