CXXX

IT VER ET VENUS

Inter narcissos inter graciles anemonas
ver ubi subridens valle iugoque venit,
Luciferum primumque diem cantate, sodales,
quique color violis est oculisque Chloes.
cum foliis redimita venit maturior aestas,
hortorumque frequens incola garrit avis,
libatum nullis apibus mel dicite cantu,

quique rosis color est, labraque rubra Chloes.
cum frondes rediens Autumno dissipat Auster,
plaustrorumque rotas messis opima gravat,
tibia laetorum resonet clamorque virorum

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?
That marble door

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 ?
No gold, no gains

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
What wondrous world was near,

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
Thy whole mind, and thy heart be lost in joy.
Well-doing bringeth pride, this constant thought
Humility, that thy best done is nought.

Man doeth nothing well, be it great or small,
Save to praise God: but that hath savèd all:
For God requires no more than thou hast done,
And takes thy work to bless it for his own.

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
tu cole; solve mera pectora laetitia.
deicieris humi, bene si fecisse iuvabit,

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 thirst for early news,
My growing apathy to rhymes,

My growing love of easy shoes,
My growing hate of crowds and noise,
My growing fear of taking cold:
All whisper, in the plainest voice,---
I'm growing old.

I'm growing fonder of my staff,
I'm growing dimmer in the eyes,
I'm growing fainter in my laugh,
I'm growing deeper in my sighs,
I'm growing careless of my dress,
I'm growing frugal of my gold,
I'm growing wise, I'm growing,—yes!
I'm growing old.

I see it in my changing taste,
I see it in my changing hair,

I see it in my growing waist,
I see it in my growing heir;
A thousand signs proclaim the truth,
As plain as truth was ever told,
That, even in my vaunted youth,
I'm growing old.

John Godfrey Saxe.

CXXXIV

NON SUM QUALIS ERAM

Gaudia nota dies vel adhuc sectantur euntes,
nocte levis placida repit in ossa sopor.
nil crescente monet tabescere membra veterno;
causa mihi fletus, causa doloris abest.
laedere cum nequeant, fugiunt qui laedere malint;
si quis amat, perstat, nec male friget amor.
at mihi nescio cur nuper suspiria rumpunt,
et vox nescio quae, "Vare, senescis" ait.
maiorum recino laudes et facta parentum ;
acta mihi primo nosse diurna libet.

carmina pangebam: nunc mens aversa Camenis ;
deterius, qui me calceus urit, obest.

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.