Doubtless, sweet girl, the hissing lead, Wafting destruction near thy charms, And hurtling[13] o'er thy lovely head, Has fill'd that breast with fond alarms. 2. Surely some envious Demon's force, Vex'd to behold such beauty here, Impell'd the bullet's viewless course, Diverted from its first career. 3. Yes! in that nearly fatal hour, The ball obey'd some hell-born guide, But Heaven with interposing power, In pity turn'd the death aside. 4. Yet, as perchance one trembling tear, Upon that thrilling bosom fell, Which _I_, th' unconscious cause of fear, Extracted from its glistening cell;-- 5. Say, what dire penance can atone? For such an outrage done to thee, Arraign'd before thy beauty's throne, What punishment wilt thou decree? 6. Might I perform the Judge's part, The sentence I should scarce deplore. It only would restore a heart, Which but belong'd to _thee_ before. 7. The least atonement, I can make, Is to become no longer free, Henceforth, I breathe, but for thy sake. Thou shall be _all in all_ to me. 8. But thou perhaps may'st now reject Such expiation of my guilt, Come then--some other mode elect? Let it be death--or what thou wilt. 9. Choose then relentless! and I swear, Nought shall thy dread decree prevent, Yet hold--one little word forbear! Let it be aught but _banishment_. [Footnote 13: This word is used by GRAY in his poem to the fatal Sisters:-- "Iron sleet of arrowy shower, _Hurtles_ through the darken'd air." * * * * * TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. AD LESBIAM. Equal to Jove, that youth must be, _Greater_ than Jove he seems to me; Who free from Jealousy's alarms, Securely views thy matchless charms; That cheek which ever dimpling glows, That mouth from whence such music flows; To him alike are always known, Reserv'd for him, and him alone. Ah Lesbia! though 'tis death to me, I cannot choose, but look on thee; But at the sight, my senses fly, I needs must gaze, but gazing die; Whilst trembling with a thousand fears, Parch'd to the throat, my tongue adheres. My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short, My limbs deny their slight support. Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread, With deadly languor droops my head. My ears with tingling echoes ring, And life itself is on the wing; My eyes refuse the cheering light, Their orbs are veil'd in starless night: Such pangs my nature sinks beneath, And feels a temporary death.-- * * * * * TRANSLATION OF THE EPITAPH ON VIRGIL AND TIBULLUS, BY DOMITIUS MARSUS. He who sublime in epic numbers roll'd, And he who struck the softer lyre of love, By Death's [14]_unequal_ hand alike controul'd, Fit comrades in Elysian regions move.