Heap high the logs! Pour forth with lavish hand, O Thaliarchus, draughts of long-stored wine, Blood of the Sabine vine!

To-day be ours: the rest the gods command.

While storms lie quelled at their rebuke, no more Shall the old ash her shattered foliage shed,

The cypress bow her head,

The bursting billow whiten on the shore.

Scan not the future: count as gain each day
That Fortune gives thee; and despise not, boy,
Or love, or dance, or joy

Of martial games, ere yet thy locks be gray.

Thine be the twilight vow from faltering tongue;
The joyous laugh that self-betraying guides
To where the maiden hides;

The ring from finger half resisting wrung.

From the Latin of HORACE.

Translation of SIR STEPHEN DE VERE.

A KNOT OF BLUE.

FOR THE BOYS OF YALE.

SHE hath no gems of lustre bright
To sparkle in her hair;

No need hath she of borrowed light
To make her beauty fair.

Upon her shining locks afloat

Are daisies wet with dew,

And peeping from her lissome throat

A little knot of blue.

A dainty knot of blue,

A ribbon blithe of hue.

It fills my dreams with sunny gleams,-
That little knot of blue.

I met her down the shadowed lane,
Beneath the apple-tree,

The balmy blossoms fell like rain
Upon my love and me:

And what I said or what I did
That morn I never knew,

But to my breast there came and hid

A little knot of blue.

A little knot of blue,

A love-knot strong and true,

"T will hold my heart till life shall part,—

That little knot of blue.

SAMUEL MINTURN PECK.

DOLLIE.

SHE sports a witching gown,
With a ruffle up and down
On the skirt;

She is gentle, she is shy,

But there's mischief in her eye,—
She's a flirt!

She displays a tiny glove,

And a dainty little love

Of a shoe;

hi

nd

irt;

shy,

ef in i

irt!

glove,

love