VI.

"Our son is wild with grief, yet recks not of thy fate,— Where,' cries he, 'is my sire, our chief, the foe beset

our gate?

Those gleaming swords, gay dancing plumes, that mock the kindling sky,

Mark when my gallant father comes, they will not wave

thus high.'

VII.

Day sets behind the hills, and countless golden lines Are flashing down the crystal streams, on the green and purple vines;

Alas! even now thy doom they seal-thy groans are on

the air

Save him! oh, hear me, heaven-I kneel-I kneel in my despair!"

VIII.

'Tis morn, but dark and drear,-she looks on earth 'mid

storm,

The wide sea trembles, as in fear, before her threatening

form;

On Leucate's plain, a warrior knight in pale death lonely

lies,

His funeral song the thunder's peal, as it sweeps from the frowning skies.

L

C. S.

THE TAKING OF TROY.

CHORUS FROM THE TROADES OF EURIPIDES.

BY THE REV. H. H. MILMAN.

A SAD, unwonted song,

O'er Ilion, Muse! prolong,
Mingled with tears of woe,

The funeral descant slow.

I too, with shriek and frantic cry,

Take up the dismal melody;

How, lost through that strange four-wheeled car,

Stern Argos' captive chains we wear.

What time the Greek, or ere he fled,
Left at our gate the armed steed,
Menacing the heavens with giant height,
And all with golden housings bright.

Shouted all the people loud,

On the rock-built height that stood,—
"Come," they sang, and on they prest,-
Come, from all our toils released,

Lead the blest image to the shrine

Of her, the Jove-born Trojan maid divine!"

Lingered then what timorous maid ?
Her age his tardy steps delayed ;-
With gladsome shout, and jocund song,
They drew their treacherous fate along;
And all the Phrygian rout

Through every gate rush'd out.

On the dangerous gift they lead,

The beauty of the' unyoked, immortal steed,

With its ambushed warrior freight,

Argos' pride and Ilion's fate.

Round the stately horse, and round
Cord and cable soon they wound,
And drag it on, like pinnace dark
Of some tall and stately bark,
To the Temple's marble floor,
Soon to swim with Trojan gore.

O'er the toil, the triumph, spread
Silent night her curtained shade;
But Lybian pipes still sweetly rang,
And many a Phrygian air they sang;
And maidens danced with airy feet,
To the jocund measures sweet.
And every house was blazing bright,
As the glowing festal light

Its rich and purple splendour streamed,
Where the mantling wine-cup gleamed.

But I, the while, the palace courts around,

Hymning the mountain queen, Jove's virgin daughter,
Went with blithe dance, and music's sprightly sound,—
When, all at once, the frantic cry of slaughter
All through the wide and startled city ran!

The shudd'ring infants on their mothers' breasts
Clung with their hands, and cowered within their vests.
Forth stalked the mighty Mars, and the fell work began,
The work of Pallas in her ire !--

Then round each waning altar fire,

Wild slaughter, drunk with Phrygian blood,
And murtherous Desolation strewed;

Where, on her couch of slumber laid,
Was wont to rest the tender maid,

To warrior Greece the crown of triumph gave,
The last full anguish to the Phrygian slave!

MY GODFATHER.

BY MISS MITFORD.

Ir is now nearly twenty years ago that I, a young girl, just freed from the trammels of schooldom, went into a remote and distant county, on a visit to my godfather, to make acquaintance with a large colony of my relations, and behold new scenes and new faces ;-a pleasure, certainly; but a formidable and awful pleasure to a shy and home-loving girl. Nothing could have reconciled me to the prospect of encountering so many strange cousins, for they were all strangers, but my strong desire to see my dear and venerable godpapa, for whom, although we had never met since the christening, I entertained the most lively affection,—an affection nourished on his part by kindnesses of every sort, from the huge wax-doll, and the letter in print-hand proper to the damsel of six years old, down to the pretty verses, and the elegant necklace, his birth-day greeting to the young lady of sixteen. He was no stranger, that dear godpapa! I was quite sure I should know him at first sight, quite sure that I should love him better than ever-both which predictions were