A Handbook for Latin Clubs by Susan Paxson (english books to improve english .txt) ๐
THE LAPIS NIGER.Roma Beata. Maud Howe. Pp. 163, 260.
POMPEY'S THEATER._Rome: The Eternal City_. Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, P. 374.Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent Discoveries. RodolfoLanciani. P. 190.
THE ROMAN FORUM AS IT APPEARS TO-DAY.Roman Holidays and Others. W.D. Howells. P. 96.
POEM.--In the Roman ForumAmelia Josephine Burr. Literary Digest. Vol. xlviii, p. 1130.
THE ROMAN HOUSE
"Here is my religion, here is my race, here are the traces of myforefathers. I cannot express the charm which I find here, and whichpenetrates my heart and my senses."--Cicero: Pro Domo.
THE PLAN OF THE ROMAN HOUSE.Callus. W.A. Becker. P. 237.The Life of the Greeks and Romans. Guhl and Koner. P. 357.The Private Life of the Romans. H.W. Johnston. Chap. vi.Society in Rome under the Caesars. William R. Inge. Chap. x.
THE HEATING AND LIGHTING OF THE HOUSE.The Life
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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,โbefore whose thunder tread
The mountains trembled,โin 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.
ORPHEUS
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.
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.โWhat puzzles me
Is why in Hades there should be
A watchdog; 'tis, I should surmise,
The last place one would burglarize.
THE HARPY
Queer ladies in the olden days.
Either the type had not been fixed,
Or else Zoรถlogy 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 todayโ
Women and warriors, who still
Wear feathers when dressed up to kill.
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 cryโ
"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." THE ASSEMBLY OF THE GODS
The coaches soon were seen, and a long train
Their trappings all embroidery, nothing plain;
More than a hundred servants, rather vain
Followed their masters to the Council Hall.
In a gay travelling carriage, fleetly drawn
Which with their tramping shook the aerial lawn;
Around his neck the golden fleece was thrown;
Were running near him in their pumps or slippers.
Came on a nag of Basignanian race;
Her gown, half Greek, half Spanish; o'er her face
Part was tied up, and with becoming grace;
And on her saddle-bow her falchion bore.
At once, conversing; and the God of Ocean
Floating through waves of air with graceful motion;
For whom his mother Rhea feels emotion,
Because so like a fisherman he treats him.
She had risen early and o'er woodland green
Upon the Tuscan shoreโromantic scene.
Had rolled through dusky air and lost its sheen,
Knitting at the time, a worsted stocking.
She anxious wished to wash her sacred head.
For the disastrous Fates excuses made.
And they were also busy baking bread.
To water the domestics' wine, that day.
Of the immortal kingdom, in a ring;
Announce the coming of the gorgeous king;
Attend, and their peculiar offerings bring.
Alcides, captain of the city guard.
The light-heeled Mercury; in his hand he bore
He damned poor mortals' prayers, some million score;
Which graced his father's cabinet of yore;
He regularly signed them twice a day.
With starry diadem upon his head,
Worn upon holidays.โThe king displayed
In a rich jacket too was he arrayed,
And Ganymede held up his splendid train.
(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.
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 lifeโnay, 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,โeveryone 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 patienceโnay, what courageโshe 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.
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.
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!โah! see,
For thy dear sake, alas! for me!โ
My nymph with brimful eyes appears,
Red from the flushing of her tears.
The following tribute to Cicero was written by Catullus, the Roman lyric poet (87-54 b.c.)
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
Of all the Roman race,
Or future days may grace.
An overflowing heart;
A grateful lay impart!
All others in thy line;
Art thou the first in thine.
Auro pulchrior,
Vitro clarior,
Laude dignior,
Gradu altior,
A vitiis purgatior,
Virtutibus perfectior,
Iesu Christo acceptior,
Sanctis quoque similior,
Hostibus suis fortior,
Amicis amabilior.
THE FAVORITE PRAYER OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS7
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
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! ULTIMA THULE
American pride has often gloried in Seneca's "Vision of the West" written more
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