That good, or bad, all things she prophesied

Though true as truth, should ever be decried

To save her country was her heart intent.

Pure, fearless, on an holy errand bent,

Woe, woe, the Greeks!" Ah! why was she endowed

With this sad gift? Able to pierce the cloud

When those she loved and trusted—weak resource—

Her prophecies believed not; when the force

When dragged a slave in Agamemnon's train.

And though she fell—by Clytemnestra slain—

It is—to know the evils that must be.

Helpless their doom to make the imperilled see,

[12]

[12]

SONG OF SPRING

SONG OF SPRING

 On every bush are roses blooming, everywhere the nightingale To his love again is warbling plaintively his oft-told tale. Now within our balmy garden dances the tall cypress tree, And the poplar never ceases clapping his slim hands in glee. From the height of every bough-tip you can hear the turtle sing, With loud voice proclaiming gaily the glad coming of the spring. On the head of the narcissus gleams as bright his diadem, As the crown of China's Emperor decked with many a costly gem. Here the west wind, there the north wind, in true token of their love, At the feet of yonder rose lay treasure poured down from above. All the 

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