A self-devoted chief, by Hector slain."

66

"Supreme of heroes! bravest, noblest, best!

Thy matchless courage I bewail no more,

Which then, when tens of thousands were deprest By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore:

Is love, though oft to agony distrest, And though his favorite seat be feeble woman's breast.

A nobler counsellor than my poor heart.

"But thou, though capable of sternest deed,
Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave;
And he whose power restores thee hath decreed
Thou shouldst elude the malice of the grave;
Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair
As when their breath enriched Thessalian air.

"No spectre greets me,- no vain shadow this; Come, blooming hero, place thee by my side! Give, on this well-known couch, one nuptial kiss To me, this day a second time thy bride!" Jove frowned in heaven; the conscious Parcæ threw

Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue.

"This visage tells thee that my doom is past;

Nor should the change be mourned, even if the joys

Of sense were able to return as fast

And surely as they vanish. Earth destroys
Those raptures duly-Erebus disdains;
Calm pleasures there abide― majestic pains.

"Be taught, O faithful consort, to control

Rebellious passion for the gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul; A fervent, not ungovernable, love.

Thy transports moderate; and meekly mourn When I depart, for brief is my sojourn -"

"Ah, wherefore? Did not Hercules by force

Wrest from the guardian monster of the tomb Alcestis, a reanimated corse,

Given back to dwell on earth in vernal bloom? Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years, And son stood a youth 'mid youthful peers.

"The gods to us are merciful, and they

Yet further may relent; for mightier far Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway Of magic potent over sun and star,

said;

Bring flowers, they sang, bring flowers unblown;
Bring forest blooms of name unknown;
Bring budding sprays from wood and wild,
To strew the bier of Love, the child.

Close softly, fondly, while ye weep,

His eyes, that death may seem like sleep;
And fold his hands in sign of rest,
His waxen hands, across his breast.

And make his grave where violets hide,
Where star-flowers strew the rivulet's side,
And blue-birds, in the misty spring,
Of cloudless skies and summer sing.

Place near him, as ye lay him low,
His idle shafts, his loosened bow,
The silken fillet that around
His waggish eyes in sport he wound.

But we shall mourn him long, and miss
His ready smile, his ready kiss,
The patter of his little feet,

Sweet frowns and stammered phrases sweet;

And graver looks, serene and high,
A light of heaven in that young eye:
All these shall haunt us till the heart
Shall ache and ache, and tears will start.

Sonnet.

THE doubt which ye misdeem, fair love, is vain, That fondly fear to lose your liberty;

When, losing one, two liberties ye gain,

And make him bound that bondage erst did fly.

Sweet be the bands the which true love doth tye

Without constraint, or dread of any ill: The gentle bird feels no captivity

Within her cage; but sings and feeds her fill; There pride dare not approach, nor discord spill The league 'twixt them that loyal love hath bound;

But simple truth, and mutual good-will,

Seeks, with sweet peace, to salve each other's

wound;

There faith doth fearless dwell in brazen tower, And spotless pleasure builds her sacred bower. EDMUND SPENSER.

Love not.

Love not, love not! ye hapless sons of clay! Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flow

ers

Things that are made to fade and fall away

Ere they have blossomed for a few short hours.

Love not!