THE LILY FAIR OF JASMIN DEAN.

THE loveliest, tenderest flower that grows
The softest south-west wind that blows
The burn o'er moss-grown stone that flows,
A sudden gleam one knows not whence
The rose that's dear to every sense
Wee daisies' smile of innocence
Heaven's bow that mocks at permanence
Sweet breath of cattle o'er the fence,
The double May, the Lime's fresh green,
Pale glow, soft eve and night between,
Awake a joy not half so keen

As midst the tangled fern-roots seen
The print of where her foot hath been,
The Lady fair of Jasmin Dean.

-But, though heavenly-graced she were
(And is) as Venus in the air

Wantoning with her harnessed pair
Of doves, where eagles might not dare,
Showering down roses everywhere,*
No! by that Opal ring I swear,

Gage of some fond lover's caret

Her hand as white and fine doth wear,
Her smiles I would not wish to share
Resigned her cold disdain to bear

*E for gittando di sopra e d'intorno

'Manibus o date Lilia plenis.'

Purgatorio Xxx. 20, 21.

+ Given to her by one who loved her very dearly-her father.

And faded wreaths to tatters tear
Were she not good as she is fair.

Oh! who in laudatory style

Howe'er unschooled, can watch her smile, Scan the free brow where lurks no guile, Those orbs from whose pure ray, things vile As from Ithuriel's lance resile

See her in wistful mood awhile

Repay a father's fond caress,

Mirror of heaven's own loveliness,
Whose every feature vies to express
Each lingering love-fraught look confess
The very soul of tenderness-

Or like an angel fair and bright,

Clad in her own soul's spotless white

So greet the new come guest's dazed sight
That he could weep for pure delight-
Can with me endure to quaff

The mortal sweetness of her laugh

(As gossamer light or wind-borne chaff)
That Prospero hearing, breaks his staff
And writes his lost years' epitaph,
Then mark her soaring notes' gay sound
O'erleap Melpomene's utmost bound
In rapturous cadence haply found
To make the giddy stars reel round-
And not to Heaven, Earth, Sea, declare
Yes! she is good as she is fair.

She is the daintiest flower I ween

On mortal soil or shores unseen,
That angel's hand or man's can glean-
Pure as the Huntress' bow faint seen
Enchantress, Priestess, Fancy's Queen
Sun that lights up this Earth's dull scene
Distilling holy medicine

From Life's low cares chilled hearts to wean

To embrace the Light that aye hath been,
From Sin's dark pit freed souls to win
To fields of Paradise ever green-
Nature's sweet pattern, happiest mean
The loved Pale Star of Jasmin Dean.

• Den, Dene, or Dean, as in Deepdene Bramdean Hawthornden (but not necessarily united with the governing word), means a valley or a depression between hills.

ΧΡΥΣΕΟΝ ΓΕΝΟΣ.

Χρύσεον μέν πρώτιστα γένος μερόπων ἀνθρώπων ἀθάνατοι ποίησαν Ὀλύμπια δώματ ̓ ἔχοντες, οἱ μὲν ἐπὶ Κρόνου ἦσαν, ὅτ ̓ οὐρανῷ ἐμβασίλευεν• ὥς τε θεοὶ ζώεσκον ἀκηδέα θυμὸν ἔχοντες νόσφιν ἄτερ τε πόνων καὶ ὀϊζύος· οὐδέ τι δειλὸν γῆρας ἐπῆν· αἰεὶ δὲ πόδας καὶ χεῖρας ὁμοῖοι τέρποντ ̓ ἐν θαλίῃσι κακῶν ἔκτοσθεν ἁπάντων, ἀφνειοὶ μήλοισι, φίλοι μακάρεσσι θεοῖσι. θνῆσκον δ ̓ ὡς ὕπνῳ δεδμημένοι· ἐσθλὰ δὲ πάντα τοῖσιν ἔην· κάρπον δ ̓ ἔφερε ζείδωρος ἄρουρα αὐτομάτη πολλόν τε καὶ ἄφθονον· οἱ δ ̓ ἐθελημο ἡσυχὰ ἔργα νέμοντο σὺν ἐσθλοῖσιν πολέεσσιν. αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ δὴ τοῦτο γένος κατὰ γαῖα κάλυψεν, τοὶ μὲν δαίμονές εἰσι, Διὸς μεγάλου διὰ βουλὰς, ἐσθλοὶ, ἐπιχθόνιοι, φύλακες θνητῶν ἀνθρώπων οἵ ῥα φυλάσσουσίν τε δίκας καὶ σχέτλια ἔργα ἠέρα ἑσσάμενοι, πάντη φοιτῶντες ἐπ ̓ αἶαν πλουτόδοται, καὶ τοῦτο γέρας βασιλήϊον ἔσχον.

HESIOD: Works and Days, 109-126.

THE GOLDEN AGE.

Oh all of bright gold was the first race of men,
That was made by the great ones on high,
And they lived in the beautiful ages of Then
When Kronos was king in the sky.

They lived just like angels; their hearts knew no care,
Far away from distresses and woe,

And the lines on the forehead, the gray in the hair
Never came in the days long ago.

And their feet were so springy, their cheeks were so clear,

And their young eyes too happy to weep;

With their flocks in good plenty the Gods held them

dear,

And their death was a rocking to sleep.

And the Earth bare them harvests with never a tilling, Because she was glad that she could,

And they lived on their own lands in peace and goodwilling

And every manner of good.

When earth wrapped them up in her bosom so fair

At the end of the ages of Then,

They were turned into fairies, good spirits of air,

For the guardians of poor mortal men.

They have wrath for the wrong, and the right they

recover,

They have riches for small and for great,

The mist is their mantle, they roam the world over,

And this is their kingly estate.

C. F.