ave loved as tenderly and longingly as a
Christian. The more ardent glow of passion at least cannot be denied to
the ancients. And did not their love find vent in the same expressions as
our own? Who does not know the charming roundelay:

"Drink the glad wine with me,
With me spend youth's gay hours;
Or a sighing lover be,
Or crown thy brow with flowers.
When I am merry and mad,
Merry and mad be you;
When I am sober and sad,
Be sad and sober too!"

--written however by no poet of modern days, but by Praxilla, in the
fifth century before Christ. Who would guess either that Moore's little
song was modelled on one written even earlier than the date of our story?

"As o'er her loom the Lesbian maid
In love-sick languor hung her head.
Unknowing where her fingers stray'd,
She weeping turned away and said,'
Oh, my sweet mother, 'tis in vain,

I cannot weave as once I wove;
So wilder'd is my heart and brain
With thinking of that youth I love.'"

If my space allowed I could add much more on this subject, but will
permit myself only one remark in conclusion. Lovers delighted in nature
then as now; the moon was their chosen confidante, and I know of no
modern poem in which the mysterious charm of a summer night and the magic
beauty which lies on flowers, trees and fountains in those silent hours
when the world is asleep, is more exquisitely described than in the
following verses, also by Sappho, at the reading of which we seem forced
to breathe more slowly, "kuhl bis an's Herz hinan."

"Planets, that around the beauteous moon
Attendant wait, cast into shade
Their ineffectual lustres, soon
As she, in full-orb'd majesty array'd,
Her silver radiance pours
Upon this world of ours."

and:--

"Thro' orchard plots with fragrance crown'd,
The clear cold fountain murm'ring flows;
And forest leaves, with rustling sound,
Invite to soft repose."

The foregoing remarks seemed to me due to those who consider a love such
as that of Sappho and Bartja to have been impossible among the ancients.
Unquestionably it was much rarer then than in these days: indeed I
confess to having sketched my pair of lovers in somewhat bright colors.
But may I not be allowed, at least once, to