For wine is strong and hard to struggle with.
Have they escaped, or are they yet within?

Ah! I am mocked! They jeer me in my ills.

CHORUS.

Not there! he is a little there beyond you.

CYCLOPS.

Detested wretch! where are you?

ULYSSES.

Far from you

I keep with care this body of Ulysses.

CYCLOPS.

What do you say? You proffer a new name.

ULYSSES.

My father named me so; and I have taken
A full revenge for your unnatural feast;

I should have done ill to have burned down Troy
And not revenged the murder of my comrades.

CYCLOPS.

Ai! ai! the ancient oracle is accomplished;
It said that I should have my eyesight blinded
By you coming from Troy, yet it foretold
That you should pay the penalty for this
By wandering long over the homeless sea.

ULYSSES.

I bid thee weep-consider what I say,
I go towards the shore to drive my ship
To mine own land, o'er the Sicilian wave.

CYCLOPS.

Not so, if whelming you with this huge stone
I can crush you and all your men together;
I will descend upon the shore, though blind,
Groping my way adown the steep ravine.

CHORUS.

And we, the shipmates of Ulysses now,
Will serve our Bacchus all our happy lives.

TRANSLATION FROM MOSCHUS.

PAN loved his neighbour Echo-but that child
Of Earth and Air pined for the Satyr leaping;
The Satyr loved with wasting madness wild

The bright nymph Lyda,—and so three went weeping. As Pan loved Echo, Echo loved the Satyr;

The Satyr, Lyda-and thus love consumed them.And thus to each-which was a woful matter

To bear what they inflicted, justice doomed them; For inasmuch as each might hate the lover,

Each loving, so was hated.-Ye that love not Be warned-in thought turn this example over, That when ye love, the like return ye prove not.

SCENES

FROM THE "MAGICO PRODIGIOSO" OF CALDERON.

CYPRIAN as a Student; CLARIN and MOSCON as poor Scholars, with books.

CYPRIAN.

In the sweet solitude of this calm place,

This intricate wild wilderness of trees

And flowers and undergrowth of odorous plants,
Leave me; the books you brought out of the house
To me are ever best society.

And whilst with glorious festival and song
Antioch now celebrates the consecration
Of a proud temple to great Jupiter,
And bears his image in loud jubilee

To its new shrine, I would consume what still
Lives of the dying day, in studious thought,

Far from the throng and turmoil.

Go and enjoy the festival; it will

You, my friends,

Be worth the labour, and return for me

When the sun seeks its grave among the billows,
Which among dim grey clouds on the horizon
Dance like white plumes upon a hearse ;—and here

I shall expect you.

MOSCON.

I cannot bring my mind,

Great as my haste to see the festival
Certainly is, to leave you, Sir, without

Just saying some three or four hundred words.
How is it possible that on a day

Of such festivity, you can bring your mind
To come forth to a solitary country

With three or four old books, and turn your back

On all this mirth?

CLARIN.

My master's in the right;

There is not any thing more tiresome

Than a procession day, with troops of men,

And dances, and all that.

MOSCON.

From first to last,

Clarin, you are a temporizing flatterer;

You praise not what you feel but what he does;Toadeater!

CLARIN.

You lie under a mistake

For this is the most civil sort of lie

That can be given to a man's face. I now

Say what I think.

CYPRIAN.

Enough, you foolish fellows.

Puffed up with your own doting ignorance,
You always take the two sides of one question.

Now go, and as I said, return for me
When night falls, veiling in its shadows wide
This glorious fabric of the universe.

MOSCON.

How happens it, although you can maintain