THE

POLYANTHOS.

FOR JUNE, 1814.

We shall never envy the honors, which wit and learning obtain in any other cause, if we can be numbered among the writers who have given ardor to virtue and confidence to truth. Dr. Johnson.

IDYLS OF JAUFFRET.

Translated from the French for the Polyanthos.

TRACES OF THE GOLDEN AGE.

ONE day following the borders of a silver river, near the place of my birth, I arrived at a distant valley, where wild nature had displayed her highest beauties. A pile of enormous rocks, fantastically cut, appeared before me; suddenly I found myself buried in the most dreary and profound solitude. Struck with astonishment and admiration, I continued my way. I saw every where caves hung with ivy, fig-trees, pines, turpentine and hazel-trres springing through the openings of the steep rocks. I still advanced; the landscape became more and more picturesque. Through a rugged path bristled with holly, junipers and rosemaries, I arrived at a grotto cut by nature in a rock of a prodigious height. The pellitory alone with its rough leaves grows on the sides of these rocks, which are split by time. My eye falls into the hollow of the valley and rests on the river, the bed of which forms in this place a pleasing crescent. Its silvered waves glide with an almost insensible murmuring, under the shade

of osiers and of birch-trees, which incline their branches to its lonely sides.-The other side of the river where the rocks are equally steep, is embellished in some places with thick tufts of ivy, which, creeping up their grey and reddish sides, seem willing to support their declining age. The tops of the rocks are crowned with pines, whose evergreen branches hang confusedly over the valley. The winds playing among their foliage, make a rustling noise, which is repeated by numberless remote echoes in this vast solitude.

Soon after, from a winding valley, I saw advancing towards me two young children, driving before them some goats, which were dispersed on different parts of the rocks, overspread with aromatic herbs.

I approached, and taking their hands, My little friends, said I, you resemble each other so much, doubtless you are brothers. Do you live in this valley? Yes, replied the youngest, in a timid and modest voice; Yes, we live in the valley of Bagarede. Do you see yonder two rocks, stript of their verdure, and united by one which is vaulted like the arch of a bridge? It is the bridge of faries. Opposite to it is our little cottage; my father raises there some olive-trees, and cultivates a small field which is near our cabin. My mother sows hemp along the banks of the river and reaps it. For us, sometimes we bring these goats to the valley; sometimes sitting under the shade of a willow, where the river bubbles over a stony bed, we catch young trout.

I followed these amiable children to their cabin, and the sight of their rustic dwelling affected my heart. Patriarchal cottage! exclaimed I, I find in thy enclosure some traces of that time, which the poets call the golden age. Respectable parents! ye enioy in this retreat all the happiness that nature can procure! These rocks conceal from you the crimes and perfidies of men. Amiable children grow up in this almost inaccessible desert with pure hearts, and already endeavor to lighten your labors. Thus the vine, which your hands have planted under the shelter of your cottage, shades

it already with its green branches and enriches it with its purple grapes.

As for me, if ever the hideous picture of the crimes of men causes my feeling heart to shudder, I will console myself with thinking that there still exists on the earth, some peaceful and profound solitudes, where traces of the golden age may yet be found.

THE OSIER BASKET.

CONCEALED in the enclosure of a smiling grove, a young child, beautiful as love, amused himself with making a basket of osier. Whilst his little hands wove the flexible branches, he smiled, and raising his soft voice; Tender branches, said he, yield yourselves without resistance to my fingers. And you, bushes, form around me a thick curtain of verdure; before the fugitive sun descends behind the western mountains, I shall have finished my basket of osier. Tomorrow, as soon as the dawn returns, when the dew in silver pearls sparkles in the meadow, I shall be already on the hill, where the branches of the vines, suspended in festoons from the boughs of the fig-trees, display the first fruits of the season. There, choosing with a nice eye, and culling with a delicate hand the purple grapes, and the azure figs, I will place them in my basket, with a bed of leaves still wet with the dew of the morning. Joyous and satisfied, I will carry on my arm the basket ornamented with vine leaves; my father and mother, on awaking, enchanted at my zeal and my love, will load me with the sweetest caresses; I shall be more content than the young bird, who, seeing at the dawn of day a pure and serene sky, warbles in the bushes; more pleased than the little lamb, who, delighted at the return of the morning, bounds on the flowery herb.

Tender branches! yield yourselves without resistance to my fingers; and you, bushes, form around me a thick curtain of verdure. Before the fugitive sun descends behind the western mountains, I shall have finished my osier basket.