If you drink much after a mighty feast,
For God or mortal; or I needs must think
That Chance is a supreme divinity,
And things divine are subject to her power.
Soon a crab the throat will seize
Of him who feeds upon his guest,
Fire will burn his lamp-like eyes
In revenge of such a feast!
A great oak stump now is lying
In the ashes yet undying.
Come, Maron, come!
Raging let him fix the doom,
Let him tear the eyelid up,
Of the Cyclops-that his cup
May be evil!
Oh, I long to dance and revel With sweet Bromian, long desired, In loved ivy-wreaths attired; Leaving this abandoned homeWill the moment ever come?
Be silent, ye wild things! Nay, hold your peace, And keep your lips quite close; dare not to breathe,
Or spit, or e'en wink, lest ye wake the monster, Until his eye be tortured out with fire.
Moistening your thirsty maw, you will sleep well; Nay, we are silent, and we chaw the air.
If you leave aught, Bacchus will dry you up.
What, sprained with standing still?
And there is dust Or ashes in our eyes, I knew not whence.
Cowardly dogs! ye will not aid me, then?
With pitying my own back and my back-bone,
And with not wishing all my teeth knocked out,
This cowardice comes of itself-but stay,
I know a famous Orphic incantation
To make the brand stick of its own accord
Into the skull of this one-eyed son of Earth.
Of old I knew ye thus by nature; now I know ye better.-I will use the aid
WHEN winds that move not its calm surface sweep
The azure sea, I love the land no more:
The smiles of the serene and tranquil deep
Tempt my unquiet mind.-But when the roar
Of ocean's grey abyss resounds, and foam
Gathers upon the sea, and vast waves burst,
I turn from the drear aspect to the home
Of earth and its deep woods, where, interspersed,
When winds blow loud, pines make sweet melody;
Whose house is some lone bark, whose toil the sea,
Whose prey, the wandering fish, an evil lot
Has chosen. But I my languid limbs will fling
Beneath the plane, where the brook's murmuring
Moves the calm spirit but disturbs it not.
PAN loved his neighbour Echo-but that child
Of Earth and Air pined for the Satyr leaping;
The Satyr loved with wasting madness wild
The bright nymph Lyda-and so the three went
weeping.
As Pan loved Echo, Echo loved the Satyr ;
The Satyr, Lyda-and thus love consumed
them.-
And thus to each-which was a woeful matter-
To bear what they inflicted, justice doomed them;
For, inasmuch as each might hate the lover,
Each, loving, so was hated.-Ye that love not
Be warned-in thought turn this example over,
That, when ye love, the like return ye prove not.
SONNET FROM THE ITALIAN OF DANTE.
DANTE ALIGHIERI TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI.
GUIDO, I would that Lappo, thou, and I,
Led by some strong enchantment, might ascend
A magic ship, whose charmed sails should fly
With winds at will where'er our thoughts might
So that no change, nor any evil chance, [wend,
Should mar our joyous voyage; but it might be,
That even satiety should still enhance
Between our hearts their strict community;
And that the bounteous wizard then would place
Vanna and Bice and my gentle love,
Companions of our wandering, and would grace
With passionate talk, wherever we might rove,
Our time, and each were as content and free
As I believe that thou and I should be.
THE "MAGICO PRODIGIOSO" OF CALDERON.
CYPRIAN as a Student; CLARIN and Moscon as poor
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 whilst with glorious festival and song
Antioch now celebrates the consecration
Of a proud temple to great Jupiter,
And bears his image in loud jubilee
To its new shrine, I would consume what still
Lives of the dying day, in studious thought,
Far from the throng and turmoil. You, my friends,
Go and enjoy the festival; it will
Be worth the labour, and return for me
When the sun seeks its grave among the billows,
Which among dim grey clouds on the horizon
Dance like white plumes upon a hearse ;-and here
I shall expect you.
To speak truth, Livia is she who has surprised my heart; But he is more than half way there.-Soho! Livia, I come; good sport, Livia, soho!
Now since I am alone, let me examine
The question which has long disturbed my mind
With doubt, since first I read in Plinius
The words of mystic import and deep sense
In which he defines God. My intellect
Can find no God with whom these marks and signs
Fitly agree. It is a hidden truth
Enter the DEVIL, as a fine Gentleman.
Search even as thou wilt,
But thou shalt never find what I can hide.
What noise is that among the boughs? Who moves! What art thou ?—
"Tis a foreign gentleman. Even from this morning I have lost my way
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