VOTUM.

O MATUTINI rores, auræque salubres,

O nemora, et lætæ rivis felicibus herbæ,
Graminei colles, et amænæ in vallibus umbræ!
Fata modò dederint quas olim in rure paterno
Delicias, procul arte, procul formidine novi,
Quam vellem ignotus, quod mens mea semper ave-

bat,

Antelarem proprium placidam expectare senectam,
Tum demùm, exactis non infeliciter annis,
Sortiri tacitum lapidem, aut sub cespite condi!

CICINDELA.

BY VINCENT BOURNE.

SUB sepe exiguum est, nec rarò in margine ripæ, Reptile, quod lucet nocte, dieque latet,

Vermis habet speciem, sed habet de lumine nomen: At prisca à famâ non liquet, unde micet.

Plerique à caudâ credunt procedere lumen;
Nec desunt, credunt qui rutilare caput.
Nam superas stellas quæ nox accendit, et illi
Parcam eadem lucem dat, moduloque parem.
Forsitan hoc prudens voluit Natura caveri,

Ne pede quis duro reptile contereret:

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Exiguam, in tenebris ne gressum offenderet ullus,

Prætendi voluit forsitan illa facem.

Sive usum hunc Natura parens, seu maluit illum, Haud frustra accensa est lux, radiique dati. Ponite vos fastus, humiles nec spernite, magni; Quando habet et minimum reptile, quod niteat.

I. THE GLOW-WORM.

TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING.

BENEATH the hedge, or near the stream,

A worm is known to stray,

That shows by night a lucid beam,

Which disappears by day.

Disputes have been, and still prevail,
From whence his rays proceed;

Some give that honour to his tail,

And others to his head.

But this is sure-the hand of might,

That kindles up the skies,

Gives him a modicum of light

Proportion'd to his size.

Perhaps indulgent Nature meant,
By such a lamp bestow'd,

To bid the trav'ller, as he went,
Be careful where he trod:

Nor crush a worm, whose useful light
Might serve, however small,

To show a stumbling stone by night,

And save him from a fall.

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Whate'er she meant, this truth divine

Is legible and plain,

'Tis pow'r almighty bids him shine,
Nor bids him shine in vain.

Ye proud and wealthy, let this theme
Teach humbler thoughts to you,
Since such a reptile has it's gem,

And boasts its splendour too.

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CORNICULA.

BY VINCENT BOURNE.

NIGRAS inter aves avis est, quæ plurima turres, Antiquas ædes, celsaque fana colit.

Nil tam sublime est, quod non audace volatu, Aeriis spernens inferiora, petit.

Quo nemo ascendat, cui non vertigo cerebrum
Corripiat, certè hunc seligit illa locum.
Quo vix à terrâ tu suspicis absque tremore,
Illa metûs expers incolumisque sedet.
Lamina delubri supra fastigia, ventus

Quâ cœli spiret de regione, docet;

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Hanc ea præ reliquis mavult, secura pericli,
Nec curat, nedum cogitat, unde cadat.
Res inde humanas, sed summa per otia, spectat,
Et nihil ad sese, quas videt, esse videt.
Concursus spectat, plateâque negotia in omni,
Omnia pro nugis at sapienter habet.
Clamores, quas infra audit, si forsitan audit,
Pro rebus nihili negligit, & crocitat.

Ille tibi invideat, felix Cornicula, pennas,
Qui sic humanis rebus abesse velit.

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