FROM THE " MIRÈIO" OF MISTRAL

A hundred mares, all white! their manes
Like mace-reed of the marshy plains
Thick-tufted, wavy, free o' the shears:
And when the fiery squadron rears
Bursting at speed, each mane appears
Even as the white scarf of a fay

(This next to be recited in Strine:)
With Robert Hughes on Botany Bay,
I asked, " Eh, mate — have you got any way
To say hello except G'day? "

The love of men for each other — so tender, heroic, constant;
That has come all down the ages, in every clime, in every nation,
Always so true, so well assured of itself, overleaping barriers of age, of rank, of distance,
Flag of the camp of Freedom;
The love of women for each other — so rapt, intense, so confiding-close, so burning-passionate,
To unheard deeds of sacrifice, of daring and devotion, prompting;
And (not less) the love of men for women, and of women for men — on a newer greater scale than it has hitherto been conceived;

puck:How now, spirit! whither wander you?
fairy:Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moone's sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats, spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favors,
In those freckles live their savors;
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone:

The Clods, as if Inform'd with some new Soul,
Forthwith take motion, and begin to rowl;
First tops of Lances pierce the teeming Ground,
Whose very Birth tells they are made to Wound:
Then rising Casks their painted Crests display
Whose Form at once shews terrible and gay:
Next may he Shoulders, Breasts, and Arms descry,
Whose brandish'd Spears proclaim some Battle nigh:
Untill at length in perfect view appears
A growing Harvest of young Cuirassiers.
Thus we in Theaters, the Scenes withdrew,
When some more solemn Spectacle they shew,

TRANSLATED FROM OVID'S METAMORPHOSES .

When Faith and Honesty with willing hand,
Swayed the blest sceptre of the smiling land,
Then bloomed the Golden Age; then all mankind
Beneath the bowers of sweet content reclined,
No brazen records kept the crowd in awe,
For innocence supplied the want of law;
No conscious guilt disturbed each peaceful bower,
No fierce tribunal grasped despotick power,
Nor pale Revenge pursued with endless wrath;
But peace with flowers bestrewed life's rugged path.

Both settle to their tasks apart: both spread
At once their warps, consisting of fine thred,
Ty'd to their beames: a reed the thred divides,
Through which the quick-returning shuttle glides,
Shot by swift hands. The combs inserted tooth
Betweene the warp supprest the rising woofe:
Strife less'ning toyle. With skirts tuckt to their waste,
Both move their cunning armes with nimble haste.
Here crimson, dyde in Tyrian brasse, they weave:
The scarce distinguisht shadowes sight deceave.
So watry clowds, shot by Apollo , showe;

CEPHALUS' STORY

But with herself she kindly did confer
What gifts the goddess had bestowed on her;
The fleetest greyhound, with this lovely dart,
And I of both have wonders to impart.
Near Thebes a savage beast, of race unknown,
Laid waste the field, and bore the vineyards down;
The swains fled from him, and with one consent
Our Grecian youth to chase the monster went;
More swift than lightning he the toils surpast,
And in his course spears, men, and trees o'ercast.
We slipt our dogs, and last my Lelaps too,

24 Saturday, 27 January 1753

Longa mora est, quantum noxae sit ubique repertum,
Enumerare.
Ovid [Metam. I 214 15]

The various ills ordain'd to man by fate
Where'er he turns, 'tis tedious to relate.

46 Saturday, 25 August 1750

Genus, et proavos, et quae non fecimus ipsi,
Vix ea nostra voco.
Ovid [Metam. XIII 140 41]

Nought from my birth or ancestors I claim;
All is my own, my honour and my shame.