TEACHINGS OF THE ANCIENTS. FROM THE LATIN OF AULUS PERSIUS FLACCUS. ET a white stone of pure un- | Oh, Hercules, when next I rake the soil, natal day, ceed, Which not for thee the less Urge on his fate, nor Heaven condemn the auspicious shines That years revolve and clos ing life declines. deed." To one plain question honestly reply: Haste, then, to celebrate this What are your thoughts of him who rules And large libations to thy As all our judgments rest on what we know genius pour. With splendid gifts you ne'er will seek the Is there a man whom even as Jove you Because no silent grove's unhallowed gloom, | And now each brazen brother's power you By mortals shunned, hath yet concealed tomb, your Where, in last expiation of the dead, Excusing guilt and palliating sin? know In bringing fortune and averting woe.* vered, And wears, in proof of skill, a golden beard. do this? Will vows your par- Now do we see to precious goblets turn While entrails smoke and fatted lambs are slain? O grovelling souls which still to earth incline, You ask strong nerves, age that is fresh and From mortal nature judging of divine, hale. 'Tis well; go on. vail? Must man's corruption to the skies be spread But how shall you pre- And godhead be by human passion led? For were great Jove himself to give his nod, Why, then, you fool, do daily victims die? Hope rests on hope and schemes are built on Until, at length, deserted and alone, In the deep chest the last sad farthing groan. Your eager And your light heart would dance with hope and joy. Hence to the shrine with splendid bribes you run, In triumph carried, but by rapine won; mental sight And wraps the soul of man in moral night. The pomp of riches nor the glare of show; Messala's proud and blear-eyed race could not. * Supposed to be an allusion to some brazen statues which stood in the porch of Apollo's temple. Of whom could read, write, speak, command a weapon To the just gods let me present a mind But with the generous love of virtue glows. Translation of SIR W. DRUMMOND. all You gave me All the equipments of a man of honor— [Ferrardo rising. I charge you keep your seat! ST. PIERRE TO FERRARDO. [St. Pierre, having possessed himself of Ferrardo's dagger, compels him to sign a confession from his own lips of his villany.] upon my duke, The eyes that looked father's face, The hands that helped my father to his wish, KNOW you me, duke? Know you the The feet that flew to do my father's will, peasant-boy Your hint and followed you to Mantua Who, thinking that he had a prop in him spare,. The heart that bounded at my father's voice, To seek me, doubtless, hither he had comeTo seek the child that had deserted himAnd died here ere he found me. Heaven can tell how far he wandered else! Upon that I knelt an altered man, grave Blessed him one night ere he laid down to And, rising thence, I fled from Mantua, nor sleep, And, wakening in the morning, found him But tyrant Hunger drove me back again To thee to thee !-my body to relieve At cost of my dear soul. I have done thy gone. [Ferrardo tries to rise. Move not, or I shall move. You know me. Oh yes! you trained me like a cavalier— You did indeed! You gave me masters, duke, And their instructions quickly I took up had returned, work: Do mine, and sign me that confession. straight; I'm in thy power, and I'll have thee in mine. As they did lay them down. I got the start There is the dial, and the sun shines on it, Of my contemporaries, not a youth The shadow on the very point of twelve. FROM THE ITALIAN OF FRANCO SACCHETTI. SI walked, thinking, through a little grove Some girls that gathered flowers kept passing me, Saying, "Look here! look there!" delightedly. Each running at the other in a fright, "Oh, here it is!"-"What's that?"-"A Each trying to get before the other, and lily, love.' What's that that jumps?"-" Oh, don't! it's a grasshopper !" 'Come run, come run! Here's bluebells !"-" Oh what fun!" "Not that way! Stop her!""Yes, this way!"-" Pluck them, then!""Oh, I've found mushrooms! Oh, look here!"" Oh, I'm crying And flying, stumbling, tumbling, wrong or right, One sets her knee There where her foot should be; One has her hands and dress All smothered up with mud in a fine mess; And one gets trampled on by two or three. What's gathered is let fall About the wood and not picked up at all. The wreaths of flowers are scattered on the ground, And still as, screaming, hustling, without rest, Quite sure that farther on we'll get wild They run this way and that and round and thyme." "Oh, we shall stay too long: it's going to rain! There's lightning! oh, there's thunder !”"Oh, sha'n't we hear the vesper-bell, I wonder?" round. She thinks herself in luck who runs the best. I stood quite still to have a perfect view, And never noticed till I got wet through. Translation of D. G. ROSSETTI. ALCANZOR AND ZAIDA. FROM THE SPANISH. OFTLY blow the evening | But a thousand times more lovely breezes, Softly fall the dews of Steals, half seen, the beauteous maiden night; Yonder walks the Moor Al canzor, Shunning every glare of light. In yon palace lives fair Zaida, Whom he loves with flame so pure; |