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Yet your Chrysostom, you praised him,
With his glorious mouth of goldAnd your Basil, you upraised him
To the height of speaker old: And we both praised Heliodorus
For his secret of pure lies ! Who forged first his linked stories
In the heat of lady's eyes.
Do you mind that deed of Até,
Which you bound me to so fast, Reading De Virginitate,'
From the first line to the last ? How I said at ending, solemn,
As I turn'd and look'd at you, That St. Simeon on the column
Had had somewhat less to do?
Ah, my gossip! you were older,
And more learned, and a man! Yet that shadow, the unfolder
Of your quiet eyelids, -ran Both our spirits to one level;
And I turn'd from hill and lea And the summer-sun's green revel,
To your eyes that could not see.
Now Christ bless you with the one light
Which goes shining night and day! May the flowers which grow in sunlight
Shed their fragrance in your way! Is it not right to remember
All your kindness, friend of mineWhen we too sat in the chamber,
And the poets found us wine ?
So, to come back to the drinking
Of this Cyprus !-it is well-
Make a bitter ænomel :
And whoever be the speaker,
None can murmur with a sigh-
I am sipping like a fly!
THE APPARITION OF HIS MISTRESS CALLING HIM TO
By ROBERT HERRICK, one of our oldest and truest poets. COME, then, and like two doves with silvery wings, Let our souls fly to the shades where even springs, Sit smiling in the meads; where balm and oil, Roses and cassia crown the untill’d soil ; Where no disease reigns, or infection comes To blast the air, but ambergris and gums. This, that, and every thicket doth transpire More sweet than storax from the hallow'd fire, Where every tree a wealthy issue bears Of fragrant apples, blushing plums, and pears; And asl the shrubs, with sparkling spangles show Like morning sunshine tinselling the dew. Here in green meadows sits eternal May, Purfling the margents, while perpetual day So double gilds the air, as that no night Can ever rust the enamel of the light: Here naked younglings, handsome striplings run Their goals for virgins' kisses ; which, when done, Then unto dancing forth the learned round Commix'd they meet, with endless roses crown'd, And here we'll sit on primrose banks, and see Loves' chorus led by Tupid; and we'll be Two loving followers, too, unto the grove, Where poets sing the stories of our love: There shalt thou hear divine Musæus sing Of Hero and Leander; then I'll bring Thee to the stand, where honour'd Homer reads His Odes and his high Iliads; About whose throne the crowd of poets throng To hear the incantation of his tongue :
To Linus then to Pindar; and that done,
Then stately Virgil, witty Ovid, by
Beaumont and Fletcher, swains to whom all ears
DEATH IN SLEEP.
A passage in SHELLEY's poem, Ianthe.
How wonderful is Death,
Death and his brother Sleep !
With lips of lurid blue ;
The other, rosy as the morn
It blushes o'er the world:
Hath then the gloomy power Whose reign is in the tainted sepulchres
Seized on her sinless soul ?
Must then that peerless form
Without a beating heart, those azure veins Which steal like streams along a field of snow, That lovely outline, which is fair
As breathing marble, perish ?
Must putrefaction's breath
But loathsomeness and ruin?
Spare nothing but a gloomy theme, On which the lightest heart might moralize?
Or is it only a sweet slumber
Stealing o'er sensation,
Chaseth into darkness ?
Will Ianthe wake again,
Yes! she will wake again,
And silent those sweet lips,
Once breathing eloquence
Her dewy eyes are closed,
The baby sleep is pillow'd :
The bosom's stainless pride,
Around a marble column.
A SCENE From The Lover's Melancholy, a tragedy, by John Ford, one of the dramatists of Elizabeth's reign.
Amethus. This little isle of Cyprus sure abounds
Menaphon. Than any
Amet. Jewel, Menaphon ?
Amet. Prithee do.
Men. Passing from Italy to Greece, the tales
Amet. I cannot yet conceive what you infer
Men. I shall soon resolve you.