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 cannons 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.'

Pendulus in summi Gulielmus vertice mali

Hinc agitabatur fluctibus, inde, maris;
Protinus, ut vocem bene notam audivit, ad infra
Præmisit gemitum, nec piger ipse sequi:
Vixque manu tangens funes, et præpete labens
Descensu, alati fulguris instar, adest.

Sic alto in cœlo tremulis se librat ut alis,
Si socia accipiat forsan alauda sonos,
Devolat extemplo; clausisque ad pectora pennis,
In care nidum præcipitatur avis.
Basia, quæ Susanna suo permisit amanti,
Navarcha optarit maximus esse sua.

'Suave meum, et vitâ Susanna O carior ipsâ,
Sunt mea, quæ vovi, sunt tibi vota rata;
Pendentem ex 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 noli O! 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 gemitus, 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

don'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:

EPITAPHIUM 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,
Quae dubios regerent passus, vestigia tuta
Fixit inoffenso gressu; gelidumque sedile
In nudo nactus saxo, quá 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 interea jacui sopitus herile

Vel mediis vigil in somnis; ad herilia jussa

Auresque atque animum arrectus, seu frustula amicè
Porrexit sociasque dapes, seu longa dici

Tædia 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 ingratæ, munuscula dextræ;

Carmine signavitque brevi, dominumque canemque
Quod memoret, fidumque 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
Of 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 heart and ear
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:

FANATICUS.

CONSCENDIT primum tremulus cum pulpita frater,
Stat tacitus, multumque screans, ut vocis apertum
Pandat iter, geminas, positis prope dactylothecis,
Ad cœlum 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 leni nutantes 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 :

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 protervus;
Distento hos inter corpore caupo sedet.

Nec vix illuxit, quin hinc agitamur et illinc,

Aspera qua ducit, qua salebrosa via.

Altera tussit anus, rixatur et altera; jurat

Miles, poykále 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;

Phœbe Ornatrix,' Hobsoni Lex,' Conspicillum,' and others. Here is something in the Anacreontic measure:

O qui meæ culinæ
Argutulus choraules,
Et hospes es canorus,
Quacunque commoreris,
Felicitatis omen;
Jucundiore cantu
Siquando me salutes,
Et ipse te rependam,
Et ipse, quà valebo,
Remunerabo musa.

Diceris innocensque
Et gratus inquilinus;
Nec victitans rapinis,
Ut sorices voraces,
Muresve curiosi,
Furumque delicatum
Vulgus domesticorum,
Sed tutus in camini
Recessibus, quiete
Contentus et calore.

A D GRILLUM.

Beatior cicadâ,

Quæ te referre formâ,
Quæ voce te videtur;
Et saltitans per herbas,
Unius, haud secundæ,
Estatis est chorista;
Tu carmen integratum
Reponis ad Decembrem,
Lætus per universum
Incontinenter annum.

Te nulla lux relinquit,
Te nulla nox revisit,
Non musicæ vacantem,
Curisve non solutum :
Quin amplies canendo,
Quin amplies fruendo,
Etatulam, vel omni,
Quam nos homunciones
Absumimus querendo,
Etate longiorem.

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

6

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