a prophecy still true even in this materialistic day. Sappho, herself, had intimations of immortality, for she writes with perfect beauty and modesty: Μνάσεσθαί τινά φαμι καὶ ὔστερον ἀμμέων I say some one will think of us hereafter. This brief, pellucid verse Swinburne in his _Anactoria_ has distorted into the gorgeous emotional rhetoric of fourteen verses. But its own quiet prophecy stands good to-day. A fragment first published in 1922[2] also seems to make her say: and yet great glory will come to thee in all places where Phaëthon [shines] and even in Acheron’s halls [thou shalt be honored.] In general, antiquity thought of her as “_the_ poetess” κατ’ἐξοχήν, ἡ ποιήτρια,[3] just as Professor Harmon has recently shown[4] that “the poet” in ancient literature means Homer. Down to the present day Sappho has kept the definite article which antiquity gave her and has been called _the_ poetess, though we must be careful to test a writer’s use of the term. Therefore, we must not understand by the absence of any added epithet, as Wharton does, that Tennyson rates her higher than all other poets, merely because in _Locksley Hall, Sixty Years After_ he speaks of Sappho as “The Poet,” having called her in his youth “The Ancient Poetess,”[5]—for he also speaks of Dante as “The Poet,” when in _Locksley Hall_ he says, “this is truth the poet sings,” and then cites verse 121 of the _Inferno_. It is rare, however, even in modern times to find Sappho classed with any other poet as a peer, as in the beautiful tribute _To Christina Rossetti_ of William Watson, one of the best modern writers of epigrams, where Mrs. Browning and Sappho are the two other women referred to: Songstress, in all times ended and begun, Thy billowy-bosom’d fellows are not three. Of those sweet peers, the grass is green o’er one; And blue above the other is the sea. In ancient days Pinytus (1st cent. A.D.) composed this epigram:[6] This tomb reveals where Sappho’s ashes lie, But her sweet words of wisdom ne’er will die. (LORD NAEVES) Tullius Laureas, who wrote both in Greek and Latin about 60 B.C., puts into her mouth the following: “When you pass my Aeolian grave, stranger, call not the songstress of Mytilene dead. For ’tis true this tomb was built by the hands of men, and such works of humankind sink swiftly into oblivion; yet if you ask after me for the sake of the holy Muses from each of whom I have taken a flower for my posy of nine, you shall know that I have escaped the darkness of Death, and no sun shall ever rise that keepeth not the name of the lyrist Sappho.” (Edmonds, with variations.) Posidippus[7] (250 B.C.) says: Sappho’s white, speaking pages of dear song Yet linger with us and will linger long. (T. DAVIDSON) Horace[8] says: vivuntque commissi calores Aeoliae fidibus puellae.