These are ancient ethnic revels, Of a faith long since forsaken Now the Satyrs, changed to devi Frighten mortals wine-o'ertake

Now to rivulets from the mountai Point the rods of fortune-teller Youth perpetual dwells in fountain Not in flasks, and casks, and c

Claudius, though he sang of flago

And huge tankards filled with 1 From that fiery blood of dragons 10 Never would his own replenish

Even Redi, though he chaunted Bacchus in the Tuscan valleys, Never drank the wine he vaunted

In his dithyrambic sallies.

Then with water fill the pitcher

Wreathed about with classic fables;

Ne'er Falernian threw a richer

Light upon Lucullus' tables.

Come, old friend, sit down and listen!
As it passes thus between us,
How its wavelets laugh and glisten
In the head of old Silenus !

THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS.

L'éternité est une pendule, dont le balancier dit et redit sans cesse deux mots seulement, dans le silence des tombeaux: "Toujours! jam Jamais! toujours!"

JACQUES BRIDAINE

SOMEWHAT back from the village street

Stands the old-fashioned country-seat.

Across its antique portico

Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw;

And points and beckons with its hands

From its case of massive oak,

Like a monk, who, under his cloak,

Crosses himself, and sighs, alas !

With sorrowful voice to all who

pass,

By day its voice is low and light;

But in the silent dead of night,
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall,
It echoes along the vacant hall,

Along the ceiling, along the floor,

And seems to say, at each chamber-door,

Through days of sorrow and of mirth, Through days of death and days of birth, Through every swift vicissitude

Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood, And as if, like God, it all things saw,

It calmly repeats those words of awe,

His

great fires up the chimney roared;

The stranger feasted at his board;