There is another little Greek study of great and simple beauty entitled "The Daughter of Cleomenes." It is only an historical incident, but it is so related for the pleasure of suggesting a profound truth about the instinct of childhood. Long ago, when the Persians were about to make an attack upon the Greeks, there was an attempt to buy off the Spartan resistance, and the messenger to the Spartan general found him playing with his little daughter, a child of six or seven. The conference was carried on in whispers, and the child could not hear what was being said; but she broke up the whole plot by a single word. I shall quote a few lines from the close of the poem, which contain its moral lessons. The emissary has tried to tempt him with promises of wealth and power. He falters; for the waves he fears, The roads he cannot measure; But rates full high the gleam of spears And dreams of yellow treasure. He listens; he is yielding now; Outspoke the fearless child: "Oh, Father, come away, lest thou Be by this man beguiled." Her lowly judgment barred the plea, So low, it could not reach her. _The man knows more of land and sea, But she's the truer teacher._ All the little girl could know about the matter was instinctive; she only saw the cunning face of the stranger, and felt sure that he was trying to deceive her father for a bad purpose--so she cried out, "Father, come away with me, or else that man will deceive you." And she spoke truth, as her father immediately recognized. There are several more classical studies of extraordinary beauty; but your interest in them would depend upon something more than interest in Greek and Roman history, and we can not study all the poems. So I prefer to go back to the meditative lyrics, and to give a few splendid examples of these more personal compositions. The following stanzas are from a poem whose Latin title signifies that Love conquers death. In this poem the author becomes the equal of Tennyson as a master of language. The plunging rocks, whose ravenous throats The sea in wrath and mockery fills, The smoke that up the valley floats, The girlhood of the growing hills; The thunderings from the miners' ledge, The wild assaults on nature's hoard, The peak that stormward bares an edge Ground sharp in days when Titans warred; Grim heights, by wandering clouds embraced Where lightning's ministers conspire, Grey glens, with tarns and streamlet laced, Stark forgeries of primeval fire. These scenes may gladden many a mind Awhile from homelier thoughts released, And here my fellow men may find A Sabbath and a vision-feast. _I bless them in the good they feel; And yet I bless them with a sigh; On me this grandeur stamps the seal Of tyrannous mortality._