From taint of tortuous or of envious mind;

Whose eyes elate and clear

Nor shame nor ever fear

But only pity or glorious wrath could blind;

Name set for love apart,

Held lifelong in my heart,

Face like a father's toward my face inclined;

No gilts like thine are mine to give,

Who by thine own words only bid thee hail, and live.

[1] 

Thy lifelong works, Napoleon, who shall write?

Time, in his children's blood who takes delight.

NOTES.

'J'en passe, et des meilleurs.' But who can enumerate all or half our obligations to the illimitable and inexhaustible genius of the great man whose life and whose labour lasted even from the generation of our fathers' fathers to our own? Hardly any reader can feel, I think, so deeply as I feel the inadequacy of my poor praise and too imperfect gratitude to the majestic subject of their attempted expression; but 'such as I had have I given him.'

GRAND CHORUS OF BIRDS

FROM

ARISTOPHANES

Attempted in English verse after the original metre.

I was allured into the audacity of this experiment by consideration of a fact which hitherto does not seem to have been taken into consideration by any translator of the half divine humourist in whose incomparable genius the highest qualities of Rabelais were fused and harmonized with the supremest gifts of Shelley: namely, that his marvellous metrical invention of the anapæstic heptameter was almost exactly 

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