the roar That I may kiss thee now for the last Tempt my unquiet mind. But when timeBut for as long as one short kiss may Of Ocean's gray abyss resounds, and livefoam Oh let thy breath flow from thy dying Gathers upon the sea, and vast waves soul burst, Even to my mouth and heart, that II turn from the drear aspect to the home may suck Of earth and its deep woods, where interspersed, That FRAGMENT OF THE ELEGY ON FROM THE GREEK OF MOSCHUS YE Dorian woods and waves lament aloud, Augment your tide, O streams, with For the beloved Bion is no more. flower, When winds blow loud, pines make sweet melody. Whose house is some lone bark, whose toil the sea, Whose prey the wandering fish, an evil lot Has chosen.-But I my languid limbs will fling Beneath the plane, where the brook's murmuring Moves the calm spirit, but disturbs it not. From each dejected bud and drooping PAN, ECHO, AND THE SATYR bloom, That when ye love-the like return ye prove not. FROM VERGIL'S TENTH ECLOGUE [Vv. 1-26] MELODIOUS Arethusa, o'er my verse stream: Who denies verse to Gallus? So, when thou Glidest beneath the green and purple gleam Of Syracusan waters, mayst thou flow Unmingled with the bitter Doric dew! Begin, and, whilst the goats are browsing now The soft leaves, in our way let us pursue The melancholy loves of Gallus. List! His sufferings, and their echoes. That even satiety should still enhance Between our hearts their strict community: And that the bounteous wizard then would place . . in what far Vanna and Bice and my gentle love, Companions of our wandering, and would grace woodlands wild Wandered ye when unworthy love possessed Your Gallus? Not where Pindus is up-piled, Nor where Parnassus' sacred mount, nor Aonian Aganippe expands . . . The cold crags of Lycæus, weep for And Sylvan, crowned with rustic coronals, Came shaking in his speed the budding wands And heavy lilies which he bore: we knew Pan the Arcadian. With passionate talk, wherever we might rove, Our time, and each were as content and free As I believe that thou and I should be. THE FIRST CANZONE OF THE FROM THE ITALIAN OF DANTE I YE who intelligent the third heaven move, Hear the discourse which is within my heart, My spirit wept, the grief is hot even Which cannot be declared, it seems so new; now The Heaven whose course follows your And said, Alas for me! how swift could flee power and art, Oh, gentle creatures that ye are! me That piteous thought which did my life drew, console ! And tell of mine own heart this He whom regards must kill To have known their power stood me in little stead, Those eyes have looked on me, and I am dead. IV A sweet thought, which was once the Thou art not dead, but thou hast Of a bright seraph sitting crowned on My song, I fear that thou wilt find but high, Found such a cruel foe it died, and so few Who fitly shall conceive thy reasoning Of such hard matter dost thou entertain. Whence, if by misadventure chance should bring Thee to base company, as chance may do, Quite unaware of what thou dost contain, I prithee comfort thy sweet self again, My last delight; tell them that they are dull, And bid them own that thou art beautiful. MATILDA GATHERING FLOWERS FROM THE PURGATORIO OF DANTE, CANTO XXVIII, ll. 1-51 AND earnest to explore within-around The divine wood, whose thick green living woof Tempered the young day to the sightI wound Up the green slope, beneath the forest's roof, With slow soft steps leaving the mountain's steep, And sought those inmost labyrinths, motion-proof Against the air, that in that stillness deep And solemn, struck upon my forehead bare, The slow soft stroke of a continuous . . . In which the were leaves tremblingly All bent towards that part where earliest The sacred hill obscures the morning air. Yet were they not so shaken from the rest, A solitary woman! and she went But that the birds, perched on the Singing and gathering flower after flower, utmost spray, Incessantly renewing their blithe quest, With which her way was painted and besprent. Bright lady, who, if looks had ever I dare not now thro' thy degraded state Own the delight thy strains inspire-in vain power To bear true witness of the heart within, Dost bask under the beams of love, I seek what once thou wert-we cannot meet As we were wont. Again and yet again Ponder my words: so the false Spirit shall fly And leave to thee thy true integrity. SCENES FROM THE MAGICO PRODIGIOSO FROM THE SPANISH OF CALDERON SCENE I.-Enter CYPRIAN, dressed as a Student; CLARIN and MOSCON as poor Scholars, with books. Cyprian. In the sweet solitude of this calm place, This intricate wild wilderness of trees And flowers and undergrowth of odorous plants, Leave me; the books you brought out of the house To me are ever best society. And while with glorious festival and song, Lives of the dying day, in studious thought, Far from the throng and turmoil. my friends, You, |