Haec pagina emendata et bis lecta est
Page 41
(Ovid, Met. xi. 538-542)
- As many as the dashing waves,
- Death’s terrors seem to sweep their souls;
- One weeps, another stands amazed,
- A third mourns loss of funeral doles.
- Lo, yonder one to prayer hath turned,
- With hands upraised to leaden sky;
- In vain he calls for heaven’s aid,
- No answering portent greets his cry.
Page 46
(Catullus, 31. 7-10)
- O what more blest than care’s release,
- When anxious mind throws off its load,
- As worn and travel-stained we reach
- The quiet of our own abode!
Page 85
(Horace, Epod. 2. 1-4 and 23-28)
- How blest the man from business free,
- Like to the sturdy sires of old,
- Who plows content ancestral fields,
- With ne’er a passing thought of gold!
- How pleasant ’neath some ancient oak
- Or on the thick-meshed sward to lie,
- While plaintive wood-notes fill the air
- And brimming brook glides softly by,
- While purling waters lure to rest
- As breezes through the treetops sigh!
