THE NAIADS.

FROM AKENSIDE'S HYMN TO THE NAIADS.

You Nymphs, the winged offspring, which of old Aurora to divine Astræus bore,

Owns; and your aid beseecheth.

When the night

Of Hyperion, from his noon-tide throne,

Unbends their languid pinions, aid from you

They ask

Favonius, and the mild south-west

From you relief implore. Your sallying streams Fresh vigour to their weary wings impart.

You, too, O nymphs! and your unenvious aid

The rural powers confess; and still prepare

For their choicest treasures. Pan commands,

you

Oft as the Delian king with Lyrius holds

The central heavens, the father of the grove
Commands his Dryads over your abodes

To spread their deepest umbrage. Well the god
Remembereth how indulgent ye supplied

Your genial dews to nurse them in their prime.

The Muses, sacred by the gifts divine,

In early days did on my wondering senses

Their secrets oft reveal: oft my raised ear
In slumber felt their music: oft at noon
Or hour of sunset, by some lonely stream,

In field or shady grove, they taught me words
Of power from death and envy to preserve
The good man's name.

mind

Whence yet with grateful

And offerings unprofaned by ruder eye,
My vows I send, my homage to the seats
Of rocky Cirrha, where with you they dwell:
Where you their chaste companions they admit
Through all the hallowed scene: where oft intent
And leaning o'er Castalia's mossy verge,
They mark the cadence of your confluent urns,
How tuneful! yielding gratefullest repose
To their concerted measure.

With you,

O Naiads! far from the unhallowed rout

Must dwell the man who e'er to praised themes
Invokes the Immortal muse. The Immortal muse
To your calm habitations, to the Cave

Corycian or the Delphic Mount, will guide

His footsteps; and with your unsullied streams

His parched lips will bathe. Hail! honoured nymphs, Thrice hail! For you the Cyrenaic shell

Behold I touch revering.

To my songs

Be present ye with favourable feet,

1

And all profaner audience far remove.

THE SLEEPER'S SHRIFT.

BY H. F. CHORLEY.

Ir was one of the darkest afternoons of winter, immediately after New Year's day, that the young heiress of Wanderstein caused an unusually good fire to be kindled in her dressing-room, and summoned her old attendant, half nurse, half confidante, to assist her at her toilet; giving herself up to its cares with that comfortable deliberation, which is at once a token of abundant leisure, and the exquisite effects intended to be produced therein.

"Nay, Richilda," said the fair Lady Jane, looking in the glass," undo this stiff structure of curls; thou hast made my head look like a field-marshal's peruke. I will have it, let me see,-no, not braided,- how was it on my birth-day?"

"The day on which Count Seltzermann was here last?"

"Have done, Richilda; or rather do not begin." "Well, then," returned the confidante, peevishly, "I do not remember; how should I, if I am not allowed to talk about it?"

"Thou art as combustible as a dry pine branch, Richilda," said the lady; "and I must be my own tirewoman: come out, you stiff cannons of curls! I will be simple to-night, with only a ribbon, or a small knot of pearls."

The young lady, who, in her way, was as spoiled as her attendant, shook her head from under her hands, and began in some heat to demolish her work.

"Well, well, child," said Richilda, "I see that thou wilt only make thyself a fright, instead of a fairy; if thou combest thyself in such a temper. I will do as I am bidden, and say as little as the dumb hair-dresser of Erfurt, whose history thou lovedst to hear when thou wert a child."

"Now thou art vexed, dear old nurse," replied her charge, "vexed at my conceits; a truce then-we will fret each other no more; thou shalt dress my hair in a simple taste, and I will talk as much thou likest of Count Seltzermann. Come, where shall we begin?"

“O spoiled girl!" said the old woman, relenting, 66 as if I did not know that thou lovest to speak of him better than any thing else in the world. As if I had not seen thee in a sweet fit of absence, embroidering his name on thy house-wife-case, where thine own should have been. Well, he comes to-night, that is certain; hope, to fix the day of the wedding; for remember, I am to go with thee."

"Wedding, Richilda? we are far from that yet;

remember that I have had my doubts and dreams; I am not sure that he loves me; I mean, properly, as my husband must do."

"What dost thou mean by properly?"

"I mean as I love people whom I like! superlatively then, if he should look hale and ruddy when he comes, I shall think that he has not felt our separation."

"Yet thou art ruddy, if not strong."

"Have done now, you teazing Richilda. Well, I mean, I cannot say what I mean,-I only wish I could find out. O for a fairy telescope, to spy into that stout shut-up heart of his, and there to see one's self sitting as in a little shrine! Sweet Richilda ! you know every thing, cannot you help me to one peep? Is there no way, think you, by which I can steal the knowledge I wish?"

"Ask him when he is asleep!" said the old woman. "How?"

"Hast thou never heard, that if you ask a sleeper a question, he must answer truly, whether he will or no?"

"Is that indeed true?"

"Yes; but you must speak low, not to awaken him." "O, charming! I'll put him to his confession to-night! But how to catch an opportunity?"

"Perhaps," said Richilda, "he may fall asleep in his chair after supper, as your papa does."