Good speed ye made, in sooth, good speed, ye blest, And by a shorter course won heavenly rest; Over a narrow sea of your own blood Death's bark has borne you, by few gales withstood: While with slow oars we toil the shore to gain, Through boisterous fury of the boundless main. _We_ waste with lingering, indolent decay; We are Death's pastime and his wanton play; O'er time and age and wide waves we are blown, Expos'd to furies and to chances thrown. Wretched in full are we, perish at length; Fates seek us out, and try on us their strength. We are Fate's skill, Evils' ambition fine, Death's utmost effort and deep-plann'd design. In a long life wide field for Death there lies; In a short life grand deeds may daze men's eyes.[96] By years we live we reckon not our life; Our life is short, with great deeds be it rife. To spend long years, let not long life be thought; A long-liv'd deed oft in short life is wrought. God not so much contracted your life's space, As order'd Death the sooner to give place. What earth's life loses, gains the life on high: By how much sooner, so much less we die. R. WI. SPES. Spes diva, salve! diva avidam tuo Necessitatem numine prorogans, Vindicta fortunae furentis, Una salus mediis ruinis. Regina quamvis, tu solium facis Depressa parvi tecta tugurii; Surgit jacentes inter; illic Firma magis tua regna constant. Cantus catenis, carmina carcere, Dolore ab ipso gaudiaque exprimis: Scintilla tu vivis sub imo Pectoris, haud metuens procellas. Tu regna servis, copia pauperi, Victis triumphus, littora naufrago, Ipsisque damnatis patrona, Anchora sub medio profundo. Quin ipse alumnus sum tuus, ubere Pendens ab isto, et hinc animam traho. O Diva nutrix, ô foventes Pande sinus, sitiens laboro. TRANSLATION. HOPE. Hail, goddess Hope! Who Fate remorseless movest Far off, and canst with raging Fortune cope; 'Mid ruin thou our sole salvation provest. A mighty queen, Thy throne on roof-trees lowly And prostrate souls is fix'd, and there are seen The firm foundations of thy kingdom holy. A gladsome hymn From fetters disengaging, And joy from grief, thou liv'st in bosom dim, A spark that laughs at tempests wildly raging. A crown to slaves; Abundance to the needy; To shipwreck'd men a refuge from the waves; To conquer'd and condemn'd deliverance speedy. An 'Anchor sure,' The eternal Rock thou graspest, The strain of ocean 'stedfast' to endure; And Heaven's calm joys 'within the veil' thou claspest. Nay, I thy child, Dependent here adore thee: From thee I draw my life, O Mother mild; Open thy fostering bosom, I implore thee. R. WI. ΕΙΣ ΤΟΝ ΤΟΥ ΣΤΕΦΑΝΟΥ ΣΤΕΦΑΝΟΝ.