(From The Latin Of Ménage.)

WHAT do I see! Oh gods divine And goddesses,—this Book of mine,— This child of many hopes and fears,— Is published by the Elzevirs! Oh perfect Publishers complete! Oh dainty volume, new and neat! The Paper doth outshine the snow, The Print is blacker than the crow, The Title-Page, with crimson bright, The vellum cover smooth and white, All sorts of readers do invite, Ay, and will keep them reading still, Against their will, or with their will! Thus what of grace the Rhymes may lack The Publisher has given them back, As Milliners adorn the fair Whose charms are something skimp and spare. Oh dulce decus, Elzevirs! The pride of dead and dawning years, How can a poet best repay The debt he owes your House to-day? May this round world, while aught endures, Applaud, and buy, these books of yours! May purchasers incessant pop, My Elzevirs, within your shop, And learned bards salute, with cheers, The volumes of the Elzevirs, Till your renown fills earth and sky, Till men forget the Stephani, And all that Aldus wrought, and all Turnebus sold in shop or stall, While still may Fate’s (and Binders’) shears Respect, and spare, the Elzevirs!

THE LAST CHANCE.

THE LAST CHANCE.

WITHIN the streams, Pausanias saith, That down Cocytus valley flow, Girdling the grey domain of Death, The spectral fishes come and go; The ghosts of trout flit to and fro. Persephone, fulfil my wish, And grant that in the shades below My ghost may land the ghosts of fish.

Φη λογοποιος ανήρ, δνοφερων εντοσθε ρεέθρων οσσα πέριξ Αιδην εις ’Αχέροντα ρέει ιχθύες ως αν’ αφεγγες υδωρ σκιαι αισσουσιν ειδωλ’ ειδώλοις νηχόμενα πτερύγων. Φερσεφόνη, συ θανόντι δ’ εμοι κρήηνον εέλδωρ, καν Αιδη σκιερους ιχθύας εξερύσαι.

L. C.

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PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE LONDON

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