FROM THE GREEK OF ALEXANDER HYPSHANTI.
"SAY, foreign bird of mournful mien, with sadness in thy singing, Where is the nest thou lovest best, say, whither art thou winging ?"— " I have no neat, in sad unrest unceasingly I roam, Yet ease of mind may never find nor gain a happy home.
Of old I had a fatherland, in youth's delightful days,
And led a life of golden hope amid the myrtle sprays ;
My roundelay the livelong day I chanted to my mate, And deemed a love so strongas ours might well o'ermaster fate.
When suddenly down swooped a hawk, and dead before my eyes, The light of all my life, struck dead in those fell talons lies.
Since then, bereft of hope and home, sad, partnerless, undone, A lonely exile have I strayed beneath an alien sun ; With drooping wings and weary frame, hither and thither cast From shore to shore, by random chance or by the driving blast Until, my toilsome wand'rings o'er, I reach the silent gate, Whereunto all created things must come, or soon or late,— The cruel hawk, the little bird, his unoffending prey ; For ev'n this wondrous universe must thither pass away."
C. L. Gn.AXES.