Gently, oh! ivy, gently curl thy tresses, Where the cold bones of Sophocles repose; May thy young tendrils clasp in soft caresses The bursting petals of the blushing rose. May the green vine, its dewy branches flinging, A lasting bower above thy grave entwine, For the deep wisdom thou didst show, when singing Among the Graces and the heavenly Nine. Thou knowest how the cruel Acrisius committed his daughter Danaë, with her infant Perseus, to the protection of a small ark, and the mercy of a raging sea. In this—certainly one of the most touching fragments of all antiquity, and written by Simonides, the Ceian, a poet, heart and soul—Danaë is introduced, alone and cheerless, yet watching, with a mother’s tenderness, over her sleeping son. Round the frail boat the wild winds, roaring, swept, And shook the heart of Danaë with fear, While from her cold, pale cheek, as Theseus slept, Dropt the fast tear. And round her little boy, with closer strain, Her folding arm the desolate mother flung, And to the heedless winds her humble plain Half said, half sung. “Sweetly thou restest in thy joyless dwelling, And slumber sealeth up thy spirit mild, Though the dark waves be far around thee swelling, Perseus, my child. O’er thy bright locks while angry winds are lashing The storm-chafed spray, still sleeps thy careless eye: Little thou heedest, though the waves be dashing Insanely by. Wrapped in thy purple cloak—my breast thy pillow— Thou driftest helplessly—the ocean’s toy— Rocked in thy slumbers by the rolling billow— My little boy! Did not this peril at thy heart lie lightly, Unto thy little ear my words would creep: But _now_ thy face even through the gloom shines brightly— Oh! Perseus, sleep. And may the waves, and may our sorrows slumber, And may all snares be broken in our path; And on our foes, great Jove, for Perseus number Thy tenfold wrath.” “Solventur _fletu_ tabulæ: tu, _lector_, abibis.” HERMENEUTES. “OUR MAGAZINE.”