How happy they who thus escape while young, TRANSLATION OF THE FORTIETH ODE OF ANACREON.* . BY ROBERT FARREN CHEETHAM. CUPID once, in evil hour, Cropp'd the pride of Flora's bow'r; The god, unus'd to suffer pain, Hid the rose-bud leaves among, Wiping Love's tear-streaming eyes, 'Cupid, if a thing so small Pain thee thus, and give thee thrall, SONNET TO THE RIVER TWEED. BY THE REV. W. L. BOWLES. O TWEED! a stranger that, with wand'ring feet, O'er hill and dale has journey'd many a mile; If so his weary thoughts he might beguile, Delighted turns thy beauteous scenes to greet. The waving branches that romantic bend O'er thy tall banks, a soothing charm bestow; The murmurs of thy wand'ring wave below, Seem to his ear the pity of a friend. Delightful stream! though now along thy shore, R How happy they who thus escape while young, TRANSLATION OF THE FORTIETH ODE OF ANACREON. BY ROBERT FARREN CHEETHAM. CUPID once, in evil hour, Cropp'd the pride of Flora's bow'r; The god, unus'd to suffer pain, Hid the rose-bud leaves among, Wiping Love's tear-streaming eyes, Pain thee thus, and give thee thrall, They, who feel thy dart, must know." SONNET TO THE RIVER TWEED. BY THE REV. W. L. BOWLES. O TWEED! a stranger that, with wand'ring feet, O'er hill and dale has journey'd many a mile; If so his weary thoughts he might beguile, Delighted turns thy beauteous scenes to greet. The waving branches that romantic bend O'er thy tall banks, a soothing charm bestow; The murmurs of thy wand'ring wave below, Seem to his ear the pity of a friend. Delightful stream! though now along thy shore, R " VIRTUE'S REPLY TO PLEASURE. SPENCE. "TIs with the gods and godlike men I dwell, Counsel with strength, and industry with art, With me true friendship dwells: she deigns to bind Nor need my friends the various costly feast, Sweet is their sleep: light, cheerful, strong they rise. Thro' health, thro' joy, thro' pleasure and renown, They tread my paths: and, by a soft descent, At length to age all gently sinking down, Look back with transport on a life well spent. In which, no hour flew unimprov'd away, In which, some generous deed distinguish'd every day. |