When from the womb the babe was loosed,
The gate of gifts behind him closed.



POWER.


Cast the bantling on the rocks,
Suckle him with the she-wolf's teat,
Wintered with the hawk and fox,
Power and speed be hands and feet.



CLIMACTERIC.


I am not wiser for my age,
Nor skilful by my grief;
Life loiters at the book's first page,--
Ah! could we turn the leaf.



HERI, CRAS, HODIE.


Shines the last age, the next with hope is seen,
To-day slinks poorly off unmarked between: