THE BOOKWORMS.
Burns saw a splendidly bound but sadly
neglected copy of Shakspere in the
Robert Burns. library of a nobleman in Edinburgh,
and he wrote these lines on the ample
margin of one of its pages, where they
were found long after the poet's death.
Through and through the inspired leaves,
Ye maggots, make your windings;
But oh, respect his lordship's taste,
And spare the golden bindings.
CATULLUS TO HIS BOOK.
QVOI DONO LEPIDVM NOVVM LIBELLVM.
Caius Valerius Catullus. Translated by A. Lang expressly
for this collection.
My little book, that's neat and new,
Fresh polished with dry pumice stone,
To whom, Cornelius, but to you,
Shall this be sent, for you alone—
(Who used to praise my lines, my own)—
Have dared, in weighty volumes three,
(What labors, Jove, what learning thine!)
To tell the Tale of Italy,
And all the legend of our line.
So take, whate'er its worth may be,
My Book,—but Lady and Queen of Song,
This one kind gift I crave of thee,
That it may live for ages long!