It will not fail, however, to be remarked, that in the ode of Catullus, which has recalled these verses to our recollection, there is a double contrast, from comparing the long, dark, and everlasting sleep—the μακρον, ατερμονα, νηγρετον ὑπνον, with the quick and constant succession of suns, by which we are daily enlightened— “Soles occidere et redire possunt: Nobis, cum semel occidit brevis lux, Nox est perpetua una dormienda.” Poets, in all ages, have been fond of contrasting the destined course of human life with the reparation of the sun and moon, and with the revival of nature, produced by the succession of seasons. The image drawn from the sun, and here employed by Catullus, is one of the most natural and frequent. It has been beautifully attempted by several modern Latin poets. Thus by Lotichius— “Ergo ubi permensus cœlum sol occidit, idem Purpureo vestit lumine rursus humum: Nos ubi decidimus, defuncti munere vitæ, Urget perpetua lumina nocte sopor.” And still more successfully by Jortin— “Hei mihi lege ratà sol occidit atque resurgit. * * * * Nos domini rerum—nos magna et pulchra minati, Cum breve ver vitæ robustaque transiit ætas, Deficimus; neque nos ordo revolubilis auras Reddit in ætherias, tumuli nec claustra resolvit.” Other modern Latin poets have chosen this ode as a sort of theme or text, which they have dilated into long poems. Of these, perhaps the most agreeable is a youthful production of Muretus— “Ludamus, mea Margari, et jocemur,” &c. The most ancient French imitator is the old poet Baif, in a sort of Madrigal. He was followed by Ronsard, Bellay, Pellisson, La Monnoye, and Dorat. The best imitation, I think, is that by Simon, which I shall give at full length, once for all as a fair specimen of the French mode of imitating the lighter poems of Catullus— “Vivens, O ma Julie! Jurons d’aimer toujours: Le printemps de la vie Est fait pour les amours. Si l’austère vieillesse Condamne nos desirs, Laissons lui sa sagesse, Et gardons nos plaisirs. “L’Astre dont la lumiere Nous dispense les jours, Au bout de sa carriere Recommence son cours. Quand le temps, dans sa rage, A fletti les appas, Les roses du bel âge Ne refleurissent pas. “D’une pudeur farouche Fuis les deguisemens; Viens donner à ma bouche Cent baisers ravissans— Mille autres—Pose encore Sur mes lèvres de feu Tes lèvres que j’adore— Mourons à ce doux jeu. “De nos baisers sans nombre Le feu rapide et doux S’échappe comme l’ombre, Et passe loin de nous: Mais le sentiment tendre D’un heureux souvenir, Dans mon cœur vient reprendre, La place du plaisir.” 7. _Ad Lesbiam_. His mistress had asked Catullus how many kisses would satisfy him, and he answers that they must be as numerous as the sands of the sea— “Aut quam sidera multa, cum tacet nox, Furtivos hominum vident amores.”