Now they wax, and now they dwindle,
Whirling with the whirling spindle;
Twist ye, twine ye! even so

Mingle human bliss and woe.

PEMBROKE AND Keble Colleges, Oxford, 1891.

57

RUSKIN.

OLYMPIA.

SON.

Now, ugly Death, stretch out thy sable wings
And carry both our souls where his remains.
Tell me, sweet boy, art thou content to die?
These barbarous Scythians, full of cruelty,
And Moors, in whom was never pity found,
Will hew us piecemeal, put us to the wheel,
Or else invent some torture worse than that:
Therefore die by this loving mother's hand,
Who gently now will lance thy ivory throat,
And quickly rid thee, both of pain and life.

Mother, despatch me, or I'll kill myself:

For think you I can live and see him dead?
Give me your knife, good mother, or strike home;
The Scythians shall not tyrannise on me :

Sweet mother, strike, that I may meet my father.

JESUS COLLEGE SCHOLARSHIPS, Oxford, 1889.

Et modo deminui videas, modo crescere, circum
Quos rapidus rapido turbine fusus agit.

Vos tamen, o Parcæ mortalia fata trahentes,
Jungite sic fatis fata maligna bonis !

57

Ο. Θάνατε θεῶν αἴσχιστε, νῦν μελαγχίμους πτέρυγας πρότεινε, νῷν τε τὰ ψυχὰ φέρων κόμιζ ̓ ἵν ̓ αὐτοῦ τἀνδρὸς ἡ ψυχὴ ματᾷ. ἦ σοί γ' ἀπαρκεῖ κατθανεῖν, φίλον τέκος ; Σκύθαι γὰρ οἵδε, νηλεὴς ἄγαν λεώς, Μαῦροι τ' ἄνοικτοι κρεοκοπήσουσιν μέλη, Ιξίονός τε ζημιώσουσιν πόνοις, ἐπενδιδόντες εἴ τι τῶνδ ̓ ὑπέρτερον. τοιγὰρ θανεῖν σε χερσὶ μητρῴαις κρατεῖ, χαλκῷ φίλῳ διδόντα πάλλευκον δέρην, ὡς ἀσφάδαστος, καιρίας πληγῆς τυχών, πόνων ἀπαλλαχθῃς τε καὶ ζωῆς ὁμοῦ. Π. ἔστω τάδ', ἢ σὺ μ' αὐτόχειρ ̓ ἔα θανεῖν. κείνου γὰρ οὐκέτ ̓ ὄντος εἶθ ̓ ὁρῶ φάος ; φέρε μοι μάχαιραν, ἢ σύ τοι πληγὴν δίδου· οὐ γάρ ποθ ̓ ὑβρίσουσί μ' οἱ Σκύθαι τάδε· μῆτερ, πάταξον, ὡς θανὼν ξυνῶ πατρί.

58

On a Statue of Apollo

TO THE SCULPTOR.

If that Prometheus stole the fire divine,

What was his daring when compared with thine ?
He did but warm to life the senseless clod,
But thou hast made the marble seem a god.
A present god! as on that form I gaze,

A present god! I cry, in wild amaze;

Fresh from the triumph, glorying in his might, The all-conquering Archer, lord of heat and light, Apollo's self confess'd before our eyes,

Bounds on the base, new lighted from the skies.

59

So happie are they and so fortunate,
Whom the Pierian sacred sisters love,
That freed from bands of implacable fate,
And power of death, they live for aye above,
Where mortall wreakes their blis may not remove :
But with the gods, for former vertue's meede,
On Nectar and Ambrosia do feede.
For deeds do die, however noblie donne,
And thoughts of men do as themselves decaye;
But wise words taught in numbers for to runne

58

Πῦρ Διὸς οὐρανόθεν Τίταν παρέκλεψε Προμηθεύς. ἀλλ ̓ ὅγε σοῦ τόλμῃ πολλὸν ἀφαυρότερος. ἐκ γὰρ ἀναισθήτου ζῶόν ποτε πηλὸν ἔθηκε, θερμήνας, σὺ θεὸν δ ̓ ἐκ λίθου εἰργάσαο.

66

· ἃ θεός,” αὐτίκ ̓ ἐγὼ μορφὴν ἐσιδὼν ἐρατεινήν “ ἃ θεός,” ἐξεῖπον, θαύματι μαινόμενος.

""

“ ἐκ νίκης νέον ἦλθες, Ἑκηβόλε, κύδεϊ γαίων, πανδάματορ φάεος καὶ θέρεος ταμία”

δῆλος μὲν γὰρ ἰδεῖν, φανερὸς θεός, αὐτὸς Απόλλων, φαίνετ ̓ ἀποθρώσκειν εἰς πέδον οὐρανόθεν.

59

Felices nimium fortunatosque laborum,
Quos faciles sacro tutantur numine Musæ
Pierides fati nec inexorabilis ordo,
Nec leti vis ulla domat; sed morte soluti
Coelestes habitant sedes, ubi nulla quietas
Sollicitant animas mortalis signa doloris.
Ergo, inter superos, divini nectaris haustus
Ambrosiosque bibunt, nacti virtute, liquores.

Nam licet humanæ, quæcunque est, gloria laudis
Fata subit, pereuntque virûm cum corpore summæ

F

Recorded by the Muses, live for aye.

Ne may with storming showers be washt away, Ne bitter breathing windes with harmfull blast, age, nor envie, shall them ever wast.

Nor

In virgin modesty appear

To hail and welcome in the year!

Fearless of winter, it defies
The rigour of inclement skies,
And early hastens forth to bring
The tidings of approaching spring.

All that the gay or sweet compose,
The pink, the violet, and the rose,
In fair succession as they blow,
Their glories to the snowdrop owe.

QUEEN'S COLL. SCHOLARSHIPS, OXFORD, 1891.

61

Thus saying, from her husband's hand her hand
Soft she withdrew, and like a wood-nymph light,

Oread, or Dryad, or of Delia's train,

Betook her to the groves; but Delia's self