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And melt (1) to tender sympathy the soul;
The heart from vice and error to reclaim,
And breathe in human breast celestial flame.

FALCONER.

ON POETRY.

Of all those arts in which the wise excel,
Nature's chief master-piece is writing well:
No writing lifts exalted man so high,
As sacred and soul-moving (2) poesy :
No kind of work requires so nice a touch;
And if well finish'd, nothing shines so much.
But Heav'n forbid we should be so profane,
To grace the vulgar with that noble name.
"Tis not a flash of fancy, which sometimes,

Dazzling our minds, sets off (5) the slightest rhymes;
Bright as a blaze (4), but in a moment done :

True wit is everlasting like the sun,

Which, tho' sometimes behind a cloud retired,
Breaks out again, and is by all admired.

Number and rhyme, and that harmonious sound,
Which not the nicest (3) ear with harshness wound,
Are necessary, yet but vulgar arts;

And all in vain these superficial parts

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(4) A blaze, un éclat de lumière, un trait. (5) The nicest, le plus délical.

THE ARAB'S LAMENTATION FOR THE DEATH OF HIS STEED. 201 Contribute to the structure of the whole, Without a genius too; for that's the soul.

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.

THE ARAB'S LAMENTATION FOR THE DEATH
OF HIS STEED (1).

Now thy labours are o'er,

And the dark grave hath found thee.

I shall see thee no more,

The cold earth is around thee:
Thou art fallen at length;
No more shall I find thee,
In the pride of thy strength,
Fling the desert behind thee.

Oft have I been borne,

Through the wilderness rushing,
O'er my foemen in scorn,
In their impotence crushing (2)
The hosts (3) that assail'd-
Though in agony straining (4),
Thy strength has prevail'd -
The sharp spear disdaining.

(1) Steed, coursier.
(2) To crush, écraser.

(5) The hosts, les légions.

(4) To strain in agony, faire des efforts presque au-dessus de ses forces.

But thy strength is no more,

And thy beauty is filed,

And thy swift course is o'er (1);

Thou, my lov'd steed (2), art dead!
And a sign there is not,
To the passer-by telling
Where is the sad spot

Of thy last lonely dwelling.

ANONYMOUS.

THE TRAVELLERS AND THE OYSTER.

Once, says an author (where I need not say),
Two travellers found an oyster in their way;
Both fierce, both hungry, the dispute grew strong,
While, scale in hand (5), dame Justice pass'd along.
Before her each with clamour pleads the laws,
Explains the matter, and would win the cause.
Dame Justice, weighing long the doubtful right,
Takes, opens, swallows it, before their sight.
The cause of strife removed so rarely well,
"There take (says Justice), take ye (4) each a shell.
We thrive at Westminster (5) on fools like you :
'Twas a fat oyster-live in peace—adieu. "

POPE, from Boileau.

(1) O'er, abrégé de over, fini, terminé.

(2) Steed, coursier, destrier.

(3) Scale in hand, la balance en main.

(4) Ye pour you, vous.

(5) Le palais de justice est à Westminster, un quartier de Londres.

HOME.

EPITAPH ON AN EXCELLENT WOMAN.

Here rests a woman; good without pretence,
Blest (1) with plain reason, and with sober sense :
No conquest she, but o'er herself desired;
No arts essay'd, but not to be admired.
Passion and pride were to her soul unknown,
Convinced that virtue only is our own.

So unaffected, so composed a mind;

So firm, yet soft; so strong, yet so refined (2);
Heav'n, as its purest gold, by tortures tried (3).
The saint (4) sustain'd it, but the woman died.

POPE.

HOME.

I've (5) roamed through many a weary round (6),

I've wander'd east and west;

Pleasure in every clime I've found,

But sought in vain for rest.

While glory sighs for other spheres,
I feel that one's (7) too wide,

(1) Blest with, doué de. (2) Refined, pur, épuré. (3) To try, éprouver.

(4) The saint, l'âme, l'esprit. (5) I've, pour I have, j'ai.

(6) Weary round, voyage ennuyeux. (7) One's, pour one is, une seule est.

203

And think the home that love endears (1)
Worth all the world beside.

The needle (2) thus too rudely moved,
Wanders, unconscious (3) where;
Till having found the place it loved,
It trembling settles there.

MOORE.

INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEW-FOUNDLAND (4) DOG.

Lord Byron was extremely partial to swimming, sailing, and other aquatic diversions; and used very frequently to enjoy them on a fine piece of water naer Newstead Abbey (his country seat). He would often row, or sail about the lake in his boat accompanied only by his favourite dog; and when in the middle, he would sometimes fall, as if by accident, out of the boat on purpose to try the sagacity and attachment of the animal. The faithful creature never failed to leap into the water, seize his master and convey him to the shore. This poor dog died in the autumn of 1808, and the noble poet was so much affected by the loss, that he had a monument built, and on it inscribed the following lines.

When some proud son of man returns to earth,
Unknown to glory, but upheld (5) by birth,

(1) To endear, rendre cher.

(2) The needle, l'aiguille aimantée, la boussole. (3) Unconscious, sans savoir.

(4) New-Foundland, de Terre-Neuve.

(5) Upheld, soutenu.

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