outraged by garb profane, were laid upon a hallowed lap. Spain with its rivers of gold gave birth to thy sire; Bosporus boasts thee among its children. The West is the cradle of thy race but the East was thine own nurse; rivals are they for so dear a pledge, either hemisphere claims thee as its citizen. The fame of Hercules and Bacchus has immortalized Thebes; when Latona gave birth to Apollo in Delos that island stayed its errant course; it is Crete’s boast that over its fields the infant Thunderer crawled. But the land that brought divine Honorius to birth is a greater than Delos, a more famous than Crete. Such narrow shores would not suffice our god. Nor did the bleak rocks of Cynthus hurt thy body with their rough bed; on couch of gold, clothed in jewelled raiment, thy mother gave birth to thee amid Tyrian purples; a palace rang with joy at that royal deliverance. What presages were there not then of future prosperity? what songs of birds, what flights of good omen in the heavens? What was the hurrying to and fro of seers? Hornèd Ammon and Delphi so long dumb at length broke their silence; Persian magi prophesied thy triumphs; Tuscan augurs felt thine influence; seers of Babylon beheld the stars and trembled; amazement seized the Chaldaean priests; the rock of Cumae, shrine of raging Sibyl, thundered once again. Cybele’s corybants surrounded not thy cradle with the clatter of their brazen shields; a shining host stood by thee on every side. Standards of war hedged in the royal babe who marked the bowed helmets of the worshipping soldiery while the trumpet’s blare answered his warlike cries. The day that gave thee birth gave thee a kingdom; * * * * * Page 298