For oft, as from his toils abroad he ceas'd,
Home-bound by weather, or some stated feast,
His debt of culture here he duly paid,
And only left the plough, to wield the spade.
He knew to give each plant the soil it needs,
To drill the ground, and cover close the seeds;
And could with ease compel the wanton rill
To turn, and wind, obedient to his will.
There flourish'd star-wort, and the branching beet,
The sorrel acid, and the mallow sweet,
The skirret, and the leek's aspiring kind,
The noxious poppy-quencher of the mind!
Salubrious sequel of a sumptuous board,
The lettuce, and the long huge-bellied gourd;
But these (for none his appetite controll❜d
With stricter sway) the thrifty rustic sold;
With broom-twigs neatly bound, each kind apart,
He bore them ever to the public mart:
Whence, laden still, but with a lighter load,
Of cash well earn'd, he took his homeward road,
Expending seldom, ere he quitted Rome,
His gains, in flesh-meat for a feast at home.
There, at no cost, on onions, rank and red,
Or the curl'd endive's bitter leaf, he fed:
On scallions slic'd, or with a sensual gust,
On rockets-foul provocatives of lust!
Nor ever shunn'd, with smarting gums to press
Nasturtium-pungent face-distorting mess!
Some such regale now also in his thought,
With hasty steps his garden-ground he sought;
There delving with his hands, he first displac'd
Four plants of garlick, large, and rooted fast,
The tender tops of parsley next he culls,
Then the old rue-bush shudders as he pulls,
And coriander last to these succeeds,
That hangs on slightest threads her trembling seeds.
Plac'd near his sprightly fire he now demands The mortar at his sable servant's hands; When stripping all his garlick first, he tore Th' exterior coats, and cast them on the floor, Then cast away with like contempt the skin, Flimsier concealment of the cloves within. These search'd, and perfect found, he one by one, Rinc'd, and dispos'd within the hollow stone. Salt added, and a lump of salted cheese, With his injected herbs he cover❜d these, And tucking with his left his tunic tight, And seizing fast the pestle with his right, The garlick bruising first he soon express'd, And mix'd the various ices of the rest.
He grinds, and by degrees his herbs below
Lost in each other their own pow'rs forego,
And with the cheese in compound, to the sight
Nor wholly green appear, nor wholly white.
His nostrils oft the forceful fume resent,
He curs'd full oft his dinner for its scent,
Or with wry faces, wiping as he spoke
The trickling tears, cried "vengeance on the smoke!"
The work proceeds: not roughly turns he
The pestle, but in circles smooth and slow,
With cautious hand, that grudges what it spills,
Some drops of olive-oil he next instils.
Then vinegar with caution scarcely less,
And gathering to a ball the medley mess,
Last, with two fingers frugally applied,
Sweeps the small remnant from the mortar's side.
And thus complete in figure and in kind,
Obtains at length the Salad he design'd.
And now black Cybale before him stands,
The cake drawn newly glowing in her hands,
He glad receives it, chasing far away
All fears of famine, for the passing day;
His legs enclos'd in buskins, and his head
In its tough casque of leather, forth he led
And yok'd his steers, a dull obedient pair,
Then drove afield, and plung'd the pointed share.
VARIOUS LATIN POEMS OF VINCENT BOURNE,
AND A FEW EPIGRAMS OF OWEN.
THRACIAN parents, at his birth,
Mourn their babe with many a tear,
But with undissembled mirth
Place him breathless on his bier.
THREICIUM infantem, cum lucem intravit et auras,
Fletibus excepit mæstus uterque parens.
Threicium infantem, cum luce exivit et auris,
Extulit ad funus lætus uterque parens.
Greece and Rome, with equal scorn,
"O the savages! exclaim," Whether they rejoice or mourn,
Well entitled to the name!
But the cause of this concern,
And this pleasure would they trace,
Even they might somewhat learn
From the savages of Thrace.
THE PRIMARY LAW OF NATURE.
ANDROCLES from his injur❜d lord in dread Of instant death, to Lybia's desert fled.
Interea tu Roma; et tu tibi Græcia plaudens,
Dicitis, hæc vera est Thracia barbaries.
Lætitiæ causam, causamque exquirite luctus;
Vosque est quod doceat Thracia barbaries.
PER Libyæ Androcles siccas errabat arenas;
Qui vagus iratum fugerat exul herum.
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