327. My resolution's firm, for all my shakings:

They are but starts which sometimes Nature makes,
As wolves kept tame may now and then,
Provok'd by appetite or some displeasure,
Start into action like their usual wildness
Before they were reduc'd to an obedience;
So 'tis with me: though I have brought my nature
Unto a tameness and submission, yet

At the unwelcome prospect that it takes

Of my intended dissolution,

It starts within me oft, and fain would break
Those severe fetters Virtue ties it up with.

328. Mislike me not for my complexion,

The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun,
To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred.
Bring me the fairest creature northern born,
Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles,
And let us make incision for your love,

To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine.
I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine
Hath fear'd the valiant; by my love, I swear
The best regarded virgins of our clime
Have lov'd it too: I would not change this hue
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.
329. Pallidi fauces Averni, vosque Tænarei specus,

Unda miseris grata Lethes, vosque torpentes lacus,
Impium rapite, atque mersum premite perpetuis
malis.

Nunc adeste, sæva ponti monstra, nunc vastum mare,

Ultimo quodcumque Proteus æquorum abscondit
sinu,

Meque ovantem scelere tanto rapite in altos gurgites.
Tuque semper, genitor, iræ facilis assensor meæ,

Segregem sparsi per agros; quique, dum falsum

nefas

Exsequor vindex severus, incidi in verum scelus. Sidera et Manes et undas scelere complevi meo. Amplius sors nulla restat; regna me norunt tria. 330. N. Le zéle est trop ardent, souffrez qu'il se modère. P. On n'en peut trop avoir pour le Dieu qu'on révère.

N. Vous trouverez la mort. P. Je cherche pour
lui.

N. Et si ce cœur s'ébranle? P. Il sera mon appui.
N. Il ne commande point que l'on s'y précipite.
P. Plus elle est volontaire, et plus elle mérite.
N. Il suffit, sans chercher, d'attendre et de souffrir.
P. On souffre avec regret quand on n'ose s'offrir.
N. Mais dans ce temple enfin la mort est assurée.
P. Mais dans le ciel déjà la palme est préparée.
N. Par une sainte vie il faut la mériter.

P. Mes crimes en vivant me la pourraient ôter.
331. Lord, who may sojourn in thy tabernacle?
Who may dwell upon thy holy mountain?
He who walketh uprightly, and worketh righteous-

ness,

And speaketh the truth from his heart;
Who slandereth not with his tongue;

Who doeth no evil to another,

Nor uttereth calumnies against his neighbour;

In whose eyes the vile person is contemned,

But who honoureth those that reverence Jehovah :
Who sweareth unto another, and changeth not,
Who giveth not his money upon usury,

Nor accepteth a bribe against the innocent.
He who doeth these things shall never be moved.

332. Whither shall I go from thy spirit?

Whither shall I flee from thy presence?

If I go up to Heaven, thou art there;

If I make my bed in the grave, lo, thou art there;

If I take the wings of the morning,

And dwell beyond the sea,

Even there doth thy hand lead me,
Yea, thy right hand holdeth me!

If I say, Surely the darkness will shroud me,
Then doth the night become day around me.
Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee,

But the night shineth as the day :

To thee the darkness and the light are both alike.

333. A. See, great Ulysses, a sad mother see,

That ne'er has kneel'd to any man but thee.
Let thy hard heart be melted with my tears;
Pity my sufferings, and receive my pray❜rs.
Gently, O gently all my sorrows ease:
Whate'er you grant the wretched, more will please
The Gods than all the pomp of sacrifice.
So may you safe return, and end your life
In chaste embraces of your faithful wife,
And may your dear Telemachus outvie
His grandsire's age, his father's policy,

As to me and mine shall ruthful prove.
you

U. Madam, produce the boy, and trust our love.

334. Midst of the palace in a deep recess

A sacred laurel grew, with reverence
For many years preserv'd; which on the spot,
'Twas said, when first Latinus built his walls,
He found, and did to Phoebus consecrate,
And hence the rising town Laurentum call'd.
A swarm of bees, sudden and marvellous,
Over the air with noisy murmur borne,
On this tree settled, and with linked feet
Hung in a cluster from the topmost bough.
A foreign chieftain comes, the prophet cried;

E

From the same quarter to the same I see

A host advance, and seize on yonder tower.

335. The youth who hates the rites of Mars hath nought

336.

To recommend him but his auburn locks

And blooming face: he is a thing devoid
Of all reality. Hast thou observ'd

The life of those who share the sumptuous board,
How 'tis delicious, how from all fatigues
Wealth can exempt them? But no laurel wreaths
To them belong, nor the renown obtain'd
By valour, if they dare not to attempt
Some perilous emprise; for toils beget
Heroic fame. But Greece conspires to brand
With foul reproach that caution which attends
To nought but lengthening out an abject life.
A. You would grow unjust to yourself
To own the error of your fate.

D. Fortune and Fate are merely names;
For, were they real powers, they'd not endure
That fools should prove them guilty of our ills.
A. Your passion makes you subject to mistake.
D. 'Tis a sad truth, and no mistake of rage.
If every star were guilty of those crimes
Of which so sev❜rally they've been accus'd
By the long-continu'd race of erring men,
They would have lost their hurtful influence

Ere this, for the Supreme Just Power would then
Neglect them.

337. I offer'd sacred rites, and on the shore

Was sacrificing to the King supreme

Of heav'n's inhabitants a shining bull.

A mound by chance was nigh, upon whose top
Young cornel twigs shot forth; and bristling thick
With spear-like branches, there a myrtle grew.
Advancing near it, from the ground I strove

To pull the verdant wood, that I might spread
Over the shrines a leafy shade of boughs,
When I behold, most wondrous to relate,
A dreadful prodigy: for the first shrub

Pluck'd from the soil with broken roots distils

Black drops of blood, and stains the earth with gore. 338. Alas my son! and art thou low and wounded,

339.

Stretch'd on the cold ground of thy hiding-place
In want and fear? Oh, art thou come to this,
Thou who did'st smile in thy fair op'ning morn
As cherubs smile who point the way to heaven?
And would'st thou have a stranger come to thee?
Alas! alas! where can thy aching head

So softly rest as on a parent's lap?

Yes, I will wrap thee in the pilgrim's weeds,
Nor storm nor ragged wild shall bar my way;
And, though declining years impair my strength,
These arms shall yet support thy feeble frame,
When fairer friends desert thee.

I cannot find

A man, though I should walk to furthest Ind,
Either in any city or village

That would exchange his youth for my old age;
And therefore must I keep my old age still,
As long a time as it is God's good will.
Even death, alas! my poor life will not have:
Thus do I wander like a restless slave,

And on the earth, which is my mother's gate,
Thus knock I with my staff, early and late,
And say to her, Leave, mother, let me in:
Lo, how I vanish, flesh and blood and skin.
Alas! when shall my old bones be at rest?
340 Thither are sent who hated, while they, lived,
Their brethren, struck a parent, or betray'd
A client's cause or master's trust; and they,