And hushed

With more than stillness was the room where

lay

To thy bright mercy-seat the way is far! How fail the weak words while the heart keeps on!

The king's son on his mother's breast. His And when the spirit mournfully at last

locks

Slept at the lips of Bathsheba unstirred,

So fearfully, with heart and pulse kept down, She watched his breathless slumber. The low moan

That from his lips all night broke fitfully

Had silenced with the daybreak, and a

smile

Kneels at thy throne, how cold, how distantly,

The comforting of friends falls on the ear, The anguish they would speak to gone to thee!

But suddenly the watchers at the door
Rose up, and they who ministered within

Or something that would fain have been a Crept to the threshold and looked earnsmile

estly

Played in his parted mouth; and, though his Where the king lay. And still, while Bathlids

Hid not the blue of his unconscious eyes,
His senses seemed all peacefully asleep,
And Bathsheba in silence blessed the morn,
That brought back hope to her. But when
the king

Heard not the voice of the complaining

child,

Nor breath from out the room, nor foot astir,
But morning there so welcomeless and still,
He groaned and turned upon his face. The
nights

Had wasted and the mornings come and days
Crept through the sky unnumbered by the
king

sheba

Since the child sickened, and without the Upon his face and rend himself and weep-
door,
For while the child was sick his agony
Would bear no comforters and they had

Upon the bare earth prostrate, he had lain,
Listening only to the moans that brought
Their inarticulate tidings, and the voice
Of Bathsheba, whose pity and caress,
In loving utterance all broke with tears,
Spoke as his heart would speak if he were
there
And filled his

prayer with

agony.

O God!

thought

His heartstrings with the tidings must give

way

Behold! his face grew calm, and, with his
robe

Gathered together like his kingly wont,
He silently went in.

Speed to his sword and vigor to his arm;
For this he supplicates the god afar,

PIRIT of light and life, when battle Fronts the steeled foe and mingles in the

SPIR

rears

Her fiery brow and her terrific spears,
When red-mouthed cannon to the clouds up-

roar

And gasping thousands make their beds in

gore,

While on the billowy bosom of the air
Roll the dread notes of anguish and despair,
Unseen thou walkst upon the smoking
plain,

And hearst each groan that gurgles from the
slain.

List! War-peals thunder on the battle-field, And see on this rent mound, where daisies

And many a hand grasps firm the glittering

shield,

As on, with helm and plume, the warriors

come,

And the glad hills repeat their stormy drum.
And now are seen the youthful and the gray
With bosoms firing to partake the fray;

sprung,

A battle-steed beneath his rider flung;
Oh, nevermore he'll rear with fierce delight,
Roll his red eyes and rally for the fight.
Pale on his bleeding breast the warrior lies,

While from his ruffled lids the white swelled
eyes

The first, with hearts that consecrate the Ghastly and grimly stare upon the skies.

deed,

All eager rush to vanquish or to bleed,
Like young waves racing in the morning sun,
That rear and leap with reckless fury on.

Afar, with bosom bared unto the breeze,
White lips and glaring eyes and shivering

knees,

Weep, neighbors, weep! Do you not hear Give me but what this riband bound,

A

Enamored. Then she fixed full opposite
Her eyes upon him, at a loss what word
She first should speak, yet wishing in a breath
To utter all her fond impetuous thoughts,
And with spontaneous act she took the drug
From forth her fragrant girdle's folds, and he
Received it at her hands elate with joy;
And she had drawn the spirit from her breast,
Had he but asked it, sighing out her soul
Into his bosom. So from Jason's head,
Waving with yellow locks, Love lightened
forth

APOLLONIUS RHODIUS. POLLONIUS, who was born about 235 B. C., was a native of Naucratis, in Egypt, and resided at Alexandria, but migrated to Rhodes, where he opened a school of rhetoric, and where he recited in public his poem on the Argonauts, which was rewarded by the Rhodians with the freedom of their city. Hence he acquired the surname of "Rhodius." He was recalled by Ptolemy Euergetes, and succeeded Callimachus as keeper of the Alexandrian Library. He wrote treatises on the "Origin of Alex- A lambent flame and snatched the darted andria" and on "Cnidos," and other works, which are lost.

rays

That trembled from his eyes. Her inmost

soul

Floating in bliss, she all dissolved away
As dew on roses in the morning's beams
Evaporating melts. So stood they both,
And bent in bashfulness their eyes on earth,
Then glanced them on each other, while their

brows

If the sublime be the characteristic of Homer, the romantic is that of Apollonius, and in nature and tenderness he needs not shun a comparison even with Homer. No poet has ever excelled the Rhodian in the refined display of female character, in the gay amenities, the modest reserves, the delicate artifices, the conflicting uncertainties and the Smiled joyous in serenity of love. poignant sensibilities of female love. Dido is but a feeble copy of the interesting and impassioned Medea. Elegance of style, picturesqueness of imagery, delicacy of imagination, Apollonius Rhodius may at least dispute with Virgil, and he possesses also that fresh and vigorous simplicity which may be said to be almost peculiar to the poets of Greece.

MEDEA GIVES JASON THE DRUG. FROM THE GREEK OF APOLLONIUS RHODIUS.

So said the youth, with admiration high Gilding his speech, but she, her eyes cast down,

Translation of E. F. PRESTON.

EPITAPH.

FROM THE GREEK OF ERINNA.

PILLARS OF

ful urns!

death! carved Syrens! tear

In whose sad keeping my poor dust is laid, To him that near my tomb his footstep turns, Stranger or Greek, bid hail and say a

maid

Rests, in her bloom, below: her sire the name Of Myrtis gave, her birth and lineage high,

Smiled with enchanting sweetness: all her And say her bosom-friend Erinna came,

soul

Melted within her, of his words of praise.

And on this marble graved her elegy.

Translation of BLAND.