"Qui fit Maecenas ut nemo quam sibi sortem

Seu ratio dederit seu fors objecerit illa

Contentus vivat, laudat deserta sequentis."

WHILE still Olympus was the golden dwelling

Of all the glorious Gods, and o'er the heaven

His fire-wheeled chariot was often driven

By Zeus, the Thunderer, the Cloud-compelling;

And still the Muses' sacred fount was welling

On Helicon's green brow; and from the seven

Sweet Pleiades, the fairest was not riven;

And still the lands of Saturn's reign were telling, -

Then, when the Immortals to the earth descended,

They found great marble fanes and carven palaces,

Where ivory thrones were set, and incense blended

With scented breezes, through the cool halls sweeping;

And there they drank the wine in graven chalices,

And watched the red fires on the altars leaping.

But now the Gods have long from heaven departed,

And far away from high Olympus wandered;

The way where bright Hyperion's horses thundered

No more is travelled by the ours, light-hearted;

The sea o'er which the swift-winged Hermes darted,

Of all its joyous white-armed nymphs is plundered;

The temples wherein wise Athena pondered

Lie heaped in ruin, dreary and deserted.

Old cities with their fanes of graceful fashion

Have crumbled. Houses now of brick are builded;

And men are filled with low and sordid passion;

And ugly guilt is naught, if only gilded;

And ruby wine, once pure as Hellas' sky,

E'en drugged with logwood, one can scarcely buy.

N. H. D.