Deme quot rerum videt alta Luna,
Sit reclinato mihi cum puella

Sole fervente aut veteris sub antri

Rupe morari;

Aut in umbroso nemorum recessu,

Fertur ut montis per amata rura, aut

Abditos fontes petit in ruentis

Margine rivi.

H. J. H.

ARTURI SEPULCRUM.

O UBI nunc recubant Arturi nobilis ossa?
O quibus in cippis, aut qua jacet integer herba
Ille sepulcrali?-muscoso in margine fontis
Sopitur placide gremioque Helvellynis alto:
Et super impubis betullæ virga coruscat.
Quercus enim, æstivo quæ tempore suave sonare,
Auctumnoque gravi foliis crepitare solebat,
Solaque sub brumem rauca mugire querela,
Occidit, et vacuo betulla innascitur arvo.
Pulvere cara viri commiscuit ossa vetustas,
Et fidum scabies ensem damnosa peredit-
Ordinibus spero sanctorum inscribier ipsum !

A. B. H.

RIDE A COCK HORSE.

RIDE a cock-horse

To Banbury Cross,

To see an old woman upon a black horse:

With rings on her fingers

And bells on her toes,

She shall have music wherever she goes.

GAMMER GURTON.

HINX MINX.

HINX, Minx! the old witch winks

The fat begins to fry:

There's nobody at home but jumping Joan,

And father, mother, and I!

GAMMER GURTON.

I PUER.

I, PUER, acer eques: rapiat te mobile lignum,
Crux ubi Banburiæ plateas exornat avitas,
Ut vetulam nigro videas equitare caballo:
Cui gemmæ in manibus, cui tintinnabula plantis
Plurima, concordi sonitu comitantur euntem.

F. H.

ALTERA VERSIO.

INFANS, quadrivium ad Banburiensium
Manno te celerem corripe ligneo:
Nigro vectam ibi equo conspicies anum.
En quinque in digitis sex habet annulos,
Tintinnabula sex in digitis pedum !

Felix, dulce melos, quod ciet undique,
Quoquo vertitur audiet.

B.

HINC HECATE.

"HINC et abhinc, Hecate !'-mala anus præ limine nictat; Sibilat inferni conscius ignis adeps

'Sola domi invenies salientia crura Joannæ'

Meque ipsam et matrem cum genitore meam.

H. D.

TO MISTER LAWRENCE.

LAWRENCE, of virtuous fathers virtuous son,
Now that the ways are dank, and fields all mire,
Where shall we sometimes meet and by the fire
Help waste a sullen day, what may be won
From the hard season gaining? Time will run
On smoother till Favonius re-inspire

The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire
The lily and rose that neither sowed nor spun.
What next repast shall feast us, light and choice,

Of Attic taste with wine, whence we may rise To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice Warble immortal notes of Tuscan air.

He, who of these delight can judge and spare

To interpose them of, is not unwise.

MILTON.

AD LAURENTIUM.

O CASTA casti progenies patris,

Dun bruma campos occupat et vias,
Quo rure, Laurenti, reducto,
Quosve focos apud hospitales

Longo auferemus tœdia de die?

Quod hora nobis cunque dabit lucri
Morosa carpentes, ut annus
Prætereat leviore penna;
Constricta donec prata refecerint
Alæ Favoni, liliaque et rosas,
Laboris expertes, amictu

Verna novo decorarit aura.

Quæ munda nobis cæna parabitur ?
Quæ lecta mensæ fercula?-age, Attico
De more promenturque vina, et

Post calices bene tacta noctem
Producet una barbitos auream,
Et vox Etruscos callidior modos
Spirare, et effundens choreæ

Sidereæ propiora chordis.
Qui tanta novit gaudia carpere,

Prudensque parca mente frui sapit,

Scit ille, ni fallor, Deorum

Muneribus sapienter uti.

H. J. K.