As she withdrew into the golden cloud,
And I was left alone within the bower;
And from that time to this I am alone,
And I shall be alone until I die.

"Yet, mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Fairest - why fairest wife? am I not fair? My love hath told me so a thousand times. Methinks I must be fair, for yesterday, When I past by, a wild and wanton pard, Eyed like the evening star, with playful tail Crouch'd fawning in the weed. Most loving is she. Ah me, my mountain shepherd, that my arms Were wound about thee, and my hot lips prest Close, close to thine in that quick-falling dew Of fruitful kisses, thick as Autumn rains Flash in the pools of whirling Sim'ois.

66

"O mother, hear me yet before I die.

They came and cut away my tallest pines,

My dark tall pines, that plumed the craggy ledge
High over the blue gorge, and all between
The snowy peak and snow-white cataract
Foster'd the callow eaglet — from beneath
Whose thick mysterious boughs in the dark morn
The panther's roar came muffled, while I sat
Low in the valley. Never, never more
Shall lone Enone see the morning mist
Sweep thro' them; never see them overlaid

With narrow moon-lit slips of silver cloud,
Between the loud stream and the trembling stars

"O mother, hear me yet before I die.

I wish that somewhere in the ruin'd folds,
Among the fragments trembled from the glens

Or the dry thickets, I could meet with her,
The Abominable, that uninvited came
Into the fair Peléian banquet-hall,

And cast the golden fruit upon the board,

And bred this change; that I might speak my mind, And tell her to her face how much I hate

Her presence, hated both of gods and men.

"O mother, hear me yet before I die.
Hath he not sworn his love a thousand times
In this green valley, under this green hill,
Ev'n on this hand, and sitting on this stone?
Seal'd it with kisses? water'd it with tears?
O happy tears, and how unlike to these!

O happy Heaven, how canst thou see my face?
O happy earth, how canst thou bear my weight?
O death, death, death, thou ever-floating cloud,
There are enough unhappy on this earth;
Pass by the happy souls that love to live:
I pray thee, pass before my light of life,
And shadow all my soul, that I may die.
Thou weighest heavy on the heart within,
Weigh heavy on my eyelids: let me die.

"O mother, hear me yet before I die.
I will not die alone, for fiery thoughts
Do shape themselves within me, more and more,
Whereof I catch the issue, as I hear

Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills,

Like footsteps upon wool. I dimly see

My far-off doubtful purpose, as a mother
Conjectures of the features of her child

Ere it is born; her child! a shudder comes

Across me never child be born of me,
Unblest, to vex me with his father's eyes!

"O mother, hear me yet before I die.
Hear me, O earth! I will not die alone,
Lest their shrill happy laughter come to me
Walking the cold and starless road of Death,
Uncomforted, leaving my ancient love
With the Greek woman.
I will rise and go

Down into Troy, and ere the stars come forth
Talk with the wild Cassandra, for she says
A fire dances before her, and a sound
Rings ever in her ears of armèd men.
What this may be I know not, but I know
That, wheresoe'er I am by night and day,
All earth and air seem only burning fire."

"THERE CAME THREE QUEENS FROM HEAVEN."

By W. W. YOUNG.

(Atlantic Monthly, November, 1878.)

It so befel that, once upon a time, Before the shepherd Paris, as he roved,

Guarding his flocks, upon a slope of Ida,

There came three queens from heaven, to contest
The palm of man's approval, and they spake :

"Which of us three is fairest - which best worth
The winning? Choose! And as thy choice shall fall
Bestow the prize."

Then in his hand they placed
The apple of red gold, which Eris cast
Upon the banquet-table of the gods.

And first the royal Hera, spouse of Jove,
Preferred her suit:

"O Paris, hear me well!

Lo, this fair apple is thy golden youth,

Which, so thou barter wisely, wins for thee

Thy heart's most secret wish. But be thou warned, —
Once, and once only, shalt thou name thy choice,
And then keep silence. I am Hera, I,

And with this gift of gifts I make thee mine."

She ceased, and flashed before his dazzled sight
A naked sword, and on the blade was writ,
"Power!" But Paris mused a little space,
And turned aside and answered, "Let me hear."

Then spake the second, hollow-eyed and pale,
With sad, stern voice:

"I am Athena, I,

And these my attributes among the gods,
Knowledge, self-wisdom, virtue, self-control.
Short is my wooing. Wilt thou reign with me?
Take up thy sceptre."

At his feet she cast

A reed, in fashion like a poet's pen,

And on the shaft, graven in lines of fire,

A word of rapture, "Fame!" But Paris mused,
And turned aside and answered, “Let me hear."

Then third, the last and fairest yet of all,
The subtle Aphrodite, ocean-born,

Arose, and stood, a flower amid the flowers;
No word she spake, but waved her hand;

And lo instant as in a dream of sorcery

He saw the Grecian Helen floating through

The dance of Bacchus, crowned with poppies of the field-
Fairer than light, her hair unbound, her eyes
Radiant, her lips apart, as one who murmurs,
"Follow follow! follow!" And ever onward,

Follow," fainter still, still farther, fainter;

Till the vision paled, and left him
Straining after, hands and eyes.

Then through the silence throbbed
A tender voice: "Behold my gift!"
And Paris said, "I choose !"

Yea with a mighty, heart-stirring, strong cry:
"Sweet are the dreams of Power; sweet is Fame:
But sweeter yet than all sweet things that be
Whether on earth, in heaven, sea, or air,

O Love, take thou my youth!"

And thereupon,

Whilst yet in air he tossed the golden sphere,
Whirled downward by a shrill and bitter wind
That waked the yelping foxes of the gorge,
And drove the screaming eagle to the crag,
And rapt away the daylight like a scroll,
Night fell on Ida, night and loneliness,

Without the light of moon, or any star,
Save where above a rampart to the east
Red Mars came reeling, drunken from his wars,
And turned against the earth his bloody shield.

Compare "Enone" with "There came Three Queens from Heaven." Tennyson casts the story in the monologue form. Enone tells her woes in strong, passionate, sometimes bitter language. The second poem is a simple narrative, varied by presenting the appeals of the three queens in the first person. The question as to which leaves the more vivid impression on the mind will naturally arise. Discuss the artistic merit of the two poems.

IPHIGENIA.

THE story of Iphigenia appeals very strongly to our sympathies, whether we read it in prose or poetry.

Her martyrdom at Aulis, that the Grecian fleet might