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Or o'er his guileless front the ringlets bright
Their rays of sunny lustre seem to throw,
That front than polished ivory more white!
His blooming cheeks with deeper blushes glow
Than roses scattered o'er a bed of snow:
While on his lips, distilled in balmy dews,

(Those lips divine that even in silence know
The heart to touch) persuasion to infuse
Still hangs a rosy charm that never vainly sues.

The friendly curtain of indulgent sleep

Disclosed not yet his eyes' resistless sway, But from their silky veil there seemed to peep Some brilliant glances with a softened ray, Which o'er his features exquisitely play, And all his polished limbs suffuse with light.

Thus through some narrow space the azure day Sudden its cheerful rays diffusing bright,

Wide dart its lucid beams to gild the brow of night.

His fatal arrows and celestial bow

Beside the couch were negligently thrown,
Nor needs the god his dazzling arms, to show
His glorious birth, such beauty round him shone
As sure could spring from Beauty's self alone;
The gloom which glowed o'er all of soft desire,

Could well proclaim him Beauty's cherished son;
And Beauty's self will oft these charms admire,
And steal his witching smile, his glance's living fire.

Speechless with awe, in transport strangely lost,
Long Psyche stood with fixed adoring eye;
Her limbs immovable, her senses tossed

Between amazement, fear, and ecstasy,
She hangs enamored o'er the deity,

Till from her trembling hand extinguished falls
The fatal lamp.-He starts-and suddenly
Tremendous thunders echo through the halls,

While ruin's hideous crash bursts o'er the affrighted walls

POVERTY THE HANDMAID OF PHILOSOPHY.

(From his "Apology.")

HE has even gone so far as to reproach me with my poverty,―a charge truly acceptable to a philosopher, and one to which I readily plead guilty. For Poverty has long been the handmaid of Philosophy; frugal, temperate, contented with little, eager for praise, averse from the things sought by wealth, safe in her ways, simple in her requirements, in her counsels a promoter of what is right. No one has she ever puffed up with pride, no one has she corrupted by the enjoyment of power, no one has she maddened with tyrannical ambition; for no pampering of the appetite or of the passions does she sigh, nor can she indulge it. But it is your fosterlings of wealth who are in the habit of perpetrating these disgraceful excesses, and others of a kindred nature. If you review all the greatest enormities that have been committed in the memory of mankind, you will not find a single poor man among the perpetrators; whilst, on the other hand, in the number of illustrious men hardly any of the rich are to be found. Poverty has nurtured from his very cradle every individual in whom we find anything to admire and commend,-Poverty, I say, she who in former ages was the foundress of all cities, the inventress of all arts, she who is guiltless of all offence, who is lavish of all glory, who has been honored with every praise among all nations. For this same Poverty it was that, among the Greeks, showed herself just in Aristides, humane in Phocion, resolute in Epaminondas, wise in Socrates, and eloquent in Homer. It was this same Poverty, too, that for the Roman people laid the very earliest foundations of their sway, and that offers sacrifice to the immortal gods in their behalf, with the ladle and the dish of clay, even to this day.

If there were now sitting as judges at this trial C. Fabricius, Cneius Scipio, and Manius Curius, whose daughters, by reason of their poverty, went home to their husbands portioned at the public expense, carrying with them the glories

of their family and the money of the public; if Publicola,* the expeller of the kings, and Agrippa,† the reconciler of the people, the expense of whose funeral was, in consequence of their limited fortunes, defrayed by the Roman people, by contributions of the smallest coins; if Atilius Regulus, whose little field was, in consequence of a like poverty, cultivated at the public expense; if, in fine, all those ancient families, ennobled by consulships, censorships, and triumphs, could obtain a short respite, and return to light, and take part in this trial, would you then have dared to reproach a philosopher for his poverty, in the presence of so many consuls distinguished for theirs?...

I could, indeed, raise an argument with you about the very name itself, and I could show that none of us are poor who do not wish for superfluities, and who possess the things which are necessary, which, by nature, are but few indeed. For he has the most who desires the least; he who wants but little is most likely to have as much as he wants. It is with the mind just as it is with the body: in a healthy state it is lightly clad, but in sickness it is wrapped in cumbrous clothing; and it is a sure sign of infirmity to have many wants. It is with life just as with swimming: the man is the most expert who is the most disengaged from all encumbrances. For my part, I have learned that in this especially the gods surpass mankind, that they have to satisfy no necessities. Hence it is that I consider him among us who has the fewest possible necessities most strongly to resemble a god.

* On the death of L. Junius Brutus in the year 508 B.C., after the expulsion of the kings, C. Valerius was appointed consul in his stead. He introduced a special decree by which royal rule was forever interdicted at Rome. For his patriotism he was awarded the surname Publicola or Poplicola, "server of the people."

+ Menenius Agrippa, after the withdrawal of the plebeians to the Sacred Mount, in 494 B.C., induced them to return by reciting the fable of "The Belly and the Members."

Atilius Regulus was the leader of an unsuccessful expedition against Carthage in 256 B.C, He was captured by the Carthaginians and is said to have been put to death by them for refusing to persuade his countryman to make peace.

THE VIGIL OF VENUS.

SPRING, as the season of love and flowers, is celebrated in this beautiful anonymous poem for the eve of a festival (probably April 1-3) in honor of Venus. From some grammatical peculiarities in the Latin, critics have decided that it cannot have been composed earlier than the latter half of the second century, and may even be a century later. The following English version of the "Pervigilium Veneris" is by Thomas Parnell (1679–1717), and there was an earlier one (1651) by Thomas Stanley (1625-1678).

LET those love now, who never loved before;

And those who always loved, now love the more.

The spring, the new, the warbling spring appears,
The youthful season of reviving years;
In spring the loves enkindle mutual heats,
The feathered nation choose their tuneful mates,
The trees grow fruitful with descending rain,
And, dressed in different greens, adorn the plain.
She comes; to-morrow beauty's Empress roves
Through walks that winding run within the groves;
She twines the shooting myrtle into bowers,
And ties their meeting tops with wreaths of flowers;
Then, raised sublimely on her easy throne,
From nature's powerful dictates draws her own.

Let those love now, who never loved before;
And those who always loved, now love the more.
'Twas on that day which saw the teeming flood
Swell round, impregnate with celestial blood;
Wand'ring in circles stood the finny crew,
The rest was left a void expanse of blue;
Then parent Ocean worked with heaving throes,
And dripping wet the fair Dione rose.

Let those love now, who never loved before;
And those who always loved, now love the more.

She paints the purple year with varied show,
Tips the green gem, and makes the blossom glow.
She makes the turgid buds receive the breeze,
Expand to leaves and shade the naked trees.

When gath'ring damps the misty nights diffuse,
She sprinkles all the morn with balmy dews;
Bright trembling pearls depend at every spray,
And kept from falling, seem to fall away.
A glossy freshness hence the rose receives,
And blushes sweet through all her silken leaves
(The drops descending through the silent night,
While stars serenely roll their golden light);
Close till the morn her humid veil she holds;
Then decked with virgin pomp the flower unfolds.
Soon will the morning blush, ye maids, prepare;
In rosy garlands bind your flowing hair;
'Tis Venus' plant: the blood fair Venus shed:
O'er the gay beauty poured immortal red:
From love's soft kiss a sweet ambrosial smell
Was taught forever on the leaves to dwell;
From gems, from flames, from orient rays of light,
The richest lustre makes her purple bright;
And she to-morrow weds; the sportive gale
Unties her zone; she bursts the verdant veil;
Through all her sweets the rifling lover flies,
And as he breathes, her glowing fires arise.

Let those love now, who never loved before;
And those who always loved, now love the more.

Now fair Dione to the myrtle grove

Sends the gay Nymphs, and sends her tender love. And shall they venture? Is it safe to go,

While nymphs have hearts and Cupid wears a bow?
Yes, safely venture; 'tis his mother's will;

He walks unarmed and undesiring ills;
His torch extinct, his quiver useless hung,
His arrows idle, and his bow unstrung.

And yet, ye nymphs, beware, his eyes have charms;
And Love that's naked, still is Love in arms.

Let those love now, who never loved before;
And those who always loved, now love the more.

From Venus' bower to Delia's* lodge repairs
A virgin train complete with modest airs:

* Diana is called Delia because born in the island of Delos.

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