"Time fled; and in that fair but wild oasis
Refuge I found from fortune's cruel blast,
And ever down the mountain's marble basis
I saw the shadows which the palm-trees cast
Lengthen or lesson, as the daylight pass'd
Athwart the peak of the blue burning air,
But fear and hate of man still held me fast,
And oft I sigh'd for what I dream' d of fair
In that sweet world might lie beyond my rocky lair.

"Years pass'd. I wearied of this barren life,
So void of noble care and tender grace,
'And give me back,' I cried, 'the unequal strife,
The agony and tumult of the race;
Once more I pine to see a human face,
To hear sweet human speech, and man with men.
Abroad is gone the lion to the chace,
And I am free to leave this loathsome den,'
I said, and to the world, O fool! return'd agen.

"Three days I wandered o'er the burning sands;
On the fourth morn I saw the glittering light
Of arms fall round me, from uplifted hands;
In vain, in vain I look'd, now left now right,
Swart-featured men, red-handed from the fight,
Stood round a chief whom most I knew my foe,—
One that in earlier years had felt the might
Which clothes the arm truth weapons for the blow:
To him this hour atoned for years of guilty woe.

"A slave once more. O, grief and drear disaster!
Over the sands, and o'er the wild sea-foam,
This, my chief foe, to an unpitying master
Led me in chains, where late my lord had come,
To the world's mother city, sceptred Rome.
What could I do? My strength was to be meek;
A slave can have nor will, law, friend, nor home:
I stood before my tyrant bow'd and weak,
With sorrow-sunken eyes, and hollow hueless cheek.

"'Master, receive,' I cried, 'an humbled slave;
Each word of thine shall be my oracle,
And, taught by sorrow to be meek and brave,
I with a loyal heart will serve thee well,
So thou forgive me what of old befel.'
I ceased; but soon a voice, cold, stern, and clear,
Froze my young hopes like flowers in wintry call:
'Hence, to the lions, hence!' Three slaves stood near;
They did his wicked will, and therefore am I here.

"The rest the Emperor knows. Thine eyes behold
The gentle nurture of this royal beast.
He, too, it seems, the generous and the bold,
That watch'd my sleep, that spread the desart feast,
That had the freedom of the gorgeous East;
He, too, like me, is captive and a slave.
Speak, and he, too, like me may be released.
See, how he gives me back the love I give;
See, how the milder gods would grant the boon I
      crave!"

The tale is told; a glad tumultuous cry
Shows that the people's heart is greatly stirr'd;
And Evoe! Evoe! hurtling rings on high,
And Euge! Euge! echoing round is heard,
With many a crowning and victorious word,
In praise of that strange-storied fugitive.
Well has the gentle slave his prayer preferr'd:
'Live, live!' they cry: 'the Emperor life will give!
O, live, then, noble slave; thou princely lion, live!'

They live: the lion and the man are free.
Ay, theirs is life and freedom which renews
The light of life, and makes it bliss to be.
Ay, theirs is life whose heaven of changing hues
Sheds love's delicious warmth and hope's sweet dews
Over all hearts save those whom wrong makes mad;
Thus, e'en Androclus his despair subdues,
Lifts his meek head, nor servile now, nor sad;
For with the light of freedom his calm eyes are glad.

Forth fares he, follow'd by his forest mate,
For such true-hearted friendship who can sever,
The lion and the man so link'd by fate
The imperial will of Rome now links for ever,
And from Androclus parts the lion never;
But still, in silken leash submissive led,
Where through the city flows the golden river,
The lion meekly bows his regal head,
And wears a human look, and walks with princely
      tread.

And ever, as from house to house they go,
Some welcome gift the wondering inmates bring,
While flower-like round them gentle fancies grow,
And glorify the beggar to a king;
For noble ends from lowliest service spring;
Love with her magic wand turns all to gold,
And shows fair uses in each meanest thing,
And thus the houseless churl elate and bold,
In pride and reverence walk'd in the great days of
      old.

So with Androclus and his friend it fares
In Rome's proud ways, ere fall the Olympian powers,
Still for the pilgrim twain some hand prepares,
And through the vernal days and summer hours,
The people strew the knightly beast with flowers,
Yet knightlier through their love and gentleness;
And infant fingers cull from glimmering bowers,
The starry blooms that haunt each dim recess,
And clothe him as for sport in this sweet sylvan
      dress.

And as with calm and stately step they march,
The people watch them with admiring eye,
Through winding street and under sculptured arch,
Half-veil'd in roses, as they linger by,
And ever rings the loud exulting cry:
"Behold the lion! he that in the East
Did make the man his guest and dear ally;
Behold the man that heal'd the courteous beast,—
The noble fellow-slaves whom Rome from death
      released."

                          OUT OF TUNE.

FOR such as love peeping at society,
stereoscopically, or fancy exceedingly small
interiors in the Dutch manner, where the area is
limited and the figures few, the little
cathedral town of Ivysbury will furnish
excellent entertainment. So small indeed, in
its whole extent, that it might be said to
hang by the cathedral, and stand or fall,
according to the alternative that edifice was
inclined to choose. Therefore he who should
be so patient as to keep his eye fixed
continuously to the glass, would be certain to
see many curious and diverting things; there
was such an infinite variety of slides.

Ivysbury is not one of our struggling,
overgrowing, corpulent towns, which has long
since overflowed its natural edge and built