Tuque memor! sortem ingenuo qui carmine narras
Functorum vitâ, temerè et sine honore jacentûm
Cum contemplari juvet, et, crescentibus umbris,
Nocte sepultorum solus peragrare recessus,

Audin'? ut hic sancto afflatu, tranquillior æther
Temperet effrænos animi quoscunque tumultus,
Dum tenue assurgens viridi de cespite murmur
Dat grata æternæ tandèm præsagia pacis.

H. H.

Thomas! because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed:-Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.

I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that He shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: and though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God: Whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another.

Job.

Tu, quia vidisti, credis-felicior ille

Cui non visa fidem vulnera nostra cient.

Esse Redemptorem agnosco, cunctisque daturum Jus, illo quotquot sint fuerintve die.

Et licèt absumar prorsùs, tellure repostus,

Vermibus, haud ullâ parte manente mei, Ipse meis, tamen ipse oculis, coramque videbo, Vestitusque iterùm carne, videbo Deum.

H H.

E

Lines suggested by Mr. Haydon's picture of Buonaparte, in the possession of Sir Robert Peel. Buonaparte is represented as standing at the edge of the rock at St. Helena, with his arms folded,-contemplating a white sail in the horizon. His back turned towards the spectator—the sun setting.

Tristis, iners, solusque abrupto in limite rupis,
Stat circumspiciens Exul, si fortè ratem quam
Unda vehat, reditûs spem, perfugiumque ferentem.
Circùm cuncta silent, non vox, non murmura ponti
Percepta, occiduas dum Sol se condit in undas.
Ah miser!-Ille diem referens vitamque resurget
Splendidior cras, mane novo-Tu sanguine fuso,
Criminibusque satur, solio detrusus ab alto,
Divulsusque tuis, velutì sub rupe Prometheus
Fixus inaccessâ, morbo vexatus et irâ
Conficiêre, miser! mortemque optabis acerbam.

H. H.

Puella febre hecticâ consumpta.

Quænam illa insomni vultu suspiria ducens,
Sternitur incompto lassa puella toro?
Quam pictas suffusa genas, oculosque nitentes,
Quam labia insolito plena rubore tument!
Qualis in ore color, quam non conscripta per artus,
It flamma, ut molli subrubet ulna rosa!
Non tale erubuit, juveni cum adstaret amato,
Cynthia lapsa polo, non Venus orta mari.
Virgo nimis formosa vale! quæ sufficit ignes
Vix tremulum accendens lampada febris alit.
Virgo brevi peritura vale! ne crede colori,

Mox raptum purpur fata rosasque legent.
Jamque adeò nitor ille oculi, decor iste labelli

Aufugit, impressumque osculum in ore riget.

H. H

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