CAMBYSES AND CRESUS. Such was the outrage which Cambyses committed at this time. At another, he took twelve of the noblest Persians, and without bringing any charge worthy of death against them, buried them all up to the neck. Hereupon Croesus, the Lydian, thought it right to admonish Cambyses, which he did in these words following: "Oh! King, allow not thyself to give way entirely to thy youth and the heat of thy temper; but check and control thyself. It is well to look to consequences, and in forethought lies true wisdom. Thou layest hold of men, who are thy fellow-citizens, and without cause of complaint slayest them; thou even puttest children to death. Bethink thee now, if thou shalt often do things like these, will not the Persians rise in revolt against thee? It is by thy father's wish that I offer thee advice. He charged me strictly to give thee such counsel as I might see to be most for thy good." In thus advising Cambyses, Croesus meant nothing but what was friendly; but Cambyses answered him, "Dost thou presume to offer me advice? Right well thou ruledst thy own country when thou wert a king; and right sage advice thou gavest my father, Cyrus, bidding him cross the Araxes and fight the Massagetæ in their own land, when they were willing to have passed over into ours. By thy misdirection of thine own affairs thou broughtest ruin upon thyself; and by thy bad counsel, which he followed, thou broughtest ruin upon Cyrus, my father. But thou shalt not escape punishment now, for I have long been seeking to find some occasion against thee." As he thus spoke, Cambyses took up his bow to shoot at Croesus; but Croesus ran hastily out and escaped. So when Cambyses found that he could not kill him with his bow, he bade his servants seize him and put him to death. The servants, however, who knew their master's humor, thought it best to hide Croesus; that so, if Cambyses relented, and asked for him, they might bring him out, and get a reward for having saved his life; if, on the other hand, he did not relent or regret the loss, they might then despatch him. Not long afterward Cambyses did in fact relent the loss of Crœsus, and the servants perceiving it, let him know that he was still alive. "I am glad," said he, "that Croesus lives; but as for you who saved him, ye shall not escape my vengeance, but shall all of you be put to death." did even as he had said. And he HOW THE ARABIANS PROCURE CASSIA AND CINNAMON. The manner in which the Arabians collect the cassia is the following: they cover all their body and their faces with the hides of oxen and other skins, leaving only holes for the eyes; and thus protected go in search of the cassia, which grows in a lake of no great depth. All round the shores and in the lake itself there dwell a number of winged animals, much resembling bats, which screech horribly and are very valiant. These creatures they must keep from their eyes all the while that they gather the cassia. Still more wonderful is the mode in which they collect the cinnamon. Where the wood grows, and what country produces it, they cannot tell; only some, following probability, relate that it comes from the country in which Bacchus was brought up. Great birds, they say, bring the sticks which we Greeks, taking the word from the Phoenicians, call cinnamon, and carry them up into the air to make their nests. These are fastened with a sort of mud to a sheer face of rock, where no foot of man is able to climb. So the Arabians, to get the cinnamon, use the following artifice: They cut all the oxen and asses and beasts of burden that die in their land into large pieces, which they carry with them into those regions, and place near the nests. Then they withdraw to a distance, and the old birds, swooping down, seize the pieces of meat and fly with them to their nests; which, not being able to support the weight, break off and fall to the ground. Hereupon the Arabians return and collect the cinnamon, which is afterward carried from Arabia into other countries. HERRERA, FERNANDO DE, a Spanish ecclesiastic and poet, born at Seville in 1534; died there in 1597. Little is known of his life; but he was called the Divine, and was praised by Cervantes and Lope de Vega. He published a volume of poems in 1582, and others of his poems appeared after his death. He wrote vigorous prose also. His chief work is the Relacion de la Guerra de Chipre y Batalla de Lepanto (1572). Another work, the History of Spain till the Time of Charles V., is not extant. A number of his longer poems are lost, among them The Battle of the Giants, The Rape of Proserpina, The Amadis, and The Loves of Laurino and Caerona. Herrera realized the inadequacy of the Castilian language to express the finer sentiments of the poet, and he set about improving it by substituting words and phrases from the Latin, Greek, and Italian languages for the corresponding vulgar and trivial expressions in his own; but his system was theoretical, and while inspired by good intentions was lacking in taste, so that in many instances where he strives to be elevated and correct, he succeeds in being simply formal and affected. He addressed his verses to an Andalusian lady, said to have been the Countess of Gelves, for whom he entertained a Platonic love which lent tenderness and beauty to his poetry. ODE TO SLEEP. Sweet Sleep, that through the starry path of night, With dewy poppies crowned pursu'st thy flight! Stiller of human woes, That shedd'st o'er Nature's breast a soft repose! O, to these distant climates of the West Thy slowly wandering pinions turn; And with thy influence blest Bathe these love-burdened eyes, that ever burn While my unceasing grief Refuses all relief! O, hear my prayer! I ask it by thy love, Sweet power that dost impart Gentle oblivion to the suffering heart, Beloved Sleep, thou only canst bestow Thrice happy be the hour My weary limbs shall feel thy sovereign power! The calm thou pour'st on Nature's boundless reign? Nor yield a respite to a lover's pain? And must I ask thy balmy aid in vain? Hear, gentle power, O, hear my humble prayer, In this extreme of grief, I own thy might. The intruding Dawn, that with her garish light Thou hear'st my sad lament, and in my face My many griefs may'st trace: Turn, then, sweet wanderer of the night, and spread Thy wings around my head! Haste, for the unwelcome Morn Is now on her return! Let the soft rest the hours of night denied Be by thy lenient hand supplied. Fresh from my summer bowers, Such as thou lov'st, the fairest and the best, I offer thee; won by their odors sweet, The advent: O, then, let thy hand Express their essence bland, And o'er my eyelids pour delicious rest! Come, end my woes! So, crowned with heavenly charms, -Translation of T. Roscoe. FROM AN ODE TO DON JOHN OF AUSTRIA. When from the vaulted sky, Struck by the bolt and volleyed fire of Jove, To rear to heaven his impious head, By thousand deaths undaunted, unsubdued- Before the sword of Mars unwilling bent. In heaven's pure serene, To his bright lyre, whose strings melodious rung, And spread the joyous numbers round His youthful brows with gold and laurel bound- Each heavenly power was seen; And all the lucid spheres, night's wakeful train, That swift pursue their ceaseless way, Forgot their course, suspended by his lay. Hushed was the stormy sea At the sweet sound the boisterous waves were laid, The noise of rushing winds was stayed; And with the gentle breath of pleasure |