they remembered it; and wished them to give the same trust to the same care which he had now for their welfare; -that they must exert all the strength and wit which they had, and try if Jove would not grant them an escape, even out of this peril. In particular he cheered up the pilot who sat at the helm, and told him that he must show more firmness than other men, as he had more trust committed to him, and had the sole management, by his skill, of the vessel in which all their safeties were embarked;—that a rock lay hid within those boiling whirlpools which he saw, on the outside of which he must steer, if he would avoid his own destruction and the destruction of them all.

They heard him, and like men took to the oars; but little knew what opposite danger, in shunning that rock, they must be thrown upon. For Ulysses had concealed. from them the wounds, never to be healed, which Scylla was to open: their terror would else have robbed them all of all care to steer or move an oar, and have made them hide under the hatches, for fear of seeing her, where he and they must have died an idle death. But even then he forgot the precautions which Circe had given him to prevent harm to his person, who had willed him not to arm, or show himself once to Scylla; but disdaining not to venture life for his brave companions, he could not contain, but, armed in all points, and taking a lance in either hand, he went up to the fore-deck, and looked when Scylla would appear.

She did not show herself as yet, and still the vessel steered closer by her rock, as it sought to shun that other more dreaded; for they saw how horribly Charybdis's black throat drew into her all the whirling deep, which she disgorged again, that all about her boiled like a kettle, and the rock roared with troubled waters; which when she supped in again, all the bottom turned up, and disclosed far

under shore the swart sands naked, whose whole stern sight frayed the startled blood from their faces, and made Ulysses turn his to view the wonder of whirlpools. When Scylla saw this from out her black den, she darted out her six long necks, and swooped up as many of his friends; whose cries Ulysses heard, and saw them too late, with their heels turned up, and their hands thrown to him for succor; and he heard them shriek out as she tore them, and to the last they continued to throw their hands out to him for sweet life. In all his sufferings he never had beheld a sight so full of miseries.

After ten years of adventure and calamity, Ulysses reached his own kingdom of Ithaca, and was reunited to his faithful wife Pen el'op e, and his son Te lem'a chus, whom he had left an infant when he departed for Troy. For some years he reigned peaceably over his own people. But it may well have been that in this uneventful life Ulysses felt the spirit of adventure and the longing for action stirring anew within him.

Ir little profits that an idle king,

By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole

Unequal laws unto a savage race,

That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

I cannot rest from travel; I will drink

Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed

Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those

That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vexed the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart,
Much have I seen and known cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honored of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.

I am a part of all that I have met;

Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades
Forever and forever when I move.

How dull it is to pause, to make an end,

To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!

As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me

Little remains; but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle
Well loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labor, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and through soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail

In offices of tenderness, and pay

Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;

There gloom the dark broad seas.

My mariners,

Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me That ever with a frolic welcome took

The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed

Free hearts, free foreheads you and I are old;

Old age hath yet his honor and his toil;

Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,

Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.

The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.

Push off, and sitting well in order smite

The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths

Of all the western stars, until I die.

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are
One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

mete, measure out.

Hy'a des, in mythology, a group of

nymphs. The story goes that they were transferred as stars to the heavens; and their rising in the sky was associated with the rainy season.

--

Happy Isles, the land of the blessed dead.

A chil'les, the foremost Greek hero in

the Siege of Troy. He was slain by Paris, son of the king of Troy.

A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM

A WET sheet and a flowing sea

A wind that follows fast,

And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast.

And bends the gallant mast, my boys,

While, like the eagle free,

Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee.

Oh, for a soft and gentle wind!"

I heard a fair one cry;

But give to me the snoring breeze,
And white waves heaving high-
And white waves heaving high, my boys,
The good ship tight and free,—
The world of waters is our home,
And merry men are we.

There's tempest in yon hornéd moon,
And lightning in yon cloud;
And hark, the music, mariners!
The wind is piping loud-

The wind is piping loud, my boys,

The lightning flashing free;
While the hollow oak our palace is;

Our heritage, the sea.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM (1784-1842) was a Scotch writer of prose and Sir Walter Scott was his friend.

verse.