CLARIBEL.

WHERE Claribel low-lieth
The breezes pause and die,

Letting the rose-leaves fall:

But the solemn oak-tree sigheth,
Thick-leaved, ambrosial,

With an ancient melody
Of an inward agony,

Where Claribel low-lieth.

At eve the beetle boometh

Athwart the thicket lone :
At noon the wild bee hummeth
About the moss'd headstone:
At midnight the moon cometh,

And looketh down alone.

TENNYSON.

ΣΙΜΜΙΟΥ ΤΟΥ ΘΗΒΑΙΟΥ

εἰς Κορίννην ἐπίγραμμα.

ἦκ ̓ ἄνεμος καθύπερθε πνέων τύμβοιο Κορίννης συνθνήσκει πετάλοις τὰ ῥόδ ̓ ἔραζε χέει

ἀμβροσίη δὲ μέλημα μελίζεται ὑψίκομος δρυς δηναιόν, τὸ κόρης εἵνεκεν ἐντὸς ἔχει.

τῇδ ̓ ὑπὲρ οἰόφρονας πυκνόπτερος ἠχέτα θάμνους τέττιξ ἀΐσσει σιγῇ ἐν ἑσπερίῃ·

ἥ τε μέλισσ ̓ ἀνέχουσα λίθον πύκα ποιήεντα οὐ λήγει βομβοῦσ ̓ ἡδὺ μεσημερίη

μήνη δ ̓ ἔρχεται ὧδε τάφον μεσονύκτιος, οἴη,

τὸν κατέχοντα κόρην ὑψόθεν ὀψομένη.

TOWNSEND MILLS.

THE PASSING OF ARTHUR.

BUT now farewell. I am going a long way
With these thou seëst-if indeed I go
(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)—
To the island valley of Avilion ;

Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,
Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies
Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard
lawns

And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea,
Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.'

So said he; and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted

swan

That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,

Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood

With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere
Revolving many memories, till the hull
Look'd one black dot against the verge of

dawn,

And on the mere the wailing died away.

TENNYSON.

ΑΝΗΡ ΟΥ ΣΤΕΝΑΚΤΟΣ.

· νῦν δ' ἄγε, χαῖρε σύ μοι πύματον, Πατρόκλεις ἱππεῦ·
εἶμι σὺν αἷς ὁράας δολιχὴν ὁδόν—εἰ ἐτεόν γε
βήσομαι, ὡς καὶ ἐμοὶ δίχ ̓ ὀρώρεται ἔνθα καὶ ἔνθα
θυμὸς ἀμηχανίῃ κεκαλυμμένος—ἔς τε μακαίρας
ἑσπερίης νήσοιο νάπας, ἔνθ ̓ οὔτε χάλαζα

οὔτε Διὸς νιφετὸς ἐπιπίλναται, οὔτε ποτ' ὄμβρος,
οὔτε μένος Ζεφύροιο μέγα πνέει, ἀλλὰ μάλ' αἰεὶ
τέρπεται ἡσυχίῃ βαθυλείμων, ἀγλαόκαρπος,
γουνῷ ἀλωάων λιπαρὴ σκιεραῖσί τε βήσσαις
τὰς πέρι πόντος ἁλὸς μάλα νήνεμος ἐστεφάνωται·
ἔνθα κεν ὠτειλῆς παύσω θυμοφθόρον ἄλγος.

ὣς φάτο νηὺς δ ̓ ἄρ ̓ ἔπειτα διαπρήσσουσα κέλευθον σπείροισιν λευκοῖσιν ἰδὲ ξεστῇς ἐλάτῃσιν

κάλλιπεν ἠϊόνας, βαθυκόλπῳ κύκνῳ ὁμοίη,

ἤ τ' ἄρα πρὶν θανέειν λιγυρὴν ἰάχησεν ἀοιδήν, καλὸν ἐπιπροχέουσα μέλος, πτέρυγας δονέουσα ψυχρὰς θεσπεσίας, κατέδυ θ ̓ ἅλα ποσσὶ κελαινοῖς. πολλὰ δὲ τὰ ῥεχθένθ ̓ ὁρμαίνων ὃν κατὰ θυμὸν ἵστατο Πάτροκλος δηρὸν χρόνον, εἰσόκεν ἡ νηῦς περκνόν τι προφανεσκεν ἀπ' ἠελίου ἀνιόντος, παύσατο δὲ στοναχὴ λίμνην ὑπὲρ ἠερόεσσαν.

W. W. FLEMING.

G

EUTHANASIA.

EARLY wert thou taken, Mary,

In thy fair and glorious prime, Ere the bees had ceased to murmur Through the umbrage of the lime.

Buds were blowing, waters flowing,
Birds were singing on the tree,
Everything was bright and glowing
When the angels came for thee.

Death had laid aside his terror,

And he found thee calm and mild,

Lying in thy robes of whiteness,

Like a pure and stainless child.

Hardly had the mountain violet

Spread its blossoms on the sod,

When they laid the turf above thee,

And thy spirit rose to God.

AYTOUN.