Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure; Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine,

That had the sceptre from his father Brute.

She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit

Of her enraged stepdame Guendolen,

Commended her fair innocence to the flood,

They stayed her flight with his crossflowing course.

The water-nymphs that in the bottom played,

Held up their pearlèd wrists, and took her in,

Bearing her straight to aged Nereus' hall,

Who, piteous of her woes, reared her lank head,

And gave her to his daughters to imbathe

In nectared lavers strewed with asphodel,

And through the porch and inlet of each sense

Dropped in ambrosial oils, till she revived,

And underwent a quick immortal change,

Made Goddess of the river: still she

mace,

And Tethys' grave majestic pace,
By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look,
And the Carpathian wizard's hook,
By scaly Triton's winding shell,
And old soothsaying Glaucus' spell,
By Leucothea's lovely hands,
And her son that rules the strands,
By Thetis' tinsel-slippered feet,
And the songs of Sirens sweet,
By dead Parthenope's dear tomb,
And fair Ligea's golden comb,
Wherewith she sits on diamond
rocks,

Sleeking her soft alluring locks,
By all the nymphs that nightly dance
Upon thy streams with wily glance,
Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head
From thy coral-paven bed,

And bridle in thy headlong wave, Till thou our summons answered have.

Listen and save.

SABRINA rises, attended by waternymphs, and sings.

By the rushy-fringed bank, Where grow the willow and the osier dank,

My sliding chariot stays, Thick set with agate, and the azurn

sheen

Of turkis blue, and emerald green, That in the channel strays; Whilst from off the waters fleet, Thus I set my printless feet

There I suck the liquid air
All amidst the gardens fair
Of Hesperus, and his daughters three
That sing about the golden tree:
Along the crisped shades and bowers
Revels the spruce and jocund Spring,
The Graces, and the rosy-bosomed
Hours,

Thither all their bounties bring;
There eternal Summer dwells,
And west-winds, with musky wing,
About the cedarn alleys fling
Nard and cassia's balmy smells.
Iris there with humid bow
Waters the odorous banks, that blow
Flowers of more mingled hue
Than her purfled scarf can show,
And drenches with Elysian dew,
(List mortals, if your ears be true)
Beds of hyacinth and roses,
Where young Adonis oft reposes,
Waxing well of his deep wound
In slumber soft, and on the ground
Sadly sits the Assyrian queen;
But far above in spangled sheen
Celestial Cupid, her famed son, ad-
vanced,

Holds his dear Psyche sweet en

tranced,

After her wandering labors long,
Till free consent the Gods among
Make her his eternal bride,

And from her fair unspotted side
Two blissful twins are to be born,
Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn.

But now my task is smoothly done, I can fly, or I can run

Quickly to the green earth's end, Where the bowed welkin slow doth bend,

And from thence can soar as soon
To the corners of the moon.

Mortals, that would follow me,
Love Virtue, she alone is free;
She can teach ye how to climb
Higher than the sphery chime:
Or, if Virtue feeble were,
Heaven itself would stoop to her.
MILTON.

MYTHOLOGY.

O NEVER rudely will I blame his faith In the might of stars and angels! 'Tis not merely

The human being's Pride that peoples space

With life and mystical predomi

nance;

Since likewise for the stricken heart of Love

This visible nature, and this common world,

Is all too narrow: yea, a deeper import

Lurks in the legend told my infant

years

Than lies upon that truth we live to learn.

For fable is Love's world, his home, his birthplace:

Delightedly dwells he 'mong fays and talismans,

And spirits; and delightedly believes Divinities, being himself divine. The intelligible forms of ancient poets,

The fair humanities of old religion, The power, the beauty, and the majesty,

That had their haunts in dale, or piny mountain,

Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring,

Or chasms and watery depths; all these have vanished;

They live no longer in the faith of

As still was her look, and as still was her ee,

As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea,

Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless

sea.

For Kilmeny had been she knew not where,

And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare;

Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew,

Where the rain never fell, and the wind never blew;

But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung,

And the airs of heaven played round her tongue,

When she spake of the lovely forms she had seen,

And a land where sin had never been

A land of love and a land of light, Withouten sun, or moon, or night; And lovely beings round were rife, Who erst had travelled mortal life; They clasped her waist and her hands sae fair,

They kissed her cheek and they kemed her hair;

And round came many a blooming fere,

Saying, "Bonny Kilmeny, ye're welcome here!

Oh, bonny Kilmeny, free frae stain, If ever you seek the world againThat world of sin, of sorrow, and