LOVE AND FOLLY.

FROM LA FONTAINE.

LOVE's worshippers alone can know
The thousand mysteries that are his;
His blazing torch, his twanging bow,
His blooming age are mysteries.
A charming science-but the day
Were all too short to con it o'er;

So take of me this little lay,

A sample of its boundless lore.

As once, beneath the fragrant shade

Of myrtles breathing heaven's own air, The children, Love and Folly, played— A quarrel rose betwixt the pair. Love said the gods should do him right— But Folly vowed to do it then, And struck him, o'er the orbs of sight, So hard he never saw again.

His lovely mother's grief was deep,

She called for vengeance on the deed;

A beauty does not vainly weep,

Nor coldly does a mother plead. A shade came o'er the eternal bliss

That fills the dwellers of the skies; Even stony-hearted Nemesis,

And Rhadamanthus, wiped their eyes.

"Behold," she said, "this lovely boy," While streamed afresh her graceful tears,

"Immortal, yet shut out from joy

And sunshine, all his future years.
The child can never take, you see,
A single step without a staff—
The harshest punishment would be
Too lenient for the crime by half."

All said that Love had suffered wrong, And well that wrong should be repaid; Then weighed the public interest long, And long the party's interest weighed. And thus decreed the court above

"Since Love is blind from Folly's blow,

Let Folly be the guide of Love,
Where'er the boy may choose to go."

X

THE SIESTA.

FROM THE SPANISH.

Vientecico murmurador,

Que lo gozas y andas todo, &c.

AIRS, that wander and murmur round,
Bearing delight where'er ye blow!

Make in the elms a lulling sound,

While my lady sleeps in the shade below.

Lighten and lengthen her noonday rest,

Till the heat of the noonday sun is o'er.

Sweet be her slumbers! though in my breast

The pain she has waked may slumber no more.

Breathing soft from the blue profound,

Bearing delight where'er ye blow,

Make in the elms a lulling sound,

While my lady sleeps in the shade below.

Airs! that over the bending boughs,

And under the shade of pendent leaves,

Murmur soft, like my timid vows

Or the secret sighs my bosom heaves,— Gently sweeping the grassy ground,

Bearing delight where'er ye blow,

Make in the elms a lulling sound,

While my lady sleeps in the shade below.

THE ALCAYDE OF MOLINA.

FROM THE SPANISH.

To the town of Atienza, Molina's brave Alcayde,

The courteous and the valorous, led forth his bold brigade. The Moor came back in triumph, he came without a wound, With many a Christian standard, and Christian captive bound. He passed the city portals, with swelling heart and vain, And towards his lady's dwelling he rode with slackened rein ; Two circuits on his charger he took, and at the third, From the door of her balcony Zelinda's voice was heard. "Now if thou wert not shameless," said the lady to the Moor, "Thou wouldst neither pass my dwelling, nor stop before my door.

Alas for poor Zelinda, and for her wayward mood,

That one in love with peace should have loved a man of blood'
Since not that thou wert noble I chose thee for my knight,
But that thy sword was dreaded in tournay and in fight.
Ah, thoughtless and unhappy! that I should fail to see
How ill the stubborn flint and the yielding wax agree.
Boast not thy love for me, while the shrieking of the fife
Can change thy mood of mildness to fury and to strife.