Climes which the sun, who sheds the brightest day

Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey.

Yet there the soul shall enter which hath earned

That privilege by virtue.-"Ill," said he, "The end of man's existence I discerned, Who from ignoble games and revelry Could draw, when we had parted, vain delight [and night: While tears were thy best pastime,-day

"And while my youthful peers, before my

eyes,

(Each hero following his peculiar bent) Prepared themselves for glorious enterprise By martial sports,-or, seated in the tent, Chieftains and kings in council were detained;

What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained.

"The wished-for wind was given :-I then revolved

The oracle, upon the silent sea; And, if no worthier led the way, resolved That, of a thousand vessels, mine should be [strand,

The foremost prow in pressing to the Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan sand.

"Yet bitter, oft-times bitter, was the pang When of thy loss I thought, beloved wife! On thee too fondly did my memory hang, And on the joys we shared in mortal life, The paths which we had trod-these fountains-flowers;

My new-planned cities, and unfinished

towers.

cry,

"Learn by a mortal yearning to ascend Towards a higher object.-Love was given, Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end:

For this the passion to excess was drivenThat self might be annulled her bondage prove

The fetters of a dream, opposed to love."

Aloud she shrieked! for Hermes reappears!

Round the dear shade she would have clung-'tis vain.

The hours are past-too brief had they been years;

And him no mortal effort can detain:

Swift, toward the realms that know not earthly day,

He through the portal takes his silent way, And on the palace floor a lifeless corse she lay.

By no weak pity might the gods be moved; She who thus perished not without the crime

Of lovers that in reason's spite have loved, Was doomed to wander in a grosser clime, Apart from happy ghosts-that gather flowers

Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers.

Yet tears to human suffering are due;
And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown
Are mourned by man, and not by man
alone,

As fondly he believes.-Upon the side
Of Hellespont (such faith was entertained)
A knot of spiry trees for ages grew
From out the tomb of him for whom she
died;

And ever, when such stature they had gained That Ilium's walls were subject to their view,

thought,

In act embodied, my deliverance wrought.

“And thou, though strong in love, art all

too weak

In reason, in self-government too slow;
I counsel thee by fortitude to seek
Our blest re-union in the shades below.
The invisible world with thee hath sympa-
thized;

Be thy affections raised and solemnized.

blight! *

The sun has burnt her coal-black hair; HER eyes are wild, her head is bare, And she came far from over the main. Her eyebrows have a rusty stain,

For the account of these long-lived trees, see Pliny's Natural History, lib. 16, cap. 44; and for the features in the character of Protesilaus

see the "Iphigenia in Aulis" of Euripides. -Virgil places the shade of Laodamia in a mournful region, among unhappy lovers.

I heard the sky-lark warbling in the sky; And I bethought me of the playful hare: Even such a happy child of earth am I ; Even as these blissful creatures do I fare; Far from the world I walk, and from all care; But there may come another day to meSolitude, pain of eart, distress, and poverty?

My whole life I have lived in pleasant thought,

As if life's business were a summer mood; As if all needful things would come unsought

To genial faith, still rich in genial good; But how can he expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?

I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride; Of him who walked in glory and in joy

Himself he propped, his body, limbs, and face,

Upon a long gray staff of shaven wood : And, still as drew near with gentle pace, Upon the margin of that moorish flood Motionless as a cloud the old man stood; That heareth not the loud winds when they call;

And moveth altogether, if it move at all.

At length, himself unsettling, he the pond
Stirred with his staff, and fixedly did look
Upon the muddy water, which he conned,
As if he had been reading in a book :
And now a stranger's privilege I took ;
And, drawing to his side, to him did say,
"This morning gives us promise of a glc-
rious day.'

A gentle answer did the old man make,
In courteous speech which forth he slowly

drew :