Stars that orient day subdues,
Night at her return renews.

Herbs and flowers, the beauteous birth
Of the genial womb of earth,
Suffer but a transient death,
From the winter's cruel breath:
Zephyr speaks; serener skies
Warm the glebe, and they arise.
We, alas! earth's haughty kings,
We that promise mighty things,
Losing soon life's happy prime,
Droop, and fade in little time.
Spring returns, but not our bloom,
Still 'tis winter in the tomb.-Cowper.

FRIDAY, October 31.

Subject for Latin Hexameters.
Pompeii.

WEDNESDAY, November 5.

Into Greek Iambics.

Retire, thou, impious man! Aye, hide thyself
Where never eye can look upon thee more!
Wouldst thou have honour and obedience
Who art a torturer? Father, never dream,
Though thou mayst overbear this company,
But ill must come of ill.-Frown not on me!
Haste, hide thyself, lest with avenging looks
My brothers' ghosts should hunt thee from thy seat.
The Cenci, a Drama.

FRIDAY, November 7.

Into Latin Prose.

When the iniquity of the times brought Socrates to his execution, how great and wonderful is it to behold him, unsupported by anything but the testimony of his own conscience and conjectures of hereafter, receive thy poison with an air of mirth and good-humour, and, as if going on an agreeable journey, bespeak some deity to make it fortunate. When Phocion's good actions had met with the like reward from his country, and he was led to death with many others of his friends, they

bewailing their fate, he walking composedly towards the place of execution, how gracefully does he support his illustrious character to the very last moment. One of the rabble spitting at him as he passed, with his usual authority he called to know if no one was ready to teach this fellow how to behave himself. When a poor-spirited creature that died at the same time for his crimes bemoaned himself unmanfully, he rebuked him with this question, "Is it no consolation to such a man as thou art to die with Phocion?" At the instant when he was to die, they asked what commands he had for his son, he answered, to forget this injury of the Athenians. -Spectator, No. 133.

MONDAY, November 10.

Into Latin Hexameters.

There was a poet whose untimely tomb
No human hands with pious reverence reared,
But the charmed eddies of autumnal winds
Built o'er his mouldering bones a pyramid
Of mouldering leaves in the waste wilderness;
A lovely youth,-no mourning maiden decked
With weeping flowers, or votive cypress wreath,
The lone couch of his everlasting sleep:
Gentle, and brave, and generous, no lorn bard
Breathed o'er his dark fate one melodious sigh:
He lived, he died, he sang in solitude.

Alastor; or, The Spirit of Solitude.

WEDNESDAY, November 12.

Into Greek Prose.

Having failed in both these attempts to become master of some great city, he was under the necessity of advancing. But he had now been two months; his troops had suffered every calamity that a long march, together with the uncommon rigour of the season, could bring upon men destitute of all necessary accommodations in an enemy's country; the magnificent promises to which they trusted had proved altogether vain; they saw no prospect of relief; their patience, tried to the utmost, failed at last, and they broke out into open mutiny. Some officers, who rashly attempted to

B

restrain them, fell victims to their fury; Bourbon himself, not daring to appear during the first transports of their rage, was obliged to fly secretly from his quarters.-Robertson's Charles V., Vol. II.

FRIDAY, November 14.

Into Latin Elegiacs.

See what delights in sylvan shades appear!
Descending gods have found Elysium here.
In woods bright Venus with Adonis strayed;
And chaste Diana haunts the forest shade.
Come, lovely nymph, and bless the silent hours,
When swains from shearing seek their nightly bowers:
When weary reapers quit the sultry field,

And, crowned with corn, their thanks to Ceres yield.
This harmless grove no lurking viper hides,
But in my breast the serpent, Love, abides.
Here bees from blossoms sip the rosy dew;

But your Alexis knows no sweets but you.

Pope's Second Pastoral.

MONDAY, November 17.

Into Greek Iambics.

But in my country, where I most desire,
I shall be named among the festivals,
Living and dead recorded, who, to save
Her country from her fierce destroyer, chose
Above the faith of wedlock-bands; my tomb
With odours visited and annual flowers;
Not less renowned than in Mount Ephraim

Jael, who, with inhospitable guile,

Smote Sisera sleeping, through the temples nailed.

Milton's Samson Agonistes.

WEDNESDAY, November 19.

Into Latin Hexameters.

Above the rest a rural nymph was famed,
Thy offspring, Thames! the fair Lodona named.
Lodona's fate, in long oblivion cast,

The Muse shall sing, and what she sings shall last.

Scarce could the goddess from her nymph be known,
But by the crescent and the golden zone.
She scorned the praise of beauty, and the care;
A belt her waist, a fillet binds her hair.
A painted quiver on her shoulder sounds,
And with her dart the flying deer she wounds.
It chanced, as eager of the chace, the maid
Beyond the forest's verdant limits strayed;
Pan saw and loved, and burning with desire,
Pursued her flight,—her flight increased his fire.
Pope's Windsor Forest.

FRIDAY, November 21.

Subject for Latin Theme.

Doctrina sed vim promovet insitam
Rectique cultus pectora roborant,

Utcumque defecere mores,

Dedecorant bene nata culpæ.—Horace.

MONDAY, November 24.

Into Latin Prose.

But were there none of these dispositions in others to censure a famous man, nor any such miscarriages in himself, yet would he meet with no small trouble in keeping up his reputation in all its height and splendour. There must be always a noble train of actions to preserve his fame in life and motion. For when it is once at a stand, it naturally flags and languishes. Admiration is a very short-lived passion, that immediately decays upon growing familiar with its object, unless it be still fed with fresh discoveries, and kept alive by a new perpetual succession of miracles rising up to its view. And even the greatest actions of a celebrated person labour under this disadvantage, that however surprising and extraordinary they may be, they are no more than what are expected from him: but on the contrary, if they fall anything below the opinion that is conceived of him, though they might raise the reputation of another, they are a diminution to his.-Spectator, No. 256.

WEDNESDAY, November 26.

Into Greek Prose.

As soon as he rejoined his companions, he allotted each his proper station; some were appointed to assault and seize the different gates of the city; some to make themselves masters of the principal streets or places of strength: Fiesco reserved for himself the attack of the harbour, where Doria's galleys were laid up, as the post of chief importance, and of greatest danger. It was now midnight, and the citizens slept in the security of peace, when the band of conspirators, numerous, desperate, and well armed, rushed out to execute their plan. They surprised some of the gates without meeting with any resistance. They got possession of others after a sharp conflict with the soldiers on guard. Verrina, with the galley which had been fitted out against the Turks, blocked up the mouth of the little harbour where Doria's fleet lay.—Robertson's Hist., Charles V., Vol. III.

FRIDAY, November 28.

Into Latin Elegiacs.

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;

I bear light shade for the leaves when laid

In their noon-day dreams.

From my wings are shaken the dews that awaken
The sweet birds every one,

When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,
As she dances about the sun.

I wield the flail of the flashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under;
And then again I dissolve it in rain
And laugh as I pass in thunder.

The Cloud, a Poem.

MONDAY, December 1.

To know nor faith, nor love, nor law; to be
Omnipotent but friendless is to reign;
And Jove now reigned; for on the race of man
First famine, and then toil, and then disease,