e world he told
Of man's first love, and fearless creed of youth,
When Beauty he believed the type of Truth.

In the vexed glories of unquiet Troy,
So might to Helen's jealous ear discourse
The flute, first tuned on Ida's haunted hill,
Against OEnone's coming, to betray
In what sweet solitude her shepherd lay.

Yet, Poet-Priest! the world shall ever thrill
To thy loved theme, its charm undying still!
Hearts in their youth are Greek as Homer's song,
And all Olympus half contents the boy,
Who from the quarries of abounding joy
Brings his white idols without thought of wrong.

With reverent hand he sets each votive stone,
And last, the altar "To the God Unknown."

As in our dreams the face that we love best
Blooms as at first, while we ourselves grow old,--
As the returning Spring in sunlight throws
Through prison-bars, on graves, its ardent gold,--
And as the splendors of a Syrian rose
Lie unreproved upon the saddest breast,--
So mythic story fits a changing world:
Still the bark drifts with sails forever furled.
An unschooled Fancy deemed the work her own,
While mystic meaning through each fable shone.

HER GRACE, THE DRUMMER'S DAUGHTER.

Foray, a mass of crags embellished by some greenness, looked up to
heaven a hundred miles from shore. It was a fortified position, and a
place of banishment. In the course of a long war, waged on sea and land
between two great nations, this, "least of all," became a point of some
importance to the authority investing it; the fort was well supplied
with the machinery of death, and the prison filled with prisoners. But
peace had now been of long continuance; and though a nation's banner
floated from the tower of the fort, and was seen afar by
mariners,--though the cannon occupied their ancient places, ordered for
instant use,--though all within the fort was managed and conducted day
by day with careful regard to orders,--the operations indicated, in the
spirit of their conduct, no fear of warlike surprises. No man gave or
obeyed an order as if his life depended on his expedition. Neither was
the prison the very place it had been; for, once, every cell had its
occupant,--an exile, or a prisoner of war.

The officials of the island led an easy life, therefore. Active was the
brain that resisted the influences of so much leisure as most of these
people had. But, under provocation even, Nature must be true. So true
is she,