Dream the dream the poet tells us of himself supremely blest; Dark eyes fondly gazing o'er him-dusky cheeks his lips have prest; And a Samian maiden's bosom is the haven of his rest. Zephuros around him wooing. Since that time, in countless millions, human souls have past away; Yet Dryusa's rocks are sprinkled with the crisp Aegaean spray; Still the muscat vines o'ershadow sylvan paths where lovers stray. Zephuros around them wooing. ΜΝΕΙΑ. Sweet violet eyes of varying hue, Dove-like the fondness purpling each ray- Yielding for love's sake-calming the breast- Tiny and soft hands sculptured in snow Where the stream flowed by the asphodel shore. A CONVERSATION. FROM THE IDYLLIA OF BION. (IN THE METRE OF THE ORIGINAL GREEK.) Cleodamus. Which do you think is the sweetest of seasons? the Spring or the Summer? Or Winter? or wouldst thou the time when the olives are gathered? Fair Summer, when all things we toil at completely are finished? Pleasantly passes the Autumn, while waiting to sow the new harvests? Or, Murson, what think you of Winter, when people inactive Charmed with the warmth of the fire-glow fully enjoy being idle? Is Spring your desire? or which would you choose of the changes? Tell me; for now we have leisure to turn to and chat for diversion. Murson. Not to a mortal is given the right to decide on such questions; Seasons are sacred designments and wisely ordained their transitions : Yet may I tell to a dear friend the bent of my own idle fancy. Summer is not quite delightful; for then the sun partially roasts me, Autumn is often morbific; excess of rich fruit is unwholesome. Bearing the frost, and the snow storms, of long dreary Winter is horror. Hence I love threefold the Spring time, and would that it always were with us; Neither ice-fetters benumbing nor rage of the fierce sun oppresses; In the new youth of the year fresh beauty is everywhere budding: All things in turns with sweet breath, fond breezes are joyously kissing: Darkness and daylight are equal, for labour and rest so divided, Evenly meting to mortals the black and the white of existence. SNOW. Filmy, feathery snow, Far as the eye can go The distance is filled with snow, Filmy, feathery snow, Silently, softly falling: Not a cloud in the sky, Only the fluttering snow; Watch the flakes as they idly fly, Looking up ever so high Into the falling snow. The delicate filmy snow Through the voiceless air is falling, Not a sound-only the filmy snow In the unquiet silence falling; Large outstretch'd limbs of old elms look dark Through the pale mist gathering over the park ; The misty breath of the snow, The flakes of the down-coming snow, And the far-off thickening snow In the distant dimness falling. Filmy feathery snow Silently softly falling; Forests of branches of silvery spray Are clothing themselves with a veil of white, Earth puts on her ermine, star-woven, star-bright, CANTATA. NOVA TEMPORIS ETAS. From a long night of sleep, The earth refreshed awakes; A voiceless wind from the south The almond tree blossom shakes, And the meek young lilies upwards peep, When the furious storms were rushing Though the melting snows were weeping Awake! bright days are breaking, awake! To sleep again at its fall, When the crocuses long ago Rose above their beds of snow, Her bosom heaved with a tremulous thrill As she turned in her slumber, slumbering still. Fond mother, calm reposing The young year on thy breast, Its violet eyes unclosing, Hath roused thee from thy rest. The misty curtains aside are drawn And the light falls on thy faceThe tender light of an April dawn, Where the blushes of spring we trace. Strewn in the valleys green The primrose flowers are seen, And the lark is singing and soaring high Crowned with a rainbow-promise bright, Radiant with light from an opal dome With a rosebud kiss on her dewy lips, |