Me from her grot but yesterday a girl of haughty brow Spied as I passed her with my kine, and said,‘How fair art thou!’ I gave for answer not so much as one disdainful word, But, looking ever on the ground, paced onward with my herd. For sweet the heifer’s music, and sweet the heifer’s breath; Sweet things to me the youngling calf, sweet things her mother saith; And sweet is sleep by summer brooks upon the breezy lea: And acorns they grace well the oak, apples the apple-tree, Her calves the cow; the herdsman, but for his herd cares he. So sang the lads; and thereupon out spake the referee:— GOATHERD. O Daphnis! lovely is thy voice, thy music sweetly sung; Such song is pleasanter to me than honey on my tongue. Accept this pipe, for thou hast won. And, should there be some notes That thou couldst teach _me_, as I plod alongside with my goats; I’ll give thee for thy schooling this ewe, that horns hath none: Day after day she’ll fill the can, until the milk o’errun. Then how the one lad laughed, and leaped, and clapped his hands for glee! A kid that bounds to meet its dam might dance as merrily. And how the other inly burned, struck down by his disgrace! A maid first parting from her home might wear as sad a face. Thenceforth was Daphnis champion of all the country side: And won, while yet in topmost youth, a Naiad for his bride.” C. S. CALVERLEY. =Bion= of Smyrna, a contemporary of Theocritus, emigrated to Sicily for the purpose of studying pastoral poetry in its native haunts. What little we know respecting his life is gathered from the elegy written by his pupil, the delicate and graceful MOSCHUS, a bucolic poet of Syracuse ranked with Theocritus and Bion, but inferior to both. “The Lament for Bion” intimates that he died from the effects of poison, administered perhaps by jealous rivals. Bion’s love-songs and pastorals are characterized by sweetness and finish; they are less life-like, however, than those of Theocritus. The “Lament for Adonis” is the poet’s best effort; but as it is uninteresting to the general reader, we give a free paraphrase of THE BIRD-CATCHER AND LOVE. A young bird-catcher sat ’neath a wide-spreading tree, Where the breath of the summer breeze sported free, Looking round on the neighboring bushes with care, To see if a songster were lingering there. At length, in the distance, he something espies— A creature with wings of unusual size— “Aha! what a treasure!” he joyously cries; “To catch such a bird would indeed be a prize!” And then sets to work with his rods all together, To take the huge bird without spoiling a feather.