But chiefly Dido, to the coming ill
Devoted, strives in vain her vast desires to fill:
She views the gifts; upon the child then turns
Insatiable looks, and gazing burns.

To ease a father's cheated love he hung
Upon Eneas, and around him clung;

Then seeks the queen; with her his arts he tries;
She fastens on the boy enamour'd eyes,
Clasps in her arms, nor weens (O lot unblest!)
How great a god, incumbent o'er her breast,
Would fill it with his spirit. He to please
His Acidalian mother, by degrees

Blots out Sichæus, studious to remove
The dead, by influx of a living love,
By stealthy entrance of a perilous guest
Troubling a heart that had been long at rest.

Now when the viands were withdrawn, and ceased The first division of the splendid feast, While round a vacant board the chiefs recline, Huge goblets are brought forth; they crown the wine, Voices of gladness roll the walls around; Those gladsome voices from the courts rebound; From gilded rafters many a blazing light Depends, and torches overcome the night. The minutes fly-till at the queen's command, A bowl of state is offered to her hand;

Then she, as Belus wont, and all the line
From Belus, filled it to the brim with wine;
Silence ensued. "O Jupiter, whose care
Is hospitable dealing, grant my prayer!
Productive day be this of lasting joy

To Tyrians, and these exiles driven from Troy;

Let Bacchus, donor of soul-quickening cheer,
Be present, kindly Juno, be thou near;
And Tyrians, may your choicest favours wait
Upon this hour the bond to celebrate!"
She spake and shed an offering on the board;
Then sipp'd the bowl whence she the wine had pour'd
And gave to Bitias, urging the prompt lord;
He raised the bowl, and took a long deep draught,
Then every chief in turn the beverage quaff'd.

Graced with redundant hair, Iopas sings The lore of Atlas, to resounding strings, The labours of the sun, the lunar wanderings; Whence human kind and brute; what natural powers Engender lightning, whence are falling showers? He chaunts Arcturus, that fraternal twain The glittering Bears, the Pleiads fraught with rain; -Why suns in winter, shunning heaven's steep heights Post sea-ward, what impedes the tardy nights. The learned song from Tyrian hearers draws Loud shouts, the Trojans echo the applause.

But lengthening out the night with converse new, Large draughts of love unhappy Dido drew; Of Priam ask'd, of Hector-o'er and o'er — What arms the son of bright Aurora wore ;What steeds the car of Diomed could boast; Among the leaders of the Grecian host How look'd Achilles, their dread paramount

"But nay, the fatal wiles, O guest, recount,

Retrace the Grecian cunning from its source,

Your own grief and your friends your wandering

course;

For now, till this seventh summer have ye ranged The sea, or trod the earth, to peace estranged."

In the following Poem no further deviation from the original has been made than was necessary for the fluent reading and instant

understanding of the Author: so much, however, is the language

altered since Chaucer's time, especially in pronunciation, that much was to be removed, and its place supplied with as little incongruity as possible. The ancient accent has been retained in a few conjunctions, as alsò and alwày, from a conviction that such sprinklings of antiquity would be admitted, by persons of taste, to have a graceful accordance with the subject. The fierce bigotry of the

Prioress forms a fine back-ground for her tender-hearted sympathies with the Mother and Child; and the mode in which the story is told amply atones for the extravagance of the miracle.

"O LORD, our Lord! how wondrously," (quoth she) "Thy name in this large world is spread abroad! For not alone by men of dignity

Thy worship is performed and precious laud;
But by the mouths of children, gracious God!
Thy goodness is set forth; they when they lie
Upon the breast thy name do glorify

Wherefore in praise, the worthiest that I may,
Jesu! of thee, and the white Lily-flower
Which did thee bear, and is a Maid for aye,
To tell a story I will use my power;

Not that I may increase her honour's dower,
For she herself is honour, and the root
Of goodness, next her Son, our soul's best boot.

O Mother Maid! O Maid aud Mother free!
O bush unburnt! burning in Moses' sight!
That down didst ravish from the Deity,
Through humbleness, the spirit that did alight
Upon thy heart, whence, through that glory's might,
Conceived was the Father's sapience,
Help me to tell it in thy reverence!

[* In a letter to the Editor, dated "Rydal Mount, January 13th, 1841," Wordsworth said: "So great is my admiration of Chaucer's genius, and so profound my reverence for him as an instrument in the hands of Providence, for spreading the light of literature through his native land, that notwithstanding the defects and faults in this publication, I am glad of it, as a means for making many acquainted with the original, who would otherwise be ignorant of every thing about him but his name."-The volume entitled "The Poems of Geoffrey Chaucer Modern. ized," was published in London, in 1841. It is made up of the contributions of Wordsworth, Miss Barrett, Leigh Hunt, R. H. Horne, and others.-H. R.]

3 F

Lady! thy goodness, thy magnificence,
Thy virtue, and thy great humility,
Surpass all science and all utterance;
For sometimes, Lady! ere men pray to thee
Thou goest before in thy benignity,
The light to us vouchsafing of thy prayer,
To be our guide unto thy Son so dear.

My knowledge is so weak, O blissful Queen!
To tell abroad thy mighty worthiness,
That I the weight of it may not sustain;
But as a child of twelvemonths old or less,
That laboureth his language to express,
Even so fare I; and therefore, I thee pray,
Guide thou my song which I of thee shall say.

There was in Asia, in a mighty town,

'Mong Christian folk, a street where Jews might be,
Assigned to them and given them for their own
By a great lord, for gain and usury,
Hateful to Christ and to his company;

And through this street who list might ride and wend Free was it, and unbarred at either end.

A little school of Christian people stood
Down at the farther end, in which there were
A nest of children come of Christian blood,
That learned in that school from year to year
Such sort of doctrine as men used there,
That is to say, to sing and read also,
As little children in their childhood do.

Among these children was a widow's son,
A little scholar, scarcely seven years old,
Who day by day unto this school hath gone,
And eke, when he the image did behold
Of Jesu's Mother, as he had been told,
This child was wont to kneel adown and say
Ave Marie, as he goethr by the way.

This widow thus her little son hath taught
Our blissful Lady, Jesu's Mother dear,
To worship aye, and he forgat it not;
For simple infant hath a ready ear.
Sweet is the holiness of youth: and hence,
Calling to mind this matter when I may,
Saint Nicholas in my presence standeth aye,
For he so young to Christ did reverence.

This little child, while in the school he sate His primer conning with an earnest cheer,

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