Because no silent grove's unhallowed gloom, | And now each brazen brother's power you

By mortals shunned, hath yet concealed your

tomb,

Where, in last expiation of the dead,
The augur worshipped and the victim bled?
What are the bribes with which Jove's ear
you win,

Excusing guilt and palliating sin?
Will prayer do this?

don gain

know

In bringing fortune and averting woe.*
He who hath promised most is most re-

vered,

And wears, in proof of skill, a golden beard.
Now gold hath banished Numa's simple vase,
And the plain brass of Saturn's frugal days;

do this? Will vows your par- Now do we see to precious goblets turn
The Tuscan pitcher and the vestal urn.

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? For were great Jove himself to give his nod, Your feasts and revels would defeat the god. You sigh for wealth, the frequent ox is slain, And bribes are offered to the god of gain; For flocks and herds to household gods you

Must man's corruption to the skies be spread

But how shall you pre- And godhead be by human passion led?
'Tis sense-gross sense-which clouds our

cry:

Why, then, you fool, do daily victims die?
Yet does this man the wearied gods assail,
And think by dint of offerings to prevail;
Now 'tis the field and now the fold which
teems,

Hope rests on hope and schemes are built on
schemes,

Until, at length, deserted and alone,

In the deep chest the last sad farthing groan.
If to you e'er a present richly wrought,
If silver cups and golden gifts, I brought,
Your eager hand would grasp at the decoy,
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.
This for mistaken grandeur bids us toil;
This steeps the cassia in the tainted oil;
This makes the fleece its native white forego,
With costly dyes and purple hues to glow;
This seeks the pearl upon the rocky shore
And strains the metal from the fusing ore;
This still by vice obtains its secret ends,
And this to earth the abject spirit bends;
But

you, ye ministers of Heaven, declare
What gold avails in sacrifice and prayer:
Not more than dolls upon the altar laid,
To Venus offered by the full-grown maid.
Let me give that which wealth cannot be-

Of whom could read, write, speak, command

a weapon

To the just gods let me present a mind
Which civil and religious duties bind,
A guileless heart which no dark secrets Or rule a horse with me.
knows,

But with the generous love of virtue glows.
Such be the presents, such the gifts I make:
With them I sacrifice a wheaten cake.

Translation of SIR W. DRUMMOND.

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.]

all

You gave me

All the equipments of a man of honor-
But you did find a use for me, and made
A slave, a profligate, a pander, of me.

[Ferrardo rising.

I charge you keep your seat!

Ten thousand ducats? What, duke! Is such your offer? Give me, duke,

The
eyes that looked upon my 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

The heart that bounded at my father's voice,
And say that Mantua were built of ducats
And I could be its duke at cost of these,
I would not give them for it. Mark me,
duke!

I saw a new-made grave in Mantua
And on the headstone read my father's

name:

To seek me, doubtless, hither he had come-
To seek the child that had deserted him—
And died here ere he found me.
Heaven can tell how far he wandered else!
Upon that grave I knelt an altered man,

had returned,

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 work :

gone.

[Ferrardo tries to rise. Move not, or I shall move. You know me. Oh yes! you trained me like a cavalierYou did indeed! You gave me masters, duke,

And their instructions quickly I took up
As they did lay them down. I got the start
Of my contemporaries, not a youth

Do mine, and sign me that confession straight;

I'm in thy power, and I'll have thee in

mine.

There is the dial, and the sun shines on it,
The shadow on the very point of twelve.

"Oh, here it is!"—"What's that?"-"A Each trying to get before the other, and lily, love.".

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."

ALCANZOR AND ZAIDA.

FROM THE SPANISH.

OFTLY blow the evening | But a thousand times more lovely
To her longing lover's sight

Softly fall the dews of Steals, half seen, the beauteous maiden Through the glimmerings of the night.