[Under this heading we notice such Boots of Its week

as have not been reserved for review in other forms.]

" To thee this wreathed garland, from a green

And virgin meadow bear 1,0 my Queen, Where never shepherd leads his grazing ewes Nor scythe has touched. Only the river dews Gleam, and the spring bee sings, and in the glade

Rath Solitude her mystic, garden made.

No evil hand may cull it : only he Whose heart bath known the heart of Purity, Unlearned of man, and true whateer befaiL • Take therefore from pure hands this corona', 0 mistress loved, thy golden hair to twine.

For, sole of living men, this grace is thine, To dwell with thee, and speak, and hear replies

Of voice divine, though none may see thine eyes.

So be it; and may death find me still the same!"

Our readers may like to compare with this another translation, the high merit of which has been universally acknowledged, by "Mary A. F. Robinson" :— " I bring for thee a plaited wreath of flowers From meadow lands untrodden and unmown. There never shepherd dares to feed his flocks, Nor iron comes therein ; only the bee Through that unsullied meadow in the Spring Flies on and leaves it pure, and Reverence Freshens with rivers' dew the tender flowers ; And only they whose virtue is untaught, They that inherit purity, may pluck Their bloom and gather it—no baser man."

This, it will be observed, fails to give ?s 7a ircivO' Juror, which is excellently rendered by Dr. Murray's "tree whate'er befall." Here, again, is a fine passage from the wonderful lyrical out- bursts of the half-delirious Phaedra :— " Oh, take me to the Mountain! Oh,

Past the great pines and through the wood, Up where the lean bounds softly go, A-whine for wild things' blood, And madly flies the dappled roe.

0 God, to shout and speed them there,

An arrow by my chestnut hair

Drawn tight, and one keen glimmering spear—

Ali 1 if I could !"

This is as literal as it is vigorous.