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O Domine Deus!
Speravi in te; O care mi Iesu!
Nunc libera me: In dura catena In misera poena Desidero te; Languendo, gemendo, Et genuflectendo Adoro, imploro, Ut liberes me!
Translation
My Lord and my G.o.d! I have trusted in Thee; O Jesus, my Savior belov'd, set me free: In rigorous chains, in piteous pains, I am longing for Thee!
In weakness appealing, in agony kneeling, I pray, I beseech Thee, O Lord, set me free!
[Footnote 6: From the Prayer-book of Queen Mary, and believed to be her composition. Said to have been uttered by the queen just before her execution.]
_ULTIMA THULE_
American pride has often gloried in Seneca's "Vision of the West"
written more than 1800 years ago.
Venient annis Saecula seris, quibus Ocea.n.u.s Vincula rerum laxet, et ingens Pateat tellus, Tethysque novos Detegat orbes, nec sit terris Ultima Thule.
--Seneca
Translation
A time will come in future ages far When Ocean will his circling bounds unbar, And, opening vaster to the Pilot's hand, New worlds shall rise, where mightier kingdoms are, Nor Thule longer be the utmost land.
THE ROMAN OF OLD
Oh, the Roman was a rogue, He erat, was, you bettum; He ran his automobilis And smoked his cigarettum; He wore a diamond studibus And elegant cravatum, A maxima c.u.m laude s.h.i.+rt And such a stylish hattum.
He loved the luscious hic-haec-hoc, And bet on games and equi: At times he won: at others, though, He got it in the nequi.
He winked (quousque tandem?) At puellas on the Forum, And sometimes even made Those goo-goo oculorum!
He frequently was seen At combats gladiatorial, And ate enough to feed Ten boarders at Memorial: He often went on sprees, And said on starting homus, "Hic labor, opus est, Oh, where's my hic-haec-domus?"
Although he lived in Rome-- Of all the arts the middle-- He was (excuse the phrase) A horrid individ'l; Ah, what a different thing Was the h.o.m.o (dative homini) Of far away B.C.
From us of Anno Domini!
--_Harvard Lampoon_
_ICH BIN DEIN_
The _Journal of Education_ commends this ingenious poem, written in seven languages--English, French, German, Greek, Latin, Spanish, and Italian--as one of the best specimens of Macaronic verse in existence, and worthy of preservation by all collectors.
_In tempus_ old a hero lived, _Qui_ loved _puellas deux_; He no _pouvait pas_ quite to say Which one _amabat mieux_.
_Dit-il lui-meme un beau matin_, "_Non possum_ both _avoir_, _Sed si_ address Amanda Ann, Then Kate _y yo_ have war.
Amanda _habet argent_ coin, _Sed_ Kate has _aureas_ curls; _Et_ both _sunt_ very _agathae_ _Et_ quite _formosae_ girls."
_Enfin_ the _joven anthropos_, _Philoun_ the _duo_ maids, Resolved _proponere ad_ Kate _Devant cet_ evening's shades, _Procedens_ then to Kate's _domo_, _Il trouve_ Amanda there, _Kai_ quite forgot his late resolves, Both _sunt_ so goodly fair, _Sed_ smiling on the new _tapis_, Between _puellas_ twain, _Coepit_ to tell _suo_ love _a_ Kate _Dans un poetique_ strain.
_Mais_, glancing ever _et_ anon At fair Amanda's eyes, _Illae non possunt dicere_ _Pro_ which he meant his sighs.
Each _virgo_ heard the demi-vow, _Con_ cheeks as _rouge_ as wine, _Ed_ offering, each, a milk-white hand, Both whispered, "_Ich bin dein._"
_MALUM OPUS_
Prope ripam fluvii solus A senex silently sat; Super capitum ecce his wig, Et wig super, ecce his hat.
Blew Zephyrus alte, acerbus, Dum elderly gentleman sat; Et a capite took up quite torve Et in rivum projecit his hat.
Tunc soft maledixit the old man, Tunc stooped from the bank where he sat, Et c.u.m scipio poked in the water, Conatus servare his hat.
Blew Zephyrus alte, acerbus, The moment it saw him at that; Et whisked his novum scratch wig In flumen, along with his hat.
Ab imo pectore d.a.m.navit, In coeruleus eye dolor sat; Tunc despairingly threw in his cane, Nare c.u.m his wig and his hat.
_L'Envoi_
Contra bonos mores, don't swear It est wicked you know (verb.u.m sat) Si this tale habet no other moral Mehercle! You're gratus to that.
--James A. Morgan
_FELIS_
A cat sedebat on our fence As laeta as could be; Her vox surgebat to the skies, Canebat merrily.
My clamor was of no avail, Tho' clare did I cry.
Conspexit me with mild reproof, And winked her alter eye.
Quite vainly ieci boots, a lamp, Some bottles and a book; Ergo, I seized my pistol, et My aim c.u.m cura took.
I had six shots, dixi, "Ye G.o.ds, May I that felis kill!"
Quamquam I took six of her lives The other three sang still.
The felis sang with major vim, Though man's aim was true, Conatus sum, putare quid In tonitru I'd do.
A scheme advenit in my head Scivi, 'twould make her wince-- I sang! Et then the hostis fled Non eam vidi since.
--_Tennessee University Magazine_
_AMANTIS RES ADVERSAE_
A h.o.m.o ibat, one dark night Puellas visitare Et mansit there so very late Ut illi constet cura.
Pueri walking by the house Saw caput in fenestra, Et sunt morati for a while To see quis erat in there.
Soon caput turned its nasum round In viam puerorum; Agnosc.u.n.t there the pedagogue, Oh! maximum pudorem!
Progressus puer to the door c.u.m magna quietate, Et turned the key to lock him in Moratus satis ante.
