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With dripping steeds did Galatea follow,
'Neath Ætna's crags, lone Polyphemus's song: Is 't strange the loved of Bacchus and Apollo
Leads captive with his lay the maiden throng? Though no Tænarian blocks uphold my dwelling,
Nor ivory panels shine 'tween gilded beams; No orchards mine Phæacia's woods excelling,
No chiselled grots where Marcian water streams,
Yet Song is mine; my strain the heart engages; Faint from the dance sinks the lithe Muse with
me: O happy maid whose name adorns my pages !
Each lay a lasting monument to thee !
The pyramids that cleave heaven's jewelled portal;
Elean Jove's star-spangled dome; the tomb Where rich Mausolus sleeps,-are not immortal,
Nor shall escape inevitable doom.
Devouring fire and rains will mar their splendor;
The weight of years will drag the marble down: Genius alone a name can deathless render, And round the forehead wreathe the unfading crown.
From the Latin of SEXTUS PROPERTIUS.
Translation of Dr. JAMES CRANSTOUN.
WRITTEN ON A FLY-LEAF OF
Those were good times, in olden days,
Of which the poet has his dreams,
THE STUDIOUS MONK.
“He that many bokes redys,
-KALEDER OF SHEPERDES.
From a photograph by the Berlin Photographic Co., after
painting by Ed. Grützner.