Or whether ye dance with the Nereid Choir in the gardens clear,
Or whether your golden urns are dipped in Nile's overflow,
Or whether you dwell by Mæotis mere

Or the snows of Mimas, arise! appear!

And hearken to us, and accept our gifts ere ye rise and go.

THE CLOUDS SING.

Immortal Clouds from the echoing shore

Of the father of streams from the sounding sea,
Dewy and fleet, let us rise and soar;

Dewy and gleaming and fleet are we!
Let us look on the tree-clad mountain-crest,
On the sacred earth where the fruits rejoice,
On the waters that murmur east and west,
On the tumbling sea with his moaning voice.
For unwearied glitters the Eye of the Air,
And the bright rays gleam;

Then cast we our shadows of mist, and fare
In our deathless shapes to glance everywhere
From the height of the heaven, on the land and air,
And the Ocean Stream.

Let us on, ye Maidens that bring the Rain,

Let us gaze on Pallas's citadel,

In the country of Cecrops fair and dear,

The mystic land of the holy cell,

Where the Rites unspoken securely dwell,
And the gifts of the gods that know not stain,
And a people of mortals that know not fear.
For the temples tall and the statues fair,
And the feasts of the gods are holiest there;
The feasts of Immortals, the chaplets of flowers,
And the Bromian mirth at the coming of spring,

And the musical voices that fill the hours,
And the dancing feet of the maids that sing!

GRAND CHORUS OF BIRDS.

(From "The Birds": Swinburne's Translation.)

COME on then, ye dwellers by nature in darkness, and like to the leaves' generations,

That are little of might, that are molded of mire, unenduring and

shadowlike nations,

Poor plumeless ephemerals, comfortless mortals, as visions of shad ows fast fleeing,

Lift up your mind unto us that are deathless, and dateless the date

of our being;

Us, children of heaven, us, ageless for aye, us, all of whose thoughts are eternal:

That ye may from henceforth, having heard of us all things aright as to matters supernal,

Of the being of birds, and beginning of gods, and of streams, and the dark beyond reaching,

Trustfully knowing aright, in my name bid Prodicus pack with his preaching!

It was Chaos and Night at the first, and the blackness of darkness, and Hell's broad border,

Earth was not, nor air, neither heaven: when in depths of the womb of the dark without order

First thing, first-born of the black-plumed Night, was a wind-egg hatched in her bosom,

Whence timely with seasons revolving again sweet Love burst out as a blossom,

Gold wings glittering forth of his back, like whirlwinds gustily turning.

He, after his wedlock with Chaos, whose wings are of darkness, in Hell broad-burning,

For his nestlings begat him the race of us first, and upraised us to light new-lighted.

And before this was not the race of the gods, until all things by Love were united:

And of kind united in kind with communion of nature the sky and

the sea are

Brought forth, and the earth, and the race of the gods everlasting and blest. So that we are

Far away

the most ancient of all things blest. And that we are of Love's generation

There are manifest manifold signs. We have wings, and with us have the Love's habitation;

And manifold fair young folk that forswore love once, ere the bloom of them ended,

Have the men that pursued and desired them subdued by the help of us only befriended,

With such baits as a quail, flamingo, a goose, or a cock's comb staring and splendid.

All best good things that befall men come from us birds, as is plain to all reason:

For first we proclaim and make known to them spring, and the winter and autumn in season;

Bid sow, when the crane starts clanging for Afric in shrill-voiced emigrant number,

And calls to the pilot to hang up his rudder again for the season and

slumber;

And then weave a cloak for Orestes the thief, lest he strip men of theirs if it freezes.

And again thereafter the kite reappearing announces a change in the breezes,

And that here is the season for shearing your sheep of their spring wool. Then does the swallow

Give you notice to sell your great-coat, and provide something light for the heat that's to follow.

Thus are we as Ammon or Delphi unto you, Dodona, nay, Phoebus Apollo.

For, as first ye come all to get auguries of birds, even such is in all things your carriage,

Be the matter a matter of trade, or of earning your bread, or of any one's marriage.

And all things ye lay to the charge of a bird that belong to discerning prediction:

Winged fame is a bird, as you reckon; you sneeze, and the sign's as a bird for conviction;

All tokens are "birds" with you-sounds, too, and lackeys and donkeys. Then must it not follow

That we are to you all as the manifest godhead that speaks in prophetic Apollo ?

A RAINY DAY ON THE FARM.

(From "The Peace": Frere's Translation.)

How sweet it is to see the new-sown cornfield fresh and even,
With blades just springing from the soil that only ask a shower
from heaven.

Then, while kindly rains are falling, indolently to rejoice,
Till some worthy neighbor calling, cheers you with his hearty voice.
Well, with weather such as this, let us hear, Trygæus tell us
What should you and I be doing? You're the king of us good fellows.
Since it pleases heaven to prosper your endeavors, friend, and mine,
Let us have a merry meeting, with some friendly talk and wine.
In the vineyard there's your lout, hoeing in the slop and mud -
Send the wench and call him out, this weather he can do no good.
Dame, take down two pints of meal, and do some fritters in your way;
Boil some grain and stir it in, and let us have those figs, I say.
Send a servant to my house, any one that you can spare,
Let him fetch a beestings pudding, two gherkins, and the pies of hare:
There should be four of them in all, if the cat has left them right;
We heard her racketing and ing round thr all last night.

Boy, bring three of them to us,

- take the other to my father: Cut some myrtle for our garlands, sprigs in flower, or blossoms rather. Give a shout upon the way to Charinades our neighbor,

To join our drinking bout to-day, since heaven is pleased to bless our labor.

THE HARVEST.

(From "The Peace": Translation in the Quarterly Review.)

Он, 'tis sweet, when fields are ringing

With the merry cricket's singing,
Oft to mark with curious eye

If the vine-tree's time be nigh:
Here is now the fruit whose birth
Cost a throe to Mother Earth.
Sweet it is, too, to be telling,
How the luscious figs are swelling:
Then to riot without measure
In the rich, nectareous treasure,
While our grateful voices chime, –
Happy season! blessed time.

THE CALL TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

(From "The Birds ": Frere's Translation.) AWAKE! awake!

Sleep no more, my gentle mate!

With your tiny tawny bill,

Wake the tuneful echo shrill,

On vale or hill;

Or in her rocky seat,

Let her listen and repeat

The tender ditty that you tell,

The sad lament,

The dire event,

To luckless Itys that befel.

Thence the strain

Shall rise again,

And soar amain,

Up to the lofty palace gate
Where mighty Apollo sits in state
In Jove's abode, with his ivory lyre,
Hymning aloud to the heavenly choir,
While all the gods shall join with thee
In a celestial symphony.

VOL. I.-31

THE BUILDING OF CLOUD-CUCKOO-TOWN.

(From "The Birds ": Frere's Translation.)

[Enter Messenger, quite out of breath, and speaking in short snatches.]
MESSENGER. Where is he? Where? Where is he? Where?
Where is he? The president Peisthetairus?
PEISTHETAIRUS [coolly ].
Here am I.
MESS. [in a gasp of breath] Your fortification's finished.
PEIS.

Well that's well.

MESS. A most amazing, astonishing work it is!

So that Theagenes and Proxenides

Might flourish and gasconade and prance away
Quite at their ease, both of them four-in-hand,
Driving abreast upon the breadth of wall,
Each in his own new chariot.

PEIS.

You surprise me.

MESS. And the height (for I made the measurement myself) Is exactly a hundred fathoms.

PEIS.

Heaven and earth!

How could it be? such a mass! who could have built it?
MESS. The Birds; no creature else, no foreigners,
Egyptian bricklayers, workmen or masons.

But they themselves, alone, by their own efforts, —

(Even to my surprise, as an eye-witness)
The Birds, I say, completed everything:
There came a body of thirty thousand cranes,

(I won't be positive, there might be more)

With stones from Africa in their craws and gizzards,
Which the stone-curlews and stone-chatterers

Worked into shape and finished. The sand-martens
And mud-larks, too, were busy in their department,

Mixing the mortar, while the water-birds,

As fast as it was wanted, brought the water

To temper and work it.

PEIS. [in a fidget]

Who did you get to carry it?

MESS.

But who served the masons?

To carry it?

Of course, the carrion crows and carrying pigeons.
PEIS. [in a fuss, which he endeavors to conceal]

Yes! yes! but after all, to load your hods,

How did you manage that?

I promise you. There were the geese, all barefoot
Trampling the mortar, and when all was ready