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Dear boy! these records of my grief receive,
These simple honours that will bloom and live;
And be, when Fate has spun my latest line,

My ashes honour'd as I honour thine! Some very similar lines are found in Pope's “ Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady”:

What though no weeping Loves thy ashes grace,
Nor polish'd marble emulate thy face?

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Yet shall thy grave with rising flowers be dress'd,
And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast:
There shall the Morn her earliest tears bestow,

There the first roses of the year shall blow. Some of the most touching poetic pieces, both in ancient and modern times, have been written on the death of children. Two here must suffice. The following, from the Greek, is by an unknown author (Jacobs IV. 256, dclix.). The translation is by C.:

Inexorable Death! Why, why destroy
In the first dawn of life this sinless boy !
He joyous plays in Pluto's drear domain,

But ah! has till'd his home with grief and pain.
Landor wrote this “ To a Mother, On a Child's Death":

The scythe of time, alas ! alas!
Always cuts down the freshest grass,
Nor spares the flowers that would adorn
The tranquil brow of blooming morn :
He lets the corn grow ripe, then why
Bids he the germ be knipt and die ?

EPITAPH OF A NOBLE MATRON (Book X. 63).
Stranger, this stone, though small, defiance bids
To mausoleums and to pyramids.
The centenary games I twice beheld,
And in those years no adverse fate bewail'd.
Five sons, as many daughters, Juno gave,
Whose pious hands prepar'd me for the grave.
Nor my least glory, though too rarely known,

One man I held most dear, and one alone. A Greek cpigram by an uncertain author is very similar, especially the close (Jacobs IV. 254, dexlix), which by Stephens (p. 226) is given as a separate distich, thus translated by C.:

Beneath this flowery mound she rests, whose zone

Was loosen'd by one dear lov'd youth alone.
Herrick had probably Martial's epitaph in mind, when he wrote “An
Epitaph upon a Sober Matron,” the close of which is exactly similar to
both the Latin and the Greek:

With blamelesse carriage, I liv'd here,
To th' almost sev'n and fortieth yeare.
Stout sons I had, and those twice three;
One onely daughter lent to me:
The which was made a happy bride,
But thrice three moons before she dy'd.
My modest wedlock, that was known
Contented with the bed of oue.

PHYSIOGNOMY (Book XII. 54).
Translated by Addison in the Spectator," No. 86.
Thy beard and head are of a different die;
Short of one foot, distorted in an eye:
With all these tokens of a knave complete,

Should'st thou be honest, thou’rt a devilish cheat. Palladas, in a Greek epigram translated by C., says (Jacobs III. 132, lxxxviii.) :

In mind and body crook'd, 'tis Nature's plan

To show the inward by the outer man. So, Shakespeare (“King John," Act IV. Sc. 2.):

A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd,

Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame. Yet Hubert's "abhorred aspect" maligned him, for he showed that he had a feeling heart; whilst King John “slandered nature in his person."

That the mind can be read in the features has, however, in all ages been credited, and physiognomists, notwithstanding their ludicrous mistakes, have from the earliest times been held in estimation. As an example of this in the time of Theocritus, an epitaph on Eusthenes by that poet may be quoted (Jacobs I. 197, x.). "The translation is by Calverley :

Here the shrewd physiognomist Eusthenes lies,
Who could tell all your thoughts by a glance at your eyes.
A stranger with strangers his honoured bones rest;
They valued sweet song, and he gave them his best.
All ihe honours of death doth the poet possess :
If a sma! one, they mourne i for him revertheless.

TO PRISCUS (Book XII. 93).

Translated by F. Lewis.
Priscus, you've often ask'd me how I'd live,
Should fate at once both wealth and honour give.
What soul his future conduct can foresee?

Tell me what sort of lion you would be. Dr. Johnson took this epigram for the motto of the 172nd No. of the Rambler," where he remarks that, " the powers of the mind when they are unbounded and expanded by the sunshine of felicity, more frequently luxuriate into follies, than blossom into goodness."

AUSONIUS. *Flourished A.n. 370. He was born at Bordeaux, the son of a physician. The Emperor Valentinian selected him as tutor to his son Gratian, which led to his advancement to the office of Prætorian Præfect, first of Italy, and then of the Gauls. By Gratian he was made Consul. He is generally supposed to have been a Christian, but there is much in his writings which disgraces his profession of that faith.

ECHO (Ep. 11).
Translated by Lovelace (two lines added to supply omission).
Vain painter, why dost strive my face to draw
With busy bands, a goddess' eyes ne'er saw ?
Daughter of air and wind, I do rejoice
In empty shouts; without a mind, a voice.
Reviving last-form'd sounds, I bid them stay,
And with unconscious converse love to play.
Within your ears shrill echo I rebound,
And if you'll paint me like, then paint a sound.

Archias bas a pretty Greek epigram on “Echo," thus elegnntly translated by the late Dr. Wellesley (Jacobs II. 83, xv.):

To Echo, mute or talkative
Address good words; for she can give

Retorts to those who dare her:
If you provoke me, I reply;
If you are silent, so am I-

Can any tongue speak fairer?

mences:

Milton, in “Comus," has an exquisite song to Echo, which com

Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen

Within thy aëry shell,
By slow Meander's margent green,
And in the violet-embroider'd vale,

Where the love-lorn nightingale
Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.

UN BISSULA, A GERMAN CAPTIVE (Edyll. VII, 2).

Translated by Elton.
Oh my joy, my charm, my treasure,
My love, my pastime, and my pleasure !
Dear pupil! sweet barbarian! thee
Our Latian damsels envying see :
If my young girl's name be found
Somewhat of uncouther sound;
That grating sound let strangers hear;

Ah, Bissula! it charms thy master's ear. Love, it appears, can make the harshest name agreeable ; but one of soft sound is generally thought to awake the gentler feelings. As in a passage in Otway's tragedy of “ Caius Marius":

Lavinia! O there's music in the name,
That, softening me to infant tenderness,

Makes my heart spring like the first leap of life.
Yet Shakespeare, in oft-quoted words, asks (“Romeo and Juliet,"
Act II. sc. 2):

What's in a name? that which we call a rose,
By any other name would smell as sweet.

ON DIDO (Epitaphia Heroum, 30).

Translated in Collection of Epigrams,” 1735.
Poor Queen! twice doom'd disastrous love to try!

You fly the dying; for the flying die. There is an allusion to Dido's fight, on account of her husband's murder, in the first book of the Æneis, 340, which Dryden translates

Phoenician Dido rules the wing State,
Who fled from Tyre, to shun laer brother's hate.

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At length, in dead of night, the ghost appears
Of her unhappy lord ;
Then warns the widow and her household gods

To seek a refuge in remote abodes. And in the fourth book, 630, her death, on account of Æneas' departure, is described :

This said, within her anxious mind she weighs
The means of cutting short her odious days.

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Thus will I pay my vows to Stygian Jove,
And end the cares of my disastrous love.

EPITAPH ON HIS SISTER, JULIA DRYADIA (Parentalin, 12

Translated by Elton.
Is there a virtue which the prudent fair
Might wish, that fell not to my Julia's share ?
And hers were virtues, which the strongest kind
Might wish; a manly nobleness of mind.
Good fame and sustenance her distaff wrought;
And skill'd in goodness, she that goodness taught.
Truth more than life she prized : in God above
Her cares were wrapt, and in a brother's love.
A widow in her bloom, the maid austere
Might the chaste manners of her age revere.
She, who had seen six decades swiftly glide,

Died in the mansion where her father died.
Of similar character is an epitaph on a maiden by Marvell, which,
though rather long, is too beautiful to be omitted (“ Miscellaneous
Poems by Andrew Marvell,” 1681, 71):

Enough; and leave the rest to fame;
"Tis to commend her, but to name.
Courtship, which living, she declined
When de..d, to offer were unkind,
Where never any could speak ill,
Who would officious praises spill?
Nor can the truest wit, or friend,
Without detracting, her commend;
To say, she lived a virgin chaste
In this age loose and all unlac'd,
Nor was, when vice is so allow'd,
Of virtue or asham'd or proud ;

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