lands upon their heads, passing among the trees, lying down by the sides of fountains, or resting on beds of flowers; and could hear a confused harmony of singing-birds, falling waters, human voices, and musical instruments. Gladness grew in me upon the discovery of so delightful a scene. I wished for the wings of an eagle, that I might fly away to those happy seats; but the genius told me there was no passage to them, except through the gates of death that I saw opening every moment upon the bridge. 'The islands,' said he, 'that lie so fresh and green before thee, and with which the whole face of the ocean appears spotted as far as thou canst see, are more in number than the sands on the seashore; there are myriads of islands behind those which thou here discoverest, reaching further than thine eye, or even thine imagination can extend itself. These are the mansions of good men after death, who according to the degree and kinds of virtue in which they excelled, are distributed among those several islands, which abound with pleasures of different kinds and degrees, suitable to the relishes and perfections of those who are settled in them; every island is a paradise accommodated to its respective inhabitants. Are not these, O Mirza, habitations worth contending for? Does life appear miserable, that gives thee opportunities of earning such a reward? Is death to be feared, that will convey thee to so happy an existence? Think not man was made in vain, who has such an eternity reserved for him.' I gazed with inexpressible pleasure on these happy islands. At length I said, 'Show me now, I beseech thee, the secrets that lie hid under those dark clouds which cover the ocean on the other side of the rock of adamant.' The genius making me no answer, I turned me about to address myself to him a second time, but I found that he had left me; I then turned again to the vision which I had been so long contemplating; but instead of the rolling tide, the arched bridge, and the happy islands, I saw nothing but the long hollow valley of Bagdad, with oxen, sheep, and camels grazing upon the sides of it."

ÆSCHYLUS

ÆSCHYLUS, the greatest of the Greek writers of tragedy. Born at Eleusis, B.C. 525; died in Sicily, B.C. 456. Author of seventy tragedies, of which seven survive. His "Prometheus Bound" is the best known. At Marathon and Salamis he was a distinguished soldier.

The imperishable character of his poetic work has been attested by seventy generations of men.

(From "PROMETHEUS BOUND," translation of E. B. Browning)

THE ANGUISH OF PROMETHEUS

Hephaestus. Let us go. He is netted round with chains. Strength. Here, now, taunt on! and having spoiled the gods Of honors, crown withal thy mortal men

Who live a whole day out. Why how could they
Draw off from thee one single of thy griefs?
Methinks the Dæmons gave thee a wrong name,
"Prometheus," which means Providence, because
Thou dost thyself need providence to see

Thy roll and ruin from the top of doom.

Prometheus (alone). O holy Æther, and swift-winged Winds, And River-wells, and laughter innumerous Of yon sea-waves! Earth, mother of us all, And all-viewing cyclic Sun, I cry on you, Behold me, a god, what I endure from gods! Behold, with throe on throe,

How, wasted by this woe,

I wrestle down the myriad years of time!
Behold, how fast around me,

The new King of the happy ones sublime

Has flung the chain he forged, has shamed and bound me! ·
Woe, woe! to-day's woe and the coming morrow's

I cover with one groan. And where is found me
A limit to these sorrows?

And yet what word do I say? I have foreknown
Clearly all things that should be; nothing done
Comes sudden to my soul; and I must bear
What is ordained with patience, being aware

Necessity doth front the universe

With an invincible gesture. Yet this curse
Which strikes me now, I find it hard to brave
In silence or in speech. Because I gave
Honor to mortals, I have yoked my soul
To this compelling fate. Because I stole
The secret fount of fire, whose bubbles went
Over the ferule's brim, and manward sent
Art's mighty means and perfect rudiment,
That sin I expiate in this agony,

Hung here in fetters, 'neath the blanching sky.
Ah, ah me! what a sound,

What a fragrance sweeps up from a pinion unseen
Of a god, or a mortal, or nature between,

Sweeping up to this rock where the earth has her bound,
To have sight of my pangs or some guerdon obtain.
Lo, a god in the anguish, a god in the chain!
The god, Zeus hateth sore

And his gods hate again,

As many as tread on his glorified floor,
Because I loved mortals too much evermore.
Alas me! what a murmur and motion I hear,
As of birds flying near!

And the air undersings

The light stroke of their wings

And all life that approaches I wait for in fear.

THE CONFESSION OF PROMETHEUS

Prometheus. The utterance of these things is torture to me, But so, too, is their silence; each way lies

Woe strong as fate.

When gods began with wrath,
And war rose up between their starry brows,
Some choosing to cast Chronos from his throne
That Zeus might king it there, and some in haste
With opposite oaths that they would have no Zeus
To rule the gods forever, — I, who brought
The counsel I thought meetest, could not move

The Titans, children of the Heaven and Earth,
What time, disdaining in their rugged souls
My subtle machinations, they assumed

It was an easy thing for force to take
The mastery of fate. My mother, then,
Who is called not only Themis but Earth too,
(Her single beauty joys in many names)
Did teach me with reiterant prophecy

What future should be, and how conquering gods
Should not prevail by strength and violence
But by guile only. When I told them so,
They would not deign to contemplate the truth
On all sides round; whereat I deemed it best
To lead my willing mother upwardly
And set my Themis face to face with Zeus
As willing to receive her. Tartarus,
With its abysmal cloister of the Dark,
Because I gave that counsel, covers up
The antique Chronos and his siding hosts,
And, by that counsel helped, the king of gods
Hath recompensed me with these bitter pangs:
For kingship wears a cancer at the heart, -
Distrust in friendship. Do ye also ask
What crime it is for which he tortures me?
That shall be clear before you. When at first
He filled his father's throne, he instantly
Made various gifts of glory to the gods
And dealt the empire out. Alone of men,

Of miserable men, he took no count,

But yearned to sweep their track off from the world And plant a newer race there. Not a god

Resisted such desire except myself.

I dared it! I drew mortals back to light,

From meditated ruin deep as hell!

For which wrong, I am bent down in these pangs Dreadful to suffer, mournful to behold,

And I, who pitied man, am thought myself

Unworthy of pity; while I render out

Deep rhythms of anguish 'neath the harping hand

That strikes me thus a sight to shame your Zeus!

ÆSOP

Æsop, the most renowned of fabulists. Born in Phrygia, about B.C. 620, he was in early life a slave at Athens. His fables are cited by Socrates and Aristophanes. Some two hundred and fifty years after his death, Demetrius, one of the founders of the Alexandrine library, made a collection of such fables as had become attributed to Æsop.

THE FOX AND THE GRAPES

A Fox, just at the time of the vintage, stole into a vineyard where the ripe sunny Grapes were trellised up on high in most tempting show. He made many a spring and a jump after the luscious prize; but, failing in all his attempts, he muttered as he retreated, "Well! what does it matter! The Grapes are sour!"

THE WOLF AND THE LAMB

As a Wolf was lapping at the head of a running brook, he spied a stray Lamb paddling, at some distance, down the stream. Having made up his mind to seize her, he bethought himself how he might justify his violence. "Villain!" said he, running up to her, "how dare you muddle the water that I am drinking?" "Indeed," said the Lamb humbly, "I do not see how I can disturb the water, since it runs from you to me, not from me to you." "Be that as it may," replied the Wolf, "it was but a year ago that you called me many ill names.' "Oh, Sir!" said the Lamb, trembling, "a year ago I was not born." "Well," replied the Wolf, "if it was not you, it was your father, and that is all the same; but it is no use trying to argue me out of my supper;" and without another word he fell upon the poor helpless Lamb and tore her to pieces.

A tyrant never wants a plea. And they have little chance of resisting the injustice of the powerful whose only weapons are innocence and reason.

THE LION AND THE MOUSE

A LION was sleeping in his lair, when a Mouse, not knowing where he was going, ran over the mighty beast's nose and awak