And stare with unaccustom'd eyes,

When the black winds and waters rise,

Though now the sunshine hour beguiles
His bark along thy golden smiles,

Trusting to see thee, for his play,
For ever keep smooth holiday!

Poor dazzled fools, who bask beside thee!
And trust because they never tried thee!

For me, and for my dangers past,

The grateful picture hangs at last

Nigris æquora ventis

Emirabitur insolens,

Qui nunc te fruitur credulus aurea,

Qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem

Sperat, nescius auræ

Fallacis! Miseri quibus

Intentata nites! Me tabula sacer

Votiva paries indicat uvida

Within the mighty Neptune's fane,

Who snatch'd me, dripping, from the main.

Suspendisse potenti

Vestimenta maris deo.

PART OF A CHORUS

IN

SENECA'S TRAGEDY OF THYESTES.

'Tis not wealth that makes a king,

Nor the purple's colouring,

Nor a brow that's bound with gold,

Nor gates on mighty hinges rolled.

The king is he, who void of fear,
Looks abroad with bosom clear;

REGEM non faciunt opes,

Non vestis Tyriæ color,

Non frontis nota regiæ,

Non auro nitidæ fores.

Rex est, qui posuit metus,

Et diri mala pectoris ;

L

Who can tread ambition down,

Nor be sway'd by smile or frown;

Nor for all the treasure cares,

That mine conceals, or harvest wears,

Or that golden sands deliver,

Bosom'd in a glassy river.

What shall move his placid might?

Not the headlong thunderlight,

Quem non ambitio impotens,
Et numquam stabilis favor
Vulgi præcipitis movet.

Non quidquid fodet occidens ;

Aut unda Tagus aurea

Claro devehit alveo;

Non quidquid Libycis terit

Fervens area messibus.

Quem non concutiet cadens

Obliqui via fulminis,

Nor the storm that rushes out

To snatch the shivering waves about,
Nor all the shapes of slaughter's trade.
With forward lance or fiery blade.
Safe, with wisdom for his crown,

He looks on all things calmly down;
He welcomes fate, when fate is near,
Nor taints his dying breath with fear.
Grant that all the kings assemble,
At whose tread the Scythians tremble,-

Non Eurus rapiens mare,

Aut sævo rabidus freto,

Ventosi tumor Adriæ;

Quem non lancea militis,

Non strictus domuit chalybs;

Qui tuto positus loco,

Infra se vidit omnia;

Occurritque suo libens

Fato, nec queritur mori.

Reges conveniant licet,

Qui sparsos agitant Dahas,