Whom oft' w'adored, and whom, because we knew
As good as they, we thought him as immortal too.
'Tis strange; but omens now I find are true.
In yonder copse a shady Oak there stood,
Stately, well rooted, and itself a wood;
Her branches o'er the inferior trees were spread,
Who all ador'd her as their sovereign head :
Hither, when heated by the guide of day,
While their young wanton goats did skip and play,-
Hither the swains would constantly repair,
Here sing, and in the ample shade drink fresher air.
This tree, when I my goats to pasture drove,
While all was clear above, and still, throughout the

grove, Struck by some secret force, fall down I saw; The wood-nymphs all were seiz'd with wonder, grief, and awe.



Into English Prose.

Τα μεν κατηγορήσων, ώ άνδρες Αθηναίοι, ανεβην ενθάδε Περικλέους, αναγκαίου μοι όντος και επιτηδείου, και Διομέδοντος φίλου' τα δ' υπεραπολογησόμενος τα δε ξυμβουλεύσων, α μου δοκεί άριστα είναι απάση τη πόλει. Κατηγορώ μεν ούν αυτών, ότι έπεισαν τους ξυνάρχοντας βουλομένους πέμπειν γράμματα τη τε βουλή και υμίν, ότι επέταξαν τη Θηραμένει και Θρασυβούλω τετταράκοντα και επτά τους ναυαγούς, οι δε ουκ ανείλοντο. Είτα νύν την αιτίαν κοινήν έχουσιν, εκείνων ιδία αμαρτόντων και αντί της τότε φιλανθρωπίας, νύν υπ' εκείνων τε και τινων άλλων επιβουλευόμενοι κινδυνεύουσιν απολεσθαι.

τριήρεσιν ανελέσθαι ουκ, αν υμείς γέ μοι πείλησθε, τα δίκαια και όσια ποιούντες. Και όθεν μάλιστα τ' αληθή πεύσεσθε, και οι μετανοήσαντες ύστερον εύρήσετε σφάς αυτούς ημαρτηκότας τα μέγιστα ες θεούς τε και υμάς αυτούς. Ξυμβουλεύω δε υμίν, εν οίς ούθ' υπ' εμού ούθ' υπ' ουδενός άλλου έστιν εξαπατηθήναι υμάς και τους αδικούντας ειδότες κολάσεσθε, ή αν βούλησθε δίκη, και άμα πάντας, και καθ' ένα έκαστον, ει μη πλέον, αλλά μίαν ημέραν δόντες αυτούς υπέρ αυτών απολογήσασθαι, μηδ' άλλους μάλλον πιστεύοντες, ή υμίν αυτοίς. "Ίστε δε, ώ άνδρες Αθηναίοι, πάντες, ότι το Κανώνου ψήφισμά έστιν ισχυρότατον, και κελεύει, εάν τις τον των Αθηναίων δήμον αδική, δεδεμένον αποδικείν εν τώ δήμω και εάν καταγνωσθή αδικείν, αποθανόντα ες το βάραθρον έμβληθήναι: τα δε χρήματα αυτού δημευθήναι, και της θεού το επιδέκατον είναι, κατά τούτο το ψήφισμα κελεύω κρίνεσθαι τους στρατηγούς, και νή Δία, αν υμίν γε δοκή, πρώτον Περικλέα, τον εμοί προσήκοντα αισχρόν γάρ μοί έστιν, εκείνον περί πλείονος ποιείσθαι, ή την πόλιν. Τούτο δ' ει [μη βούλεσθε, κατά τούτον τον νόμον κρίνατε, ός έστιν επί τούς ιεροσύλους και προδόταις, εάν τις ή την πόλιν προδιδώ, ή τα ιερά κλέπτη, κατακριθέντα εν δικαστηρίω, αν καταγνωσθή, μη ταφήναι εν τη Αττική, τα δε χρήματα αυτού δημόσια είναι. Τούτων όποτέρω βούλεσθε, ώ άνδρες Αθεναίοι, τω νόμο κρινέσθωσαν οι άνδρες κατά ένα έκαστον, διηρημένων της ημέρας τριών μερών ενός μεν, εν ώ ξυλλέγεσθαι υμάς δεί και διαψηφίζεσθαι, εάν τε αδικείν δοκώσιν, εάν τε μή· ετέρου δ', εν ώ κατηγορήσαι' ετέρου δ', εν ώ απολογησασθαι.-XENOPHON’s History of Greece.


Into Greek Iambics.

Gertrude. Ye too are men, each knowing how to

wield His own good axe; and God assists the brave ! Stauffacher. Ah! Gertrude, Gertrude, little reckest

thou War's withering blast; it sweeps off herds and herds


Gert. What Heaven decrees us, we must needs

endure; The noble heart brooks all things but injustice.

Stauff. This house in which thou so delightest— War Will burn it down Gert.

Did I believe this heart Could e'er become so chain'd to things of earth, Myself would throw the brand that should destroy it.

Stauff. Thou dream'st too, of humanity in war!-
War spares not e'en the infant in the cradle.

Gert. But innocence has still a friend in Heaven.

. We men can perish bravely, sword in hand , But ah! what fate awaits unhappy woman ?



Into Latin Elegiacs.
Dark and dismal is the night,

Beating rain and wind so high :
Close the window shutters tight,

And the cheerful fire draw nigh.

Hear the blast in dreadful chorus,

Roaring through the naked trees,
Just like thunder bursting o'er us;

Now they murmur, now they cease.

Think how many on the wild,

Wander in this dreadful weather ;
Some poor mother with her child,

Scarce can keep her rags together:

Or a wretched family,

'Neath some mud-wall ruined shed, Shrugging close together, lie

On the earth-their only bed.


Into Greek Prose.

Little time is now left us, O Athenians, between the consideration and the accomplishment of our duties. The justice of the cause, when it was first submitted to your decision in the Agora, was acknowledged with acclamations; the success of it you have insured by your irresistible energy. The port of Samos is in our possession, and we have occupied all the eminences round her walls. Patience is now as requisite to us as to the enemy: for, although every city which can be surrounded, can be captured, yet in some, where courage and numbers have been insufficient to drive off the besieger, Nature and Art may have thrown up obstacles to impede his progress. Such is Samos; the strongest fortress in Europe, excepting only Byzantion. But Byzantion fell before our fathers; and unless she become less deaf to the reclamations of honour, less indifferent to the sanctitude of treaties,-unless she prefer her fellow-soldiers to her common enemy, freedom to aristocracy, friends to strangers, Greeks to Asiatics, she shall abase her Thracian fierceness before us. However, we will neither spurn the suppliant nor punish the repentant: our arms we will turn for ever, as we turn them now, against the malicious rival, the alienated relative, the apostate confederate, and the proud oppressor.-W. S. LANDOR.


Into Latin Hexameters.

As the strong eagle in the silent wood,
Mindless of warlike rage, and hostile care,
Plays round the rocky cliff, or crystal flood,
'Til by Jove's high behests call'd out to war,
And charg'd with thunder of his angry king,
His bosom with the vengeful message glows:
Upward the noble bird directs his wing,
And tow'ring round his master's earth-born foes,
Swift he collects his fatal stock of ire,
Lifts his fierce talon high, and darts the forked fire;-

Sedate and calm thus victor Marlbro sate,
Shaded with laurels, in his native land;
'Till Anna calls him from his soft retreat,
And gives her second thunder to his hand.

leaving sweet repose, and gentle ease,
With ardent speed he seeks the distant foe:
Marching o'er hills and vales, o'er rocks and seas,
He meditates, and strikes the wond'rous blow.



Into Latin Prose.

At the same time that I think discretion the most useful talent a man can be master of, I look upon cunning to be the accomplishment of little, mean, ungenerous minds. Discretion points out the noblest ends to us, and pursues the most proper and laudable methods of attaining them : cunning has only private, selfish aims, and sticks at nothing which may make them succeed. Discretion has large and extended views, and, like a well-formed eye, commands a whole horizon : cunning is a kind of short-sightedness, that discovers the minutest objects which are near at hand, but is not able to dis

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