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Because man loved me, no God takes pity: My ghost goes wailing where I was Queen! Alas! my chamber in Troy's tall city, My golden couches, my hangings green!
Wasted with fire are the halls they built me, And sown with salt are the streets I trod, Where flowers they scattered and spices spilt me— Alas, that Zeus is a jealous God!
Softly I went on my sandals golden; Of love and pleasure I took my fill; With Paris' kisses my lips were holden, Nor guessed I, when life went at my will, That the fates behind me went softlier still.
—Nora Hopper
AN ETRUSCAN RING
Where, girt with orchard and with oliveyard, The white hill-fortress glimmers on the hill, Day after day an ancient goldsmith's skill Guided the copper graver, tempered hard By some lost secret, while he shaped the sard Slowly to beauty, and his tiny drill, Edged with corundum, ground its way until The gem lay perfect for the ring to guard.
Then seeing the stone complete to his desire, With mystic imagery carven thus, And dark Egyptian symbols fabulous, He drew through it the delicate golden wire, And bent the fastening; and the Etrurian sun Sank behind Ilva, and the work was done.
What dark-haired daughter of a Lucumo Bore on her slim white finger to the grave This the first gift her Tyrrhene lover gave, Those five-and-twenty centuries ago? What shadowy dreams might haunt it, lying low So long, while kings and armies, wave on wave, Above the rock-tomb's buried architrave Went trampling million-footed to and fro?
Who knows? but well it is so frail a thing, Unharmed by conquering Time's supremacy, Still should be fair, though scarce less old than Rome. Now once again at rest from wandering Across the high Alps and the dreadful sea, In utmost England let it find a home.
—J. W. Mackail
ORPHEUS WITH HIS LUTE
Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing: To his music, plants and flowers Ever sprung: as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring.
Everything that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep or hearing, die.
—William Shakespeare
A HYMN IN PRAISE OF NEPTUNE
Of Neptune's empire let us sing At whose command the waves obey; To whom the rivers tribute pay, Down the high mountains sliding: To whom the scaly nation yields Homage for the crystal fields Wherein they dwell: And every sea-god pays a gem Yearly out of his wat'ry cell To deck great Neptune's diadem.
The Tritons dancing in a ring Before his palace gates do make The waters with their echoes quake, Like the great thunder sounding: The sea-nymphs chant their accents shrill, And the sirens, taught to kill With their sweet voice, Make every echoing rock reply Unto their gentle murmuring noise The praise of Neptune's empery.
—Thomas Campion
HORACE'S PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE
Book II, Ode 16
(In part, only)
He lives on little, and is blest, On whose plain board the bright Salt-cellar shines, which was his sire's delight, Nor terrors, nor cupidity's unrest, Disturb his slumbers light.
Why should we still project and plan, We creatures of an hour? Why fly from clime to clime, new regions scour? Where is the exile, who, since time began, To fly from self had power?
Fell care climbs brazen galley's sides; Nor troops of horse can fly Her foot, which than the stag's is swifter, ay, Swifter than Eurus when he madly rides The clouds along the sky.
Careless what lies beyond to know, And turning to the best, The present, meet life's bitters with a jest, And smile them down; since nothing here below Is altogether blest.
In manhood's prime Achilles died, Tithonus by the slow Decay of age was wasted to a show, And Time may what it hath to thee denied On me perchance bestow.
To me a farm of modest size, And slender vein of song, Such as in Greece flowed vigorous and strong, Kind fate hath given, and spirit to despise The base, malignant throng.
—Sir Theodore Martin
AN INVITATION TO DINE WRITTEN BY HORACE TO VIRGIL
Book IV, Ode 12
Yes, a small box of nard from the stores of Sulpicius[2] A cask shall elicit, of potency rare To endow with fresh hopes, dewy-bright and delicious, And wash from our hearts every cobweb of care.
If you'd dip in such joys, come—the better the quicker!— But remember the fee—for it suits not my ends, To let you make havoc, scot-free, 'with my liquor, As though I were one of your heavy-pursed friends.
To the winds with base lucre and pale melancholy!— In the flames of the pyre these, alas! will be vain, Mix your sage ruminations with glimpses of folly,— 'Tis delightful at times to be somewhat insane.
—Sir Theodore Martin
[Footnote 2: Virgil must bring some rare perfume in exchange for the rich wine, since Horace thus playfully conditions his invitation.]
THE GOLDEN MEAN
Horace. Book II, Ode 10
Receive, dear friends, the truths I teach, So shalt thou live beyond the reach Of adverse Fortune's power; Not always tempt the distant deep, Nor always timorously creep Along the treacherous shore.
He that holds fast the golden mean And lives contentedly between The little and the great, Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, Imbittering all his state.
The tallest pines feel most the power Of wintry blasts; the loftiest tower Comes heaviest to the ground; The bolts that spare the mountain's side His cloud-capt eminence divide, And spread the ruin round.
The well-informed philosopher Rejoices with a wholesome fear, And hopes in spite of pain; If winter bellow from the north, Soon the sweet spring comes dancing forth, And nature laughs again.
What if thine heaven be overcast? The dark appearance will not last; Expect a brighter sky. The god that strings a silver bow Awakes sometimes the Muses too, And lays his arrows by.
If hindrances obstruct thy way, Thy magnanimity display, And let thy strength be seen: But O! if Fortune fill thy sail With more than a propitious gale, Take half thy canvas in.
—William Cowper
TO THE READER
Martial
He unto whom thou art so partial, O reader, is the well-known Martial, The Epigrammatist: while living, Give him the fame thou wouldst be giving So shall he hear, and feel, and know it: Post-obits rarely reach a poet.
—Lord Byron
ON PORTIA
Martial. Book I, xlii
When the sad tale, how Brutus fell, was brought, And slaves refused the weapon Portia sought; "Know ye not yet," she said, with towering pride, "Death is a boon that cannot be denied? I thought my father amply had imprest This simple truth upon each Roman breast." Dauntless she gulph'd the embers as they flamed And, while their heat within her raged, exclaim'd "Now, troublous guardians of a life abhorr'd, Still urge your caution, and refuse the sword."
—George Lamb
TO POTITUS
Martial. Book X, lxx
That scarce a piece I publish in a year, Idle perhaps to you I may appear. But rather, that I write at all, admire, When I am often robbed of days entire. Now with my friends the evening I must spend: To those preferred my compliments must send. Now at the witnessing a will make one: Hurried from this to that, my morning's gone. Some office must attend; or else some ball; Or else my lawyer's summons to the hall. Now a rehearsal, now a concert hear; And now a Latin play at Westminster. Home after ten return, quite tir'd and dos'd. When is the piece, you want, to be compos'd?
—John Hay
WHAT IS GIVEN TO FRIENDS IS NOT LOST
Martial
Your slave will with your gold abscond, The fire your home lay low, Your debtor will disown his bond Your farm no crops bestow; Your steward a mistress frail shall cheat; Your freighted ship the storms will beat; That only from mischance you'll save, Which to your friends is given; The only wealth you'll always have Is that you've lent to heaven.
—English Journal of Education, Jan., 1856
TO COTILUS
Martial
They tell me, Cotilus, that you're a beau: What this is, Cotilus, I wish to know. "A beau is one who, with the nicest care, In parted locks divides his curling hair; One who with balm and cinnamon smells sweet, Whose humming lips some Spanish air repeat; Whose naked arms are smoothed with pumice-stone, And tossed about with graces all his own: A beau is one who takes his constant seat From morn till evening, where the ladies meet; And ever, on some sofa hovering near, Whispers some nothing in some fair one's ear; Who scribbles thousand billets-doux a day; Still reads and scribbles, reads, and sends away; A beau is one who shrinks, if nearly pressed By the coarse garment of a neighbor guest; Who knows who flirts with whom, and still is found At each good table in successive round: A beau is one—none better knows than he A race-horse, and his noble pedigree"— Indeed? Why Cotilus, if this be so, What teasing trifling thing is called a beau!
—Elton
THE HAPPY LIFE
Martial
To Julius Martialis
The things that make a life to please, (Sweetest Martial), they are these: Estate inherited, not got: A thankful field, hearth always hot: City seldom, law-suits never: Equal friends, agreeing forever: Health of body, peace of mind: Sleeps that till the morning bind: Wise simplicity, plain fare: Not drunken nights, yet loos'd from care: A sober, not a sullen spouse: Clean strength, not such as his that plows; Wish only what thou art, to be; Death neither wish, nor fear to see.
—Sir Richard Fanshawe
TO A SCHOOLMASTER
Martial. Book X, lxii
Thou monarch of eight parts of speech, Who sweep'st with birch a youngster's breech, Oh! now awhile withhold your hand! So may the trembling crop-hair'd band Around your desk attentive hear, And pay you love instead of fear; So may yours ever be as full, As writing or as dancing school. The scorching dog-day is begun; The harvest roasting in the sun; Each Bridewell keeper, though requir'd To use the lash, is too much tir'd. Let ferula and rod together Lie dormant, till the frosty weather. Boys do improve enough in reason, Who miss a fever in this season.
—John Hay
EPITAPH ON EROTION
Martial. Book X, lxi
Underneath this greedy stone, Lies little sweet Erotion;[3] Whom the Fates, with hearts as cold, Nipp'd away at six years old. Thou, whoever thou mayst be, That hast this small field after me, Let the yearly rites be paid To her little slender shade; So shall no disease or jar Hurt thy house, or chill thy Lar; But this tomb be here alone The only melancholy stone.
—Leigh Hunt
[Footnote 3: A little girl who died at six years of age.]
NON AMO TE
Martial. I, 32
Non amo te, Sabidi, nec possum dicere quare: Hoc tantum possum dicere, non amo te.[4]
[Footnote 4: This well known epigram is the original of one equally famous in English, that written by Tom Brown on Dr. John Fell, about 1670.
"I do not like thee, Dr. Fell. The reason why I cannot tell; But this I know and know full well I do not like thee, Dr. Fell." ]
GRATITUDE
Some hae meat and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it; But we hae meat and we can eat And sae the Lord be thanket.
—Burns
Translation
Sunt quibus est panis nec amor tamen ullus edendi: Sunt quibus hic amor est deest tamen ipse cibus. Panis at est nobis et amor quoque panis edendi Pro quibus est Domino gratia habenda Deo.
—The Lawrence Latinist
A HYMN TO THE LARES
It was, and still my care is, To worship ye, the Lares, With crowns of greenest parsley, And garlick chives not scarcely; For favors here to warme me, And not by fire to harme me; For gladding so my hearth here, With inoffensive mirth here; That while the wassaile bowle here With North-down ale doth troule here, No sillable doth fall here, To marre the mirth at all here. For which, O chimney-keepers! (I dare not call ye sweepers) So long as I am able To keep a country-table Great be my fare, or small cheere, I'll eat and drink up all here.
—Robert Herrick
ELYSIUM
Past the despairing wail— And the bright banquets of the Elysian Vale Melt every care away! Delight, that breathes and moves forever, Glides through sweet fields like some sweet river! Elysian life survey! There, fresh with youth, o'er jocund meads, His merry west-winds blithely leads The ever-blooming May! Through gold-woven dreams goes the dance of the Hours, In space without bounds swell the soul and its powers, And Truth, with no veil, gives her face to the day. And joy today and joy tomorrow But wafts the airy soul aloft; The very name is lost to Sorrow, And Pain is Rapture tuned more exquisitely soft. Here the Pilgrim reposes the world-weary limb, And forgets in the shadow, cool-breathing and dim, The load he shall bear never more; Here the mower, his sickle at rest, by the streams Lull'd with harp strings, reviews, in the calm of his dreams The fields, when the harvest is o'er. Here, He, whose ears drank in the battle roar, Whose banners streamed upon the startled wind A thunder-storm,—before whose thunder tread The mountains trembled,—in soft sleep reclined, By the sweet brook that o'er its pebbly bed In silver plays, and murmurs to the shore, Hears the stern clangour of wild spears no more.
—Schiller
ORPHEUS
Orpheus he went (as poets tell) To fetch Euridice from hell; And had her; but it was upon This short, but strict, condition: Backward he should not looke while he Led her through hell's obscuritie. But ah! it happened as he made His passage through that dreadful shade, Revolve he did his loving eye, For gentle feare, or jelousie, And looking back, that look did sever Him and Euridice forever.
—Robert Herrick
CERBERUS
Dear Reader, should you chance to go To Hades, do not fail to throw A "Sop to Cerberus" at the gate, His anger to propitiate. Don't say "Good dog!" and hope thereby His three fierce Heads to pacify. What though he try to be polite And wag his tail with all his might, How shall one amiable Tail Against three angry Heads prevail? The Heads must win.—What puzzles me Is why in Hades there should be A watchdog; 'tis, I should surmise, The last place one would burglarize.
—Oliver Herford
THE HARPY
They certainly contrived to raise Queer ladies in the olden days. Either the type had not been fixed, Or else Zooelogy got mixed. I envy not primeval man This female on the feathered plan. We only have, I'm glad to say, Two kinds of human birds today— Women and warriors, who still Wear feathers when dressed up to kill.
—Oliver Herford
CUPID AND THE BEE
Anacreon[5]
Young Cupid once a rose caressed, And sportively its leaflets pressed. The witching thing, so fair to view One could not but believe it true, Warmed, on its bosom false, a bee, Which stung the boy-god in his glee. Sobbing, he raised his pinions bright, And flew unto the isle of light, Where, in her beauty, myrtle-crowned, The Paphian goddess sat enthroned. Her Cupid sought, and to her breast His wounded finger, weeping, pressed. "O mother! kiss me," was his cry— "O mother! save me, or I die; A winged little snake or bee With cruel sting has wounded me!" The blooming goddess in her arms Folded and kissed his budding charms; To her soft bosom pressed her pride, And then with truthful words replied: "If thus a little insect thing Can pain thee with its tiny sting, How languish, think you, those who smart Beneath my Cupid's cruel dart? How fatal must that poison prove That rankles on the shafts of Love."
[Footnote 5: Anacreon was a Greek society poet, living in the sixth century B.C.]
THE ASSEMBLY OF THE GODS
O'er rolling stars, from heavenly stalls advancing, The coaches soon were seen, and a long train Of mules with litters, horses fleet and prancing, Their trappings all embroidery, nothing plain; And with fine liveries, in the sunbeams glancing, More than a hundred servants, rather vain Of handsome looks and of their stature tall, Followed their masters to the Council Hall.
First came the Prince of Delos, Phoebus hight, In a gay travelling carriage, fleetly drawn By six smart Spanish chestnuts, shining bright, Which with their tramping shook the aerial lawn; Red was his cloak, three-cocked his hat, and light Around his neck the golden fleece was thrown; And twenty-four sweet damsels, nectar-sippers, Were running near him in their pumps or slippers.
Pallas, with lovely but disdainful mien, Came on a nag of Basignanian race; Tight round her leg, and gathered up, was seen Her gown, half Greek, half Spanish; o'er her face Part of her hair hung loose, a natural screen, Part was tied up, and with becoming grace; A bunch of feathers on her head she wore, And on her saddle-bow her falchion bore.
But Ceres and the God of Wine appeared At once, conversing; and the God of Ocean Upon a dolphin's back his form upreared, Floating through waves of air with graceful motion; Naked, all sea-weed, and with mud besmeared; For whom his mother Rhea feels emotion, Reproaching his proud brother, when she meets him, Because so like a fisherman he treats him.
Diana, the sweet virgin, was not there; She had risen early and o'er woodland green Had gone to wash her clothes in fountain fair Upon the Tuscan shore—romantic scene. And not returning till the northern star Had rolled through dusky air and lost its sheen, Her mother made excuses quite provoking, Knitting at the time, a worsted stocking.
Juno-Lucina did not go—and why? She anxious wished to wash her sacred head. Menippus, Jove's chief taster, standing by For the disastrous Fates excuses made. They had much tow to spin, and lint to dry, And they were also busy baking bread. The cellarman, Silenus, kept away, To water the domestics' wine, that day.
On starry benches sit the famous warriors Of the immortal kingdom, in a ring; Now drums and cymbals, echoing to the barriers, Announce the coming of the gorgeous king; A hundred pages, valets, napkin-carriers Attend, and their peculiar offerings bring. And after them, armed with his club so hard, Alcides, captain of the city guard.
With Jove's broad hat and spectacles arrived The light-heeled Mercury; in his hand he bore A sack, in which, of other means deprived, He damned poor mortals' prayers, some million score; Those he disposed in vessels, well contrived, Which graced his father's cabinet of yore; And, wont attention to all claims to pay, He regularly signed them twice a day.
Then Jove himself, in royal habit dressed, With starry diadem upon his head, And o'er his shoulders an imperial vest Worn upon holidays.—The king displayed A sceptre, pastoral shape, with hooked crest: In a rich jacket too was he arrayed, Given by the inhabitants of Sericane, And Ganymede held up his splendid train.
—A. Tassoni
A MODEL YOUNG LADY OF ANTIQUITY
(Pliny, the Younger, writes the following in a letter relative to the death of Minicia Marcella, the daughter of his friend, Fundanus.)
Tristissimus haec tibi scribo, Fundani nostri filia minore defuncta, qua puella nihil umquam festivius, amabilius, nec modo longiore vita sed prope immortalitate dignius vidi. Nondum annos quattuor decem impleverat, et iam illi anilis prudentia, matronalis gravitas erat, et tamen suavitas puellaris cum virginali verecundia. Ut illa patris cervicibus inhaerebat! Ut nos amicos paternos et amanter et modeste complectabatur! ut nutrices, ut paedagogos, ut praeceptores, pro suo quemque officio diligebat! quam studiose, quam intellegenter lectitabat! ut parce custoditeque ludebat! Qua illa temperantia, qua patientia, qua etiam constantia novissimam valetudinem tulit! Medicis obsequebatur, sororem, patrem adhortabatur, ipsamque se destitutam corporis viribus vigore animi sustinebat. Duravit hic illi usque ad extremum nec aut spatio valetudinis aut metu mortis infractus est, quo plures gravioresque nobis causas relinqueret et desiderii et doloris. O triste plane acerbumque funus! O morte ipsa mortis tempus indignius! Iam destinata erat egregio iuveni, iam electus nuptiarum dies, iam nos vocati. Quod gaudium quo maerore mutatum est! Nec possum exprimere verbis quantum anima vulnus acceperim, cum audivi Fundanum ipsum, praecipientem, quod in vestes margarita gemmas fuerat erogaturus, hoc in tus et unguenta et odores impenderetur.
—C. Pliny. Epist. v, 16
Translation
I have the saddest news to tell you. Our friend Fundanus has lost his youngest daughter. I never saw a girl more cheerful, more lovable, more worthy of long life—nay, of immortality. She had not yet completed her fourteenth year, and she had already the prudence of an old woman, the gravity of a matron, and still, with all maidenly modesty, the sweetness of a girl. How she would cling to her father's neck! how affectionately and discreetly she would greet us, her father's friends! how she loved her nurses, her attendants, her teachers,—everyone according to his service. How earnestly, how intelligently, she used to read! How modest was she and restrained in her sports! And with what self-restraint, what patience—nay, what courage—she bore her last illness! She obeyed the physicians, encouraged her father and sister, and, when all strength of body had left her, kept herself alive by the vigor of her mind. This vigor lasted to the very end, and was not broken by the length of her illness or by the fear of death; so leaving, alas! to us yet more and weightier reasons for our grief and our regret. Oh the sadness, the bitterness of that death! Oh the cruelty of the time when we lost her, worse even than the loss itself! She had been betrothed to a noble youth; the marriage day had been fixed, and we had been invited. How great a joy changed into how great a sorrow! I cannot express in words how it went to my heart when I heard Fundanus himself (this is one of the grievous experiences of sorrow) giving orders that what he had meant to lay out on dresses, and pearls, and jewels, should be spent on incense, unguents, and spices.
—Tr. Alfred J. Church
TO LESBIA'S SPARROW
Lugete, o Veneres Cupidinesque, Et quantumst hominum venustiorum. Passer mortuus est meae puellae, Passer, deliciae meae puellae, Quem plus illa oculis suis amabat: Nam mellitus erat suamque norat Ipsa tam bene quam puella matrem, Nec sese a gremio illius movebat, Sed circumsiliens modo huc modo illuc Ad solam dominam usque pipiabat. Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum Illuc unde negant redire quemquam. At vobis male sit, malae tenebrae Orci, quae omnia bella devoratis: Tam bellum mihi passerem abstulistis. O factum male! io miselle passer! Tua nunc opera meae puellae Flendo turgiduli rubent ocelli.
—Catullus
Translation
Each Love, each Venus, mourn with me! Mourn, every son of gallantry! The sparrow, my own nymph's delight, The joy and apple of her sight; The honey-bird, the darling dies, To Lesbia dearer than her eyes, As the fair one knew her mother, So he knew her from another. With his gentle lady wrestling, In her snowy bosom nestling; With a flutter and a bound, Quiv'ring round her and around; Chirping, twitt'ring, ever near, Notes meant only for her ear. Now he skims the shadowy way, Whence none return to cheerful day. Beshrew the shades! that thus devour All that's pretty in an hour. The pretty sparrow thus is dead; The tiny fugitive is fled. Deed of spite! poor bird!—ah! see, For thy dear sake, alas! for me!— My nymph with brimful eyes appears, Red from the flushing of her tears.
—Elton
CICERO
The following tribute to Cicero was written by Catullus, the Roman lyric poet (87-54 B.C.)
Disertissime Romuli nepotum, Quot sunt quotque fuere, Marce Tulli, Quot que post aliis erunt in annis, Gratius tibi maximas Catullus Agit, pessimus omnium poeta, Tanto pessimus omnium poeta Quanto tu optimus omnium patronum.
Translation
Tully, most eloquent, most sage Of all the Roman race, That deck the past or present age, Or future days may grace.
Oh! may Catullus thus declare An overflowing heart; And, though the worst of poets, dare A grateful lay impart!
'Twill teach thee how thou hast surpast All others in thy line; For, far as he in his is last, Art thou the first in thine.
—Charles Lamb
DE PATIENTIA
Patiendo fit homo melior, Auro pulchrior, Vitro clarior, Laude dignior, Gradu altior, A vitiis purgatior, Virtutibus perfectior, Iesu Christo acceptior, Sanctis quoque similior, Hostibus suis fortior, Amicis amabilior.
—Thomas a Kempis
THE FAVORITE PRAYER OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS[6]
O Domine Deus! Speravi in te; O care mi Iesu! Nunc libera me: In dura catena In misera poena Desidero te; Languendo, gemendo, Et genuflectendo Adoro, imploro, Ut liberes me!
Translation
My Lord and my God! I have trusted in Thee; O Jesus, my Savior belov'd, set me free: In rigorous chains, in piteous pains, I am longing for Thee! In weakness appealing, in agony kneeling, I pray, I beseech Thee, O Lord, set me free!
[Footnote 6: From the Prayer-book of Queen Mary, and believed to be her composition. Said to have been uttered by the queen just before her execution.]
ULTIMA THULE
American pride has often gloried in Seneca's "Vision of the West" written more than 1800 years ago.
Venient annis Saecula seris, quibus Oceanus Vincula rerum laxet, et ingens Pateat tellus, Tethysque novos Detegat orbes, nec sit terris Ultima Thule.
—Seneca
Translation
A time will come in future ages far When Ocean will his circling bounds unbar, And, opening vaster to the Pilot's hand, New worlds shall rise, where mightier kingdoms are, Nor Thule longer be the utmost land.
THE ROMAN OF OLD
Oh, the Roman was a rogue, He erat, was, you bettum; He ran his automobilis And smoked his cigarettum; He wore a diamond studibus And elegant cravatum, A maxima cum laude shirt And such a stylish hattum.
He loved the luscious hic-haec-hoc, And bet on games and equi: At times he won: at others, though, He got it in the nequi. He winked (quousque tandem?) At puellas on the Forum, And sometimes even made Those goo-goo oculorum!
He frequently was seen At combats gladiatorial, And ate enough to feed Ten boarders at Memorial: He often went on sprees, And said on starting homus, "Hic labor, opus est, Oh, where's my hic-haec-domus?"
Although he lived in Rome— Of all the arts the middle— He was (excuse the phrase) A horrid individ'l; Ah, what a different thing Was the homo (dative homini) Of far away B.C. From us of Anno Domini!
—Harvard Lampoon
ICH BIN DEIN
The Journal of Education commends this ingenious poem, written in seven languages—English, French, German, Greek, Latin, Spanish, and Italian—as one of the best specimens of Macaronic verse in existence, and worthy of preservation by all collectors.
In tempus old a hero lived, Qui loved puellas deux; He no pouvait pas quite to say Which one amabat mieux. Dit-il lui-meme un beau matin, "Non possum both avoir, Sed si address Amanda Ann, Then Kate y yo have war. Amanda habet argent coin, Sed Kate has aureas curls; Et both sunt very agathae Et quite formosae girls." Enfin the joven anthropos, Philoun the duo maids, Resolved proponere ad Kate Devant cet evening's shades, Procedens then to Kate's domo, Il trouve Amanda there, Kai quite forgot his late resolves, Both sunt so goodly fair, Sed smiling on the new tapis, Between puellas twain, Coepit to tell suo love a Kate Dans un poetique strain. Mais, glancing ever et anon At fair Amanda's eyes, Illae non possunt dicere Pro which he meant his sighs. Each virgo heard the demi-vow, Con cheeks as rouge as wine, Ed offering, each, a milk-white hand, Both whispered, "Ich bin dein."
MALUM OPUS
Prope ripam fluvii solus A senex silently sat; Super capitum ecce his wig, Et wig super, ecce his hat.
Blew Zephyrus alte, acerbus, Dum elderly gentleman sat; Et a capite took up quite torve Et in rivum projecit his hat.
Tunc soft maledixit the old man, Tunc stooped from the bank where he sat, Et cum scipio poked in the water, Conatus servare his hat.
Blew Zephyrus alte, acerbus, The moment it saw him at that; Et whisked his novum scratch wig In flumen, along with his hat.
Ab imo pectore damnavit, In coeruleus eye dolor sat; Tunc despairingly threw in his cane, Nare cum his wig and his hat.
L'Envoi
Contra bonos mores, don't swear It est wicked you know (verbum sat) Si this tale habet no other moral Mehercle! You're gratus to that.
—James A. Morgan
FELIS
A cat sedebat on our fence As laeta as could be; Her vox surgebat to the skies, Canebat merrily.
My clamor was of no avail, Tho' clare did I cry. Conspexit me with mild reproof, And winked her alter eye.
Quite vainly ieci boots, a lamp, Some bottles and a book; Ergo, I seized my pistol, et My aim cum cura took.
I had six shots, dixi, "Ye gods, May I that felis kill!" Quamquam I took six of her lives The other three sang still.
The felis sang with major vim, Though man's aim was true, Conatus sum, putare quid In tonitru I'd do.
A scheme advenit in my head Scivi, 'twould make her wince— I sang! Et then the hostis fled Non eam vidi since.
—Tennessee University Magazine
AMANTIS RES ADVERSAE
A homo ibat, one dark night Puellas visitare Et mansit there so very late Ut illi constet cura.
Pueri walking by the house Saw caput in fenestra, Et sunt morati for a while To see quis erat in there.
Soon caput turned its nasum round In viam puerorum; Agnoscunt there the pedagogue, Oh! maximum pudorem!
Progressus puer to the door Cum magna quietate, Et turned the key to lock him in Moratus satis ante.
Tum pedagogue arose to go Est feeling hunky-dore: Sed non potest to get out Nam key's outside the fore.
Ascendit sweetheart now the stairs Cum festinato pede, Et roused puellas from their sleep Sed habent non the door key.
Tum excitavit dominum By her tumultuous voce Insanus currit to the door Et vidit puellam.
"Furenti place," the master roared, "Why spoil you thus my somnum? Exite from the other door Si rogues have locked the front one."
Puella tristis hung her head And took her lover's manum, Et cite from the other door His caput est impulsum.
Cum magno gradu redit domum Retrorsum umquam peeping, Et never ausus est again Vexare people's sleeping.
PUER EX JERSEY
Puer ex Jersey Iens ad school; Vidit in meadow, Infestum mule.
Ille approaches O magnus sorrow! Puer it skyward Funus TOMORROW.
Moral
Qui vidit a thing Non ei well-known Est bene for him Id relinqui alone.
—Anonymous
* * * * *
SONGS THAT MAY BE USED
FOR THE PROGRAMS
* * * * *
FLEVIT LEPUS PARVULUS
16th Century Student Song
[**Music]
Flevit lepus parvulus clamans altis vocibus:
[Chorus] Quid feci hominibus, quod me sequuntur canibus?
Neque in horto fui, neque olus comedi.
Longas aures habeo, brevem caudam teneo.
Leves pedes habeo, magnum saltum facio.
Domus mea silva est, lectus meus durus est.
[Footnote in original book (published 1916): By permission of Miss M.L. Smith. Latin Lessons. Allyn and Bacon.]
CARMEN VITAE.
H. W. Longfellow, 1839, English B. L. D'Ooge, 1885, Latin F. H. Barthelemon, 1741-1808
[**Music]
Ne narrate verbis maestis, Esse vitam somnium! Vita nam iners est inanis, Et est visum perfidum.
Vita vera! vita gravis! Meta non est obitus; "Cinis es et cinis eris," Nihil est ad spiritus.
Ned laetitia, nec maeror, Finis designatus est; Sed augere, est noster labor, Semper rem quae nobis est.
Ars est longa, tempus fugit, Ut cor tuum valens sit, Tamen modum tristem tundit Neniae qui concinit.
Orbis terrae campo in lato, In aetatis proeliis, Mutum pecus turpe ne esto! Heros esto in copiis!
Fidere futuro noli! Anni numquam redeunt. Age nunc! age in praesenti! Fortes dei diligunt.
Summi nos admonent omnes Simus inter nobilis, Et legemus, disce dentes, Signa viae posteris;
Signa forsitan futura Alicui felicia, Qui, tum in dura vitae via, Cernat haec cum gratia.
Agite, tum nos nitamur Quidquid erit, fortiter, Superantes iam sequamur Patienter, acriter.
Vita vera! vita gravis! Meta non est obitus; "Cinis es et cinis eris," Nihil est ad spiritus.
GAUDEAMUS
[**Music]
Gaudeamus igitur, Iuvenes dum sumus; Post iucundam iuventutem, Post molestam senectutem, Nos habebit humus.
Ubi sunt, qui ante nos In mundo fuere? Transeas ad superos, Abeas ad inferos, Quos si vis videre.
Vita nostra brevis est, Brevi finietur; Venit mors velociter, Rapit nos atrociter, Nemini parcetur.
Vivat academia, Vivant professores, Vivat membrum quodlibet, Vivant membra quaelibet, Semper sint in flore.
Vivant omnes virgines, Faciles formosae; Vivant et mulieres, Dulces et amabiles, Bonae, laboriosae.
Vivat et res publica, Et qui illam regit. Vivat nostra civitas, Maecenatum caritas, Quae nos hic protegit.
Pereat tristitia, Pereant osores, Pereat diabolus, Quivis antiburschius Atque irrisores.
Translation
While the glowing hours are bright, Let not sadness mar them, For when age shall rifle youth, And shall drive our joys unsooth, Then the grave will bar them.
Where are those who from the world Long ago departed! Scale Olympus' lofty height— See grim Hades' murky night— There are the great hearted.
Mortal life is but a span, That is quickly fleeting; Cruel death comes on apace And removes us from the race, None with favor treating.
Long may this fair temple stand, Nassau now and ever! Long may her professors grace Each his own time honored place, Friendship failing never.
May our charming maidens live, Matchless all in beauty, May our blooming matrons long Be the theme of grateful song, Patterns bright of duty.
May our Union grow in strength, Faithful rulers guiding; In the blaze of Freedom's light Where the genial arts are bright, Find we rest abiding.
Out on sighing! Vanish hate, And ye friends of sadness; To his chill abode of woe, Let the dread Philistine go, Who would steal our gladness.
—Tr. J. A. Pearce, Jr.
LAURIGER HORATIUS
[**Music]
Lauriger Horatius, Quam dixisti verum! Fugit Euro citius Tempus edax rerum.
Chorus
Ubi sunt, O pocula, Dulciora melle, Rixae, pax, et oscula Rubentis puellae?
Crescit uva molliter, Et puella crescit, Sed poeta turpiter Sitiens canescit.
Quid iuvat aeternitas Nominis, amare Nisi terrae filias Licet, et potare?
Translation
Horace, crowned with laurels bright, Truly thou hast spoken; Time outspeeds the swift winds' flight, Earthly power is broken.
Chorus
Give me cups that foaming rise, Cups with fragrance laden, Pouting lips and smiling eyes, Of a blushing maiden.
Blooming grows the budding vine, And the maid grows blooming; But the poet quaffs not wine, Age is surely dooming.
Who would grasp at empty fame? 'Tis a fleeting vision; But for love and wine we claim, Sweetness all Elysian.
—Tr. J. A. Pearce, Jr.
AMERICA
This singable Latin translation of America was made by Professor George D. Kellogg of Union College and appeared in The Classical Weekly.
Te cano, Patria, candida, libera; te referet portus et exulum et tumulus senum; libera montium vox resonet.
Te cano, Patria, semper et atria ingenuum; laudo virentia culmina, flumina; sentio gaudia caelicolum.
Sit modulatio! libera natio dulce canat! labra vigentia, ora faventia, saxa silentia vox repleat!
Tutor es unicus, unus avum deus! Laudo libens. Patria luceat, libera fulgeat, vis tua muniat, Omnipotens!
INTEGER VITAE.
[**Music]
Horace. Book I, Ode xxii
Integer vitae, scelerisque purus Non eget Mauris jaculis nec arcu, Nec venenatis gravida sagittis, Fusce, pharetra.
Sive per Syrtes, iter aestuosas, Sive facturus per inhospitalem Caucasum, vel quae loca fabulosus Lambit Hydaspes.
Pone me pigris ubi nulla campis Arbor aestiva recreatur aura; Quod latus mundi nebulae malusque Iuppiter urget;
Pone sub curru nimium propinqui Solis, in terra domibus negata: Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo, Dulce loquentem.
Translation
Fuscus, the man of life upright and pure Needeth nor javelin, nor bow of Moor Nor arrows tipped with venom deadly-sure, Loading his quiver.
Whether o'er Afric's burning sand he rides, Or frosty Caucasus' bleak mountain-sides, Or wanders lonely, where Hydaspes glides, That storied river.
Place me where no life-laden summer breeze Freshens the meads, or murmurs 'mongst the trees; Where clouds oppress, and withering tempests' breeze From shore to shore.
Place me beneath the sunbeams' fiercest glare, On arid sands, no dwelling anywhere, Still Lalage's sweet smile, sweet voice e'en there I will adore.
—Tr. William Greenwood
ROCK OF AGES
Iesu, pro me perforatus, Condar intra tuum latus, Tu per lympham profluentem, Tu per sanguinem tepentem, In peccata mi redunda, Tolle culpam, sordes munda.
Coram te nec iustus forem, Quamvis tota vi laborem. Nec si fide nunquam cesso, Fletu stillans indefesso: Tibi soli tantum munus: Salva me, Salvator unus!
Nil in manu mecum fero Sed me versus crucem gero; Vestimenta nudus oro, Opem debilis imploro; Fontem Christi quaero immundus, Nisi laves, moribundus.
Dum hos artus vita regit; Quando nox sepulchre tegit; Mortuos cum stare iubes; Sedens iudex inter nubes; Iesu, pro me perforatus, Condar intra tuum latus.
—Toplady. Tr. by Gladstone
DIES IRAE[7]
Dies irae, dies illa Solvet saeclum in favilla, Teste David cum Sybilla.
Quantus tremor est futurus, Quando iudex est venturus, Cuncta stricte discussurus!
Tuba, mirum spargens sonum Per sepulcra regionum, Coget omnes ante thronum.
Mors stupebit, et natura, Cum resurget creatura Iudicanti responsura.
Liber scriptus proferetur, Inquo totum continetur, Unde mundus iudicetur.
Iudex ergo cum sedebit, Quidquid latet, apparebit, Nil inultum remanebit.
Quid sum miser tunc dicturus, Quem patronum rogaturus, Cum vix iustus sit securus?
Rex tremendae maiestatis, Qui salvandos salvas gratis, Salva me, fons pietatis!
Recordare, Iesu pie, Quod sum causa tuae viae; Ne me perdas illa die!
Quaerens me sedisti lassus, Redemisti crucem passus: Tantus labor non sit cassus!
Iuste iudex ultionis, Donum fac remissionis Ante diem rationis!
—Thomas of Celano
[Footnote 7: "This marvelous hymn is the acknowledged masterpiece of Latin poetry and the most sublime of all uninspired hymns." —Schaff.]
Translation
Day of Wrath,—that Day of Days,— When earth shall vanish in a blaze, As David, with the Sibyl, says!
What a trembling will come o'er us, When the Judge shall be before us, For every hidden sin to score us!
The trumpet with its wondrous sound, Piercing each sepulchral mound, Shall summon all, the throne around.
Nature and death will stand aghast, When those who to the grave have past, Come answering to the judgment blast!
The Written Book shall be unrolled, Wherein the deeds of all are told, And shall the doom of all unfold.
For when the Judge shall be enthroned, No secret shall be left unowned, No crime or trespass unatoned.
When for a guilty wretch like me, What plea, what pleader, will there be, When scarcely shall the just go free!
King of tremendous majesty, Whose grace saves all who saved may be, Fountain of mercy, oh save me!
Forget not then, dear Son of God, For my sake Thou thy way hast trod, Nor let me sink beneath thy rod.
Yes, me to save Thou sat'st in pain, Nor didst the bitter Cross disdain,— Let not such anguish be in vain!
Unerring Judge, thy wrath restrain, And let my sins remission gain, While still the days of grace remain.
—Tr. Robert C. Winthrop
AD SANCTUM SPIRITUS[8]
Veni, Sancte Spiritus, Et emitte coelitus Lucis tuae radium. Veni, pater pauperum, Veni, dator munerum, Veni, lumen cordium;
O lux beatissima, Reple cordis intima Tuorum fidelium! Sine tuo numine Nihil est in homine, Nihil est innoxium.
Da tuis fidelibus In te confitentibus Sacrum septenarium; Da virtutis meritum, Da salutis exitum, Da perenne gaudium!
[Footnote 8: Ascribed to Innocent III, Robert II, of France, and others. Ranks second to Dies Irae among the Great Hymns. Can be sung to the tune of Rock of Ages.]
Translation
Holy Spirit, come, we pray Shed from Heaven thine inward ray, Kindle darkness into day. Come, Thou Father of the poor, Come, Thou source of all our store, Light of hearts forevermore.
Light most blissful! Fire divine! Fill, oh! fill these hearts of Thine! On our inmost being shine. If in Thee it be not wrought All in men is simply naught, Nothing pure in deed and thought.
On the faithful who confide, Solely in Thyself as guide, Let Thy sevenfold gifts abide. Grant them virtue's full increase, Grant them safe and sweet release, Grant them everlasting peace!
ADESTE, FIDELES
A Christmas Hymn
Adeste, fideles, Laeti, triumphantes, Venite, venite in Bethlehem: Natum videte Regem Angelorum:
Chorus
Venite adoremus, Venite adoremus, Venite adoremus Dominum.
Deum de Deo, Lumen de lumine, Gestant puellae viscera: Deum verum, Genitum non factum:
Cantet nunc Io Chorus Angelorum, Cantet nunc aula caelestium: Gloria in Excelsis Deo:
Ergo qui natus Die hodierna Iesu, tibi sit gloria: Patris aeterni Verbum caro factum.
Translation
O come, all ye faithful, Joyful and triumphant, O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem; Come and behold him. Born, the King of Angels; O come, let us adore Him, O come, let us adore Him, O come, let us adore Him, Christ the Lord.
God of God, Light of Light, Lo! He abhors not the Virgin's womb; Very God, Begotten, not created; O come, let us adore Him, etc.
Sing choirs of Angels, Sing in exultation, Sing, all ye citizens of Heav'n above: "Glory to God In the highest"; O come, let us adore Him, etc.
Yea, Lord, we greet Thee, Born this happy morning; Jesu, to Thee be glory given; Word of the Father, Now in flesh appearing; O come, let us adore Him, etc.
DE NATIVITATE DOMINI[9]
Puer natus in Bethlehem Unde gaudet Ierusalem
Hic iacet in praesepio, Qui regnat sine termino.
Cognovit bos et asinus Quod puer erat Dominus.
Reges de Saba veniunt, Aurum, thus, myrrham offerunt.
Intrantes domum invicem Novum salutant Principem.
De matre natus virgine Sine virile semine;
Sine serpentis vulnere De nostro venit sanguine;
In carne nobis similis, Peccato sed dissimilis;
Ut redderet nos homines Deo et sibi similes
In hoc natali gaudio Benedicamus Domino.
Laudetur sancta Trinitas; Deo dicamus gratias.
[Footnote 9: This may be sung to the tune of Sweet Hour of Prayer.]
* * * * *
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Bazin, Rene. The Italians of Today. New York. Henry Holt & Co. $1.25
Becker, W.A. Gallus. New York. Longmans, Green, and Co. 1.25
Brooks, Elbridge S. Heroic Happenings. New York. G.P. Putnam's Sons 1.25
Church, Alfred J. Roman Life in the Days of Cicero. New York. Dodd, Mead, & Co. 1.25
Clement, Clara Erskine. Rome: The Eternal City. Boston. Dana Estes & Co. 2 vols. 3.00
Cruttwell, Charles Thomas. A History of Roman Literature. New York. Charles Scribner's Sons 2.50
Davis, William Stearns. Readings in Ancient History. Rome and the West. Boston. Allyn and Bacon 1.00
De Coulanges, Fustel. The Ancient City. Boston. Lothrop, Lee and Shepard 2.00
Dennie, John. Rome of Today and Yesterday. New York. G.P. Putnam's Sons 4.50
Dodge, Theodore A. Great Captains. Caesar. Boston, Houghton, Mifflin Co. 2.00
Forman, Harry Buxton. The Prose Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley. New York. Macmillan. 5 vols. .75c each
Fowler, W. Warde. Social Life at Rome in the Age of Cicero. New York. Macmillan 2.25
Froude, James Anthony. Caesar. A Sketch. New York. Charles Scribner's Sons 1.50
Gayley, Charles Mills. The Classic Myths in English Literature. Boston. Ginn and Company 1.60
Guhl and Koner. The Life of the Greeks and Romans. New York. Charles Scribner's Sons 2.50
Hare, Augustus J.C. Walks in Rome. New York. Macmillan 2.50
Inge, William Ralph. Society in Rome under the Caesars. New York. Charles Scribner's Sons 1.25
Johnston, H.W. The Private Life of the Romans. Chicago. Scott, Foresman & Co. 1.50
Kelsey, Francis W. Latin and Greek in American Education. New York. Macmillan 1.50
Lanciani, Rodolfo. Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent Discoveries. Boston. Houghton, Mifflin Co. 6.00
Munro, Dana Carleton. Source Book in Roman History. New York. D.C. Heath & Co. 1.00
Peck, Harry Thurston. Harper's Dictionary of Classical Literature and Antiquities. New York. American Book Company 6.00
Quackenbos, John D. Illustrated History of Ancient Literature. New York. American Book Company 1.20
Shumway, Edgar S. A Day in Ancient Rome. New York. D.C. Heath & Co. (Paper cover 30c.) .75
Story, William W. Roba di Roma. Boston. Houghton, Mifflin Co. 2.50
Webster, Hutton. Ancient History. New York. D.C. Heath & Co. 1.50
Webster, Hutton. Readings in Ancient History. 1.00
Wilkinson, William Cleaver. College Latin Course in English. New York. Chautauqua Press 1.50
Wilkinson, William Cleaver. Foreign Classics in English. Vol. IV. New York. Funk & Wagnalls 1.50
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
[Transcriber's Note: The following section is reproduced unchanged from the original text (published 1916).]
I wish to express my sincere gratitude to Professor Benjamin L. D'Ooge, of the Michigan State Normal School, for his generous assistance and hearty encouragement in the preparation of this work.
Sincere thanks are due to the various authors and publishers of copyrighted books from which selections are taken for their courteous permission to copy.
Specific acknowledgment is due George Bell and Sons, London, for Martial's Epigrams; Smith, Elder, and Company, London, for The Doom of the Slothful; Houghton, Mifflin Co., for After Construing, A Roman Mirror, Enceladus, and the poems of John G. Saxe; The Chautauqua Press, for Capri and the Translations of Horace's Odes; Charles Scribner's Sons, for the Assembly of the Gods, Cerberus, the Harpy, A Plea for the Classics, and Malum Opus; The American Book Company, for Cupid and the Bee; Lothrop, Lee and Shepard Co., for A Christmas Hymn; New England Magazine, for the Fall of Rome; Little, Brown and Company, for the translation of Dies Irae; The Outlook Company, for the Prayer of Socrates; Allyn and Bacon, for the music for Flevit Lepus Parvulus.
I must beg forgiveness of any one whose rights I have overlooked and of a few whom, after repeated efforts, I have been unable to trace.
* * * * *
HIGH SCHOOL ENGLISH
GRAMMAR
Allen's Review of English Grammar for Secondary Schools $.64 Such a course as is recommended in the college entrance requirements. MacEwan's The Essentials of the English Sentence .80 A review preparatory to teaching or to the study of rhetoric. Meiklejohn's English Grammar. Revised .88 A thorough course for review and the mastery of principles and detail. Sanford and Brown's English Grammar .72 Uses the new uniform nomenclature and has rich illustrative material.
COMPOSITION
Buhlig's Business English 1.16 Spelling, punctuation, oral English, letter writing, and business practice. Duncan, Beck and Graves's Prose Specimens 1.16 Selections illustrating description, narration, exposition, and argumentation. Gerrish and Cunningham's Practical English Composition 1.24 Modern, progressive, teaching by example as well as by precept. Williams's Composition and Rhetoric by Practice 1.00 Concise and practical, with little theory and much practice. Woolley's Handbook of Composition .80 A systematic guide to the writing of correct English. Woolley's Written English 1.12 The main things to know in order to write English correctly.
RHETORIC
Espenshade's Essentials of Composition and Rhetoric. Revised 1.20 An inductive course with abundant application of principles. Kellow's Practical Training in English .80 Helpful in its study of vocabulary, grammar, and structure. Spalding's Principles of Rhetoric 1.08 A supremely interesting presentation of the essentials. Strang's Exercises in English. Revised .56 Examples in syntax, accidence and style, for criticism and correction.
LITERATURE
Heath's English Classics. Prices range from .50 to .25 About 100 volumes covering literature for high school reading. Send for list. Hooker's Study Book in English Literature 1.00 A handbook to accompany the appreciative study of the greater writers. Howes's Primer of American Literature .52 A brief, satisfactory account of the facts of American literary history. Howes's Primer of English Literature .52 The essentials concerning great writers and important periods. Meiklejohn's History of the English Language and Literature. .60
SPELLING
Sandwick and Bacon's High School Word Book .44 Graded lists of 5000 words needed by high school pupils. Sandwick and Bacon's High School Word Book. Briefer Course .28
D. C. Heath & Co., Boston, New York, Chicago
LATIN
Paxson's Handbook for Latin Clubs. 158 pages $.60
LATIN GRAMMAR
Gildersleeve-Lodge Latin Grammar. School edition. 340 pages 1.00 Gildersleeve-Lodge Latin Grammar. Complete. 560 pages 1.40 Jenks's Latin Word Formation. 86 pages .56
BEGINNERS' BOOKS
Bain's First Latin Book. Revised. 420 pages 1.00 Barss's Beginning Latin. 331 pages 1.12 D'Ooge's Colloquia Latina. 81 pages .28 Moulton's Introductory Latin. Revised. 278 pages 1.00 Smith's Elements of Latin. 361 pages 1.00
CAESAR
Dotey's Exercise Books on Caesar's Gallic war. Four books. Each .28 Perrin's Caesar's Civil War, with vocabulary. 340 pages 1.00 Towle & Jenks's Caesar's Gallic War. Books I and II. 378 pages 1.00 Towle & Jenks's Caesar's Gallic War. Books I and II, with Selections for Sight Reading. 518 pages 1.28 Towle & Jenks's Caesar's Gallic War. Books I, II, III, and IV 1.20 Towle & Jenks's Caesar's Gallic War. Complete. 604 pages 1.40 Towle & Jenks's Caesar for Sight Reading. 144 pages .60
CICERO
Tunstall's Six Orations of Cicero. 1.20 Tunstall's Cicero's Orations. Eleven orations. 616 pages 1.40
LATIN COMPOSITION
Barss's Writing Latin, Book I. Based on Caesar. 144 pages .56 Barss's Writing Latin, Book II. Based on Caesar and Cicero .80 Daniels's Latin Drill and Composition. 125 pages .48
OVID
Anderson's Selections from Ovid, with Vocabulary. 264 pages 1.12
FOR COLLEGE CLASSES
Carter's Roman Elegiac Poets. 330 pages 1.32 Bowen's Cicero's De Amicitia. 151 pages .80 Bowen's Cicero's De Senectute. 164 pages .80 Gildersleeve-Lodge Latin Grammar. Complete. 560 pages 1.40 Gildersleeve-Lodge Latin Composition. 201 pages .80 Lease's Livy, Books I, XXI and XXII. 510 pages 1.36 Moore's Prose Exercises. Revised. 80 pages .60 Penick's Sallust's Catiline. With vocabulary. 191 pages 1.00 Poteat's Select Letters of Cicero. 215 pages 1.00 Rockwood's Cicero's De Officiis. 183 pages 1.00 Sihler's Cicero's Second Philippic. 157 pages 1.00 Wilson's Juvenal. 372 pages 1.36
D. C. Heath & Co., Boston, New York, Chicago
* * * * *
[ Music ]
[ Errata: Table of Contents: Ultima Thule text reads Ultime Programs: The Classic Myths in English Literature. text reads Engish Selections: Are really not at all surprising; text reads suprising Songs: AD SANCTUM SPIRITUS word-form unchanged (also in TOC) ADESTE, FIDELES text reads ADESTES (also in TOC)]
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