Identifier: literatureofalln04hawt (find matches)
Title: The literature of all nations and all ages; history, character, and incident
Year: 1900 (1900s)
Authors: Hawthorne, Julian, 1846-1934 Young, John Russell, 1840-1899 Lamberton, John Porter, 1839-1917
Subjects: Literature
Publisher: Chicago, Philadelphia (etc.) E. R. Du Mont
Contributing Library: Northeastern University, Snell Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Boston Library Consortium Member Libraries

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Text Appearing Before Image:
But Virgil first—that best of men and bards.
And then kind Varius mentioned what I was.
Before you brought, with many a faltering pause,
Dropping some few brief words (for bashfulness
Robbed me of utterance) I did not profess
That I was sprung of lineage old and great,
Or used to canter round my own estate
On a Satureian barb; but what and who
I was, as plainly told. As usual, you
Brief answer make me. I retire, and then—
Some nine months after—summoning me again,
You bid me mongst your friends assume a place;
And proud I feel that thus I won your grace;
Not by an ancestry long known to fame,
But by my life and heart, devoid of blame.

His DAIIY LIFE IN ROME.

I WALK alone, by mine own fancy led.
Inquire the price of pot-herbs and of bread.
The circus cross, to see its tricks and fun,
The forum too, at times near set of sun ;
With other fools there do I stand and gape
Round fortune-tellers stalls ; thence home escape
To a plain meal of pancakes, pulse, and peas;
Three young boy-slaves attend on me with these.

COPYRIGHT 1900
Text Appearing After Image:

A. LELOIR PINX.

HORACE AT TIBUR

LATIN LITERATURE 135

Upon a slab of snow-white marble stand
A goblet and two beakers; near at Hand
A common ewer, patera, and bowl:
Campania's potteries produced the whole.
To sleep then I. . . .
I keep my couch till ten, then walk a while,
Or having read or writ what may beguile
A quiet after-hour, anoint my limbs
With oil—not such as filthy Natta skims
From lamps defrauded of their unctuous fare.
And when the sunbeams, grown too hot to bear,
Warn me to quit the field and hand-ball play,
The bath takes all my weariness away.
Then having lightly dined just to appease
The sense of emptiness—I take mine ease,
Enjoying all homes simple luxury.
This is the life of bard unclogged, like me.
By stern ambition's miserable weight.
So placed, I own with gratitude, my state
Is sweeter, aye, than though a quæsestor's power
From sire and grandsires had been my dower.
—————————

INVITATION TO PHYLLIS.

I HAVE laid in a cask of Albanian wine.
Which nine mellow summers have ripened and more.
In my gardens, dear Phyllis, thy brows to entwine

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