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CHLOE AND EUPHELIA.
MERCATOR; vigiles óculos ut fallere possit,
opes; Lené fonat liquidumque meis Euphelia chordis,
Sed folam exoptant te, mea vota, Chlöe.
Ad speculum ornabat nitidos Euphelia crines,
Cum dixit mea lux, heus, cane, sume lyram. Namque lyram juxtà positam cum carmine vidit,
Suave quidem carmen dulcisonamque lyram,
Fila lyræ vocemque paro, suspiria surgunt,
Et miscent numeris murmura mæsta meis, Dumque tuæ memoro laudes, Euphelia, formæ,
Tota anima intereà pendet ab ore Chlöes.
Subrubet illa pudore, et contrahit altera frontem,
Me torquet mea mens conscia, psallo, tremo; Atque Cupidineâ dixit Dea cincta corona, Heu! fallendi artem quam
When the British warrior queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods, Sought, with an indignant mien,
Counsel of her country's gods,
Sage beneath the spreading oak
Sat the Druid, hoary chief; Ev'ry burning word he spoke
Full of rage, and full of grief.
Princess! if our aged eyes
Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 'Tis because resentment ties
All the terrors of our tongues.
Rome shall perish---write that word
In the blood that she has spilt; Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd, Deep in ruin as in guilt.
Rome, for empire far renown'd,
Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the ground
Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!
Other Romans shall arife,
Heedless of a soldier's name;
Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize
Harmony the path to fame.
Then the progeny that springs
From the forests of our land,
Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings;
Shall a wider world command,
Regions Cesar never knew
Thy pofterity shall sway, Where his eagles never flew,
None invincible as they.
Such the bard's prophetic words,
Pregnant with celestial fire, Bending, as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre.
She, with all a monarch's pride,
Felt them in her bosom glow; Rush'd to battle, fought, and died;
Dying, hurld them at the foe.
Ruffians, pitiless as proud,
Heav'n awards the vengeance due;
HERO IS M.
THERE was a time when Ætna's silent fire
Slept unperceiv'd, the mountain
entire; When, conscious of no danger from below, She tow'r'd a cloud-capt pyramid of snow. No thunders fhook with deep intestine sound The blooming groves that girdled her around. Her unctuous olives, and her purple vines, (Unfelt the fury of those bursting mines) The peasant's hopes, and not in vain, assur’d, In
peace upon her noping sides matur'd.
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