SLEEPLESS.
[To Tilt EDITOR OF TOR " $psenToR."1 snt,—Mr. Ward Muir's pathetic verse under the above title in last week's Spectator recalls, especially by its last two lines, an inscription which, if I remember aright, is carved upon an old bed somewhere
" Somne veal! quanquam certissima mortis imago es, Consortem cupio to tamen esse tori.
Hue ades, hand abiture cito, nam sic sine vita Vivere quam suave eat—sic sine morte mod."
There runs also in my head the following translation, whereof the author, if he lives and should chance to read this note, will make lenient allowance for fallible recollection:—
"Come sleep ! though thou of Death the image art, 0 share my couch with me, nor soon depart; For sweet it is, while listless here I lie, Lifeless to live, and without death to die."
The sixth word in the third line is a sorry substitute for one in the English original, which I cannot remember.—I am,
Previous page
