MYTHOLOGY.

A STREAM with soft, melodious voice

Runs singing through a flowery mead;

And when our college days are past

There antique idyls we will read,

Until the mystic wave reveals

Fair Naiads on its silver tide,

And mid the sweetly blooming flowers

The Nymphs in winsome frolic hide.

There, with a simple wild-flower wreath

Circling her brow, and filmy lace

Thrown o'er her Parian shoulders, flits

A Dryad to her trysting-place.

And in her sweet, dark, lustrous eyes

We see, as in a vistaed dream,

Touched by the wand of mystery,

A thousand years of fable gleam.

Under an azure sky serene

Softly the summer zephyrs blow;

Woven upon a mythic loom,

The fairy pictures come and go.

A. L. H.