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ON THE STATUE OF THESEUS IN THE
Ay, this is he, A proud and mighty spirit ; how fine his form Gigantic! moulded like the race that strove To take Jove's heaven by storm, and scare him from Olympus. There he sits, a demi-god, Stern as when he of yore forsook the maid Who doting saved him from the Cretan toil, Where he had slain the Minotaur. Alas ! Fond Ariadne, thee did he desert, And heartless left thee on the Naxos shore To languish. This is he who dared to roam The world infernal, and on Pluto's queen, Ceres' own lost Proserpina, did lay His hand; thence was he prisoned in the vaults Beneath, till freed by Hercules. Methinks (So perfect is the Phidian stone) his sire, The sea god Neptune, hath in anger stopped The current of life, and with his trident touch Hath struck him into marble.
EVEN here, in this region of wonders, I find
As dash the waves on Naxos' rocky strand,
ARIADNE'S CROWN. Look how the crown which Ariadne wore Upon her ivory forehead that same day That Theseus her unto his bridal bore, When the bold Centaurs made that bloody fray With the fierce Lapiths which did them dismay, Being now placed in the firmament, Through the bright heaven doth her beams display,
And is unto the stars an ornament, Which round about her move in order excellent.
FROM "LOVE'S MISTRESS,” A PLAY OF HEYWOOD, A
CONTEMPORARY OF SHAKESPEARE.
ADMETUS, the father of Psycho. Astioche, and PETRÆA, her
Psyche is well.
Admetus. So, among mortals, it is often said, Children and friends are well when they are dead.
Astioche. But Psyche lives, and on her breath attend Delights that far surmount all earthly joy; · Music, sweet voices, and ambrosian fare ; Winds, and the light-winged creatures of the air. Clear channelled rivers, springs, and flowery meads
Are proud when Psyche wantons on their streams, When Psyche on their rich embroidery treads,
When Psyche gilds their crystal with her beams. We have but seen our sister, and, behold! She sends us with our laps full brimmed with gold.
CUPID AND PSYCHE. They wove bright fables in the days of old, . When reason borrowed fancy's painted wings ; When truth's clear river flowed o'er sands of gold,
And told in song its high and mystic things!