A sweet thought, which was once the Thou art not dead, but thou hast Of a bright seraph sitting crowned on My song, I fear that thou wilt find but high, Found such a cruel foe it died, and so few Who fitly shall conceive thy reasoning Of such hard matter dost thou With perfect joy received the early day, entertain. FROM THE PURGATORIO of dante, CANTO XXVIII, 11. 1-51 AND earnest to explore within-around The divine wood, whose thick green living woof Tempered the young day to the sightI wound Up the green slope, beneath the forest's roof, Eternal shades, whose interwoven looms With slow soft steps leaving the moun- The rays of moon or sunlight ne'er tain's steep, And sought those inmost labyrinths, motion-proof Against the air, that in that stillness deep And solemn, struck upon my forehead bare, The slow soft stroke of a continuous . . . In which the were leaves tremblingly All bent towards that part where earliest The sacred hill obscures the morning air. Yet were they not so shaken from the rest, endure. I moved not with my feet, but 'mid the glooms Pierced with my charmed eye contemplating The mighty multitude of fresh May blooms Which starred that night, when, even as a thing That suddenly for blank astonishment Charms every sense, and makes all thought take wing, A solitary woman! and she went But that the birds, perched on the Singing and gathering flower after flower, utmost spray, Incessantly renewing their blithe quest, With which her way was painted and besprent. Bright lady, who, if looks had ever I dare not now thro' thy degraded state Own the delight thy strains inspire-in vain power To bear true witness of the heart within, Dost bask under the beams of love, I seek what once thou wert-we cannot FROM THE SPANISH OF CALDERON SCENE I.-Enter CYPRIAN, dressed as a Student; CLARIN and MOSCON as poor Scholars, with books. Cyprian. In the sweet solitude of this calm place, This intricate wild wilderness of trees And flowers and undergrowth of odorous plants, Leave me; the books you brought out of the house To me are ever best society. And while with glorious festival and song, Lives of the dying day, in studious thought, Far from the throng and turmoil. You, my friends, Go, and enjoy the festival; it will for me When the sun seeks its grave among the billows, Which among dim gray clouds on the horizon, Dance like white plumes upon a hearse; -and here I shall expect you. Moscon. I cannot bring my mind, Great as my haste to see the festival Certainly is, to leave you, Sir, without Just saying some three or four thousand words. How is it possible that on a day On all this mirth? Clarin. My master's in the right; There is not anything more tiresome Than a procession day, with troops, and priests, And dances, and all that. Moscon. From first to last, Clarin, you are a temporising flatterer; You praise not what you feel but what he does; Toadeater! Clarin. mistake You lie under a But thou shalt never find what I can Your way. Of all the avenues and green paths Of this wild wood there is not one but leads, As to its centre, to the walls of Antioch; Dæmon. And such is ignorance! The chair of the most high Professor- And obtained many votes, and thoug The attempt was still more glorious, Could be dishonourable. If you believe not, Let us refer it to dispute respecting Of knowledge, it can draw no profit That which you know the best, and from it. But as it still is early, and as I Have no acquaintances in Antioch, although I Know not the opinion you maintain, and though trary. Cyprian. Being a stranger there, I will even wait It be the true one, I will take the con- I see The offer gives me pleasure. I am now Debating with myself upon a passage To understand and know who is the Oh would Can supreme goodness be consistent with I were of that bright country! for in this The more we study, we the more dis |