Was she conscious, when she took it, that the jewel was my love? Did she think it but a bauble, she might wear or toss aside? I know not, I accuse not, but I hope that it may prove A blessing, though she spurn it in her pride. SISERA. JUDGES v., 28-30. “Why comes he not? why comes he not, My brave and noble son? Why comes he not with his warlike men, And the trophies his sword has won? How slowly roll his chariot wheels! How weary is the day! Pride of thy mother’s lonely heart, Why dost thou still delay? He comes not yet! will he never come To gladden these heavy eyes, That have watched and watched from morn till eve, And again till the sun did rise? Shall I greet no more his look of joy, Nor hear his manly voice? Why comes he not with the spoils of war, And the damsels of his choice?” Years rushed along in their ceaseless course, But Sisera came no more, With his mighty men and his captive maids, As he oft had come before. A woman’s hand had done the deed That laid a hero low;-- A woman’s heart had felt the grief That childless mothers know. COLUMBA SIBYLLA. Ex mediis viridem surgentem ut lœta columba Undis aspexit, post tempora tristia, terram, Et levibus volitans folia alis carpsit olivæ, Pacifera et rediit, libertatemque futuram Navali inclusis in carcere significavit; Sic terram, lœtis, super œquora vasta, Columbus Insequitur, ventis astrisque faventibus, alis; Inventam et terram placidis consevit olivis. Aevorum super æquora parva columba Columbum Inscia persequitur cum vaticinantibus alis! Omina nomina sunt et Verbo facta reguntur, Prœteritum nectitque futuro Aeterna Catena. SUMMER IS DEAD. I. Summer is dead. Shall we weep or laugh, As we gaze on the dead queen’s epitaph Which Autumn has written in letters of gold: “She was bright and beautiful, blithe and young, And through grove and meadow she gaily sung, As with careless footsteps she danced along To the grave, where she now lies cold?” II. Shall we weep that her beauty from earth has gone? Shall we weep for the friends that with her have flown? Shall we weep for those that with her have died? For the man that has perished in manhood’s pride? For the maiden that never can be a bride? For the hearts that are left alone? III. Shall we laugh as we stand at earth’s palace-door, With the faded crown that poor Summer wore, And placing it on her sister’s brow, Forget the face that once smiled beneath That faded crown, and the flowery breath That parted those lips now cold in death? For Autumn is monarch now. IV.