ODE XXVIII.-A MARINER AND THE GHOST OF ARCHYTAS.

BY CHARLES BADHAM, M.D., F.R.S.-1831.

Mar. OH Archytas! that measuredst land and sea, A little dust alone remains of thee:

A little dust wash'd by Apulia's tide!

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What has avail'd the science then, that tried
The planets' course, and that capacious soul
That scann'd the sphere and circumscribed the pole?
Death was thy lot! Archytas. And did not death

await

The sire of Pelops, with the gods who sate,
The guest of Jove; did not Tithonus, too,
Pass into air withdrawn from human view?
Minos, that mix'd in council with the gods,
Shares with Panthoides the drear abodes:
Although his shield, that witness'd times of Troy,
Assured him death was powerless to destroy,
Save but his form, not him; ev'n so could err,
Of nature's laws no mean interpreter !

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One night awaits us all! we all must tread The broad and common pathway to the dead. Some, to delight stern Mars, war's furies tear; Some plough the sea for gain, and perish there. 20 Of old and young the funeral pomps pass by: None can the fell Proserpine defy.

What marvel, then, that when the southern gale,
Co-mate of swift Orion, rent the sail,

I drank the Illyrian wave? but listen now:
To grant my slender boon omit not thou!
Take of the boundless sand around thee spread,
And cast it o'er my yet unburied head;
So may Hesperia's waves still bear thee free;
Venusium's pines divert the penalty

Of Eurus and his blast! large profit speed
Thy course, and recompense thy pious deed!
VOL. II.-K

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So may Jove aid thee and Tarentum's lord!
Dost thou refuse? then, sailor, heed my word:
A well-earn'd retribution, if it light

Not on thyself, thy children shall requite.
Deem not thy guilt no penal scourge incurs;
Refuse, and not a shrine thy life ensures:

Thou art in haste; I know it thou say'st well,
Thrice cast the dust upon me, and farewell.

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ODE XXIX.-TO ICCIUS.

BY B. A. MARSHALL, ESQ.-1831.

Iccius, alack! how soon the fire
Of transient, covetous desire,
For fruitful wealth of Arab chief afar,
Is kindled in thy breast a while!
Why all this great and mighty toil,

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This fierce preparative for strife and war?

Dost thou in chains propose to lead
The deadly, formidable Mede,

Or kings, unconquer'd yet, of Saba's land?

What barbarous maid her charms shall lend, 10
And on thy silken couch attend,

Her lover slain by thy remorseless hand?

What youth from festive hall shall come,
His ringlets breathing out perfume,

And nightly there thy sparkling goblet fill?
Whose pliant hand, perchance, may know
To wield with grace his father's bow,

And arrows Serican direct with skill.

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Who now will dare to hint, or say,
That rushing rivers shall not stray

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In backward flow their native hills to find?

Old Tiber some new track shall range?
Since thou art seeking to exchange

The noble works Panatius left behind,

Gather'd with care from every place,
And all the old Socratic race,

That thou, with them, Iberian arms mayst buy,
When thou hadst caused us to maintain
Some hopes for thee, (how idly vain!)

Which now before thy warlike temper fly,

Nor gold, nor Indian ivory;
For rural meads no wish he knows,
Where Liris, gentle river, flows.
Let others prune Calenian vines,
For whom propitious fortune shines;

Let merchants at their board produce
In golden cups the purple juice,

Exchanged for Syrian wares; who brave
Thrice in each year the Atlantic wave,
And safe in Heaven's peculiar care
The perils of the ocean bear.
For me shall be the olive dress'd,
Mallows and endive be my feast.
Son of Latona! grant me this-
My destined lot to meet in bliss!
Grant to my prayer health unconfined
And, oh! preserve my perfect mind!
Let my old age unspotted prove,
And brighten'd by the muse's love!

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ODE XXXIV.

BY DR. RIDLEY.-1727.

1 ONCE despised the providence of Jove,
Nor paid my worship to the powers above:
I pictured out those beings to my mind,
Full of themselves, regardless of mankind:
Mad sapience all! but, conscious of the truth,
I now reject the error of my youth;

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For heaven's Almighty, thundering from on high,
Shot the red lightning from the opening sky;
And, greatly dreadful, through the brighten'd air,
Lash'd his swift steeds, and urged his thundering

car.

The affrighted ocean trembled at his look,
And the fix'd world's eternal basis shook;
"Vide-yawning chasms the secret regions show,
And all the terrors of the world below.
From hence I learn that heavenly beings guide
The affairs of men, and o'er the world preside;
Riches and honours are removed and given
By them, and fortune is the hand of heaven.

ODE XXXV.-TO FORTUNE.

BY T. BOURNE, ESQ.-1831.

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FAIR Antium's goddess! whose sweet smile or frown Can raise weak mortals from the depths of wo, Or bring the lofty pride of triumph down,

And bid the bitter tear of funeral grief to flow!

Thee the poor farmer courts with anxious prayer: 5 Thee, sovereign of the seas! does he implore, Who in Bythynian bark will boldly steer,

Where wild Carpathia's waves in vex'd commotion roar!

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The Dacian fierce, rude Scythia's wandering bands,
And towns and nations, warlike Italy,
Mothers of kings who reign in barbarous lands,
And purpled tyrants fear, and trembling kneel ta
thee.

Let not thy wrath with scornful foot o'erthrow
The column firm on which we rest our fate;
Nor let wild discord work anew our wo,

Or rouse to arms again, and overturn the state.

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Before thee stalks stern fate, who joys to bear
In iron hand the wedge-the spikes so dire;
Nor wants the hook, to torture and to tear;
Nor molten lead that rolls its streams of liquid
fire.

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Thee hope, and white-robed faith so seldom found, Attend to cheer; nor from thy presence fly, When those proud halls, for splendour long renown'd Thou leav'st in angry haste and garb of poverty.

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But that false crew which flatters to betray-
The perjured partner of love's wanton bower-
Will drain the lowest dregs; then shrink away,
Nor bear the equal yoke in friendship's trying
hour.

Oh goddess! let great Cæsar be thy care,

Whose daring sail seeks Britain's distant coast: 30 Return his new-raised bands again to bear

Our arms beyond the east-a gallant conquering host.

But ah! what crimes are ours! what deeds of shame! Dishonest scars and blood by brothers spilt:

Our iron age, well worthy of the name,

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What has it left undared!-when made a pause in guilt!