but by the equal love Of light and darkness fostered—grows! If half with death the germs may sleep, Yet half with life they share the beams; My heralds from the dreary deep, Soft voices from the solemn streams,—    Like her, so them, awhile entombs, Stern Orcus, in his dismal reign, Yet spring sends forth their tender blooms With such sweet messages again, To tell,—how far from light above, Where only mournful shadows meet, Memory is still alive to love, And still the faithful heart can beat! Joy to ye children of the field! Whose life each coming year renews, To your sweet cups the heaven shall yield The purest of its nectar-dews!    Steeped in the light's resplendent streams, The hues that streak the Iris-bow Shall trim your blooms as with the beams The looks of young Aurora know. The budding life of happy spring, The yellow autumn's faded leaf, Alike to gentle hearts shall bring The symbols of my joy and grief. 

           THE ELEUSINIAN FESTIVAL. Wreathe in a garland the corn's golden ear! With it, the Cyane 31 blue intertwine Rapture must render each glance bright and clear, For the great queen is approaching her shrine,—    She who compels lawless passions to cease, Who to link man with his fellow has come, And into firm habitations of peace Changed the rude tents' ever-wandering home. Shyly in the mountain-cleft Was the Troglodyte concealed; And the roving Nomad left, Desert lying, each broad field. With the javelin, with the bow, Strode the hunter through the land; To the hapless stranger woe, Billow-cast on that wild strand! When, in her sad wanderings lost, Seeking traces of her child, Ceres hailed the dreary coast, Ah, no verdant plain then smiled! That she here with trust may stay, None vouchsafes a sheltering roof; Not a temple's columns gay Give of godlike worship proof. Fruit of no propitious ear Bids her to the pure feast fly;    On the ghastly altars here Human bones alone e'er dry. Far as she might onward rove, Misery found she still in all, And within her soul of love, Sorrowed she o'er man's deep fall.     "Is it thus I find the man To whom we our image lend, Whose fair limbs of noble span Upward towards the heavens ascend? Laid we not before his feet Earth's unbounded godlike womb? Yet upon his kingly seat Wanders he without a home?"     "Does no god compassion feel? Will none of the blissful race, With an arm of miracle, Raise him from his deep disgrace? In the heights where rapture reigns Pangs of others ne'er can move; Yet man's anguish and man's 

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