The well-informed philosopher
Rejoices with a wholesome fear,
And hopes in spite of pain;
If winter bellow from the north,
Soon the sweet spring comes dancing forth,
And nature laughs again.

What if thine heaven be overcast?
The dark appearance will not last;
Expect a brighter sky.
The god that strings a silver bow
Awakes sometimes the Muses too,
And lays his arrows by.

If hindrances obstruct thy way,
Thy magnanimity display,
And let thy strength be seen:
But O! if Fortune fill thy sail
With more than a propitious gale,
Take half thy canvas in.

--William Cowper

TO THE READER

Martial

He unto whom thou art so partial,
O reader, is the well-known Martial,
The Epigrammatist: while living,
Give him the fame thou wouldst be giving
So shall he hear, and feel, and know it:
Post-obits rarely reach a poet.

--Lord Byron

ON PORTIA

Martial. Book I, xlii

When the sad tale, how Brutus fell, was brought,
And slaves refused the weapon Portia sought;
"Know ye not yet," she said, with towering pride,
"Death is a boon that cannot be denied?
I thought my father amply had imprest
This simple truth upon each Roman breast."
Dauntless she gulph'd the embers as they flamed
And, while their heat within her raged, exclaim'd
"Now, troublous guardians of a life abhorr'd,
Still urge your caution, and refuse the sword."

--George Lamb

TO POTITUS

Martial. Book X, lxx

That scarce a piece I publish in a year,
Idle perhaps to you I may appear.
But rather, that I write at all, admire,
When I am often robbed of days entire.
Now with my friends the evening I must spend:
To those preferred my compliments must send.
Now at the witnessing a will make one:
Hurried from this to that, my morning's gone.
Some office must attend; or else some ball;
Or else my lawyer's summons to the hall.
Now a rehearsal, now a concert hear;
And now a Latin play at Westminster.
Home after ten return, quite tir'd and dos'd.
When is the piece, you want, to be compos'd?

--John Hay

WHAT IS GIVEN TO FRIENDS IS NOT LOST

Martial

Your slave will with your gold abscond,
The fire your home lay low,
Your debtor will disown his bond
Your farm no crops bestow;
Your steward a mistress frail shall cheat;
Your freighted ship the storms will beat;
That only from mischance you'll save,
Which to your friends is given;
The only wealth you'll always have
Is that you've lent to heaven.