Had she but prest his hand, or felt
His quivering lip, and moistened cheek,
And not at that sad moment knelt ;
Despite the clouds, she must have known.
That he was waxing kind and meek,
And shortly would be all her own.

That fond impatient heart again
Broke forth in its beseeching strain,

And sure 'twas Fate her bosom stirred,
And winged with mischief each good word.

Softly and winningly she sighed ;

"Oh brother! think of her that died,

Bequeathing thee, her infant son,

"To him whose heart thy pride doth break ; "Return and yield thee, Lycophron !

"Return, for our dead Mother's sake."
"Dead Mother! dead!-I had forgot;
"Shame on me, that I was beguiled
"To listen to my Mother's child
"Pleading for sin, and knowing not

"How words of that fair shew,
"Are treason to Her sacred name,
"And outrage every righteous claim
"Of this religious woe.
"Away-away! I will be true,
"I'll live for her and not for you;
"And, though I love thee, Therine,
"I must forego thy love for me;
"And yet in this I will be kind ;
"My secret of deep life-long pain
"Shall never craze thy lovely mind,

"An alien and a wanderer, sent "On through the world to fare "As a strange living monument, "Of vengeance and despair. "Weep, if thou wilt, that on me lies "A dark entail of household crime, "That I renounce in youth's gay prime "The hearth's endearing sanctities: "Nor is there one who dares to give "To this poor princely fugitive, "Water, or bread, or fire.

"For that they grudge, the craven herd, "To cringe for me at Phoebus' shrine "And pay for me the threatened fine, "And quails all Corinth at one word "Of thy tyrannic Sire.

"No friend have I in this wide town"No resting-place to lay me down— "Yet will I not depart, nor stray "By loved Pirenes' watery shades, "Lest haply on some pleasant day "When deer are trooping up the glades, "And birds are loud, and air is rife "With breathings of a joyous life, "And I may tell from sight and sound "I tread my dear old hunting ground, "Then my heart's purpose fail, subdued "By dalliance with that winsome mirth, "And boyish fancies so delude "My nerved and burning breast, "That it forswear, thus idly wooed, "What is alone my being's worth, "This sad and proud unrest.

"Oh no! I parley not with joy-
"My birth-right is such harsh annoy
"As first sank into every thought,
"When by good Procles I was taught,
"What thou must never hear;
"Know only, 'twas a story fraught
"With shame, and hate, and fear.

"And now, farewell! turn back, and weep

"Not that thy tears can ought avail,

"But that I still would have thee keep

"Some echo of my constant wail.

"Go! leave me here to make my moan,

"Nor deem that I am quite alone,

"For there is one whose shade for aye
"Will deign to bear me company;
"One that hath power to save,
"And far from truth I cannot roam
"While lies my orphan spirits' home
"Within Melissa's grave."

(To be continued.)

A TRUE ETONIAN.

Eton! thy boast hath ever been of those
That have in war, or state, or classic verse
Achieved for thee, their intellectual Nurse,
A fame, which is thy vesture. Hope foreshows
To hearts enamoured of a loftier prize,
(Hearts too that lack not gratitude and keep
Fond records of thee,) rich futurities,
Wherein a brighter harvest thou shalt reap,

Thoughts of unworldly strain that upward tend,
And fruitful issues of ennobling grace.

Meanwhile, bear with me, fair and hallowed friend,
If, midst thy shades I glory most to trace
*His fameless paths, who loved to steal away
Far from loud boyish sports, in solitude to pray.

ON THE STUDY OF TERENCE,

Hoc quoque te manet, ut pueros elementa docentem
Occupet extremis in vicis balba senectus.-HOR.

I believe it is in obedience to a principle of our strange human nature, that we invariably view with more or less of dislike any study which we are forced by circumstances to pursue, even though our tastes would otherwise lead us to take pleasure in it. This is especially the case with the study of the Classics.-We come to school and are compelled to read them: our tastes are often formed by them involuntarily-sometimes against our will, while we are groaning under the yoke imposed upon us. Some of course there are, who leave Eton much the same as they came to her, unimproved and unformed by her training, with nothing gained but a smattering of" small Latin and less Greek" and a gentlemanlike bearing. But there are also many more who have profited in a manner by their studies; who have always maintained a respectable position in the school, but who pass on into the world with but little love and gratitude towards those authors, to whom they owe whatever refinement and good taste they may have acquired. The classics are thrown aside

* Henry Hamond. Vide Life by Dr. Fell.

F