Virgil wrote for immortality, and therefore laboured to render his performance so perfect, as to ensure the accomplishment of his hopes. The fi rst six books occupied his attention above seven years, during which he kept secret the progress he had made.

At length, in compliance with the wishes of Augustus, and his sister Octavia, he consented to read a portion of his poem in their hearing. The part he chose as most likely to interest them, was the sixth book, which describes Æneas's visit to the shades.

Marcellus, the son of Octavia, an exceedingly promising youth, whom Augustus designed for his heir, having died not long before, Virgil represents Æneas as having met with his shade in the Elysian Fields, many ages before his real appearance upon earth, who, after apostrophizing him in strains of the highest panegyric, suddenly exclaims,―

"Heu miserande puer! si qua fata aspera rumpas,
Tu Marcellus eris."

"Ah hapless youth! if thou canst burst the bonds
Of rigorous fate, thou shalt be a Marcellus."

The imperial auditors, on hearing these praises so artfully and unexpectedly applied to their beloved Marcellus, were deeply affected: Augustus burst into tears, and Octavia fainted. On her re

covery, she presented the gratified poet with a donation worthy of the sister of Augustus.

When the Eneid was brought to a conclusion, but without the final polish, Virgil resolved on making the tour of Greece, and to employ his leisure in correcting this masterly work. At Athens he met Augustus returning victorious from the east, and thinking it his duty to accompany him into Italy, he set out on his return accordingly.

His naturally feeble constitution could not, however, bear up under the fatigues of travel; so that, on his voyage, he was seized with a severe disease, which terminated fatally on his arrival at Brundusium, in the 52d year of his age.

So anxious was Virgil that nothing of his should descend to posterity in an imperfect state, that he gave orders for committing the Æneid, which had not undergone its final revisal, to the flames. But Augustus, unwilling that the world should be deprived of such a treasure, forbade this, and committed the care of publishing it to Tucca and Varius, with strict orders to make no additions to, nor alterations in, the original.

The high estimation in which Virgil was held by his contemporaries, may be gathered from his living in friendship with the greatest men of the age, and from the circumstance of the whole audience rising, on his entering the theatre, to do him honour.

MARY WHITE.

WHEN little Mary on the green

First learnt to run alone,

'Twas spring, and all around were seen White daisies, newly blown.

She call'd them lambs, and watch'd to see
Them rise and run away;

She called them stars-"How sweet 'twould be

If stars came down to play!

"And see," she cried, "How every one

Seems looking up at me!

What are you, pretty things? speak on;

Will you my playmates be?"

An embryo poet was the child;
And many an infant head
Has visions beautiful and wild,
As e'er Castalia shed.

With care to train the budding thought,

The germs of fancy trace,

Oft spells in infancy are wrought

No after-years can chase.

Fancy's a fountain, well supplied,
That purifies the soul;

A vagrant stream of turbid tide,
If left at will to stroll.

Oh! when her waters first you see
Fresh issuing to the beam,
Let Prudence and Religion be

The Naiads of that stream!

Nurse came at Mary's call, and heard
The prattler's questioning vain ;
And thus her fancy sagely clear'd
This wonder of the plain.

"These pretty things are flowers.” Ma's green-house flowers are red;

"Indeed!

And don't those pretty white ones need
A window and a shed?"

"

'Ha, ha! Miss-what a little goose !— Geranium's red, 'tis true;

But fields and garden grounds produce

Flowers coloured every hue.

'They grow and ramble where they please, You'll learn them by and by."

"But tell me now what name have these, And whose they are-do try."

"They're yours, dear! everybody knows
Flowers love good children well;
Your cousin Rose has hers, call'd rose,

And one has little Bell,

"Call'd blue-bell, for her eyes are blue;

Your cousin, Mary Gould,

Has hers, call'd marigold; and you

Have all you now behold."

"My very own? But tell their name,O they are such delights!"

And none might gather daisies near
The spot where Mary play'd;
Nor could she brook their name to hear
Other than nurse had said.

Some laugh'd at Mary's foolish pride;
Some call'd it "fancy sweet!"
And most, I grieve to say it, vied
To flatter the conceit.

What pride endears we slowly yield;
(Alas! the root is strong:)
The empire of the daisy-field
Was Mary's passion long,

So long, I hardly like to tell
Exactly at what date,

But time and reason broke the spell

Of pride's first lesson late.