CXXX IT VER ET VENUS Inter narcissos inter graciles anemonas quique rosis color est, labraque rubra Chloes. laetaque messoris carmina, voxque Chloes. ut tamen horrescit nimbis et grandine bruma, et stridente calens angulus igne rubet, seiunctos longe primum cantemus amicos, tum reditus dulces, cordaque fida Chloes. E. D. S. CXXXI FELICES ERRORE SUO QUOS ILLE TIMORUM MAXIMUS HAUD URGET LETI METUS Antiquis expressa typis Mors stabat hiantem ad tumulum: iuvenis pallebat adversam tuens. adspicit, et monstrum deforme quod ossibus exstet grandibus, ille rogat dilectus ante omnes puer. Mors, inquam: lucent penitus mirantis ocelli ; ceu levis hinnuleus, ver omne qui spirat tacens, tam silvestre decus septem collegerat annis, sustulit os roseum, et “quid vult sibi ista Mors?" ait. 02 CXXXII THE FUTURE What may we take into the vast Forever? Admits no fruit of all our long endeavour, No fame-wreathed crown we wore, No garnered lore. What can we bear beyond the unknown portal ? Of all our toiling: in the life immortal No hoarded wealth remains, Nor gilds, nor stains. Naked from out that far abyss behind us We entered here: No word came with our coming, to remind us No hope, no fear. Into the silent, starless Night before us, Naked we glide: No hand has mapped the constellations o'er us, No comrade at our side, No chart, no guide. Yet fearless toward that midnight, black and hollow, Our footsteps fare: The beckoning of a Father's hand we follow His love alone is there, No curse, no care. CXXXIII LAUS DEO E. R. Sill. Let praise devote thy work, and skill employ Man doeth nothing well, be it great or small, R. Bridges. CXXXII NON OMNIS MORIAR Quid sempiternam-quo meamus-in domum auferre nobiscum licet? non praemium istas irriti conaminis adamantinas intrat fores. non impedivit fama qua lauru comas doctrina non recondita. fructus laborum, Tulle, thesauros nefas transire Cocyti vada. aevum quod immortale degendumst tibi ignorat aggestas opes. abest quod aut fulgore praestringat suo aut polluat robigine. barathrum quod ultra terminos mundi patet immane, nudi liquimus. nec vox satelles praemonebat advenas, quid immineret hic novi, vel quanta natos cingerent miracula, nec spes nec adstabat pavor. carentis astro Noctis in silentium ut ante nudi labimur, nec sidus alto dextra descripsit polo; deest charta, dux, comes viae. atqui Parentis dextra praemonstrans iter tenebricosum fortibus, curis fugatis prosequente dissipat amore Dirarum minas. F. St. J. T. CXXXIII LAUS DEO Laus tibi sacret opus; perfectam sedulus artem optima dum reputas facta valere nihil. nil, homo, quicquid agis, factum bene et ipse fateris, ni laudare Deum; sed tamen inde salus. sat tibi erit fecisse; Deus non plura requirit, quod facis, ipse libens signat, habetque suum. CXXXIV I'M GROWING OLD My days pass pleasantly away, My nights are blest with sweetest sleep; I feel no symptoms of decay, I have no cause to mourn nor weep; My foes are impotent and shy, My friends are neither false nor cold: And yet, of late, I often sigh— "I'm growing old." My growing talk of olden times, My growing love of easy shoes, I'm growing fonder of my staff, I see it in my changing taste, I see it in my growing waist, John Godfrey Saxe. CXXXIV NON SUM QUALIS ERAM Gaudia nota dies vel adhuc sectantur euntes, carmina pangebam: nunc mens aversa Camenis ; detestor coetusque virum strepitusque viarum, incutit et plures tussis anhela metus. certa quidem vox est, quamquam vix mussat in aurem, certa quidem mihi vox “Vare senescis," ait. incedo quotiens, baculi mihi dulcior usus: et natat ante oculos crebrior umbra meos. risus in ore nitet iam rarior: altior imo pectore abit gemitus flebiliusque sonat. cura minor, quali sim conspiciendus amictu; parcior inclusas arca tuetur opes. ut crescunt anni, crescit prudentia, meque vellicat, et plane, "Vare, senescis," ait. omnia mutantur: cani subiere capilli : et mihi quae quondam displicuere, placent. admoneor, pingui nimium distentus omaso, quodque meos heres grandior optat agros. mille quidem me signa monent, nec planius unquam fluxit Apollineis nenia certa labris: praesentem iacto; ridet fugitiva Iuventas, et mihi, "Vare, fui; Vare senescis," ait. |