TO STELLA. FROM PLATO. THOU Wert the morning star among the living, Ere thy fair light had fled; Now, having died, thou art as Hesperus, giving New splendour to the dead. FROM PLATO. KISSING Helena, together With my kiss, my soul beside it Came to my lips, and there I kept it,— SONNETS FROM THE GREEK OF MOSCHUS Τὰν ὅλα τὰν γλαυκὰν ὅταν ἄνεμος ἀτρέμα βάλλῃ, — κ. τ. λο I. 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 388 Tempt my unquiet mind. But when the roar II. PAN loved his neighbour Echo- but that child As Pan loved Echo, Echo loved the Satyr; them. And thus to each-which was a woful matter- SONNET FROM THE ITALIAN OF DANTE. DANTE ALIGHIERI TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI. GUIDO, I would that Lappo, thou, and I, wend, So that no change, nor any evil chance, Should mar our joyous voyage; but it might be, Companions of our wandering, and would grace SCENES FROM THE MAGICO PRODIGIOSO OF CALDERON. CYPRIAN as a Student; CLARIN and MoscON as poor Scholars, with books. CYPRIAN. IN the sweet solitude of this calm place, And flowers and undergrowth of odorous plants, And whilst with glorious festival and song And bears his image in loud jubilee To its new shrine, I would consume what still Be worth the labour, and return 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 hundred words. How is it possible that on a day Of such festivity, you can bring your mind To come forth to a solitary country With three or four old books, and turn your back On all this mirth? CLARIN. My master's in the right; There is not any thing more tiresome Than a procession day, with troops of men, And dances, and all that. MOSCON. From first to last, Clarin, you are a temporizing flatterer; You praise not what you feel, but what he does ;— Toadeater! CLARIN. You lie under a mistake For this is the most civil sort of lie That can be given to a man's face. I now Say what I think. CYPRIAN. Enough, you foolish fellows Puffed up with your own doting ignorance, |