NORTH BEACH. AFTER SPENSER. Lo! where the castle of bold Pfeiffer throws No more the home where joy and wealth repose, See yon long quay that stretches far and wide, Here cometh oft the tender nursery-maid, Ah me! what sounds the shuddering echoes bore, When his small treble mixed with Ocean's roar. Hard by there stands an ancient hostelrie, And at its side a garden, where the bear, The stealthy catamount, and coon agree To work deceit on all who gather there; Lo! the green parrot claweth her back hair, On her gay bonnet wears, and laugheth loud in glee! THE LOST TAILS OF MILETUS. HIGH on the Thracian hills, half hid in the billows of clover, Thyme, and the asphodel blooms, and lulled by Pactolian streamlet, She of Miletus lay, and beside her an aged satyr Scratched his ear with his hoof, and playfully mumbled his chestnuts. Vainly the Mænid and the Bassarid gambolled about her, The free-eyed Bacchante sang, and Pan- the re nowned, the accomplished— Executed his difficult solo. In vain were their gambols and dances: High o'er the Thracian hills rose the voice of the shepherdess, wailing. "Ai! for the fleecy flocks, the meek-nosed, the passionless faces; Ai! for the tallow-scented, the straight-tailed, the high-stepping; Ai! for the timid glance, which is that which the rustic, sagacious, Applies to him who loves but may not declare his passion!" Her then Zeus answered slow: "O daughter of song and sorrow, Hapless tender of sheep,-arise from thy long lamen tation ! Since thou canst not trust fate, nor behave as be comes a Greek maiden, Look and behold thy sheep."--And lo! they returned to her tailless ! |