194 A Legend of the Egean. [FEB. 



" Oh, Hay life !" sighed Aphelia, embracing him, " so that thou art 

 holily mine, I heed not whether thou art a rustic or an emperor." 



The father of her love now entreated her pardon for his apparent 

 severity ; Eobardus, for his seeming abandonment, though, in truth, he 

 had secretly hovered over her, ever observing her conduct, and ready 

 to prove himself her friend. He apologized not for having trained her 

 in seclusion, as there alone could she have been safe while Thracius Vx 

 lived. 



This good priest, with the disinterested Alexis, and the worthy 

 Phrosyne, shared the prosperity of their beloved princess. Eobardus 

 recorded her life, on a richly illuminated scroll, which was handed 

 down from generation to generation, until it was so worn out, that I 

 found some difficulty in transcribing it. But to the lays of the younger 

 Alexis do I owe the little more I have to add. These are a few extracts 

 from his great poem The Laureliad. 



" Blest is the man whose mate, though wedding him under the idea 

 of his being a god, yet becomes only the more attached and dutiful on 

 finding out that he is but human." 



" Blest is the wife who discovers that her husband's faults were all 

 pretended, and his virtues his own." 



" Blest is the parent whose children please him, by pleasing them- 

 selves." 



" And thrice blest the people, whose king hath voluntarily undergone 

 their tasks, trials, and privations; who hath devoted his thoughts to 

 their improvement ; for their sakes reducing oppression to the dust, and 

 raising merit to its birthright."^ 



I. H. 



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OVBfi MUOV 



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SONNET. 



FROM PETRARCH. 



OH, Love ! who hath not felt thy mighty power ? ? owJ/io 



Seek in the deep cold earth the treasure it contains, 



Seek for that pure, chaste heart; the blest remains 



/-x/. n i L -. , iv, <. . ,,. /. , i. ro 1 9fU JB tvJoo 



Of all that cheered my youth s first blissful hour : 



Tear from the hand of Death his lovely prize, 

 And fix once more thy precious ensign there ; 

 Renew the flame that burned so fresh and fair, 

 And guides me still, though quenched, alas ! it lies. 

 The panting stag by cruel hunters driven, 

 Ne'er seeks the stream, as I my treasure lost. 

 Sweet pilgrim, whither flown ? Death's power is crost, 

 Since she who bound me here hath fled to heaven ! 

 TO ,irJIiqOh, bondsman blest, sweet was such slavery, 



Thy chains are broken now : alas ! thou'rt free ! 

 Jgom K rftrv? 



tti 



hna <h9bkft am 



Jifeu 9fio il .forar: 



