Athenæi Fragmentum in palimpsesto bibliothecæ Ambrosianæ ab Angelo Maio inventum, antehac vero non editum.

—περὶ δὲ τῶν κοσσύφων, ὡς ἐκ κριβάνου τοῖς δειπνοῦσι παρατεθέντες ᾄδουσι, περὶ δέ ὀρνιθίων τινων, ὡς τῶν παιδισκῶν τὰς ῥῖνας καταπτάμενα ἁρπάζει, τῶν κωμικῶν τις οὕτως γράφει

εν

—ἀλλὰ νῦν ὑπᾴδετ', ἄνδρες, ᾆσμα τοῦ τετρωβόλου βασιλικῷ τις ἦν ἐν οἴκῳ θύλακος ζειῶν πλέως κόσσυφοι δε κριβανῖται τετράκις ἓξ ἐν πέμματι τοῦ δὲ πέμματος κοπέντος, ηὐστόμησαν τὤρνεα οὐ τόδ ̓ ἦν ἔδεσμα δείπνοις καὶ τυραννικοῖς πρέπον ; ἐν μυχῷ δόμων ὁ βασιλεὺς τἀργύρι ελογίζετο, ἀναβάδην δ' ἔτρωγε χώρις πυρνὸν ἄρτον καὶ μέλι ἡ βασιλίς· ἡ παῖς δ ̓ ἀν ̓ αὐλὴν βύσσιν ̓ ἐξήρτα λίνου, νηπία· κάτω γὰρ ἦλθεν ἀπὸ τέγους ὀρνίθιον, τήν τε ρῖνα τῆς ταλαίνης ᾤχετ ̓ ἐν ρύγχει φέρον.

E. C. H.

A Song of Sixpence.

SING a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye:
Four and twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie :

When the pie was opened

The birds began to sing;

Was not that a dainty dish
To set before the King?

The King was in the parlour
Counting out his money;
The Queen was in the chamber

Eating bread and honey;
The maid was in the garden

Hanging out the clothes:

Down came a little bird

And carried off her nose.

G. G.

The Gods of Epicurus.

FOR they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurl'd Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curl'd Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world: Where they smile in secret, looking over wasted lands, Blight and famine, plague and earthquake, roaring deeps and fiery sands,

Clanging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking ships, and praying hands.

But they smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song
Steaming up, a lamentation and an ancient tale of wrong,
Like a tale of little meaning though the words are strong;
Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil,
Sow the seed and reap the harvest with enduring toil,
Storing yearly little dues of wheat and wine and oil;
Till they perish, and they suffer-some, 'tis whispered,
down in hell

Suffer endless anguish, others in Elysian valleys dwell,

Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel.

Tennyson.

Good Music and bad Dancing.

How ill the motion with the music suits!

So Orpheus play'd, and like them danced the brutes!

Congreve.

Deos didici securum agere æbum.

Di suum nectar bibentes abdito jacent jugo:
Stringit inferiora fulgur, lambit aureas domos
Nube prævelatus æther, orbe cinctas lucido:
Quæque subter monstra cernunt, illa rident clanculum;
Vim maris, telluris haustus, ignem, et aeris luem,
Arma, cædes, furta, raptus, ora comprecantium.
At juvat risisse, diri carminis dulcedine,

Irritum sublime murmur, veteris ambagem mali,
Maximæ vocis querelam, paulum habentem ponderis :
Quippe læsi cantilenam generis, operum providi,
Dudum arantis, proserentis, congerentis undique

Quantulam stipem quotannis vini, olivi, tritici:
Occupet dum Mors; et hos, sic fama, pœnarum sator,
Tartarus per sæcla vexet; his in Elysio cavo
Membra declinare fessa præstet Asphodeli torus.

C. M.

Ars sine Arte.

QUAM valet arte chelys, tantum caret arte chorea! Orpheos ad citharam sic saluere feræ.

B. H. K.

Progress of Poesy.

THEE the voice, the dance obey,
Tempered to thy warbled lay.

O'er Idalia's velvet green

The rosy-crowned Loves are seen,

On Cytherea's day,

With antic sports and blue-eyed Pleasures.

Frisking light in frolic measures;

Now pursuing, now retreating,

Now in circling troops they meet:

To brisk notes in cadence beating

Glance their many-twinkling feet.

Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare : Where'er she turns the Graces homage pay:

With arms sublime that float upon the air,

In gliding state she wins her easy way:

O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move

The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love.

Gray.