In vain the loud and whelming wave;
  And, as autumnal winds come on,
    And wither'd leaves bestrew the cave,
  Against their noxious blast, their sullen roar,
  In vain we pile the hearth, in vain we close the door.

  The universal lot ordains
    We seek the black Cocytus' stream,
  That languid strays thro' dreary plains,
    Where cheerless fires perpetual gleam;
  Where the fell Brides their fruitless toil bemoan,
  And Sisyphus uprolls the still-returning stone.

  Thy tender wife, thy large domain,
    Soon shalt thou quit, at Fate's command;
  And of those various trees, that gain
    Their culture from thy fost'ring hand,
  The Cypress only shall await thy doom,
  Follow its short-liv'd Lord, and shade his lonely tomb!

TO LYCE,

ON HER REFUSING TO ADMIT HIS VISITS.

BOOK THE THIRD, ODE THE TENTH.

  Now had you drank cold Tanais' wave,
  Whose streams the drear vale slowly lave,
    A barbarous Scythian's Bride,
  Yet, Lyce, might you grieve to hear
  Your Lover braves the winds severe,
    That pierce his aching side.

  O listen to the howling groves,
  That labour o'er your proud alcoves,
    And hear the jarring door!
  Mark how the star, at eve that rose,
  Has brightly glaz'd the settled snows,
    While every leaf is hoar!

  Gay Venus hates this cold disdain;--
  Cease then its rigors to maintain,
    That sprightly joys impede,
  Lest the strain'd cord, with which you bind
  The freedom of my amorous mind,
    In rapid whirl recede!

  Born of a jocund Tuscan Sire,
  Did he transmit his ardent fire
    That, like Ulysses' Queen,
  His beauteous Daughter still should prove
  Relentless to the sighs of Love,
    With frozen heart and mien?--

  If nor blue cheek of shivering Swain,
  Nor yet his richest gifts obtain
    Your smile, and soft'ning brow;
  Nor if a faithless Husband's rage
  For a gay Syren of the stage,
    And broken nuptial vow;

  If weak e'en _Jealousy_ should prove
  To bend your heart to truer love,
    Yet pity these my pains,
  O Nymph, than oaks more hard, and fierce
  As snakes, that Afric's thickets pierce,
    Those terrors of the plains!

  When heavy falls the pattering shower,
  And streaming spouts their torrents pour
    Upon my shrinking head,
  Not always shall wild Love command
  These limbs obsequiously to stand
    Beneath your dropping shed.

[1]TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BLANDUSIA.

BOOK THE THIRD, ODE THE THIRTEENTH.

  Nymph of the stream, whose source perpetual pours
    The living waters thro' the sparkling sand,
  Cups of bright wine, enwreath'd with summer flowers,
    For rich libation, round thy brink shall stand,
  When on the morrow, at thy Bard's decree,
  A young and spotless Kid is sacrificed to thee.

  He, while his brows the primal antlers swell,
    Conscious of strength, and gay of heart prepares
  To meet the female, and the foe repel.--
    In vain he wishes, and in vain he dares!
  His ardent blood thy pebbly bed shall stain,
  Till each translucent wave flows crimson to the plain.

  In vain shall Sirius shake his fiery hairs
    O'er thy pure flood, with waving poplars veil'd,
  For thou, when most his sultry influence glares,
    Refreshing shade, and cooling draughts shalt yield
  To all the flocks, that thro' the valley stray,
  And to the wearied steers, unyok'd at closing day.

  Now dear to Fame, sweet Fountain, shalt thou flow,
    Since to my lyre those breathing shades I sing
  That crown the hollow rock's incumbent brow,
    From which thy soft, loquacious waters spring.
  To vie with streams Aonian be thy pride,
  As thro' Blandusia's Vale thy silver currents glide!

1: It was common with the Ancients to consecrate Fountains by a
sacrifice, and vinous libations, poured from goblets crowned with
flowers. Lively imaginations glow over the idea of such a beautiful
ceremony.

[1]TO TELEPHUS.

BOOK THE THIRD, ODE THE NINETEENTH.

  The number of the vanish'd years
    That mark each famous Grecian reign,
  This night, my Telephus, appears
    Thy solemn pleasure to explain;

  Or else assiduously to dwell,
    In conscious eloquence elate,
  On those who conquer'd, those who fell
    At sacred Troy's devoted gate.

  But at what price the cask, so rare,
    Of luscious chian may be ours,
  Who shall the tepid baths prepare,
    And who shall strew the blooming flowers;

  Beneath what roof we next salute,
    And when shall smile these gloomy skies,
  Thy wondrous eloquence is mute,
    Nor here may graver topics rise.--

  Fill a bright bumper,--to the Moon!
    She's new!--auspicious be her birth!
  One to the Midnight!--'t is our noon
    Of jocund thought, and festal mirth!

  And one to him, for whom the feasts
    This night are held with poignant [2]gust,
  MURENA, whom his Rome invests
    With solemn honors, sacred trust!

  Kind omens shall his voice convey,
    That may each rising care beguile;
  Propitious fled the Birds to-day?
    Will Love be ours, and Fortune smile?--

  Arrange the cups of various size,
    The least containing bumpers three,
  And nine the rest.--Come, no disguise!
    Nor yet constraint, the choice is free!

  All but the BARD's--the bowl of _nine_
    He is, in duty, bound to fill;
  The _Muses_ number to decline
    Were treason at Aonia's hill.

  For here the Sisters shall preside,
    So they allow us leave to laugh;
  Unzon'd the Graces round us glide,
    While we the liquid ruby quaff.

  Yet _they_, in kind and guardian care,
    Dreading left wild inebriate glee
  With broils disturb our light career,
    Would stint us to their number, _three_.

  Away ye Prudes!--the caution wise
    Becomes not this convivial hour,
  That every dull restraint defies,
    And laughs at all their frigid power.--

  Thou say'st I rave;--and _true_ thou say'st,
    Nor must thou check the flowing vein,
  For sprightly nonsense suits him best
    Whom grave reflection leads to pain.

  Why mute the pipe's enlivening note?
    Why sleeps the charming lyre so long?
  O! let their strains around us float,
    Mix'd with the sweet and jocund song!

  And lavish be the roses strewn!
    Ye flutes, ye lyres, exulting breathe!
  The festal Hour disdains to own
    The mournful note, the niggard wreath.

  Old Lycon, with the venal Fair,
    Who courts yet hates his vile embrace,
  Our lively strains shall muttering hear,
    While Envy pales each sullen face:

  THOU, with thy dark luxuriant hair,
    Thou, Telephus, as Hesper bright,
  Thou art accomplish'd Chloe's care,
    Whose glance is Love's delicious light.

  Thy utmost wish the Fair-One crowns,
    And thy calm'd heart may well pursue
  The paths of knowledge;--Lyce frowns,
    And I, distasteful, shun their view.

  From themes, that wake the powers of mind,
    The wounded Spirit sick'ning turns;
  To those be then _this_ hour consign'd,
    That Mirth approves, tho' Wisdom spurns.

  They shall disarm my Lyce's frown,
    The frolic jest, the lively strain,
  In flowing bowls, shall gaily drown
    The memory of her cold disdain.

1: At the feast, held in honor of Licinius Murena having been chosen
Augur, Horace endeavours to turn the conversation towards gayer
subjects than Grecian Chronology, and the Trojan War, upon which his
Friend Telephus had been declaiming; and for this purpose seems to
have composed the ensuing Ode at table. It concludes with an hint,
that the unpleasant state of the Poet's mind, respecting his _then_
Mistress, incapacitates him for abstracted themes, which demand a
serene and collected attention, alike inconsistent with the amorous
discontent of the secret heart, and with the temporary exhilaration
of the spirits, produced by the occasion on which they were met. This
must surely be the meaning of Horace in this Ode, however obscurely
expressed. People of sense do not, even in their gayest conversation,
start from their subject to another of _total_ inconnexion. When the
latent meaning in the _concluding_ verses is perspicuously
paraphrased, it accounts for the Poet's preference at _that_ period,
of trifling to literary subjects. These slight, and often obscure
allusions, closely, and what is called _faithfully_ translated, give
a wild and unmeaning air to the Odes of Horace, which destroys their
interest with the _unlearned_ admirers of Poetry. To give distinct
shape and form to these embryo ideas, often capable of acquiring very
_interesting_ form and shape, is the aim of these Paraphrases.

Telephus, who was a Greek, appears to have been a Youth of noble
birth--being mentioned as such in the Ode to PHYLLIS, which will be
found farther on amongst these Paraphrases. From that to LYDIA, so
well known, and so often translated, we learn that he had a beautiful
form, and was much admired by the Roman Ladies.

2: The Translator was doubtful about using that word, till she
recollected it in the gravest of Pope's Poems,

  “Destroy all creatures for thy sport and _gust_;
  Then cry, If Man's unhappy God's unjust.”      ESSAY ON MAN.

TO PHIDYLE.

EXHORTING HER TO BE CONTENT WITH A FRUGAL SACRIFICE.

BOOK THE THIRD, ODE THE TWENTY-THIRD.

  My Phidyle, retir'd in shady wild,
    If thou thy virgin hands shalt suppliant raise,
  If primal fruits are on thy altars pil'd,
    And incense pure thy duteous care conveys,
  To sooth the LARES, when the moon adorns,
  With their first modest light, her taper horns;

  And if we pierce the throat of infant swine,
    A frugal victim, not the baleful breath
  Of the moist South shall blast our tender vine;
    Nor shall the lambs sink in untimely death
  When the unwholesome gales of Autumn blow,
  And shake the ripe fruit from the bending bough.

  Let snowy Algidum's wide vallies feed,
    Beneath their stately holme, and spreading oak,
  Or the rich herbage of Albania's mead,
    The Steer, whose blood on _lofty_ Shrines shall smoke!
  Red may it stain the Priest's uplifted knife,
  And glut the higher Powers with costly life!

  The rosemary and myrtle's simple crown
    Thou on our household Gods, with decent care
  Art gently placing; and they will not frown;
    No _stern_ demand is theirs, that we prepare
  Rich Flocks, and Herds, at Duty's solemn call,
  And, in the pomp of slaughter, bid them fall.

  O! if an _innocent_ hand approach the shrine,
    The little votive cake it humbly lays,
  The crackling salt, that makes the altar shine,
    Flung on the cheerful sacrificial blaze,
  To the mild LARES shall be grateful found
  As the proud Steer, with all his garlands crown'd.

TO MELPOMENE.

BOOK THE FOURTH, ODE THE THIRD.

  Not he, O MUSE! whom thy auspicious eyes
    In his primeval hour beheld,
  Shall victor in the Isthmian Contest rise;
    Nor o'er the long-resounding field
  Impetuous steeds his kindling wheels shall roll,
  Gay in th' Olympic Race, and foremost at the goal.

  Nor in the Capitol, triumphant shown,
    The victor-laurel on his brow,
  For Cities storm'd, and vaunting Kings o'erthrown;--
    But Tibur's streams, that warbling flow,
  And groves of fragrant gloom, resound his strains,
  Whose sweet Æolian grace high celebration gains.

  Now that his name, her noblest Bards among,
    Th' imperial City loudly hails,
  That proud distinction guards his rising song,
    When Envy's carping tongue assails;
  In sullen silence now she hears his praise,
  Nor sheds her canker'd spots upon his springing bays.

  O MUSE! who rulest each melodious lay
    That floats along the gilded shell,
  Who the mute tenant of the watry way
    Canst teach, at pleasure, to excel
  The softest note harmonious Sorrow brings,
  When the expiring Swan her own sad requiem sings.

  Thine be the praise, that pointing Romans guide
    The Stranger's eye, with proud desire
  That well he note the Man, whom Crowds decide
    Should boldly string the Latian lyre.--
  Ah! when I charm, if still to charm be mine,
  Nymph of the warbling shell, be all the glory THINE!

TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, Esq.

BOOK THE FOURTH, ODE THE SEVENTH, IMITATED.

  The snows dissolve, the rains no more pollute,
  Green are the sloping fields, and uplands wide,
  And green the trees luxuriant tresses shoot,
  And, in their daisied banks, the shrinking rivers glide.

  Beauty, and Love, the blissful change have hail'd,
  While, in smooth mazes, o'er the painted mead,
  [1]Aglaia ventures, with her limbs unveil'd,
  Light thro' the dance each Sister-Grace to lead.

  But O! reflect, that Sport, and Beauty, wing
  Th' unpausing Hour!--if Winter, cold and pale,
  Flies from the soft, and violet-mantled Spring,
  Summer, with sultry breath, absorbs the vernal gale.

  Reflect, that Summer-glories pass away
  When mellow Autumn shakes her golden sheaves;
  While she, as Winter reassumes his sway,
  Speeds, with disorder'd vest, thro' rustling leaves.

  But a short space the Moon illumes the skies;
  Yet she repairs her wanings, and again
  Silvers the vault of Night;--but no supplies,
  To feed their wasting fires, the lamps of Life obtain.

  When our pale Form shall pensive vigils keep
  Where COLLINS, AKENSIDE, and SHENSTONE roam,
  Or quiet with the Despot, JOHNSON, sleep,
  In that murk cell, the Body's final home,

  To senseless dust, and to a fleeting shade
  Changes the life-warm Being!--Ah! who knows
  If the next dawn our eye-lids may pervade?
  Darken'd and seal'd, perchance, in long, and last repose!

  When vivid Thought's unceasing force assails,
  It shakes, from Life's frail glass, the ebbing sands;
  Their course run out, ah! what to us avails
  Our fame's high note, tho' swelling it expands!

  Reflect, that each convivial joy we share
  Amid encircling Friends, with grace benign,
  Escapes the grasp of our rapacious Heir;--
  Pile then the steaming board, and quaff the rosy wine!

  Illustrious HAYLEY!--in that cruel hour,
  When o'er thee Fate the sable flag shall wave,
  Not thy keen wit, thy fancy's splendid power,
  Knowledge, or worth, shall snatch thee from the grave.

  Not to his MASON's grief, from Death's dim plains
  Was honor'd GRAY's departed form resign'd;
  No tears dissolve the cold Lethean chains,
  That, far from busy Life, the mortal semblance bind.

  Then, for the bright creations of the brain,
  O! do not thou from health's gay leisure turn,
  Lest we, like tuneful MASON, sigh in vain,
  And grasp a timeless, tho' a LAUREL'D URN!

1: Aglaia, the eldest of the Graces.

TO LIGURIA.

BOOK THE FOURTH, ODE THE TENTH.

  O thou! exulting in the charms,
    Nature, with lavish bounty, showers,
  When youth no more thy spirit warms,
  And stealing age thy pride alarms,
    For fleeting graces, and for waning powers;

  When all the shining locks, that now
    Adown those ivory shoulders bound,
  With deaden'd colour shade thy brow,
  And fall as from th' autumnal bough
    Leaves, that rude winds have scatter'd on the ground;

  And on that cheek the tints, that shame
    May's orient light and Summer's rose,
  Dim as yon taper's sullen flame,
  Shall, in a dusky red, proclaim
    That not one hue in wonted lustre glows;

  When wrinkles o'er LIGURIA's face
    Their daily strengthening furrows lead;
  When faithful mirrors cease to place
  In her charm'd sight each blooming grace,
    And will no more her heart's proud triumph feed;

  Then the chang'd Maid, with secret shame,
    Shall thus the past, and present chide;
  O! why, amid the loud acclaim,
  That gave my rising charms to Fame,
    Swell'd this coy bosom with disdainful pride?

  Or why, since now the wish to yield
    Steals pensive thro' each melting vein,
  The ice dissolv'd, that scorn congeal'd,
  And every tender thought reveal'd,
    Why, vanish'd BEAUTY, com'st not _thou_ again?

TO PHYLLIS.

INVITING HER TO CELEBRATE THE BIRTHDAY OF MÆCENAS.

BOOK THE FOURTH, ODE THE ELEVENTH.

  Sweet Phyllis, leave thy quiet home,
  For lo! the ides of April come!
    Then hasten to my bower;
  A cask of rich Albanian wine,
  In nine years mellowness, is mine,
    To glad the festal hour.

  My garden-herbs, in fragrance warm,
  Our various chaplets wait to form;
    My tender ivies grow,
  That, twining in thy amber hair,
  Add jocund spirit to thine air,
    And whiteness to thy brow.

  My walls with silver vessels shine;
  Chaste vervain decks the modest shrine,
    That longs with crimson stains
  To see its foliage sprinkled o'er,
  When the devoted Lamb shall pour
    The treasure of his veins.

  The household Girls, and menial Boy,
  From room to room assiduous fly,
    And busy hands extend;
  Our numerous fires are quivering bright,
  And, rolling from their pointed height,
    The dusky wreaths ascend[1].

  Convivial rites, in mystic state,
  Thou, lovely Nymph, shalt celebrate,
    And give the day to mirth
  That this [2]Love-chosen month divides;
  Since honor'd rose its blooming ides
    By dear Mæcenas' birth.

  O! not to _me_ my natal star
  So sacred seems;--then, Nymph, prepare
    To grace its smiling dawn!
  A wealthier Maid, in pleasing chains,
  Illustrious [3]Telephus detains,
    From humble THEE withdrawn.

  When Pride would daring hopes create,
  Of Phaeton recall the fate,
    Consum'd in his career!
  Let rash Bellerophon, who tried
  The fiery Pegasus to guide,
    Awake thy prudent fear!

  Thus warn'd, thy better interest know,
  And cease those charming eyes to throw
    On Youths of high degree!
  Come then, of all my Loves the last,
  For, every other passion past,
    I only burn for thee!

  Come, and with tuneful voice rehearse
  The measures of thy Poet's verse
    And charm the list'ning Throng!
  Believe me, Fairest, all our cares
  Will soften at the melting airs
    That deck the lyric song.

1: The Romans made fires in the middle of their rooms, with an hole
in the ceiling, to let out the smoke, which is described as rolling
to the top of the House.

2: The feast of Venus was held by the Romans in April.

3: It is agreed that this is the same young Nobleman, to whom the Ode
is addressed, on Licinius being appointed Augur, and which has been
paraphrased in this Collection.

[1]ON THE PLEASURES OF RURAL LIFE.

BOOK THE FIFTH, EPODE THE SECOND.

I.

  Thrice happy he, whose life restores
    The pleasures pure of early times;
  That ne'er, with anxious heart, explores
    The rugged heights Ambition climbs;
  Exempt from all the din, the toil, the care,
  That Cities for their busy Sons prepare;
    Fatigue, beneath the name of pleasure,
    Contentious law, usurious treasure,
  A tedious mean attendance on the Great,
  And emulation vain of all their pomp and state.

II.

    Not his sound and balmy sleep
    The trumpet's martial warning breaks;
  Nor the loud billows of the angry Deep,
  When thro' the straining cords the Tempest shrieks;
    But the Morning's choral lay,
    Chanted wild from every spray.
  Swift at the summons flies the wilder'd dream,
  And up he springs alert, to meet the orient beam.

I.

  The vine-clad hill he lightly scales,
    Where [2]tall the frequent poplars rise,
  From branch to branch assiduous trails
    The pendent clusters rich supplies;
  And cautious prunes the weak, the useless shoot,
  Engrafting healthier boughs, that promise fruit.--
    Then his arms serenely folding,
    And the smiling scene beholding,
  Marks, as the fertile valley winds away,
  His Flocks and lowing Herds, in ample numbers stray.

II.

    Then to the warm bank below,
    Yellow with the morning-ray,
  And sees his shelter'd hives in even row,
  And hears their hum mix with the linnet's lay.
    Recent from the crystal springs
    Many a vessel pure he brings,
  In them, from all the waxen cells to drain
  The fragrant essence rich of flow'ry dale and plain.

I.

  On the river's shady side
    White his gather'd flock appears,
  And, plung'd into the flashing tide,
    Their curl'd and snowy fleece he shears;
  But when, 'mid laughing fields diffusive spread,
  Majestic Autumn rears her placid head,
    Wreath'd with wheaten garlands yellow,
    Bearing various fruitage mellow,
  How gladly from the trees, that loaded stand,
  Shakes he the ripen'd pears, engrafted by his hand.

II.

    Or his swelling grapes, that vie
    With the fleece of Tyrian stain!
  Such precious gifts his grateful cares supply
  To thee, Protector of his wide domain,
    Bounteous Sylvanus!--and to thee,
    The garden's watchful Deity;
  Beneath your favoring power he little cares
  Who wields the Lictor's rod, or who the fasces bears.

I.

  In sultry noon's oppressive ray,
    Beneath the holme, of ample shade,
  His listless limbs he loves to lay
    On herbage, matted in the glade;
  Hears down the steeps the white rills dashing play,
  Till under the long grass they purl away;
    While, on wing of swift vibration,
    Murmuring range the honied nation,
  And the sweet stock-dove, the thick boughs among,
  His dewy slumber courts with her complaining song.

II.

    Loud when wintry winds arise,
    And the feeble race appal,
  While o'er the earth, from dim and thicken'd skies,
  The flaky snows in white profusion fall,
    Then the sylvan chase he seeks;--
    Lo! furious from the thicket breaks
  The gnashing Boar!--Flies he, or stands at bay,
  Into the circling toils the staunch dogs drive the prey.

I.

  When thro' the clear, and sparkling air,
    Fleet the pointed darts of frost,
  The filmy nets, now here, now there,
    For thievish birds, are lightly toss'd;
  Or, plac'd with silent heed, the wily snares,
  To lure the stranger-cranes, and timid hares.
    Rich viands they, whose pleasing flavor
    Crown his board, reward his labor.
  In those convivial hours the Heart forgets
  Its vain tumultuous hopes, and all its fond regrets.

II.

    These the pleasures unalloy'd,
    That brighten oft the rural scene;
  But, if yet dearer joys supply the void,
  That, even there, will sometimes intervene
    When days are cold, and nights are long,
    And business goes a little wrong,
  Should an endearing faithful _Wife_ be seen,
  With the warm light of love she chases gloomy spleen.

I.

  As the Sabine Matron chaste,
    Active as th' Apulian Wife,
  See she assumes, with cheerful haste,
    The pleasing cares of wedded life;
  Draws the clean vestment o'er the little limbs,
  And, when the tearful eye of passion swims,
    With mild authority commanding,
    Repressing ill, and good expanding,
  Anxious she weeds the infant heart betimes,
  Ere ill propension thrive, and ripen into crimes.

II.

    Dusky grows the winter-eve,
    In hurdled cotes the flocks are penn'd;
  Her vessels pure the frothing milk receive,
  As from swell'd udders its full streams descend.
    Bright the crackling faggots blaze,
    While she strains the eager gaze,
  O'er the dim vale to see her Husband come,
  With tir'd, yet willing step, to his warm, happy home.

I.

  Her beating heart, and gladden'd eyes
    Perceive him ope the wicker gate;
  And swift her busy hand supplies
    The flowing bowl, the steaming plate;
  Her sparkling wine from their own vintage press'd;
  From their own stores her grateful viand dress'd;
    Less welcome far the proud collation,
    Cull'd with painful preparation,
  When earth, and air, and seas, have been explor'd
  For those expensive meats, that pile the Consul's board.

II.

    Not the shell-fish, pampering food!
    Of Lucrine's azure lake the boast;
  Nor luscious product of the eastern flood,
  Driven by the stormy winds upon our coast;
    Nor costly birds, that hither rove
    Natives of Ionian grove,
  Can with more poignant zest his senses meet
  Than the love-kneaded cates of this unpurchas'd treat.

I.

    [3]To his border's guardian Power
    When he spreads the vernal feast.
  Then bleeds the kid, in lucky hour,
    From the hungry wolf releas'd[4];
  Then round the primal lamb's sweet flesh is seen
  The crisp salubrious herbage of the green;
    And, from loaded boughs descending,
    Unctuous olives richly blending;--
  These form the dainties of his festal day,
  When every heart expands, and every face is gay.

II.

    Circled by a jocund train,
    With joy the new-shorn Flock he hears
  Come bleating homeward o'er the russet plain;
  While slow, with languid neck, the weary Steers
    Th' inverted ploughshare drag along,
    Mindless of the Shepherd's song;
  Then, round his smiling Household-Gods, surveys
  A numerous, menial Group, the proof of prosperous days.

I.

  'T was thus, amidst his ill-got wealth,
    The Roman Usurer justly thought,
  Resolv'd to purchase peace and health,
    And live, at length, as Nature taught;
  No more with subtle avarice to lend,
  Oppressive foe beneath the name of friend!
    Now grasping views, for once, rejected,
    He on the [5]Ides his sums collected,
  But on the [6]Calends, lo! with anxious pain,
  On the same interest vast, he sends them forth again.

II.

    Thus can lust of gold controul,
    Tho' the Heart urge a wiser choice,
  By force of habit lord it o'er the Soul,
  And stifle e'en Conviction's powerful voice.
    See, with sighs the Miser yield
    The promis'd joys of wood, and field;
  Against experienc'd disappointment, try
  With Gold to purchase _that_, which Gold can never buy!

1: The Reader will remember, that in the course of these Paraphrases
the design has been _avowed_ of stretching the pictures of Horace
upon a _wider_ canvass, of filling up what are so often mere
outlines. If learned eyes ever glance over this Ode, it is hoped they
will not _frown_ upon the many circumstances and reflections which
have been _added_, upon a presumption, induced by the pleasing nature
of the subject, since the Roman customs and manners are preserved
with fidelity. Those customs and manners, resulting from their
festal, gay, and picturesque Religion, cannot surely be presented
without proving interesting. Yet, to _create_ this interest,
_stronger_ and more _circumstantial_ description seems required than
can be found in Horace, if the Paraphraser may be allowed to judge of
the poetic feelings of others by her own. It was doubtless sufficient
for his contemporary Readers, and for those of some succeeding
Generations, that he slightly alluded to events and ceremonies, which
were familiar to _their_ recollection. In _our_ day more precision is
demanded, at least by those who have poetic taste without knowledge
of the dead languages, or intimacy with the national and domestic
customs of that Time, and of that People. Also, to strengthen this
necessary interest in the mind of the Reader, it must be eligible to
infuse a more liberal portion of those sentiments and ideas, which
speak to the Heart in _every_ Age, and in every Climate.

To _Scholars_ the fascinating music of the Latin tones and measures,
and the elegance with which Horace knew to select, and to regulate
them, recompense the obscurity which is so frequent in his allusions,
and in the violence of his transitions from one subject to another,
between which the line of connexion is with difficulty traced. What
is called a _faithful_ translation of these Odes cannot, therefore,
be interesting to _unlearned_ Lovers of Verse, how alive soever they
may be to _poetic beauty_.--A literal translation in the plainest
prose, will always shew the precise quantity of real poetic matter,
contained in _any_ Production, independent of the music of its
intonation, and numbers, and the elegance of its style.--The prose
translations of Horace' Odes evince that their merit does not consist
in the _plenitude_ of poetic matter, or essence, constituted by
circumstances of startling interest, by exalted sentiment,
impassioned complaint, or appeal, distinct and living imagery, happy
apposite allusion, and sublime metaphor; but in certain elegant
verbal felicities and general charm of style, produced by the force
and sweetness of the Latin Language, subservient to the fine ear, the
lively and exquisite taste of Horace. These are the graces which we
find so apt to _evaporate_ in Translation, while genuine POETIC
MATTER, as defined above, is capable of being transfused into any
other Language without losing a _particle_ of its excellence,
provided the Chemist, who undertakes the operation, has genius and
skill. The more this POETIC MATTER in an Author abounds, the more
close and faithful a Translator, who has judgment, may venture to
render his version--but to transfuse merely _verbal_ felicities into
another Language is an attempt scarcely less fruitless than to clasp
the Rainbow. A kindred _nothingness_, as to poetic _value_, ensues.
There _is_, however, a considerable, though not _abounding_ quantity
of poetic matter, or essence in Horace; but it bears no proportion to
the profusion of those evanescent glories, which will not bear the
grasp of another Language. To give that essence in increased
quantity, and in the freedom of unimitative numbers, is attempted in
this selection. Dryden and Pope translated upon that plan, and hence
their Paraphrases have the spirit of original Poems.

Ere this note closes, its Author desires to observe, that Painters
cannot take a striking likeness of a face, in which there is no
_predominant_ feature, and the Poet can only make his image, or
description, distinct, animated, and forcible, by bringing forward
some characteristic trait of the object he is presenting.

When Horace says in this Ode, “How pleasing is it to see the well-fed
sheep hastening home,” the observation is not _picturesque_, and
therefore does not strongly impress the Imagination; but when he
adds--“to see the _weary Oxen dragging, with languid neck, the
inverted Ploughshare_,” he gives perhaps the most poetic feature in
this Ode. Had he only said, “to see the Oxen returning from their
labor,” his Oxen had been as much without character as his Sheep, and
the sentence must have passed unimpressive over the mind of the
Reader. It is the words--_dragging, with languid_ neck, the inverted
ploughshare, that makes the sentence _Poetry_, and empowers it to
arrest and charm the fancy. Had Horace always written thus,
undeviating fidelity had been the best aim of his Translator, and the
sure way of rendering him delightful in every Language.

2: Dacier observes that Vines supported on the _highest_ Trees
produce Wines of the most exquisite flavor.

3: The feast of Terminus, one of the rural Gods, was held on the
first of February, at which time, in those warm climates, the spring
is very forward.

4: The Romans fancied that the struggle and terror of a kid on being
seized by the Wolf, made its flesh more tender.

5: _Ides_, the middle of a month.

6: _Calends_, the beginning of the next month.

TO NEAĒRA.

BOOK THE FIFTH, EPODE THE FIFTEENTH.

  'T was night--the moon, upon her sapphire throne,
  High o'er the waning stars serenely shone,
  When thou, false Nymph, determin'd to prophane
  Them, and each Power that rules the earth, and main,
  As thy soft, snowy arms about me twin'd,
  Close as round oaks the clasping ivies wind,
  Swore, while the gaunt wolf shall infest the lea,
  And red Orion vex the wintry sea,
  While gales shall fan Apollo's floating locks,
  That shed their golden light o'er hills and rocks,
  So long thy breast should burn with purest fires,
  With mutual hopes, and with unchang'd desires.

    Perjur'd Neaēra! thou shalt one day prove
  The worth, the vengeance of my slighted love;
  For O! if Manhood steels, if Honor warms,
  Horace shall fly, shall scorn thy faithless charms;
  Seek some bright Maid, whose soul for him shall glow,
  Nor art, nor pride, nor wandering wishes know.

    Then should'st thou languish, sigh, and weep once more,
  And with new vows his injur'd heart implore,
  Nor sighs, nor vows, nor tears shall he regard
  Cold as the snow and as the marble hard.

    And THOU, triumphant Youth, so gay, so vain,
  Proud of my fate, exulting in my pain,
  Tho' on thy hills the plenteous Herd should feed,
  And rich Pactolus roll along thy mead;
  For thee tho' Science ope the varied store,
  And Beauty on thy form its graces pour,
  Ere long shalt thou, while wrongs like these degrade,
  Droop with my woes, and with my rage upbraid;
  See on a Rival's brow thy garlands worn,
  And, with her falsehood, bear my jocund scorn.

TO THE ROMAN PEOPLE,

ON THEIR RENEWING THE CIVIL WARS.

BOOK THE FIFTH, ODE THE SEVENTH.

  Where do ye rush, ye impious Trains,
    Why gleams afar the late-sheath'd sword?
  Is it believ'd that Roman veins
    Their crimson tides have _sparely_ pour'd?
  Is not our scorn of safety, health, and ease,
  Shewn by devasted climes, and blood-stain'd seas?

  Those scowling brows, those lifted spears,
    Bend they against the threat'ning towers
  Proud Carthage emulously rears?
    Or Britain's still unconquer'd shores?
  That her fierce Sons, yet free from hostile sway,
  May pass in chains along our SACRED WAY?

  No!--but that warring Parthia's curse
    May quickly blast these far-famed Walls;
  _Accomplish'd_ when, with direful force,
    By her _own_ strength the City falls;
  When Foes no more her might resistless feel,
  But Roman bosoms bleed by Roman steel.

  O! worse than Wolves, or Lions fierce,
    Who ne'er, like you, assault their kind!
  By what wild phrenzy would ye pierce
    Each other's breast in fury blind?--
  Silent, and pale ye stand, with conscious sighs,
  Your struck soul louring in your down-cast eyes!

  The blood our rising walls that stain'd,
    Shed by the [1]ruthless Fratricide,
  High Heaven's avenging power ordain'd
    Should spread the rage of discord wide,
  Bid kindred Blood in dread profusion flow
  Thro' darken'd years of expiatory woe.

1: Romulus, who killed his Brother Remus, for ridiculing his Wall by
leaping over it.

  _FINIS._


JANUARY 14, 1885.

     Have been obliged to change my residence, and, temporarily, am with
     another brother. Just came here to-day, and, not having my things
     about me, have not your last letter to refer to, but having
     received a letter from our Harvard Divinity Student this past week,
     wish to tell you what he says of his surroundings, and his
     impression of Professor Everett. He writes as follows: "I enjoy the
     work of the Divinity School more than I had ever hoped. We have a
     noble corps of professors eminently fitted for their special
     departments, and personally most eminent examples of Nature's
     noblemen. In the light of what I am now learning, I consider my
     former ignorance phenomenal. Thanks to Professor Everett, my faith
     in God is clearer and stronger than ever before. He has enabled me
     to reduce my chaotic philosophy to something of a system, and has
     helped to furnish a steadfast basis for faith. His lectures are
     simply invaluable. To my mind he is not only the greatest man in
     the Divinity School, but the greatest man in Harvard University;
     and not only the profoundest thinker in the Unitarian Church in our
     country, but the profoundest thinker to be found in any American
     church." ... I feel that this will be of interest to you, who are
     contemplating going to the Divinity School. There is another thing
     I wish to speak of; that is, we have quite a valuable book, "The
     Origin of the Doctrine of the Trinity," by Hugh H. Stannus, of
     England, showing how much greater cause there is for believing in
     the Unity of God than in the Trinity. You can have the book any
     time you wish, though I have just mailed it to a lady in this
     State. By the way, the daughter of James F. Clarke, with others,
     has planned a course of "Unitarian Studies at Home." The first
     year's course includes: 1. "The Unitarian Doctrine of Prayer," by
     J. F. Clarke; 2. "The Origin of the Doctrine of the Trinity," by
     Stannus; 3. "Jesus and His Biographers," by Dr. W. H. Furness; 4.
     "Christ the Revealer," by Thom; 5. "Religious Duties," by Frances
     Power Cobbe. We have first, second, and fourth,--at least, are to
     have the latter. "Jesus and His Biographers" is out of print; but
     we are to have that loaned to us for two months, as three ladies
     here, with myself, are pursuing the course, and I have also induced
     a lady in this county to join us. We have received quite a number
     of encouraging letters from our correspondents lately, and have
     every reason to believe the Post Office Mission work is doing good.
     I mailed to you this week some arguments against the Trinity. Rev.
     C. W. Wendte's sermon, "Encouragement for Unitarians," in
     "Register," January 8, I read with much interest. We have such an
     interesting young convert, a Methodist, in Canada. His intention is
     to study for the Unitarian ministry, we having brought him out into
     the light. I thought with how much interest he would read that
     sermon of Mr. Wendte's.

                                                APRIL 19, 1885.

     Was glad to hear from you again, and find you are in a larger
     field. [He had gone to a Pennsylvania city.] Perhaps you may draw
     into your church--take it for granted you have gone there to
     preach--Universalists and Unitarians.... We shall be glad to loan
     you books again as soon as you are ready for them. Have had added
     to the library lately "The Origin of the Doctrine of the Trinity,"
     by Hugh H. Stannus; "Christ the Revealer," by Thom (both English
     works), "The Power of the Spirit of Jesus of Nazareth" and "The
     Story of the Resurrection," both by Dr. W. H. Furness, of
     Philadelphia,--the latter just published, and he presented the two
     to us. Am not quite ready to loan the latter, as I've not read it
     myself. If you know or meet with any Germans in your vicinity, we
     are soon to have some Unitarian tracts in the German language....
     Hope you read with enthusiasm the earnest appeal for ministers at
     the East, and also at Meadville, in the "Register" of April 9. We
     hope to have two of our correspondents go to Meadville in
     September, and hope you may succeed in your desire to get to
     Harvard. We had a very pleasant letter from one of our "boys," as
     he styled himself, a week since. He is still enjoying his
     privileges there.... Hoping to hear from you again, and wishing you
     success in your new position, whatever it may be, in which the
     Women's Auxiliary Conference join,

                          Yours truly,               SARAH ELLIS.

A gentleman in Mississippi, superintendent of schools in his county,
writes of Miss Ellis as

     "... One whose memorial I read with a saddened heart. A single
     request to her consequent upon an advertisement which I saw in a
     paper commenced a correspondence which continued uninterruptedly
     till the time of her death. Though just from the side of a dear
     sister whom she had left destined to a glorious immortality, she
     found time to write to us a letter of condolence on the great loss
     that we had sustained in the death of our son,--a young man just of
     age,--in which she blended submission to Him 'who doeth all things
     right,' with such words of comfort as could emanate only from a
     good, earnest, self-sacrificing instrument of our Heavenly Father.
     Than in her life of trials and troubles there has never been a
     greater instance of the victory of mind over matter. I am afraid
     that I do little good with the sermons, etc., among the people
     here, who, although they use the beautiful hymn, 'Nearer, my God,
     to Thee,' at their funerals, still look upon Unitarians as cultured
     heathens."

A lady in Ohio, who became a regular correspondent and bought many
books, wrote Miss Ellis:--

     "The lectures and papers you have sent have been, and are, the
     source of much pleasure to me; and I have given them to some of my
     friends, who also seemed pleased with them. I had thought for a
     long time that the Unitarian faith would be my idea of true
     religion, and now I feel _sure_ of it. I knew nothing about its
     creed, or whether it had one, but had had a desire for several
     years to know something of it. All my friends and acquaintances
     were as ignorant as myself, and the most definite idea I had been
     able to gain concerning it was through James Freeman Clarke's
     'Self-Culture.' When I found your little notice in the newspaper,
     it was just what I most desired. I have always wished to be
     religious; but there are things in the Bible which my reason
     repels, and the Orthodox way of teaching them became at last so
     abhorrent to me that at one time I just gave it all up and ceased
     to try to believe any of it; though I am sure I always felt the
     beauty of Christianity as taught by Christ, and would be glad now
     to be a Christian, if not compelled to believe him the miraculous
     Son of God.... We like the 'Register' better and better all the
     time, and I have no doubt shall subscribe for it regularly. I
     consider it exceedingly high-toned as a moral and religious
     teacher, and also in a literary point of view. The sermons and
     lectures supply for us a long-felt need. I intend sending a list of
     names of friends and acquaintances to the publishers soon. My
     sister-in-law has become a convert to the Unitarian faith through
     the medium of the 'Register' and the tracts you have sent me from
     time to time. She is quite an enthusiast, and feels that
     Unitarianism is a great boon and comfort to her now in the midst of
     her troubles. [The sister had recently lost her husband.] She, like
     myself, could not conscientiously subscribe to the old Orthodox
     creeds and requirements, and so remained outside the Church; but
     now she feels that she may be a Christian without stultifying her
     sense of reason. When she returns home, she expects to subscribe
     for the 'Register.'"

After Miss Ellis's death she wrote:--

     "I received the memorial of Miss Ellis. I thank you sincerely for
     sending it. It is very touching and beautiful, and delineates just
     such a character as I conceived hers to be. I had received the sad
     intelligence of her death through the 'Christian Register' before
     the memorial reached me, and it was like the shock of learning of
     the death of a personal friend. I have great reason to be grateful
     to her and to cherish her memory; for through her I have been led
     to embrace and to love the broad and charitable Unitarian belief.
     My reason had struggled for years against the great--to
     me--stumbling-blocks of Orthodoxy, and had finally abandoned the
     conflict and settled down into a kind of unthinking unbelief,
     feeling that it was no use to try to subscribe to any Orthodox
     creed, and not knowing where to look for any more hopeful, helpful,
     or reasonable spiritual aid. About four years ago, I think it was,
     I saw the notice in the paper which is referred to in the memorial,
     and Then ensued a very pleasant correspondence ... wrote Miss Ellis
     asking for Unitarian papers, etc. much like that with a dear
     familiar friend, and she grew to be like one to me, or rather was
     that almost from the first. She put so much of her real self into
     her letters that they were like a living presence. So full she was
     of true Christian love and feeling, so ever ready to forget her
     own sorrows and sufferings in her sympathy with the sorrows of
     others, that thus unconsciously truth and love and
     self-forgetfulness were stamped upon every line that came from her
     mind and hand. Truly she was 'A Little Pilgrim,' bearing good
     tidings to the fainting and weary, and lifting them up with her own
     heavenly strength. Sacred be her memory! Through her I became a
     subscriber to the 'Christian Register,' which is to me a standard
     of excellence in a religious, moral, and intellectual point of
     view. I do not want to be sectarian, as that is not my ideal of a
     good Unitarian,--I mean in an 'offensive' light; but it really
     seems to me that even Unitarian wit and fun have a refinement and
     exquisite touch of humor which cannot be equalled among Orthodox
     publications. The 'Register,' however, is the only Unitarian paper
     that I am well acquainted with. A widowed sister-in-law who is with
     me also became a Unitarian through Miss Ellis. She is a subscriber
     to 'The Unitarian.' We also have Channing's Works and the 'Oriental
     Christ,' which I bought through Miss Ellis, and some of Freeman
     Clarke's books; so that we have the companionship of much of the
     best Unitarian thought, although we are denied the privilege of a
     personal ministry."

From Springfield, Ohio:--

     "I have been greatly benefited by the papers, sermons, etc., you
     have so kindly sent me. Hope to have them continued. Will try to
     have some Unitarian volumes put in our public library. After
     reading the papers I loan them out to others. Some sermons thus
     pass into six or eight homes. They set people to thinking. I thank
     you, and your good Society, for the broad Christian education you
     are giving me. Will do all I can as your missionary here."

Rev. Samuel May, Leicester, Mass., having offered to send his "Register"
to some one, Miss Ellis arranged that it should go to the writer of the
above, who acknowledged it as follows:--

     "Your postal received. I am very grateful for this kindness, and,
     as I read the 'Register' this morning, I resolved to use it for
     others also.... Can't your Association give the ball a push at this
     place?"

The following extract is from the first letter of a new correspondent,
dated Dec. 8, 1885. To him was begun the last postal card, which she was
unable to finish. She was so eager about it, dictating faster than one
could write. "Tell him I think he will like us when he knows us better,"
she said.

     "Your postal came all right, also copies of several tracts, and
     specimens of 'Register' and 'Unity.' They are mainly in lines of
     thought which I have been working on for some years. I am at one
     with the authors in main points, but not prepared to accept all of
     the so-called advanced or radical expressions. My own experience,
     observation, and reflection seem to show that they have swung too
     far from Orthodoxy, and the truth lies between; but I am not fit to
     decide yet. From the pamphlet of selections of Channing's writings,
     with which I am particularly pleased, I have derived some ideas
     which inspire me for a greater activity, and I hope a more
     effective activity, in my work of teaching.... I have a friend who
     also feels dissatisfied with current Orthodoxy. If you see fit, I
     wish you to send him some of those tracts. I wish to use my copies
     here, or I would send them."

The estimation in which Miss Ellis was held by some of her
fellow-workers appears in the following extracts from letters and
papers.

At the conclusion of a letter, a part of which is given elsewhere, Rev.
A. A. Livermore, President of Meadville Theological School, says:--

     "But though disinterested and devoted to family interests and
     helpful to the growing households of her brothers and sisters, the
     crowning interest that came to absorb and inspire her advanced
     Christian life was the propagation of her own Unitarian faith,
     early learned, later disciplined, and mellowed and sanctified by
     trial and years. What had been a stay and staff to her own mind and
     heart she was anxious to communicate to others. Hence she sought
     the instrumentalities of the pen and press, and the Post Office
     Mission sprang into being,--the invention of a Christian woman's
     heart, bent on doing good spiritually. The zeal, fidelity,
     sympathy, and adaptation with which she developed and pursued this
     work have been told elsewhere. It is another lesson to teach us
     that ever new means will arise, as time and opportunity serve, for
     the faithful in heart and life to hasten the coming of the Master's
     kingdom of righteousness and love. Miss Ellis infused a sweetness
     and sympathy all her own into her mission. To her it was no task,
     but a delight, as her letters show,--her meat and drink to help
     struggling souls to light and Christian faith. Peace to her
     beautiful and saintly memory!"

           (From Rev. S. J. Barrows, editor "Christian Register.")

                           A CANDLE OF THE LORD.

     It was a feeble socket that held it. It was a constant surprise
     that so small a candle could give forth so much light. But its
     special mission was not so much to illumine the world with its own
     light as it was to ignite other minds and hearts from its own
     flame. "Behold how much wood is kindled by how small a fire!" says
     the apostle. Nothing is small, it has been said, which is great in
     its consequences. It does not need a stroke of lightning from
     heaven to raze Chicago to the ground: a little lamp-flame near a
     pile of hay is sufficient. We forget sometimes the power of a
     single humble life to extend and duplicate its influence. We have
     never learned yet how far the little candle can throw its beams,
     when its waves of light and heat come in contact with minds and
     hearts that are prepared for the illumination it may give. The wire
     and the battery have not entirely superseded the torch-bearer. The
     lamps in the house may have been filled, the gas may be ready to
     turn on; what is needed is for some one to go about with match or
     torch or candle, and tip the burner with its flame.

     So, as we have said, it was the mission of this candle of the Lord
     to ignite other minds and hearts. She had discovered that the vast
     system of intercommunication established by the post-office might
     be used for moral as well as for commercial means. In connection
     with a faithful co-worker, she devoted herself to the dissemination
     of kindling literature. Set like a luminous panel amid a great wall
     of advertisements was a brief notice, in some of the large Western
     dailies, that those who wished Liberal religious literature might
     have it for the asking, and by sending to the Cincinnati Post
     Office Mission. In the columns of this paper, from time to time, we
     have shown what a wide-spread influence these little notices had.
     They opened avenues of communication to many hungry souls. The
     confidence of many in doubt and perplexity was secured. The lady
     who was called to this special work had a keen intuition as to what
     was needed in each special case. It was not only that she sent the
     right tracts and the right books, and thus set up guide-posts for
     groping men and women; not less prized by many of her
     correspondents was the simple, earnest faith and cordial sympathy
     which she expressed in her own letters. Many are grateful to her
     for pointing out the way and giving the right impulse at the right
     time. Prevented by deafness from taking an active part in social
     intercourse, she yet found an opportunity to unstop the deaf ears
     of others and to open their blind eyes. In this Post Office Mission
     work was a channel for her faithful and consecrated endeavors.

     We cannot estimate the radiating influence of such a life. Its
     quickening flame has gone from heart to heart, and it is destined
     to go still further. Her devoted example has given an impulse to
     many other women in the Unitarian body, who are sowing in the same
     field the seed for an abundant harvest. It is now seen that this
     diffusion of our literature is one of the mightiest means for
     propagating our faith. If such a devoted woman, working
     independently, could accomplish so much, how much more might be
     effected by thorough organizations and wide co-operation for the
     same purpose!

     Her best monument will be the prosecution and extension of the work
     to which she gave her life. It was but a pair of lines in the
     "Deaths" of the last week's "Register" which told that the candle
     had gone out, but its flame is still propagated in the lives it has
     served to kindle. The great work of her life was done far beyond
     the circle of her immediate influence; and there are many who have
     never seen her in the flesh, who will still feel that the name of
     Sarah Ellis represents an abiding spiritual reality.

             (From Rev. George A. Thayer in "Unity," Jan. 23, 1886.)

                                 SARAH ELLIS.

     Sarah Ellis, the faithful organizer of the Cincinnati Post Office
     Mission, and the pioneer in that admirable form of the ministry of
     Unitarian doctrine through the writing of letters and the
     circulation of religious literature, "went up higher" from her
     sick-bed, on Sunday evening, December 27. There are many, East and
     West, to whom her wise guidance in spiritual perplexities has been
     as a strong hand lifting them from confusion and doubt concerning
     all religion, into tranquil joy, who will read that she is dead,
     with the shock which comes with an unforewarned calamity. For
     almost up to her last hour she was carrying on her correspondence
     with the wide circle of men and women to whom she periodically sent
     glad tidings of a reasonable faith, and never giving intimation to
     the most regular of these correspondents that she was any less
     vigorous of health than usual. For many months her friends had seen
     the end approaching, and very likely she herself had understood
     that "the task was great, the day short, and it was not incumbent
     upon her to complete the work." But her inexorable conscience,
     blended with her delight in having found at last, within this
     recent five years, a work needing to be done, and calling into use
     her store of admirable wisdom for such business, kept her at her
     duty until the body ceased to obey the will.

     Only the people who knew Miss Ellis well could understand her rare
     fitness for her office, through long and ripe study of Unitarian
     religious literature, and through her genius for apprehending at
     once what special reading and counsel her various applicants for
     light upon their darkened ways of the spirit needed to
     receive,--only those to whom she spoke the word in season, or those
     nearer home to whom she was a quiet exemplar in holy things, can
     appreciate the quality of virtue enclosed in that fragile and
     infirm body, which shines on earth only "in minds made better by
     its presence," but shines with renewed honor elsewhere in the house
     of many mansions.

     It was not my good fortune to know Miss Ellis personally, but her
     works have praised her East as well as West. Her death is a great
     calamity to the cause, as well as a great sorrow to her friends;
     but she has put life and power into a good instrument of influence,
     and it will live.

                                     REV. GRINDALL REYNOLDS,

              _Secretary American Unitarian Association, Boston, Mass._

                             LEICESTER, Mass, April 10, 1886.

     ... Her communications made no mention of her infirmities or
     illness; and her death was a great surprise. I had become quite
     interested in her manner of doing her work; the perfect
     intelligence, good sense, and self-reliance she manifested.-----of
     Springfield, Ohio, has written to me in the highest appreciation of
     her helpfulness to him.... I enclose three of her postal cards,
     which, if quite convenient, may come back to me. [On one of these
     postal cards Mr. May has indorsed, "Miss Ellis lived but about a
     month after this was written. Her death was a great and immediate
     loss to the cause of a wise and large Christian faith in the
     West."] She was eminently worthy of a special commemoration and
     canonization.

                 Respectfully yours,          Samuel J. May.

     I have thought of you often since the "Christian Register" brought
     the news of Miss Ellis's death, and am moved to express my sympathy
     for the loss you have met,--a loss which all of us share indeed. I
     suppose it was very good to _her_ to be summoned from a state of
     feebleness; but it will not be easy, I believe, to fill the vacant
     place. Perhaps her own inspiration will rest upon her successor,
     and so she will indeed help to carry on the work which she has done
     so beautifully.

     I suppose the time will come, some day, when the loss of a good
     worker in our Conference will not be felt so seriously as now; but
     we are far too few as yet.

                                              MISS ABBY W. MAY,

                   _President Women's Auxiliary Conference, Boston, Mass._

     Though I had had but comparatively little correspondence with Miss
     Ellis, that little had made me regard her as a personal friend, and
     I felt especially drawn towards her after I learned about her
     deafness, for that was my own mother's trial for many years. It is
     a comfort to think that all suffering and weakness are over for
     her; and so we can but rejoice that she has entered upon the
     blessed life, although the feeling of loss must be very great. I
     have thought often of Mr. Beach's sudden death last summer, during
     the last few weeks, and I was glad to tell our friends, at the
     meeting the other day, of Miss Ellis's tender, helping sympathy for
     his mother and sisters at that time. I think one can hardly help
     feeling that perhaps Miss Ellis and the young friend whom she had
     led to a bright and happy faith may already have met and rejoiced
     together in the heavenly life. Much sympathy has been expressed
     here for Miss Ellis's father. I hope that the thought of all that
     she has gained is a constant comfort and help to him.

                                       MRS. J. I. W. THACHER,

                _Secretary Women's Auxiliary Conference, Boston, Mass._

     The news of Miss Ellis's departure from among us filled us all with
     grief and regret; and yet we feel she is so sure to continue her
     good work there, that we ought not to _regret_. What a delightful
     awakening for her when, with no feeling of weakness or pain, she
     opens her eyes to find herself surrounded by those who have gone
     before, whose lives she had gladdened here, and to learn that part
     of her mission there is to meet and welcome her host of friends,
     personal and parochial, as they follow her over there! How many
     people will miss her here! Ten times one is ten. Their number
     cannot be estimated.

                                         MISS F. LE BARON,

                _Sec. Western Women's Unitarian Conf., Chicago, Ill._

     I want to express my great sympathy for you and your Society in the
     loss of your friend Miss Ellis.

     Although I knew she had been an invalid for a long time, the news
     of her death was a great shock to me. She has been so kind in
     helping me to get started in the Post Office Mission, and made me
     feel so truly that she stood ready to help always, that I cannot
     but feel that I have in her death lost a good friend, which must be
     the case with many others all over the country. She has left us all
     the memory of a brave example, which ought to fill us with the
     desire to carry on the good work by her begun, more faithfully than
     ever.

                                       MISS ELLEN M. GOULD,

                      _Sec. Post Office Mission Committee, Davenport, Ia._

     I have just heard of the death of Miss Ellis. How great a loss it
     is to all of us, but how great a _gain_ to all of us that she has
     lived, and illustrated the possibilities of a life lived under even
     so many limitations as hedged her about! Will you not send me a
     sketch of her life and work for the next number of the "Unitarian"?

                                    MISS ELIZA R. SUNDERLAND,

                           _Assistant Editor "Unitarian," Chicago, Ill._

     I had heard from time to time that she was feeble, but her fragile
     frame held so strong a spirit, that I hoped she would triumph over
     bodily weakness for many years to come. The world can ill spare
     such as she. Each time I saw her I was impressed more and more with
     the strength of her character and the clearness and directness of
     her mind. Upon meeting a stranger of whom one has heard much there
     is almost always a little period of bewilderment before the ideal
     and real can be harmonized, even where there is not disappointment;
     and at first I was at a loss how to reconcile the strong,
     well-balanced mind, with its keen insight,--as revealed in her
     letters,--with the delicate, dainty, sweet-looking little woman,
     shut out from her kind to so great a degree by her affliction. Yet
     when her tiny hand grasped mine so firmly at our first meeting,
     there was that in the clasp that reconciled and united my ideal
     with the actual; they were only two sides of the same nature. She
     was so strong, too, in being so genuine and so full of faith. In
     these halting, doubting times, a faith in the eternal verities so
     strong and unwavering as hers is like a rock to many a tossed and
     uncertain soul. Such people do not know their own power of helping.
     I can never refrain from questioning _why_ those who are so needed
     in the world must be taken, when the useless and worthless are
     left, unless it is that they go that they may leave the _spirit_ of
     their service to do a larger work as a heritage to all who will
     accept it. Though dead, they speak with many tongues.

                                          MISS FRANCES L. ROBERTS,

             _Ex-Sec. Western Women's Unitarian Conf., Chicago, Ill._

     A Union Meeting of the Women's Auxiliary Conference for Suffolk
     County, which includes all the branches of the Conference in the
     Unitarian churches of Boston, was held at Arlington Street Church
     on Thursday, Jan. 21, 1886.

     At this meeting was officially announced, with the most profound
     regret, the death of Miss Ellis, of Cincinnati. A brief account of
     her life in connection with the work of the Conference was given by
     Mrs. J. I. W. Thacher, Mrs. Kate Gannett Wells, and Miss Abby W.
     May, and it was unanimously agreed that there should be entered on
     the records of the meeting, and transmitted to the friends of Miss
     Ellis, an expression of our fullest appreciation of her beautiful
     and self-sacrificing character, our high estimation of the work in
     which she had already accomplished so much, and our deep and
     earnest sympathy for those who have suffered an irreparable loss.
     Our sorrow is not without the hope that the tender memory of a life
     so pure and unselfish, and such earnest devotion to all the
     principles of our religious faith, may influence for good the lives
     of each and all of us, and prove an incentive to every member of
     our Conference to further activity in the work we are trying to do.

                                EMILY A. FIFIELD, _Director_.

    _For the Suffolk County Branches of the Women's Auxiliary Conference._

                                  PORTLAND, ME., Jan. 17, 1886.

     MRS. FAYETTE SMITH, Director of Women's Conference:

     At a recent meeting of the Portland branch of the Women's Auxiliary
     Conference, an article in the "Christian Register," entitled "A
     Candle of the Lord," was read; and on motion of Mrs. Dr. J. T.
     Gilman, the Secretary was requested to express to your Conference
     the sympathy of our little band in the death of Miss Sarah Ellis.
     While we cannot have the sense of personal loss that you feel in
     the extinguishment of that light, we have the highest admiration
     for the work she accomplished under such limitations, and trust
     that her example will be an incentive to every Unitarian woman to
     do something to continue it, till the flame she kindled may become
     a glorious light, glowing in every hamlet of our common country.

                    Very truly,            MARY R. MCINTIRE.

     TO THE WOMEN'S CONFERENCE, CINCINNATI, OHIO..

                     57 HAWLEY ST., SYRACUSE, N.Y., Feb. 7, 1886.

     DEAR MRS. SMITH,--As I have had the pleasure of a little
     correspondence with dear Miss Ellis, our Society have asked me to
     express to you our deep sympathy in your loss. She must have been a
     remarkable woman to have accomplished so much when so feeble. Her
     warm heart spoke plainly in her letters, and we shall regret more
     and more, as time passes, that we shall receive them no more. Let
     us believe that her freed spirit is not far off, but is still
     interested, and far more able to help in the work she loved so
     well. Her sphere is only larger. Our branch of the Woman's
     Auxiliary Conference resolved to incorporate in its minutes a
     resolution of regret at her death, and sympathy with you, and to
     preserve the "In Memoriam" you so kindly sent, among its papers.
     Please accept our warmest sympathy and expression of interest.

                    Yours sincerely,           FRANCES J. MYERS.

     _For the Syracuse Branch of the Women's Auxiliary Conference._

The Post Office Mission Committee at Davenport, Iowa, at their meeting
Feb. 10, also took formal action upon the death of Miss Ellis, and sent
expressions of "heartfelt regrets and sympathy" to the Cincinnati
Society.

                                     CHICAGO, March 29, 1886.

     A part of Thursday afternoon, May 13, will be given to the Women's
     Conference, and occupied with election of officers and report of
     Post Office Mission work. It seems very appropriate that something
     should be said at that time in memory of Miss Ellis; and Miss Le
     Baron and I request that you prepare the paper or remarks and
     present them.... We leave the form of the memorial entirely to your
     judgment.

                                           MRS. E. A. WEST,

                   _Pres. Western Women's Unitarian Conf., Chicago, Ill._

     In accordance with this request, Mrs. George Thornton, of
     Cincinnati, read the following memorial before the Western Women's
     Unitarian Conference, May 13, 1886:--

     Such an occasion as this, full of words of good counsel and
     cheer,--a reunion of the little band of women workers in the cause
     of Liberal Christianity,--will be incomplete if we do not mention
     one name, held in loving remembrance in the hearts of many here
     present, and of a still greater number scattered far and wide,
     whose lives have been touched to higher issues by the active
     ministrations of our beloved co-worker, Miss Sallie Ellis, who has
     laid down her work on earth and passed on to the great Hereafter.

     When we recall the fragile form, so full of the Spirit's life,
     which, rising above the many disabilities of physical suffering,
     accomplished so much in the brief years allotted her, we take
     courage, and thank God that we have had such spirits with us.
     Nothing doubting that their work continues here and elsewhere,
     though we know neither the manner nor conditions of its progress.

     We who are cheered in moments of sorrow by the great faith that the
     future of those who have passed behind "the veil which hath no
     outward swing" will be but a continuance of the _best_, under
     nobler conditions, rejoice, even in the midst of personal
     bereavement, that Miss Ellis has entered into that rest, so nobly
     won by her patient endurance of the heavy burdens laid upon
     her,--burdens which yet never seemed to close her sympathy for
     others, but only served to quicken her eagerness to work for the
     extension of that vital faith she found so satisfying.

     It is to her warm heart, and earnest desire to help others in the
     midst of spiritual difficulties, that we owe the unique but most
     efficacious method of reaching such through the medium of postal
     communication.

     Scientists tell us that each wavelet of sound, produced by the
     tiniest cause, goes on in ever-widening circles of ether, to the
     uttermost limits of creation. Had we but senses acute enough to
     receive the sensation, how full of pulsing sound would all Nature
     become! It seems to me that this keener sense, enabling her to
     catch the questionings of troubled souls, became one of the great
     compensations of Miss Ellis's later years. As the outer organs of
     hearing became dulled to what was passing around her, the inner or
     spiritual became more observant; and as we listened to the
     correspondence which came to her from North and South, East and
     West, from the home and the camp, from the teacher and the taught,
     we seemed to stand in some great whispering-gallery, echoing with
     the sighs and anxious inquiries of seekers after truth who sought
     aid in solving the great problems of the soul's life. As from time
     to time came back acknowledgments of gratitude for aid rendered,
     either by her sympathizing letters or the Liberal literature which
     she widely disseminated, we realized what a great lever had been
     applied in this simple way to the spiritual needs of many.

     It is in this phase of Miss Ellis's work that she has become better
     known to the members of the Women's Auxiliary Conference; and it is
     of this especially I have spoken to-day.

     But the roots of this activity lie deeper, and this work was but
     the fruitage of a life which drew its strength to suffer and
     endure, as well as to labor and to wait, from those fountains of a
     rational faith for whose extension we have met here this week.

     To her it was the manna of life, and it was fitting that her last
     years should have been spent in unselfish endeavor to extend its
     influence.

     Knowing how heartily she would have entered into the spirit of our
     meetings during this Conference, we cannot leave unsaid the word of
     tender remembrance which links her memory indissolubly with the
     work of our Women's Auxiliary Conference. The little band who are
     engaged in spreading the light of a higher faith, in lifting the
     load of crude ideas in regard to our relations to God and humanity,
     may surely feel that though our friend "has joined the choir
     invisible," yet her work "lives on in lives made better by her
     presence," still keeping alive the union with us who remain
     behind,--a help and incentive to continued progress.

     No better key-note of Miss Ellis's life can be given than in the
     words of a poem copied by her into her diary, January, 1881. It
     was taken from the "Woman's Journal," and was entitled:--

     ACHIEVEMENT.

    Nothing noble, nothing great
      The world has ever known,
    But began a seed of thought
      In some generous nature sown.

    Any soul may rise to be
      A new saviour to its race;
    Every man and woman fills,
      Well or ill, a prophet's place.

    In our Now the Then lies folded,
      All its wealth, and all its power;
    From the promise of to-day
      Bursts to-morrow's perfect flower.

    Every deed of solid worth
      Helps the world to find its place;
    Every life of homely truth
      Raises higher all the race.

    "Ye are gods," the Scriptures saith;
      "Yea," our spirits make reply;
    Let us claim our birthright, then,--
      Prove our high divinity.

    We too may be, if we will,
      Athlete winners every one,
    Conquerors of fate and chance,
      Lords of all beneath the sun.

    Let us thitherward aspire,
      Take whate'er we find to do,
    Making life what life was meant--
      Something liberal, earnest, true!

University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge.

End of Project Gutenberg's Miss Ellis's Mission, by Mary P. Wells Smith