Bought from his faithful priest, a pious Bonze;
A string of brilliants; rubies, three or four;
Bags of old coin and bars of virgin ore;
A jewelled poniard and a Turkish knife,
Noiseless and useful if we come to strife.

Gone! As a pirate flies before the wind,
And not one tear for all he leaves behind!
From all the love his better years have known
Fled like a felon, -ah! but not alone!
The chariot flashes through a lantern's glare, -
O the wild eyes! the storm of sable hair!
Still to his side the broken heart will cling,-
The bride of shame,
Hark, the deep oath,
Lost! lost to hope of

the wife without the ring:

the wail of frenzied woe, Heaven and peace below!

He kept his secret; but the seed of crime Bursts of itself in God's appointed time.

The lives he wrecked were scattered far and wide;

One never blamed nor wept,

- she only died.

None knew his lot, though idle tongues would say

He sought a lonely refuge far away,

And there, with borrowed name and altered mien,

He died unheeded, as he lived unseen.

The moral market had the usual chills

Of Virtue suffering from protested bills:
The White Cravats, to friendship's memory true,
Sighed for the past, surveyed the future too;
Their sorrow breathed in one expressive line, -
"Gave pleasant dinners; who has got his wine?"

THE MYSTERIOUS ILLNESS.

WHAT ailed young Lucius? Art had vainly tried guess his ill, and found herself defied.

Το

The Augur plied his legendary skill;

Useless; the fair young Roman languished still.

His chariot took him every cloudless day

Along the Pincian Hill or Appian Way;

They rubbed his wasted limbs with sulphurous oil,
Oozed from the far-off Orient's heated soil;

They led him tottering down the steamy path
Where bubbling fountains filled the thermal bath;
Borne in his litter to Egeria's cave,

They washed him, shivering, in her icy wave.

They sought all curious herbs and costly stones,

They scraped the moss that grew on dead men's bones,

They tried all cures the votive tablets taught,

Scoured every place whence healing drugs were

brought,

O'er Thracian hills his breathless couriers ran,
His slaves waylaid the Syrian caravan.

At last a servant heard a stranger speak
A new chirurgeon's name; a clever Greek,
Skilled in his art; from Pergamus he came
To Rome but lately; GALEN was the name.
The Greek was called: a man with piercing eyes,
Who must be cunning, and who might be wise.

He spoke but little, if they pleased, he said,

He'd wait awhile beside the sufferer's bed.

So by his side he sat, serene and calm,

His very accents soft as healing balm;

Not curious seemed, but every movement spied,

His sharp eyes searching where they seemed to

"A pain just here," "A constant beating there."
Who ordered bathing for his aches and ails?
"Charmis, the water-doctor from Marseilles."
What was the last prescription in his case?
"A draught of wine with powdered chrysoprase."
Had he no secret grief he nursed alone?
A pause; a little tremor; answer, "None."
Thoughtful, a moment, sat the cunning leech,
And muttered "Eros!" in his native speech.

In the broad atrium various friends await The last new utterance from the lips of fate;

Men, matrons, maids, they talk the question o'er,
And, restless, pace the tessellated floor.
Not unobserved the youth so long had pined,
By gentle-hearted dames and damsels kind;
One with the rest, a rich Patrician's pride,
The lady Hermia, called "the golden-eyed;
The same the old Proconsul fain must woo,
Whom, one dark night, a masked sicarius slew ;
The same black Crassus over roughly pressed
To hear his suit, — the Tiber knows the rest.
(Crassus was missed next morning by his set;
Next week the fishers found him in their net.)
She with the others paced the ample hall,
Fairest, alas! and saddest of them all.

At length the Greek declared, with puzzled face,
Some strange enchantment mingled in the case,
And naught would serve to act as counter-charm
Save a warm bracelet from a maiden's arm.
Not every maiden's, many might be tried;
Which not in vain, experience must decide.
Were there no damsels willing to attend
And do such service for a suffering friend?

The message passed among the waiting crowd,

First in a whisper, then proclaimed aloud.
Some wore no jewels; some were disinclined,
For reasons better guessed at than defined;

Though all were saints, at least professed to be,

The list all counted, there were named but three.
The leech, still seated by the patient's side,
Held his thin wrist, and watched him, eagle-eyed.
Aurelia first, a fair-haired Tuscan girl,
Slipped off her golden asp, with eyes of pearl.
His solemn head the grave physician shook;
The waxen features thanked her with a look.
Olympia next, a creature half divine,
Sprung from the blood of old Evander's line,
Held her white arm, that wore a twisted chain
Clasped with an opal-sheeny cymophane.
In vain, O daughter! said the baffled Greek.
The patient sighed the thanks he could not speak.
Last, Hermia entered; look, that sudden start!

The pallium heaves above his leaping heart;
The beating pulse, the cheek's rekindled flame,
Those quivering lips, the secret all proclaim.
The deep disease long throbbing in the breast,
The dread enchantment, all at once confessed!
The case was plain; the treatment was begun;
And Love soon cured the mischief he had done.