The mountains they were lofty, the valleys deep and low. Two sucklings dead, one turning upon a spit, he saw: "And am I doomed to perish, as I these perish see? Then may I curse my fortune that I a Greek should be.' "What! are you, then, from Greece?-for my husband is a Greek ;

And tell me of your parents,-perchance I know them-speak!" "But should I name them, they may to you be all unknown:— My father is the monarch of Greece, and I his son;

And Margaret, his consort,-my mother, too, is she; You well may know their titles, and they my parents be." "The monarch of the Grecians-a comely man and gay ;But should you ne'er grow taller, what boots your life, I pray?" "Why should I not grow taller? I but eleven years have seen; I hope I shall grow taller than trees in the forest green." "How hope you to grow taller than trees in the forest green?— I have a maiden daughter, a young and graceful queen, And on her head she weareth a crown of pearls so fine; But not e'en wooing monarchs should have that daughter mine. Upon her breast she beareth a lily and a sword,

And even hell's black tenants all tremble at her word." "You boast so of your daughter, I wish she'd cross my way,I'd steal her kisses slyly, and bid her a good day." "I have a little courser that's swifter than the wind; I'll lend it to you slyly ;-go, seek-the maiden find.' Then bravely on the courser galloped the hunter lad: "Farewell! black hag, farewell! for your daughter is too bad." "Oh, had I, as this morning, you in my clutches back,

You dared not then have called me-you dared not call me 'black."

She struck the tree in fury with a club-stick which she took, Till the trees in the greenwood trembled, and all the green leaves shook.

THE FETTERED NIGHTINGALE.

"Now I will speed to the Eastern land, for there my sweet love dwells,―

Over hill and over valley, far over the heather, for there my sweet love dwells.

And two fair trees are standing at the gates of my sweet love: One bears the fragrant nutmeg, and one the fragrant clove."

"The nutmegs were so round, and the cloves they smelt so sweet, I thought a knight would court me, but I a mean man meet.” The maiden by the hand, by her snow-white hand he led, And they traveled far away to where a couch was spread; And there they lay concealed through the loving livelong night, From evening to the morning, till broke the gay daylight. "And the sun is gone to rest, and the stars are shining clear; I fain would hide me now in an orchard with my dear, And none should enter then my orchard's deep alcove, But the proud nightingale that carols high above." "We'll chain the nightingale,-his head unto his feet,And he no more shall chatter of lovers when they meet.” "I'm not less faithful now, although in fetters bound, And still will chatter on of two sweet lovers' wound."

JACOB CATS.

IN his lifetime Jacob Cats (1577-1660) was a prominent official of Holland, reaching even the post of grand pensionary. Since his death his fame rests on his fables and allegories, which endeared him to the popular heart, so that he is referred to as "Father Cats." All his poems are of a simple style, yet adorned by rich fancy.

THE STATUE OF MEMNON.

WE read in books of ancient lore,
An image stood in days of yore,

Which, when the sun with splendor dight
Cast on its lips his golden light,

Those lips gave back a silver sound,

Which filled for hours the waste around:

But when again the living blaze
Withdrew its music-waking rays,

Or passing clouds its splendor veiled,

Or evening shades its face concealed,

This image stood all silent there,

Nor lent one whisper to the air.

This was of old. And even now

The man who lives in Fortune's glow

Bears off the palm of sense and knowledge,

In town and country, court and college;
And all assert nem. con., whatever

Comes from his mouth is vastly clever.

But when the glowing sun retires,

His reign is o'er, and dimmed his fires,
And all his praise like vapor flies,-
For who e'er calls a poor man wise?

PIETER C. HOOFT.

PIETER CORNELIS HOOFT (1581-1647) was well versed in the ancient classics, and took them as his models in both history and poetry. While his works are highly esteemed by his countrymen, they have not obtained general recognition. He introduced tragedy into Holland, but is better known by his histories of the Netherlands, and the Medici. His lyrics are worth recalling.

LOVE'S AWAKENING.

THREE long years have o'erwhelmed me in sadness,
Since the sun veiled his vision of gladness:

Sorrow be banished,—for sorrow is dreary;
Sorrow and gloom but outweary the weary.
In my heart I perceive the day breaking;
I cannot resist its awaking.

On my brow a new sun is arisen,

And bright is its glance o'er my prison;
Gayly and grandly it sparkles about me,
Flowingly shines it within and without me:
Why, why should dejection disarm me,-
My fears or my fancies alarm me?

Laughing light, lovely life, in the heaven
Of thy forehead is virtue engraven ;

Thy red coral lips, when they breathe an assenting,
To me are a dawn which Apollo is painting;

Thy eyes drive the gloom, with their sparkling,
Where sadness and folly sit darkling.

Lovely eyes, then the beauties have bound them,
And scattered their shadows around them;
Stars, in whose twinklings the virtues and graces,
Sweetness and meekness, all hold their high places:
But the brightest of stars is but twilight,
Compared with that beautiful eye-light.

Fragrant mouth,-all the flowers spring is wreathing
Are dull to the sweets thou art breathing;
The charms of thy song might summon the spirit
To sit on the ears all-enchanted to hear it :
What marvel, then, if, in its kisses,

My soul is o'erwhelmed with sweet blisses?

Oh, how blest, how divine the employment!
How heavenly, how high the enjoyment!
Delicate lips, and soft, amorous glances,—
Kindling and quenching, and fanning sweet fancies,—
Now, now to my heart's centre rushing,
And now through my veins they are gushing.

Dazzling eyes, that but laugh at our ruin,
Nor think of the wrongs ye are doing,-
Fountains of gladness and beacons of glory,
How do ye scatter the dark mists before ye!
Can my weakness your tyranny bridle?
Oh, no! all resistance is idle.

Ah! my soul-ah! my soul is submitted;
Thy lips, thy sweet lips,-they are fitted
With a kiss to dissolve into joy and affection
The dreamings of hope and of gay recollection:
And, sure, never triumph was purer;
And, sure, never triumph was surer.

I am bound to your beauty completely,

I am fettered and fastened so sweetly;

And blessed are the tones, and the looks, and the mind, too,
Which my senses control, and my heart is inclined to:
While virtue, the holiest and brightest,
Has fastened love's fetters the tightest.

JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL.

HOLLAND'S greatest lyricist and tragedian, Joost van den Vondel, has most attracted the attention of English readers by reason of the claim made for his "Lucifer" (1654) that Milton borrowed-or, at least, received hints-from it for his majestic epic of "Paradise Lost." Milton was then totally blind, but was still valiantly fighting his Salmasian foes.

He did not begin his "Paradise Lost" in earnest until 1658; but eighteen years before he had intended to treat the theme dramatically. Few British critics to-day willingly acknowledge any debt of Milton toward Vondel, and if there was any, Milton certainly transmuted Dutch silver to English gold.

Joost van den Vondel was born in 1587, and died in 1679. As E. W. Gosse has asserted, Vondel represents the Dutch intelligence and imagination at its highest. His poetic ideals are, in fact, those of the burgherdom to which he belonged, and he could not soar higher. With heroic Scriptural scenes and a lyrical beauty, he may be styled a sort of Dutch Racine. He wrote five-act dramas, in Alexandrines, with choral interludes. In his day he had the new-risen greatness of Holland to inspire him. William of Orange, Maurice of Nassau, Zutphen, Dunkirk-these were among his legacy of national pride and glory. He did not become really famous until, at the age of forty-one, he wrote "Palamedes, or Murdered Innocence," in which, under a thin disguise, all Holland recognized the sad story of John Barneveldt, who had been executed about eight years before.

Of Vondel's historical dramas, one dealt with "Mary Stuart" (1646). Vondel was a poet of a bourgeois nation. He lived on the income from a hosiery shop almost all his life, until in his old age his son's folly threw him upon a government clerkship and pension. He lived to be ninetytwo years old and died of longevity.

The exact Dutch name of Vondel's master work was "Luisevaer's Tragedy." For dramatic purposes the Dutch poet treated his theme in a more human fashion than Milton was to do in his epic, but as George Edmundson (whose "Milton and Vondel" is the best inquiry into the subject) has stated: "The character of Vondel's Lucifer, though cast in a less stupendous mould than that of the Miltonic Satan, displays the same traits. Haughty pride, ambition, inflexible