Her tomb was found by M. C. Heim at Paleo-Limisso, at the side of an antique road, not far from the ruins of Amathus. These ruins have almost disappeared within the last thirty years and the stones of the house where perhaps Bilitis lived, today pave the quays of Port Said. But the tomb was subterranean, according to the Phœnician custom, and it had escaped even the treasure hunters. M. Heim entered it by a narrow pit, once filled with earth, at the bottom of which he found a walled-up door which had to be demolished. The wide, low tomb, paved with slabs of limestone, had four walls covered with plaques of black amphibolite, on which were graven, in primitive capitals, all the songs we are about to read, except the three epitaphs which decorated the sarcophagus. There reposed the friend of Mnasidika in a great coffin of terra-cotta, under a cover modeled in delicate sculpture which figured in the clay the visage of the dead. The hair was painted black, the eyes half closed and prolonged by the crayon as though she were living and the painted cheek softened by a slight smile which brought out the lines of the mouth. Nothing can ever tell of those lips, so clean-cut, with a soft outward curve, united one to the other and as though intoxicated by their own contact. When the tomb was opened, she appeared in the state in which a pious hand had placed her, twenty-four centuries before. Vials of perfume hung from pegs of clay, and one of these, after so long a time, was still fragrant. The mirror of polished silver in which Bilitis had viewed herself, the stylus which had trailed the blue pigment over her eyelids, were found in their place. A little naked Astarte, relic forever precious, watched always over the skeleton ornamented with all its jewels of gold, and white like a snow-covered branch, but so soft and so fragile that at the first breath it mingled with the dust. PIERRE LOUŸS. Constantinople. August 1894. I BUCOLICS IN PAMPHYLIA Ἀδύ δέ μοι τό μέλισμα, καὶ ἤν σύριγγι μελίσδω κἤν αύλῷ λαλέω, κἤν δώνκκι, κἤν πλαγιαύλῳ. THEOCRITOS. “Sweet, too, is my music, whether I make melody on pipe, or discourse on the flute, or reed, or flageolet.” (XX--28-29. Lang.) THE TREE Stripped of my clothes, I climbed into a tree; my bare thighs embraced the smooth, moist bark; my sandals trod upon the branches. At the top, yet under the leaves and shadowed from the heat, I sat astride a projecting branch and balanced my feet in the void. It rained. The water drops fell and slipped over my skin. My hands were stained with moss and my toes were reddened from crushed flowers. When the wind passed through the branches I felt the fair life of the tree; then I pressed my legs yet closer and laid my open lips upon the hairy nape of a bough. II PASTORAL SONG