LOVE AND FOLLY.

(FROM LA FONTaine.)

LOVE's worshippers alone can know
The thousand mysteries that are his;
His blazing torch, his twanging bow,
His blooming age are mysteries.
A charming science-but the day
Were all too short to con it o'er;
So take of me this little lay,

A sample of its boundless lore.

As once, beneath the fragrant shade

Of myrtles breathing heaven's own air, The children, Love and Folly, playedA quarrel rose betwixt the pair. Love said the gods should do him right— But Folly vowed to do it then, And struck him, o'er the orbs of sight, So hard, he never saw again.

His lovely mother's grief was deep,

She called for vengeance on the deed;

A beauty does not vainly weep,

Nor coldly does a mother plead.

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LOVE AND FOLLY.

A shade came o'er the eternal bliss

That fills the dwellers of the skies;
Even stony-hearted Nemesis,

And Rhadamanthus, wiped their eyes.

"Behold," she said, "this lovely boy,"
While streamed afresh her graceful tears,
"Immortal, yet shut out from joy

And sunshine, all his future years.
The child can never take, you see,
A single step without a staff-
The harshest punishment would be
Too lenient for the crime by half.”

All said that Love had suffered wrong,
And well that wrong should be repaid;

Then weighed the public interest long,
And long the party's interest weighed.
And thus decreed the court above-
"Since Love is blind from Folly's blow,
Let Folly be the guide of Love,

Where'er the boy may choose to go."

FATIMA AND RADUAN.

(FROM THE SPANISH.)

Diamante falso y fingido,
Engastado en pedernal, &c.

FALSE diamond set in flint! the caverns of the mine

Are warmer than the breast that holds that faithless heart of

thine;

Thou art fickle as the sea, thou art wandering as the wind, And the restless ever-mounting flame is not more hard to

bind.

If the tears I shed were tongues, yet all too few would be,
To tell of all the treachery that thou hast shown to me.
Oh! I could chide thee sharply-but every maiden knows
That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes.

Thou hast called me oft the flower of all Grenada's maids, Thou hast said that by the side of me the first and fairest fades ;

And they thought thy heart was mine, and it seemed to every

one

That what thou didst to win my love, from love of me was

done.

130

FATIMA AND RADUAN.

Alas! if they but knew thee, as mine it is to know,

They well might see another mark to which thine arrows go; But thou giv'st me little heed-for I speak to one who

knows

That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes.

It wearies me, mine enemy, that I must weep and bear
What fills thy heart with triumph, and fills my own with care.
Thou art leagued with those that hate me, and ah! thou
know'st I feel

That cruel words as surely kill as sharpest blades of steel.
'Twas the doubt that thou wert false that wrung my heart

with pain;

But, now I know thy perfidy, I shall be well again.

I would proclaim thee as thou art-but every maiden knows That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes.

Thus Fatima complained to the valiant Raduan,
Where underneath the myrtles Alhambra's fountains ran:
The Moor was inly moved, and blameless as he was,
He took her white hand in his own, and pleaded thus his

cause:

Oh, lady, dry those star-like eyes-their dimness does me

wrong;

If my heart be made of flint, at least 'twill keep thy image

long:

Thou hast uttered cruel words-but I grieve the less for

those,

Since she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes.

THE DEATH OF ALIATAR.

(FROM THE SPANISH.)

'Tis not with gilded sabres

That gleam in baldricks blue,
Nor nodding plumes in caps of Fez,
Of gay and gaudy hue-
But, habited in mourning weeds,
Come marching from afar,
By four and four, the valiant men
Who fought with Aliatar.

All mournfully and slowly

The afflicted warriors come, To the deep wail of the trumpet, And beat of muffled drum.

The banner of the Phenix,

The flag that loved the sky,

That scarce the wind dared wanton witn,
It flew so proud and high-

Now leaves its place in battle-field,

And sweeps the ground in grief

The bearer drags its glorious folds
Behind the fallen chief,