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JOHANNES SANTOLIUS, The Latin name under which the French poet, better known as Santeul, wrote, was born at Paris in 1630. He devoted himself wholly to poetry, and wrote almost exclusively in Latin. His reputation was chiefly gained by the hymns which, at the request of Bossuet and others, he composed for the Paris Breviary. But lie was celebrated not only for his poetry, but also for his wit and eccentricity, and it was said of him, that he spoke like a fool and thought like a sage. He died in 1697.

ON THE DEATH OF LULLI. Translated in Selections from the French Anas,1797. Perfidious art thou, Death, and thy commands Harsh and tyrannic; and too bold thy hands : Such are thy dreadful attributes ; in vain, Though pressed beneath thy yoke, would man complain. But when your dart, great Lulli to destroy, You shook, and damp'd a king's and nation's joy, And robb’d too soon each fond enraptur'd ear Of strains the earth again shall never hear; Complain we must, although to ills resign'd, And mourn that Fate is deaf, as well as blind.

John Baptist Lulli was a Florentine. His musical talents were early noticed, and after being an under-scullion in the kitchen of Madame de Montpensier, he became superintendent of music to Louis XIV.

It is related that while Santeul was composing his lines on Lulli's death, a favourite and tame finch, perching on his head, sung in so charming a manner that the bird seemed actuated by the soul of the departed artist, and appeared desirous by his melody to inspire the poet with thoughts worthy of his subject. Singularly enough it was the finch’s last song; he was found dead the next morning.

Santeul may have been acquainted with a Greek “Epitaph on a Flute-player," by Diotimus, to which part of his own bears a resemblance. The translation is by Dr. Charles Merivale (Jacobs I. 185, viii.):

Man's hopes are spirits with fast-fleeting wings.

See where in death our hopeful Lesbus lies !
Lesbus is dead; the favourite of kings !

Hail, light-wing'd Hopes, ye swiftest deities !
Ou his cold tomb we carve a voiceless flute;
For Pluto hears not, and the grave is mute.


Freely translated in Selections from the French Anas,” 1797.
What! praise my rosy cheeks and youthful face?
Alas! such features would my rank disgrace.
Such beauties suit fair ladies of eighteen,
And not a doctor's philosophic mien.
The beetle brow, the wrinkle deep and wide,
A pompous look by studious thoughts supplied,
Are a sage doctor's charms. No more upbraid
My miss-like visage. Lately I survey'd
In yonder stream my phiz, and found it rough
With wrinkles, and for a doctor's grave enough.
Besides, revolving years will soon destroy
Whate'er remains that marks me for a boy :
Yet still I hope they will not snatch one part

Of the fair image of an honest heart. These lines were supplied by Santeul to a young licentiate about to take his doctor's degree; and it is said that when they were recited, the learned assembly with one voice declared them to be Santeul's, so well was the poet's Latin style known to the audience.

NINIANUS PATERSONUS, Was a native of Glasgow, and Minister of Liberton. He published

"Epigrammatum Libri Octo" in 1678.

TO TROY (Book IV. 59).
Ah, hapless Troy! the flame, whilst Maro sings,
Around thy blacken'd walls for ever clings ;
One conflagration to the Greeks you owe,

In Maro's verse the flames immortal glow. Alpheus of Mitylene, in a Greek epigram on Homer, shows how poetry has preserved in action all the catastrophes of the Trojan war (Jacobs II. 116, v.). The translation is taken from the 551st No. of the “Spectator":

Still in our ears Andromache complains,
And still in sight the fate of Troy remains :

Still Ajax fights, still Hector's dragg'd along:
Such strange enchantment dwells in Homer's song:
Whose birth could more than one poor realm adorn,

For all the world is proud that he was born.
Duke, in lines addrt-ssed “To Mr. Dryden, on his "Troilus and
Cressida,' 1679,” says:

Boast then, O Troy! and triumph in thy flames,
That make thee sung by three such mighty names.
Had Ilium stood, Homer had ne'er been read,
Nor the sweet Mantuan swan his wings display'd,
Nor thou, the third, but equal in renown,
Thy matchless skill in this great subject shown.
Not Priam's self, nor all the Trojan state,
Was worth the saving at so dear a rate.
But they now flourish by you mighty three,
In verse more lasting than their walls could be:
Which never, never shall like them decay,
Being built by hands divine as well as they.

Translated in the Quarterly Review,” No. 233.
The sailor curses land's uneven tides,

While he, no rider, a wild horse bestrides. Butler, in “Hudibras” (Part III. canto iii. 59), describes a sailor's manner of riding:

As seamen ride with all their force,
And tug as if they row'd the horse,
And when the hackney sails most swift,
Believe they lag or run adrift.

Of this author no account has been found.
ON LYCUS (Delitiæ Delitiarum,” 101).

Translated in the Quarterly Review,No. 233.
Lycus was ask'd the reason, it is said,
His beard was so much whiter than his head.
“The reason,” he replied, “my friend, is plain:
I work my throat much harder than my brain !"

Traces of the mediæval epigrams are sometimes found in works where they are least expected. In “The Spirit of the Public Journals " for 1806, X. 239, the following app rs. It is only styled “Epigram," with no hint of being a translation, or of its origin, but undoubtedly it is a version of Macentinus' epigram :

Black locks hath Gabriel, beard that's white;

The reason, sir, is plain ;
Gabriel works hard, from morn to night,

More with his jaw than brain. An epigram, "To Marcus," though very inferior, may be compared with the above. It is a distich by Owen (Book I. 95) translated by Hayman, with an addition of two lines by the translator (Hayman's “Quodlibets, &c." 1628):

Thy beard grows fair and large; thy head grows thin;
Thou hast a light head, and a heavy chin.
Hence 'tis those light conceits thy head doth breed,

From thy dull heavy mouth so slow proceed.
The older English epigrammatists were fond of this subject. Sir John
Harington has an epigram, “Of One that had a Black Head and a Grey
Beard.” It is too long and worthless for insertion in full (Book III. 32):

Though many search, yet few the cause can find,
Why thy beard grey, thy head continues black :
Some think thy beard more subject to the wind,
Some think that thou dost use the new-found knack,

But we think most of these have missed the mark.

For this think we, that think we think aright,
Thy beard and years are grave, thy head is light.



A.D. 1480—A.D. 18

PIERRE GRINGORE. A French poet, born between 1475 and 1480 ; whether in Lorraine or Normandy is doubtful. He died about 1544.

Translated from the French by Cary in The Early French Poets."

The lepers by the warning clack are known,
As by his pig Saint Anthony is shown;
The inky cloak makes not the monk devout,

Nor trappings proud the soldier brave and stout.
So, Hamlet says (Act I. sc. 2):

'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief,
That can denote me truly.

Translated from the French by Cary in The Early French Poets."

Unwise the man who heareth Mass, I wist,
With hound in leash, or hawk upon his fist;
He comes not into church to worship there,

But to disturb his neighbours at their prayer. The custom complained of at this early period extended into modern times. Within the memory of the present generation, it was very common for country farmers to take their dogs to church-an irreverent

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