EPITAPH

ON SIR CHARLES TURNER, BART. IN THE FAMILY MAUSOLEUM AT KIRK LEATHAM, YORKSHIRE.

BENEATH this hallow'd vault, this awful shade,

Amidst his generous Forefathers laid,

LO TURNER sleeps, the latest of his race,

In prime of manhood given to Death's embrace.

Heir of their name, and of their virtues heir,

His heart was liberal, courteous, brave, sincere.

Nor that his only praise; his patient mind,

Cheerful in grief, in agony resign'd,

Long bore the tedious hours of cureless pain,

Which Love and Friendship strove to soothe in vain.

Farewell, dear Consort of my happier days!

To Thee this duty thy THERESA pays,

Lamenting still for Thee, 'till fate shall join

Her kindred spirit and her dust with thine.

LINES

WRITTEN AT THE TOMB OF WILLIAM OF WYKEHAM, IN WINCHESTER CATHEDRAL.

WYKEHAM, around thy venerable tomb

With fond affection still thy children come;

And tho' no more the loud-voiced hymn they sing,

Still silent prayers and heartfelt wishes bring,

That thy departed Spirit, secure and blest,

May with the destined heirs of glory rest;

And, for thy pious bounty here bestow'd,

Treasure in Heaven may have, and joy in God!

TRANSLATION

OF A GREEK INSCRIPTION UPON A FOUNTAIN

Aуpola σuv поiμvais, n. T. λ. Vitruvius, Lib. 8. c. 3.

SHEPHERD, if thirst oppress thee, while thy flock Thou lead'st at noon by this Arcadian spring,

* There was a fountain in Arcadia, which had the reputation of creating an aversion to wine in whoever happened to bathe in it, although the water was innocent and wholesome to drink and the tradition was, that it had received this singular property from Melampus, a celebrated physician of antiquity, when he made use of it to cure certain Arcadian princesses, the daughters of Protus, of a strange species of madness. These young ladies fancied themselves to be changed into cows. The story is frequently alluded to by the poets; both Ovid and Virgil mention it.

Here freely drink thy fill, and freely bring

Around my Naïads all thy fleecy stock:

But in the water wash not, lest thou feel

Loathing, and strange antipathy to wine;
Such power it hath to make thee hate the vine,
E'er since my fount did Prœtus' daughters heal;—
For here Melampus bathed them, here he cast
A spell to purge their madness off, and hold
The secret taint; what time from Argos old

To rough Arcadia's mountain heights he past.