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Vulgares inter flammas meus emicat ignis,

Ut nusquam formâ nympha sit ulla pari:
Pluribus a pulchris, a mille et mille venustis,

Distinguunt vitsin gratia multa meam.
Suaviolum, quin fare, meum; quæ pascua malunt,

Aut ubi, sub medio sole, vagantur oves ?
Ad Tavæ errantes queram sinuosa fluenta?

Quæramve ad Tuedæ candidioris aquam?

SUSAN.

SWEET WILLIAM'S FAREWELL то BLACK-EYED

ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,

The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came on board;

"Oh! where shall I my true love find ?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,
Does my sweet William sai) among your crew?'
William, who high upon the yard,

Rock'd with the billows to and fro;
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,

He sighed, and cast his eyes below.
The cord glides swiftly through his glowing hands,
And, quick as lightning, on the deck he stands.
So the sweet lark, high pois'd in air,

Shuts close his pinions to his breast,
(If chance his mate's shrill note he hear)

And drops at once into her nest.
The noblest captain in the British fleet,
Might envy William's lips those kisses sweet.
"Oh Susan, Susan, lovely dear,

My vows shall ever true remain;
Let me kiss off that falling tear:

We only part to meet again.
Change as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee.

Believe not what the landsmen say,

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind;
They'll tell thee sailors when away

In every port a mistress find :
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,

For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.
If to far India's coast we sail,

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright:
Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale;

Thy skin is ivory so white :
Thus every beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in my soul some charms of lovely Sue.'
Though battle call me from thy arms,

Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
Though carbons roar, yet safe from harms

William shall to his dear return;
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.
The boatswain gave the dreadful word,

The sails their swelling bosom spread;
No longer must she stay aboard;

They kissed; she sighed; he hung his head.
Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land;
Adieu! she cries; and waved her lily hand.'

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Pendulus in summi Gulielmus vertice mali

Hinc agitabatur fluctibus, inde, maris;
Protinus, ut vocem bene notam audivit, ad infra

Premisit gemitum, nec piger ipse sequi:
Vixque manu tangens funes, et præpete labens

Descensu, alati fulguris instar, adest.

Sic alto in celo tremulis se librat ut alis,

Si sociæ accipiat forsan alauda sonos,
Devolat extemplo; clausisque ad pectora pennis,

In carae nidum præcipitatur avis.
Basia, quae Susanna suo permisit amanti,

Navarcha optarit maximus esse sua
"Suave meum, et vitâ Susanna O carior ipsa,

Sunt mea, quæ vovi, sunt tibi vota rata;
Pendentem ez oculo da gemmam exosculer illam:

Gratior ut reditu sit, Gulielmus abit.
Quo velit, inclinet ventus; te verget ad unam

Cor meum, ut ad Boream nautica vergit acus.
“Terrâ degentes vitam, tua pectora fida

Tentabunt dubio solicitare metu:
In quovis portu, sed polio! credere, dicent,

Nauta, quod accendat mobile pectus, habet.
Quin O! quin credas; quodcunque invisero littus,

Tu mihi, tu præsens ignis et ardor eris.
"Sive Indus gemmarum, eboris seu fertilis Afer,

Seu mihi visendus dives odoris Arabs:
Esse domi cunctas tecum reputabo relictas,

Quas ostentet Arabs, Afer, et Indus, opes.
Quodcunque egregium, pulchrum, vel dulce videbo,

Occurret quiddam, quod memorabo, Tui.
Nec, mea lux, doleas; patriæ si causa requirat,

Ut procul amplexu poscar ad arma tuo;
Qui tibi, bellorum qui fulmine tutus ab omni,

Post aliquot menses restituendus ero.
Ne dulces istos contristet fletus ocellos,

Mille avertendo tela, cavebit Amor.'.
Solvere naucleri jussit vox ferrea navem,

Vela tumescentes explicuere sinus:
Dixit uterque, vale ; et lacrymis simul oscula miscens,

Addidit hæc genitus, ille recline caput.
Invita et tarde ad terram Susanna recedit,

Et niveâ repetit, vive, valeque,' manu.

So remarkable is the transfusion of spirit in many of these pieces (and to effect this desirable end it must be confessed that genius and talent have in most cases arrived at a very unsatisfactory result) that what is merely the translation might sometimes be mistaken for the spirited original. Translations however, from the English to the Latin, admit of greater success than the reverse. The respectable scholar may approach to perfection in the one case, where the greatest poetical genius would utterly fail in the other. Since I saw you,' says Mr. Charles Lamb, in a letter to a friend, 'I have had a treat in the reading way which comes not every day: the Latin poems of Vincent Bourne, which were quite new to me. What a heart that man had, all laid out upon town scenes, a proper counterpart to some people's extravagancies. Why I mention him is, that your power of music reminded me of his poem of the ballad-singer in the Seven Dials. Do you remember his epigram on the Old Woman who taught Newton the A. B. C., whieh after all, he says, he hesitates not to call Newton's Principia ? I was lately fatiguing myself by going over a volume of fine words by — excellent words; and if the heart could live by words alone, it could desire no better regale: but what an aching vacuum of matter! I

do n't stick at the madness of it, for that is only in consequence of shutting his eyes, and thinking he is in the age of the old Elizabethan poets. From them I turned to Vincent Bourne; what a sweet, unpretending, pretty-mannered, matter-full creature! Sucking from every flower, making a flower of every thing. His diction all Latin, and his thoughts all English. Bless him! Latin was not good enough for him; why was he not content with the language which Gay and Prior wrote in? Well fare' proceeds that quaint original, well fare the soul of Vincent Bourne, most classical, and at the same time most English of the Latinists, who has treated of this human and quadrupedal alliance, this dog and man friendship in the sweetest of his poems; the Epitaphium in Canem, or Dog's Epitaph. Reader! peruse it, and say if customary sights, which could call up such gentle poetry as this, were of a nature to do more harm or good to the moral sense of the passengers through the daily thoroughfares of a vast and busy metropolis.'

Let us turn to the Epitaphium in Canem, so highly praised, and which Charles Lamb has himself rendered happily into English:

EPITA PHIUM IN CANEM
PAUPERIS hic Iri requiesco Lyciscus, herilis,
Dum vixi, tutela vigil columenque senectæ,
Dux cæco fidus: nec, me ducente, solebat,
Prætenso hinc atque hinc baculo, per iniqua locorum
Incertam explorare viam; sed fila secutus,
Quæ dubios regerent passus, vestigia tuta
Fixit inoffenso gressu; gelidumque sedile
In nudo nactus saxo, qua prætereuntium
Unda frequens confluxit, ibi miserisque tenebras
Lamentis, noctemque oculis ploravit obortam.
Ploravit nec frustra; obolum dedit alter et alter,
Queis corda et mentem indiderat natura benignam.
Ad latus interca jacui sopitus herile,
Vel mediis vigil in somnis; ad herilia jussa
Auresque atque animum arrectus, seu frustula amice
Porrexit sociasque dapes, seu longa diei
Txedia perpessus, reditum sub nocte parabat.
Hi mores, hæc vita fuit, dum fata sinebant,
Dum neque languebam morbis, nec inerte senectâ,
Quæ tandem obrepsit, veterique satellite cæcum
Orbavit dominum : prisci sed gratia facti
Ne tota intereat, longos deleta per annos,
Exiguum hunc Irus tumulum de cespite fecit,
Etsi inopis, non ingratar, munuscula dextræ ;
Carmine signavitquc brevi, dominumque canemque
Quod memoret, tidumque canem dominumque benignum.

EPITAPH ON A DOG.
Poor Irus, faithful wolf-dog, here I lie,
That wont to tend my old blind master's steps,
His guide and guard; nor while my service lasted
Had he occasion for that staff, with which
He now goes picking out his path in fear,
Over the highways and crossings; but would plant,
Safe in the conduct of my friendly string,
A firm foot forward still, till he had reached
His poor seat on some stone, nigh where the tide
Or passions lay in thickest confluence flood.
To whom with loud and passionate laments,
From morn to eve his dark estate he wail'd,
Nor wail'd to all in vain; some here and there,
The well disposed and good their pennies gave.
I meantime at his feet obsequous slept:
Not all asleep in sleep, but leart and car
Prick'd up at his least motion, to receive
At his kind hand some customary crumbs,
And common portion in his feast of scraps:
Or when night warn'd us homeward, tired and spent
With our long day and tedious beggary.

These were my manners, this my way of life,
Till age and slow disease me overtook,
And severed from my sightless master's side.
But lest the grace of so good deeds should die,
Through tract of years in mute oblivion lost,
This slender tomb of earth hath Irus reared,
Chief monument of no ungrudging hand,
And with short verse inscribed it, to attest,
In long and lasting union to attest,
The virtues of the beggar and the dog.

Strokes of humor are quite prevalent throughout the author's compositions. Take for example the following sketch, which might well apply to some stormy pulpit orator of our own time:

F A N ATICUS.

CONSCENDIT primum tremulus cum pulpita frater,
Stat tacitus, multumque screans, ut vocis apertum
Pandat iter, geminas, positis prope dactylothecis,
Ad cælum attollit palmas; tum lumina claudens
Dat gemitum, secumque diu submurmurat intus.
Vox tandem erumpit; deinde altera, et altera deinde;
Mox animos sensim revocans, residemque furorem,
Vim dictis paulatim addit; jam subsilit, et jam
Stans pede suspenso, tentat quid possit anheli
Pulmonis, laterumque labor; per tempora rivis
It salsus sudor; tandem fanatica surgit
Tempestas, totasque quatit clamoribus ædes.
Haud aliter lepi putantes flamine ramos
Insurgens agitat Boreas, tremulasque susurrat
Per froudes; mox buccam utramque animosior inflat,
Et validos quassat celso cum vertice truncos:
Post, ubi collectæ vires, majorque tumultus
Per totam auditur sylvam, ab radicibus imis
Sternit humi antiquas quercus, rapidamque procellam
Agglomerat, latâque implet nemus omne ruinâ.

The author's description of the company which he met in a stagecoach is quite worthy of Horace:

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In curru conduco locum, visurus amicum,

Millia qui decies distat ab urbe novem.
Impatiens auriga moræ nos urget, et, hora

Cum nondum sonuit tertia, jungit equos.
Vix experrectus, media inter somnia, surgo,

Per longum miserè discutiendus iter.
Ingredior, sedeo; cubitumque coarctor utrumque;

Atque duas pingues comprimor inter anus.
Cum matre e contra puer est, milesque proteryus;

Distento hos inter corpore caupo sedet.
Nec vix illuxit, quin hinc agitamur et illinc,

Aspera qua ducit, quà salebrosa via.
Altera tussit anus, rixatur et altera ; jurat

Miles, poy álei caupo, vomitque puer.
Dulce sodalitium! si sint hæc usque quadrigis
Commoda, maluerim longius ire pedes.

In the same playful vein are the pieces severally inscribed · Nulli te facias nimis Sodalem,' in which familiarity with cats is shown to be dangerous, and the moral of which is conveyed in the last two lines :

Quod tamen haud æquum est si vult cum fele jocari,
Felinum debet Lydia ferre jocum :

· Eques Academicus,' his description of the Cantab' sallying out for horseback exercise ; • Phæbe Ornatrix,' · Hobsoni Lex,'· Conspicillum,' and others. Here is something in the Anacreontic measure :

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We ought not to omit in describing the contents of the volume, some epitaphs very neatly done. Take for example the following:

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Here we must take leave of the productions of Vinny Bourne. Perhaps some critics might render them credit for what a great writer in one of his essays would term an "exquisite mimicry, an elaborate imitation of classical antiquity, a scrupulous purity, and a ceremonial cleanness which characterizes the diction of our academical Pharisees.' But whether there be mimicry or not, it is an art which renders itself inapparent; an art so elegantly veiled that it is but a second nature ; an enhancing of the bright original, a reflection softened from the image, an echo of a mellower harmony than the voice.

After the genius which originates, is the art which imitates, and it is hard to say from which we derive the most pleasure. The one requires an almost equal intellect to be its judge, for there is nothing wherewith to compare it; the other as it stands but little chance if inaccurate, so it is acknowledged with rapture if it be true. The one diverts our admiration from the work to its author, the other makes us forgetful of itself. There is a servile imitation which arrays with poor effect its ill-assorted shreds and patches, very different from the taste which selects, combines and arranges in a natural order the treasures not its own. Bourne

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