Allays the immortal thirst it cannot slake, And heals the chafing of the work-day bond; Give me thy patient spell!—to bear With an unclouded brow, the secret pain, (That floods my soul as thy pale beams the air,) Of hopes that Reason quells, for Love to wake again! * * * * * FROM BUCHANNAN. BY RICHARD PENN SMITH. IN ZOILUM. Frustra ego te laudo; frustra me Zoile lædis Nemo mihi credit, Zoile, nemo tibi. TO ZOILUS. Zoilus, in vain thy praise I spread; And vainly thou hast slandered me! No one believed a word I said, No one on earth would credit thee. — Qui te videt beaties est; Beatior qui te audiet Qui basiat—semi deus est! TRANSLATION. He who beholds thy charms is blest; More blest is he thy voice who hears; But he thy ruby lip that pressed, To me a demi-god appears. The above was unquestionably suggested by the lines of Catullus to Lesbia, beginning— Ille mi par esse Deo videtur Ille, si fas est, superare Divos Qui sedens adversus identidem te Spectat, et audit, etc. This poem of Catullus is nothing more than a translation from the Greek of Sappho, which has been rendered familiar by Ambrose Phillips’ version. “Blest as the immortal gods is he; The youth who fondly sits by thee: Who hears and sees thee, all the while, Softly speak and sweetly smile, etc.” It would seem that Horace when composing his beautiful ode of “Integer Vitæ,” had these verses of Sappho in mind, when he exclaims— Dulce ridentem, Lalagen amabo Dulce loquentem. The “_Dulce ridentum_” is also beautifully applied in the translation by Catullus. * * * * * THE RECLUSE. NO. II. BY PARK BENJAMIN. IV. From Paris, on the 28th of February last, about four o’clock in the afternoon, a rainbow was distinguished in the heavens. “Bravo!” cried a workman of the Faubourg Saint Antoine—“See how le bon Dieu (the good God) also acknowledges the French Republic—he hangs out the tricolored flag.”