one of the finest pieces of sculpture in Italy. A copy is in the Athenæum gallery, Boston.

BACCHUS AND ARIADNE.

HESIOD, 850 B.C. [MRS. BROWNING'S TRANSLATION.]

The golden-haired Bacchus did espouse
That fairest Ariadne, Minos' daughter,

And made her wifehood blossom in the house;

Where such protective gifts Kronion brought her,
Nor Death nor Age could find her when they sought her.

THE ORIGINAL SOURCES OF AN HISTORICAL POEM.

IT has been stated that the possession of knowledge sufficient to understand Tennyson's "A Dream of Fair Women," in every detail, presupposes a liberal education. It may also be said that the pleasure of acquiring the necessary kind of knowledge to interpret this poem will be greatly enhanced by going to the original sources for it. The mystery surrounding the "fair women" whose names are not given in the poem, may be cleared by consulting a few authors to whose works we invite the attention of our readers.

The first lady who is unwilling to tell the poet her name gives the clue to her identity by mentioning her beauty and the effect of it. For a complete understanding of this stanza, the third book of the "Iliad" should be read. The second tells the poet her history briefly. In the fourth group of this book the student will find a translation of the original drama of which she is the heroine. The third tells her story more in detail and

the poet also adds his description of her, so that the famous queen of Egypt needs no further introduction. Shakspeare has taken her from history, and given her a higher niche in the Temple of Fame in one of his dramas. The fourth is "the daughter of the warrior. Gileadite." Her story will be found in the Book of Judges, Chapter XI.

The history of "that Rosamond whom men call fair" is given in Agnes Strickland's "Lives of the Queens of England," in connection with the life of Eleanor, wife of Henry II. of England.

For the history of "her who clasp'd in her last trance her murder'd father's head," read the account of Sir Thomas More's execution and the disposal of his body, "Reign of Henry VIII.”

The story of Joan of Arc, "a light of ancient France," has been told by so many historians and poets that the student scarcely needs a reference to any particular work; however, Southey's poem and Mrs. Charles's prose story, called "Joan, the Maid," are worthy of careful perusal.

The student should read the story of the fifth crusade under Prince Edward of England, afterwards Edward I. of the Norman line of kings, for the last incident related in the poem.

NOTE. - After the student has become familiar with the characters found in this poem, he should be able to appreciate somewhat, the rare power shown by the poet in adapting to his own use, the romance of history.

A comparison of each of these "fair women as she appears here, with her original portrait will aid the student in determining whether Tennyson's delineations are apt or accurate.

A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN.

TENNYSON.

I read, before my eyelids dropt their shade,
"The Legend of Good Women," long ago
Sung by the morning star of song, who made
His music heard below;

Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath
Preluded those melodious bursts that fill

The spacious times of great Elizabeth

With sounds that echo still.

And, for a while, the knowledge of his art
Held me above the subject, as strong gales
Hold swollen clouds from raining, tho' my heart,
Brimful of those wild tales,

Charged both mine eyes with tears.

In every land

I saw, wherever light illumineth,
Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand
The downward slope to death.

Those far-renowned brides of ancient song
Peopled the hollow dark, like burning stars,
And I heard sounds of insult, shame, and wrong,
And trumpets blown for wars;

And clattering flints batter'd with clanging hoofs;
And I saw crowds in column'd sanctuaries
And forms that pass'd at windows, and on roofs
Of marble palaces;

Corpses across the threshold; heroes tall
Dislodging pinnacle and parapet

Upon the tortoise creeping to the wall;
Lances in ambush set;

And high shrine-doors burst thro' with heated blasts

That run before the fluttering tongues of fire; White surf wind-scatter'd over sails and masts, And ever climbing higher;

Squadrons and squares of men in brazen plates,

divers woes,

Scaffolds, still sheets of water,
Ranges of glimmering vaults with iron grates,
And hush'd seraglios.

So shape chased shape as swift as when to land.
Bluster the winds and tides the self-same way,
Crisp foam-flakes scud along the level sand
Torn from the fringe of spray.

I started once, or seem'd to start in pain,
Resolved on noble things, and strove to speak,
As when a great thought strikes along the brain,
And flushes all the cheek.

And once my arm was lifted to hew down
A cavalier from off his saddle-bow,
That bore a lady from a leaguer'd town;
And then, I know not how,

All those sharp fancies, by down-lapsing thought
Stream'd onward, lost their edges, and did creep
Roll'd on each other, rounded, smooth'd, and brought
Into the gulfs of sleep.

At last methought that I had wander'd far

In an old wood: fresh-wash'd in coolest dew The maiden splendors of the morning star Shook in the steadfast blue.

Enormous elm-tree boles did stoop and lean
Upon the dusky brushwood underneath

Their broad curved branches, fledged with clearest green, New from its silken sheath.

The dim red morn had died, her journey done,
And with dead lips smiled at the twilight plain,
Half-fall'n across the threshold of the sun,
Never to rise again.

There was no motion in the dumb dead air,
Nor any song of bird or sound of rill;
Gross darkness of the inner sepulchre
Is not so deadly still

As that wide forest. Growths of jasmine turn'd
Their humid arms festooning tree to tree,
And, at the root, thro' lush-green grasses, burn'd
The red anemone.

I knew the flowers, I knew the leaves, I knew
The tearful glimmer of the languid dawn

On those long, rank, dark wood-walks drench'd in dew,
Leading from lawn to lawn.

The smell of violets, hidden in the green,
Pour'd back into my empty soul and frame
The times when I remember to have been
Joyful and free from blame.

And from within me a clear under-tone

Thrill'd thro' mine ears in that unblissful clime, "Pass freely thro': the wood is all thine own, Until the end of time."

At length I saw a lady within call,

Stiller than chisell'd marble, standing there;

A daughter of the gods, divinely tall,

And most divinely fair.