"Why, hapless mother, with this train of Methought, aside his cloak and tunic laid, thought Dost thou provoke the grief that comes unsought? Why dost thou talk these dreadful sorrows o'er, Now wept by us as we have wept before? Are not the new griefs that we look to see From day to day enough for you and me? Lover of dole were he who would recount Our tale of woes and find their whole amount; Take heart and bear those ills we cannot cure, But by the will of Heaven we must endure. And yet I cannot bid thee cease to grieve, For even joy to spend itself has leave. For thee I wail; why wert thou doomedoh, why?— To be a partner in our misery? My Hercules with both hands grasped a spade, And round a cultured field a mighty dyke He delved, as one that toils for hire belike; But when the dyke around the vineyard run, And he was just about-his task now done, He to the flames with rapid flight did yield, eye, If he might shun his scorching enemy. I mourn that Fate with ours thy fortune Nor could he raise himself from where he blends Under the woe that over us impends. Ye by whose names unpunished none for swear, Persephona and dread Demeter, hear! rolled, But helpless lay there like some weak man old Tript up by joyless age against his will; Stretched on the ground he was, and seeming still Hopeless of rising, till a passer-by Till sleep forsook me and the day-dawn came. Such frightful visions on my sleep did fall; Translation of M. J. CHAPMAN. THE BRIDES OF VENICE. T was St. Mary's Eve, and | Each in her veil and by two bridesmaids all poured forth nity. The fisher ing o'er the waves the husbandman the Po, the Brenta, followed, Only less lovely, who behind her bore Her eyes cast down and holding in her A fan that gently waved, of ostrich-feathers. And in his straw the prisoner turned and Ruby or diamond or dark amethyst, listened, So great the stir in Venice. Old and young grave Turk, Turbaned, long vested, and the cozening Jew A jewelled chain, in many a winding wreath, Before the church- came, Brothers to some, still dearer to the rest, Each in his hand bearing his cap and plume, And, as he walked, with modest dignity Were on that day to solemnize their nuptials. Folding his scarlet mantle. At the gate They join, and, slowly up the bannered aisle At noon a distant murmur through the Led by the choir, with due solemnity crowd, Rising and rolling on, announced their coming, And never, from the first, was to be seen The richest tapestry unrolled before them, Range round the altar. In his vestments there The patriarch stands, and while the anthem flows Who can look on unmoved, the dream of Just now fulfilling? Here a mother weeps, Blesses the day that is to make her his, While she shines forth through all her orna ment, A strange and moving contrast to their grief, And through the city, wander where thou wouldst, Her beauty heightened by her hopes and The men half armed and arming, every where As roused from slumber by that stirring trump One with a shield, one with a casque and spear, One with an axe severing in two the chain Now hadst thou seen along that crowded All, to the last-and flung them far and shore The matrons running wild, their festal dress wide Into the sea, their proper element, Him first, as first in rank, whose name so | Eyes not unwet, I ween, with grateful long tears Had hushed the babes of Venice, and who Their lovely ancestors, the brides of Venice. HE was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sightA lovely apparition sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes are stars of twilight fair; Flaming with gems and gold-were in due But all things else about her drawn time Laid at his feet; and ever to preserve The memory of a of a day so full of change From joy to grief, from grief to joy again, Through many an age, as oft as it came round, 'Twas held religiously. The doge resigned His crimson for pure ermine, visiting At earliest dawn St. Mary's silver shrine, And through the city, in a stately barge Of gold, were borne with songs and symphonies From Maytime and the cheerful dawn; A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle and waylay. I saw her upon nearer view, A countenance in which did meet Twelve ladies young and noble. Clad they For transient sorrows, simple wiles, CALLIMACHUS. ALLIMACHUS was the son of Battus CA and Mesatma, and was born at Cyrene, a city of Africa, B. c. 256. He taught letters at Alexandria and was the preceptor of Apollonius Rhodius, with whom he was afterward at variance, and whom he satirized in a poem called "Ibis," or "The Stork," which is now lost, but which is imitated by Ovid. He was keeper of the Alexandrian Library under Ptolemy Philadelphus and his son, Ptolemy Euergetes. He produced a variety of works and wrote poems on celebrated historical characters, on stories of mythology and subjects of natural history, exclusive of elegies and dramas. Of all these numerous pieces we have only a few hymns numerous pieces we have only a few hymns and inscriptions. Callimachus exhibits that pure and nervous simplicity which is so remarkable in the Grecian poetry. His cast of thought is elevated and solemn. We are struck by the spirited enthusiasm of his manner, the richness and expansion of his imagination, the freshness of his painting and the pomp of his imagery. HYMN ON THE BATH OF MINERVA. FROM THE GREEK OF CALLIMACHUS. Then with practised art Her limbs anointed with the fragrant oil Of her own olive-yards. O virgin, then The color of the morning flushed once more Thy cheeks-the hue that blushes on the rose Of Diomed is borne in customed rite, The stratagems of death, fled, clasping close City-destroyer! golden-helmed! who lov'st The din of neighing steeds and clashing shields! This day, ye water-bearing damsels, draw Of Physidea, or the limpid well Translation of DODD, TYTLER. |