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ΔΕΥΤΕΡΟΝ, ὁ Βροῦτος ἦλθε τῆς Ξάνθου κρατῶν·
ὁ δ ̓, ἐπεὶ τάχιστά γ' εἰσέδυ τείχη στράτος,
' Vid. Herod. Lib. 1. §. 176. et ibi Wess.-item, Plutarch. in Vit. Brut. p. 998. Ed. Xyland.
κορυθαίολον δ ̓ ἄστυ πῶλον ἤλασε,
πόθῳ συθεὶς αἴθουσαν ἐκσῶσαι πόλιν.
ἰδὼν δ ̓ ἀγυιὰς κἀγορὰν ἀστῶν κένας,
μέλαθρα τ' ἔρημα τῶν ἐνοικούντων, “ Μάτην
τῶν οὐκέτ ̓ ὄντων,” εἶπεν, “ εἵλομεν πάτραν.
66 Μεγάλη πόλις μὲν, ἡ πόλις δ' Ερημία.”
FERVENTE quondam sole, lampadem magna
Ferendam in urbe cogitavit Esopus.
Ergo profectus in vias tulit tædam;
Deumque templa, porticus, domos lustrans,
Haud aliter agmen ambulantium curat,
Quam si per agros carperet viam solus.
Verna obviam se fert, manuque correpta ;-
"Nollem accidisset tibi severior casus-
"Fac, quod petis, mî cognitum-satis credo
"Posse reperiri." At ille; "Des: virum quæro."
E. H. MALTBY,
AUL. PEMB. SCHOL.
PRÆMIO PORSONIANO QUOTANNIS PROPOSITO DIGNATI,
SHAKSPEARE, HENRY VIII. Act 3. Sc. 2.
CROMWELL, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me
Out of thy honest truth to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And,-when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of,-say, I taught thee,
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor,—
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ;
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition;
By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then,
(Though th' image of his Maker) hope to win by't?
Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee;
Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
Το silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not.
Let all the ends thou aim'st at, be thy Country's,
Thy God's, and Truth's; then if thou fall'st, Ο Cromwell,
Thou fall'st a_blessed Martyr. Serve the King;
And,-Pr'ythee, lead me in:
There take an inventory of all I have;
Το the last penny 'tis the King's: my robe,
And my integrity to Heaven, is all
I dare now call my own. Ο Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal
I serv'd my King, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies!
ΚΡΟΜΤΕΛΑ ̓, ἐγὼ μὲν οὐκ ἔφην ἀπ ̓ ὀμμάτων
δάκρυα βαλεῖν ποτ', οὐδ ̓ ἐν ἐσχάτῳ κακοῦ·
τὸ σὸν δ ̓ ἀληθές μ', οἵ τε γενναῖοι λόγοι,
νίκησαν, ὥστε πρὸς γυναικεῖον τρέπειν.
νῦν οὖν τὰ δάκρυ ̓ ἐξομόρξωμεν· σὺ δὲ,
Κρομύελλε φίλτατ', ἐς τόσονδ ̓ ἄκουέ μου
ὅταν δὲ λήθης, ὥστε τεύξομαι, τύχω,
κρυφθῶ δ' ἐν ὑγροῖς * ἠδ ̓ ἀναισθήτοις λίθοις,
ἵν ̓ οὐ λόγος τις, οὐδ ̓ ἐμοῦ μνήμη ποτὲ
ἔσται τολοιπόν· δή τότ' ἐν φίλοις λόγους
τοίουσδε λέξεις· Ταῦτ ̓ ἐμοὶ παρήνεσε
Βολσεῖος, αὐτὸς πολυπλάνου τιμῆς ποτὲ
ὁδοὺς ἐπελθων, τό, τε κλέους δυσχείμερον
κῦμ ̓ ἐκπεράσας, κἀξερευνήσας μυχούς
ὃς, αὐτὸς αὑτῷ γαῖαν οὐχ εύρων, ὅμως
τοῖς οἷς πάροιθε συμβαλών ναυαγίοις,
ἔμοιγ' ἔδειξεν ἀσφαλῆ τύχης ὁδόν.—
καὶ τοῦδε πρῶτον συμφορὰν, δι ̓ ὧν τ' ἔφυ,
σκοπεῖν λέγω, στυγεῖν δὲ φιλοτίμους τρόπους
εὗτοι γὰρ, οὐδὲν ἄλλο, δαιμόνας θρόνων
τοὺς πρόσθεν ἐξέστησαν, οὐρανοῦ γένος·
πῶς οὖν ποτ ̓ ἄνθρωπός γε, καὶ Θεοῦ περ ὧν
εἴκασμα, τῶνδ ̓ ὄναιτ ̓ ἄν ; ὕστερον δ ̓ ἀεὶ
τίμα φίλων σεαυτόν· ἦν δ ̓ ἐχθρός τις ᾖ,
ἐσθλοῖσιν ἀντάμειψον· οὐ γὰρ ἀργυρος
φίλους ποιήσει τῆς ἀληθείας πλέον.
ἀεὶ δὲ χειρὶ πρόσφες ̓ ἡσύχους τρόπους,
ὅπως ἀλύξεις τὸν κακόγλωσσον φθόνον.
δεινῶν δὲ μηδὲν ἐντρέπου, δίκαιος ὤν.
ὅσ ̓ ἂν ποιῆς δὲ, πάνθ' ὑπὲρ πάτρας ποίει,
Θεοῦ τ', ἀληθοῦς τ'· ἦν δ ̓ ἄρ ̓ ἐκ τούτων πέσης,
Θεῷ τ ̓ ἀρεστὸς καὶ βροτοῖς ἁγνὸς θανεῖ.
βασιλεῖ δ ̓ ἄμυνον.—νῦν δέ μ' εἰς δόμους ἄγε
καὶ τήνδε δέλτον χειρὸς ἐξ ἐμῆς λάβε
ἔχει δὲ τἀμὰ χρήματ' ἐγγεγραμμένα
βασιλεῖ δ ̓ ἐγὼ ταῦθ', οὗπερ ἐξεδεξάμην,
εἰς τοὐλάχιστον, ἐπιγράφω. μόνον δέ
πάρεστιν ἱεροῦ τοῦδε περιβολὴ πέπλου,
ἥ τ' εὐσεβὴς φρήν τἄλλα δ ̓ οὐκ ἔτ ̓ ἔστι μοι.
φεῦ. Κρομύελλε φίλτατ', εἰ γὰρ, ἣν ἐμῷ χάριν
βασιλεῖ ποτ' εἶχον, τήνδε καὶ σμικρὸν μέρος
Θεῷ προσεθέμην· οὐ γὰρ ἐν γήρᾳ ποτ ̓ ἂν
γυμνόν μ' ἀφῆκε τοῖς ἐμοῖς ἐναντίοις.
GUL. SIDNEY WALKER,
TRIN. COLL. SCHOL
THE ENIGMA, by Lord Byron.
'TwAs whisper'd in Heaven, and mutter'd in Hell,
And Echo caught softly the words as they fell:
In the confines of Earth 'twas permitted to rest,
And the depths of the ocean its presence confess'd.
It was seen in the lightning, and heard in the thunder;
"Twill be found in the spheres when all riven asunder:
It was given to man with his earliest breath,
It assists at his birth, and attends him in death;
Presides o'er his happiness, honor, and health,
Is the prop of his house, and the end of his wealth;
It begins every hope, every wish it must bound;
And tho' unassuming, with Monarchs is crown'd.
In the heaps of the miser 'tis hoarded with care,
But is sure to be lost in the prodigal heir.
Without it the soldier and sailor may roam ;
But woe to the wretch that expels it from home.
In the whispers of conscience its voice will be found,
Nor e'er in the whirlwind of passion be drown'd:
It softens the heart, and tho' deaf be the ear,
It will make it acutely and instantly hear.
But in shades let it rest, like an elegant flower-
Oh! breathe on it softly-it dies in an hour!
Letter by Doctor Johnson, not published in
"Archæological Dictionary; or, Classical Antiquities of
the Jews, Greeks, and Romans," a very valuable work, written by
the Rev. T. Wilson, late Master of the Free Grammar School, at
Clitheroe, in Lancashire, was originally dedicated to the celebrated
Doctor Johnson. The dedication was drawn up in the form of an
epistle, and being forwarded to him with a copy of the volume, the
following is the reply which was sent by that Colossus of English
literature. It was printed in the second edition of the dictionary:
and having, through the negligence of the booksellers, lost its place
in the subsequent ones, it is to this that we attribute its never
having been noticed by the editors of Johnson's Works.
Letter by Dr. Johnson to the Rev. T. Wilson.
That I have so long omitted to return you thanks for the honor conferred upon me by your dedication, I entreat you, with great earnestness, not to consider as more faulty than it is. A very impor tunate and oppressive disorder has, for some time, debarred me from the pleasures, and obstructed me in the duties of life. The esteem and kindness of wise and good men is one of the last pleasures which I can be content to lose; and gratitude to those from whom this