Brief is life, and brevity

Briefly shall be ended:

Death comes like a whirlwind strong,
Beats us with his blast along;

None shall be defended.

Live this university,

Men that learning nourish! Live each member of the same, Long live all that bear its name; Let them ever flourishi

Live the commonwealth also,

And the men that guide it!
Live our town in strength and health,
Founders, patrons, by whose wealth
We are here provided!

Live all gods! A health to you,
Melting maids and beauteous!
Like the wives and women too,
Gentle, loving, tender, true,
Good, industrious, duteous!

Perish cares that pule and pine!
Perish envious blamers!
Die the Devil, thine and mine!
Die the starch-neck Philistine!
Scoffers and defamers!

Translated from the Latin by

John Addington Symonds (1840-1893]

LAURIGER HORATIUS

LAUREL-CROWNED Horatius,

*

True, how true thy saying!
Swift as wind flies over us

Time, devouting, slaying.

* For the original of this poem see page 3581.

lusion of the Whole Matter 2777

Where are, oh! those goblets full

Of wine, honey-laden,

Strifes and loves and bountiful
Lips of ruddy maiden?

Grows the young grape tenderly,
And the maid is growing;

But the thirsty poet, see,
Years on him are snowing!
What's the use on hoary curls
Of the bays undying,

If we may not kiss the girls,
Drink while time's a-flying?
Translated from the Latin by

John Addington Symonds [1840-1893]

NCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER

From "The House of a Hundred Lights

"

Sword Bearer only knows just when He'll wound art,-not I:

He is the one who gives the balm, what does it

urt, -Why then I'd simply cling to old gray Resignaskirt.

anguages of earth in which the human kind confer r Speaker is the Tear; it is the Great Interpreter. is like a tide that weaves the sea within its daily

rges, swells, and grows,-a pause-then comes the ng ebb.

ugh field of earthly life I have reaped cause for enough,

all, I think I've gleaned my modicum of Laughing

Frederic Ridgely Torrence [1875

THE EARTH AND MAN

A LITTLE Sun, a little rain,

A soft wind blowing from the west

And woods and fields are sweet again,

And warmth within the mountain's breast.

So simple is the earth we tread,

So quick with love and life her frame: Ten thousand years have dawned and fled, And still her magic is the same.

A little love, a little trust,

A soft impulse, a sudden dream— And life as dry as desert dust

Is fresher than a mountain stream.

So simple is the heart of man,
So ready for new hope and joy:
Ten thousand years since it began
Have left it younger than a boy.

Stopford Augustus Brooke [1832

DESERVINGS

THIS is the height of our deserts:
A little pity for life's hurts;

A little rain, a little sun,

A little sleep when work is done.

A little righteous punishment,
Less for our deeds than their intent;
A little pardon now and then,
Because we are but struggling men.

A little light to show the way,
A little guidance where we stray;
A little love before we pass
To rest beneath the kirkyard grass.

"A Little Work"

ittle faith, in days of change,

hen life is stark and bare and strange;
solace when our eyes are wet
th tears of longing and regret.

ue it is that we cannot claim measured recompense or blame, cause our way of life is small: little is the sum of all.

2779

"A LITTLE WORK"

From "Trilby "

TLE work, a little play

ep us going-and so, good-day!

le warmth, a little light

ve's bestowing-and so, good-night!

le fun, to match the sorrow

Unknown

ch day's growing-and so, good-morrow!

le trust that when we die

cap our sowing! And so-good-bye!

George du Maurier [1834-1896]

THE CONDUCT OF LIFE

INTEGER VITÆ*

THE man of life upright,

Whose guiltless heart is free
From all dishonest deeds,
Or thought of vanity;

The man whose silent days
In harmless joys are spent,
Whom hope cannot delude,
Nor sorrow discontent;

That man needs neither towers

Nor armor for defense,

Nor secret vaults to fly

From thunder's violence:

He only can behold

With unaffrighted eyes
The horrors of the deep

And terrors of the skies.

Thus, scorning all the cares

That fate or fortune brings,
He makes the heaven his book,
His wisdom heavenly things;

Good thoughts his only friends,
His wealth a well-spent age,
The earth his sober inn

And quiet pilgrimage.

After Horace, by Thomas Campion (?-1619]

*For the original of this poem see page 3578.