Uhland'S "Chapel."

Yonder stands the hillside chapel, 'Mid the evergreens and rocks, All day long it hears the song Of the shepherd to his flocks.

Then the chapel bell goes tolling-- Knolling for a soul that's sped; Silent and sad the shepherd lad Hears the requiem for the dead.

Shepherd, singers of the valley, Voiceless now, speed on before; Soon shall knell that chapel bell For the songs you'll sing no more.

"THE HAPPY ISLES" OF HORACE.

Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles In the golden haze off yonder, Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles And the ocean loves to wander.

Fragrant the vines that mantle those hills, Proudly the fig rejoices, Merrily dance the virgin rills, Blending their myriad voices.

Our herds shall suffer no evil there, But peacefully feed and rest them-- Never thereto shall prowling bear Or serpent come to molest them.

Neither shall Eurus, wanton bold, Nor feverish drought distress us, But he that compasseth heat and cold Shall temper them both to bless us.

There no vandal foot has trod, And the pirate hordes that wander Shall never profane the sacred sod Of these beautiful isles out yonder.

Never a spell shall blight our vines Nor Sirius blaze above us. But you and I shall drink our wines And sing to the loved that love us.

So come with me where fortune smiles And the gods invite devotion-- Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles In the haze of that far-off ocean!

HORATIAN LYRICS.

I.

Odes I, 11.

What end the gods may have ordained for me, And what for thee, Seek not to learn, Leuconoe; we may not know; Chaldean tables cannot bring us rest-- 'Tis for the best To bear in patience what may come, or weal or woe.

If for more winters our poor lot is cast, Or this the last, Which on the crumbling rocks has dashed Etruscan seas; Strain clear the wine--this life is short, at best; Take hope with zest, And, trusting not To-Morrow, snatch To-Day for ease!

II.

Odes I, 23.

Why do you shun me, Chloe, like the fawn, That, fearful of the breezes and the wood, Has sought her timorous mother since the dawn And on the pathless mountain tops has stood?

Her trembling heart a thousand fears invites-- Her sinking knees with nameless terrors shake; Whether the rustling leaf of spring affrights, Or the green lizards stir the slumbering brake.

I do not follow with a tigerish thought Or with the fierce Gaetulian lion's quest; So, quickly leave your mother, as you ought, Full ripe to nestle on a husband's breast.

HORACE II, 13.

O fountain of Blandusia, Whence crystal waters flow, With garlands gay and wine I'll pay The sacrifice I owe; A sportive kid with budding horns I have, whose crimson blood Anon shall die and sanctify Thy cool and babbling flood.

O fountain of Blandusia, The dogstar's hateful spell No evil brings unto the springs That from thy bosom well; Here oxen, wearied by the plow, The roving cattle here, Hasten in quest of certain rest And quaff thy gracious cheer.

O fountain of Blandusia, Ennobled shalt thou be, For I shall sing the joys that spring Beneath your ilex tree; Yes, fountain of Blandusia, Posterity shall know The cooling brooks that from thy nooks Singing and dancing go!

HORACE IV, II.

Come, Phyllis, I've a cask of wine That fairly reeks with precious juices. And in your tresses you shall twine The loveliest flowers this vale produces.

My cottage wears a gracious smile-- The altar decked in floral glory,-- Yearns for the lamb which bleats the while As though it pined for honors gory.

Hither our neighbors nimbly fare-- The boys agog, the maidens snickering, And savory smells possess the air As skyward kitchen flames are flickering.

You ask what means this grand display, This festive throng and goodly diet? Well--since you're bound to have your way-- I don't mind telling on the quiet.

'Tis April 13, as you know-- A day and month devote to Venus, Whereon was born some years ago, My very worthy friend, Macenas.

Nay, pay no heed to Telephus-- Your friends agree he doesn't love you; The way he flirts convinces us He really is not worthy of you!

Aurora's son, unhappy lad! You know the fate that overtook him? And Pegasus a rider had-- I say he had before he shook him!

Haec docet (as you may agree): 'Tis meet that Phyllis should discover A wisdom in preferring me And mittening every other lover.

So come, O Phyllis, last and best Of loves with which this heart's been smitten; Come, sing my jealous fears to rest-- And let your songs be those I've written.