Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure; Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine,

That had the sceptre from his father Brute.

She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit

Of her enraged stepdame Guendolen,

Commended her fair innocence to the flood,

They stayed her flight with his crossflowing course.

The water-nymphs that in the bottom played,

Held up their pearlèd wrists, and took her in,

Bearing her straight to aged Nereus' hall,

Who, piteous of her woes, reared her lank head,

And gave her to his daughters to imbathe

In nectared lavers strewed with asphodel,

And through the porch and inlet of each sense

Dropped in ambrosial oils, till she revived,

And underwent a quick immortal change,

Made Goddess of the river: still she

mace,

And Tethys' grave majestic pace,
By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look,
And the Carpathian wizard's hook,
By scaly Triton's winding shell,
And old soothsaying Glaucus' spell,
By Leucothea's lovely hands,
And her son that rules the strands,
By Thetis' tinsel-slippered feet,
And the songs of Sirens sweet,
By dead Parthenope's dear tomb,
And fair Ligea's golden comb,
Wherewith she sits on diamond
rocks,

Sleeking her soft alluring locks,
By all the nymphs that nightly dance
Upon thy streams with wily glance,
Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head
From thy coral-paven bed,

And bridle in thy headlong wave,
Till thou our summons
have.

answered

Listen and save.

SABRINA rises, attended by waternymphs, and sings.

By the rushy-fringed bank, Where grow the willow and the osier dank,

My sliding chariot stays, Thick set with agate, and the azurn

sheen

Of turkis blue, and emerald green, That in the channel strays; Whilst from off the waters fleet, Thus I set my printless feet

D'er the cowslip's velvet head,
That bends not as I tread;
Gentle Swain, at thy request
I am here.

Spir.- Goddess dear,

We implore thy powerful hand
To undo the charmed band

Of true virgin here distressed, Through the force, and through the wile

Of unblest enchanter vile.
Sabr.-Shepherd, 'tis my office
best

To help ensnared chastity:
Brightest Lady, look on me;
Thus I sprinkle on thy breast
Drops that from my fountain pure
I have kept of precious cure,
Thrice upon thy finger's tip,
Thrice upon thy rubied lip;
Next this marble venomed seat,
Smeared with gums of glutinous
heat,

I touch with chaste palms moist and

cold:

Now the spell hath lost his hold; And I must haste ere morning hour To wait in Amphitrite's bower.

SABRINA descends, and the LADY
rises out of her seat.

Spir.- Virgin, daughter of Lo-
crine,

Sprung of old Anchises' line,
May thy brimmèd waves for this
Their full tribute never miss
From a thousand petty rills,
That tumble down the snowy hills:
Summer drouth, or singèd air
Never scorch thy tresses fair,
Nor wet October's torrent flood
Thy molten crystal fill with mud;
May thy billows roll ashore
The beryl, and the golden ore;
May thy lofty head be crowned
With many a tower and terrace round,
And here and there thy banks upon
With groves of myrrh and cinnamon.
Come, Lady, while heaven lends

us grace,
Let us fly this cursed place,
Lest the sorcerer us entice
With some other new device.
Not a waste, or needless sound,
Till we come to holier ground;
I shall be your faithful guide
Through this gloomy covert wide,

SONG.

Noble Lord, and Lady bright,
I have brought ye new delight,
Here behold so goodly grown
Three fair branches of your own;
Heaven hath timely tried their
youth,

Their faith, their patience, and
their truth,

And sent them here through hard assays

With a crown of deathless praise, To triumph in victorious dance O'er sensual folly, and intemperance.

The dances ended, the SPIRIT epilogizes.

Spir. To the ocean now I fly, And those happy climes that lie Where day never shuts his eye, Up in the broad fields of the sky:

There I suck the liquid air
All amidst the gardens fair
Of Hesperus, and his daughters three
That sing about the golden tree:
Along the crisped shades and bowers
Revels the spruce and jocund Spring,
The Graces, and the rosy-bosomed
Hours,

Thither all their bounties bring;
There eternal Summer dwells,
And west-winds, with musky wing,
About the cedarn alleys fling
Nard and cassia's balmy smells.
Iris there with humid bow
Waters the odorous banks, that blow
Flowers of more mingled hue
Than her purfled scarf can show,
And drenches with Elysian dew,
(List mortals, if your ears be true)
Beds of hyacinth and roses,
Where young Adonis oft reposes,
Waxing well of his deep wound
In slumber soft, and on the ground
Sadly sits the Assyrian queen;
But far above in spangled sheen
Celestial Cupid, her famed son, ad-
vanced,

Holds his dear Psyche sweet en

tranced,

After her wandering labors long,
Till free consent the Gods among
Make her his eternal bride,

And from her fair unspotted side
Two blissful twins are to be born,
Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn.

But now my task is smoothly done, I can fly, or I can run

Quickly to the green earth's end, Where the bowed welkin slow doth bend,

And from thence can soar as soon
To the corners of the moon.

Mortals, that would follow me,
Love Virtue, she alone is free;
She can teach ye how to climb
Higher than the sphery chime:
Or, if Virtue feeble were,
Heaven itself would stoop to her.
MILTON.

MYTHOLOGY.

O NEVER rudely will I blame his faith In the might of stars and angels! 'Tis not merely

The human being's Pride that peoples space

Than lies upon that truth we live to learn.

For fable is Love's world, his home, his birthplace:

Delightedly dwells he 'mong fays and talismans,

And spirits; and delightedly believes
Divinities, being himself divine.
The intelligible forms of ancient
poets,

The fair humanities of old religion, The power, the beauty, and the majesty,

That had their haunts in dale, or piny mountain,

Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring,

Or chasms and watery depths; all these have vanished;

They live no longer in the faith of

For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be.

It was only to hear the yorlin sing, And pu' the cress flower round the spring

The scarlet hypp, and the hind berry, And the nut that hangs frae the hazel tree;

For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be.

But lang may her minny look o'er the wa',

And lang may she seek in the greenwood shaw;

Lang the laird of Duneira blame, And lang, lang greet ere Kilmeny come hame.

When many a day had come and fled, When grief grew calm, and hope was dead,

When mass for Kilmeny's soul had been sung,

When the bedesman had prayed, and the dead-bell rung, Late, late in a gloamin, when all was still,

When the fringe was red on the westlin hill,

The wood was sere, the moon in the wane,

The reek of the cot hung over the plain

Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane;

When the ingle glowed with an eiry

As still was her look, and as still was her ee,

As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea,

Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless

sea.

For Kilmeny had been she knew not where,

And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare;

Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew,

Where the rain never fell, and the wind never blew;

But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung,

And the airs of heaven played round her tongue,

When she spake of the lovely forms she had seen,

And a land where sin had never been

A land of love and a land of light, Withouten sun, or moon, or night; And lovely beings round were rife, Who erst had travelled mortal life; They clasped her waist and her hands sae fair,

They kissed her cheek and they kemed her hair; And round came many a blooming fere,

Saying, "Bonny Kilmeny, ye're welcome here!

Oh, bonny Kilmeny, free frae stain, If ever you seek the world again That world of sin, of sorrow, and

Then Kilmeny begged again to see The friends she had left in her own

countrye;

With distant music soft and deep, They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep; And when she awakened, she lay her lane,

All happed with flowers in the greenwood wene.

When seven long years had come and fled;

When grief was calm, and hope was dead;

When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's name,

Late, late in a gloamin, Kilmeny came hame!

And oh, her beauty was fair to see, But still and steadfast was her ee! And oh, the words that fell from her mouth

Were words of wonder and words of truth!

Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.

I dreamt my lady came and found me dead;

(Strange dream that gives a dead man leave to think,)

And breathed such life with kisses in my lips,

That I revived and was an emperor. Ah, me! how sweet is love itself possessed

When but love's shadows are so rich in joy.

SHAKSPEARE: Romeo and Juliet.
Act v. Sc. 1.

SHIPS AT SEA.

I HAVE ships that went to sea
More than fifty years ago:
None have yet come home to me,
But keep sailing to and fro.

I have seen them, in my sleep,
Plunging through the shoreless deep,
With tattered sails and battered
hulls,

While around them screamed the gulls,

Flying low, flying low.

I have wondered why they staid From me, sailing round the world; And I've said, "I'm half afraid

That their sails will ne'er be

furled."

Great the treasures that they hold, —
Silks and plumes, and bars of gold;
While the spices which they bear
Fill with fragrance all the air,
As they sail, as they sail.

Every sailor in the port

Knows that I have ships at sea, Of the waves and winds the sport; And the sailors pity me.

Oft they come and with me walk,
Cheering me with hopeful talk,
Till I put my fears aside,
And contented watch the tide
Rise and fall, rise and fall.

I have waited on the piers,

Gazing for them down the bay, Days and nights, for many years,

Till I turned heart-sick away. But the pilots, when they land, Stop and take me by the hand,