Nor thinking she of mightiest king was born, | Who ruled in the East, nor of her heritage, Forced by too puissant love, had thought no scorn To be the consort of a poor foot-page.His story done, to them in proof was borne The gem, which, in reward for harborage To her extended in that kind abode, Angelica, at parting, had bestowed. A deadly axe was this unhappy close, Which, at a single stroke, lopped off the head; When, satiate with innumerable blows, That cruel hangman, Love, his hate had fed. Orlando studied to conceal his woes; And yet the mischief gathered force and spread, And would break out perforce in tears and sighs, All night about the forest roved the count, And, at the break of daily light, was brought By his unhappy fortune to the fount, Where his inscription young Medoro wrought. To see his wrongs inscribed upon that mount Inflamed his fury so, in him was naught But turned to hatred, frenzy, rage, and spite; Nor paused he more, but bared his falchion bright; Cleft through the writing; and the solid block Where Medore and Angelica were read! Would he, or would he not, from mouth and And that sweet fountain, late so clear and eyes. When he can give the rein to raging woe, Alone, by others' presence unrepressed, From his full eyes the tears descending flow, In a wide stream, and flood his troubled breast. 'Mid sob and groan, he tosses to and fro About his weary bed, in search of rest; And vainly shifting, harder than a rock And sharper than a nettle found its flock. Amid the pressure of such cruel pain, It passed into the wretched sufferer's head, That oft the ungrateful lady must have lain, Together with her leman, on that bed: Nor less he loathed the couch in his disdain, Nor from the down upstarted with less dread, Than churl, who, when about to close his eyes, Springs from the turf, if he a serpent spies. In him, forthwith, such deadly hatred breed That bed, that house, that swain, he will He did what fowler, ere he spreads his net, Does, to prepare the champagne for his lore, By stubble, rush, and nettle-stalk; and broke, Like these, old sturdy trees and stems of oak. The shepherd swains, who hear the tumult nigh, Leaving their flocks beneath the greenwood tree, Some here, some there, across the forest hie, Translated by S. ROSE in The London Magazine. PEASANT PAVO. [Johan Ludvig Runeberg, the most distinguished of the modern Swedish poets, was born at Jacobstad, Finland, in 1804. In 1827 he completed his studies at the University of Abo; in 1830 became teacher of Esthetics, and in 1844 Professor of Greek in the Gymnasium. His principal poems are, "The Stories of Ensign Stal; ""The Elk-Hunters," in nine cantos; "Idyl and Epigram; "The Gypsy;" "Servian Folk-Songs; " and "Hanna," an idyllic poem in hexameters. He died in 1877.] 'Mid the high, bleak moors of Saarijärvis, On a sterile farm, lived Peasant Pavo, And its poor soil tilled with care untiring, Trusting to the Lord to send the increase. Here he lived with wife and little children, With them of his sweat-earned bread partaking. Dikes he dug, and ploughed his land and sowed it. Spring-time came, and now the melting snowdrifts Drenched the fields, and half the young crop perished: Summer came, and the descending hail-storms Dashed the early ears down, half destroying: Autumn came, and frost the remnant blasted. Pavo's wife she tore her hair, and spake thus: "Pavo, Pavo! man, the most unhappy, Take thy staff; by God we are forsaken; Hard it is to beg; to starve is harder!" Pavo took her hand, and thus he answered: "God doth try his servant, not forsake him. drifts Drenched the fields, and half the young crop perished: Summer came, and the descending hail-storms Dashed the early ears down, half destroying: Autumn came, and frosts the remnant blasted. Pavo's wife, she smote her breast, exclaim ing: "Pavo, Pavo! man, the most unhappy, Left the young crops in the field uninjured: Summer came, but the descending hailstorms Dashed not down the rich ears, naught destroying: Autumn came, and saw, by frost unblighted, Wave the golden harvest for the reaper. Then fell Pavo on his knees, thus speaking: "God hath only tried us, not forsaken!" On her knees his wife fell, and thus said she: "God hath only tried us, not forsaken!" And then gladly spake she to her husband: 'Pavo, Pavo! take with joy the sickle; We may now make glad our hearts with plenty. Now may throw away the bark unsavory, Pavo took her hand in his and answered: "Woman, woman! 't is but sent to try us, If we will have pity on the sufferer, Mix thou bark with corn even as aforetime, FABLES OF PILPAY. [Pilpay, or Bidpai, an Indian brahmin, gymno sophist and philosopher, was, it is believed, a governor of part of Hindostan and counsellor to an Indian king, whom he instructed by fables, which have been translated into many languages. He is supposed to have lived in the third century before the Christian era. He is known among the Arabs as BIDPAI.] THE KING AND HIS TWO SONS. In the country of Ardos there lived an ancient King who had two sons, both covetous, yet given to debauchery. This Monarch, finding the infirmities of age increase upon him, and that he was hastening to the other world, and considering the humor of his two sons, was much afraid that after his death they would dissipate in idle expenses the vast treasure which he had heaped together, and therefore resolved to hide it. With this design he went to a religious Hermit who had retired from the world and in whom he had a very great confidence. By the counsel of this Hermit the treasure was buried in the earth near where the Hermit dwelt, so privately that nobody knew anything of it. This done, the King made his will, which he put into the Hermit's hands with these further orders: "I charge you," said he, "yet to reveal this treasure to my children, when after my death you see them in the distresses of poverty. It may be," added the King, "that when they have suffered a little hardship they will become more prudent in their conduct." The Hermit having promised all fidelity in the observance of the King's commands, the Monarch returned to his palace, and in a short time after died. Nor did the Hermit long survive him. The treasure lay concealed, probably forever to continue so, in the hermitage. The King being now dead, the sons could not agree about the succession. This occasioned a bloody war between them, and the eldest, who was the more powerful, utterly despoiled his younger brother of all that he had. This young Prince, thus deprived of his inheritance, fell into a deep melancholy and resolved to quit the world. To that purpose he left the city, and, calling to mind the kindness between his Father and the Hermit, "There is no other way for me," said he to himself, "but to find out this honest man, that I may learn of him to live as he does and end my life in peace and contentedness in his company. With this resolution he left the city, but, coming to the hermitage, found that the Hermit was dead. He was greatly afflicted and disappointed at this unexpected change, but at length came to a resolution to live as he had done, and accordingly made choice of his retirement for his habitation. Now, there was in this hermitage a well which had been used to supply the place with water, but it was now dry. To inquire into the cause of this the unhappy Prince ventured to let himself down to the bottom of the well, but how great was his astonishment when he saw the lower part of it for a great depth filled with his father's treasures. On finding this he was thankful to Heaven, and wisely took up a resolution to lay out his money with more moderation than he had done before. On the other hand, his brother, who sat securely reveling upon his throne without any care of his people or his army, imagining with himself that his father's treasure was hid in the palace, as he had told him upon his death-bed, one day, being at war with a neighboring Prince, was obliged to have recourse to his expected treasure. But how was he amazed after he had sought a long time and found nothing! This quite disabled him from raising a powerful army and threw him into a very great fit of melancholy. However, making a virtue of necessity, he raised what force he could and marched out of the city to meet and encounter his enemy. The battle was obstinate, and this King and his enemy were both slain, so that the two armies, enraged at the loss of their leaders, fell to butchering each other with equal fury, till at length the generals, having agreed together that it would be their better way to choose a mild and gentle king for the government of the state, went and found out the young Prince who was retired to the hermitage, conducted him in great pomp to the royal palace and sat him upon the throne. This Fable shows that it is better for men to rely upon Providence than to torment themselves about the acquisition of a thing that was never ordained them. out considering these had need to be in- | very fatal, an instance of which you may structed by the ensuing Fable." THE DERVISE, THE FALCON AND THE see in the following Fable." THE COUNTRYMAN AND SEVERAL RATS. There was once a certain Husbandman who had a barn full of corn which he careA certain Dervise used to relate that, fully kept close locked up; not far from in his youth, once passing through a wood this lived a Rat, who fong labored on and admiring the works of the great every side of it, endeavoring to make a Author of Nature, he spied a Falcon that hole somewhere to creep in at. After held a piece of flesh in his beak, and, great trouble he at length found his way hovering about a tree, tore the flesh into into the barn, where, when he had thorbits and gave it to a young Raven that oughly filled his belly, amazed at the vast lay bald and featherless in its nest. The treasures which he saw himself master of, dervise admiring the bounty of Providence, away he ran, full of joy, and gave notice in a rapture of admiration, cried out of it to a multitude of other Rats, his "Behold this poor bird, that is not able to neighbors. telling them of his immense seek out sustenance for himself, is not, riches, but carefully concealing the place however, forsaken of its Creator, who where they lay. On the news of his good spreads the whole world like a table, where fortune, all the Rats of the neighboring all creatures have their food ready pro- villages presently flocked about him, and vided for them! He extends his liber-made him a thousand offers of their serality so far that the serpent finds wherewith to live upon the mountain of Gahen. Why, then, am I so greedy and wherefor do I run to the ends of the earth and plough up the ocean for bread? Is it not better that I should henceforward confine myself in repose to some little corner and abandon myself to fortune?" Upon this he retired to his cell, where, without putting himself to any further trouble for anything in the world, he remained three days and three nights without victuals. แ 'At last, Servant of mine," said the Creator to him in a dream, “know thou that all things in this world have their causes, and though my providence can never be limited, my wisdom requires that men shall make use of the means that I have ordained them. Thou shouldst imitate the Falcon that feeds the Raven, and not the Raven that lies a sluggard in his nest, and expects his food from another.' At vice, scraping and cringing to him, and accommodation fails, like Tartars, they seek for other pastures, and leave you to destruction. The Rat, however, soon after waking, was amazed to find none of his pickthanks at his elbow; he left his hole in great haste to know the cause, which he soon found out; for going to the barn, and finding all was gone, not so much being left as would suffice him for that day, he fell into such a deep despair, that in anger and distraction he beat out his brains against the next wall, and so ended his days. This example, Son, shows us that we ought to live according to our income. The second brother being silenced also by this story, the youngest, taking his turn, said,Father, you have well instructed us how to gain money, and to guard against the foolish wasting it; but now pray inform us, when we have acquired this wealth you speak of, what is to be done with it?" 66 It is to be made use of," replied the Father, upon all just occasions; but more especially for the conveniences of life, according to the rules of temperance and justice. In the first place, your expenses ought not to be such as afterwards to be repented of by yourselves, or condemned by others as the waste of prodigality; and in the second, it is a good general rule against the other extreme, that no man ought by his avarice to render himself hateful to the world.' The Father having thus exhorted his children to follow his counsel, they betook themselves all three to particular callings. The eldest of them turned merchant, and travelled into foreign countries. Among other goods, which he purchased for the sake of trade, he had two Oxen, both the calves of the same cow, and both very fair and beautiful: the one was called Cohotorbe and the other Mandebe. Our merchant took great care to feed up these Oxen; but because his journey was long, they, in spite of their good feeding, before they arrived at the end of it, grew to be weak and lean. While they were in this poor condition they met with a quagmire in the road, into which Cohotorbe fell and stuck so fast, that the merchant had much ado to get him out again; and even when he had got him out, he found the poor beast was so weak that, being hardly able to stand, he was forced to leave him behind with another man till he could recover strength to continue his journey; this man, after he had kept him three days in the desert, grew weary of his charge, left Cohotorbe to feed by himself and sent the merchant word that his Ox was dead. In a little time after, Mandebe died of over-fatigue, and Cohotorbe, having now a little recovered his flesh, began to enjoy his liberty, and ramble from one place to another; and coming at length into a meadow that pleased him very well, stayed there for some time, living in ease and plenty; so that he became, in a little more time, as fair and plump as he was before. Not far from this meadow there dwelt, unknown to Cohotorbe, a Lion who made all the inhabitants of the woods round about him tremble, and commanded over several other Lions, who believed him to be the most potent sovereign in the world. This powerful monarch of the beasts, near whom nothing of the beef kind had ever ventured to approach, when he heard the bellowing of our Ox, which was a noise he had never heard before, a most dreadful terror seized him, and no motive could fetch him from his den to face this unknown enemy. Ashamed, however, to discover his fears to his courtiers, he pretended an illness that made him unable to stir out of his palace. This king of the woods, among the rest of his domestic servants, had two Foxes that were as cunning as two crocodiles, one of which was called Kalila and the other Damna; they were both beasts of great intrigue, but the latter, which was the male, was more proud and more ambitious than the former. One day, says this inquisitive Fox to his wife: "Prythee, deary, what is it thinkest thou that ails the King, that he dares not walk abroad as he used to do?" To whom Kalila answered, "Prythee, dear, let us never trouble ourselves about these matters; 'tis sufficient for you and me to live peaceably under his protection, without examining what he does. not for us to prate about state affairs; and let me tell you, spouse, they that meddle with things that in no way concern them, are in danger of the same misfortune that befell the Ape." It is "And pray," replied the husband, "what was that?" To whom the female Fox made this reply. THE CARPENTER AND THE APE. 'An Ape, one day, sat staring upon |