He thought of his dear wife alone in her anguish, The hours passed slowly - none came to relieve him; He saw the dark ashes entombing the city; He saw them rise up inch by inch to his chin; The city was covered, the lava flowed over, And beauty and manliness, childhood and age, And rich things and beauteous now to discover, Were buried below by Vesuvius' rage. Years, long years have passed, yet that sent'nel is standing, All helmeted, now disinterred, near his post; And pilgrims, aweary at Pompeii landing, Look on him, the strangest of all her strange host! EXTRACTS FROM "CONSTANTIUS: A TRAGEDY." ACT I. SCENE VI. Soliloquy of MAGNENTIUS before assuming the imperial purple. Mag. If I should fail - why do I speak of it! Why do I strive, when conscience bids be still, To grasp this throne and sceptre? Power is like The robes of power are bright, dazzling all eyes; ACT II.-SCENE III. A bower in the palace-garden of MAGNENTIUS. Luc. Why lingers he? I fear me ill betides! Enter BRUTUS. LUCIA alone. Bru. Doth Orpheus touch his lyre in murmured tones, And breathe its sweetness through my lady's lips, That while she speaks enchantment reigns around? The desert were an Eden were she there, For like the sun she warms all into life. The Gueber never bowed unto his god With such idolatry as I to thee. Oh, beauty's brightest sun, smile on thy devotee! (Kneels.) Luc. Arise, brave friend, and bow at Shible's shrine, It is idolatry to kneel elsewhere! Bru. First let my parched lips sip the honey-dew From off thy rose-tipped, pearly fingers' ends, And it will be a balm to strengthen me, This saddened heart from all the light it hath! (Kisses her hand.) Luc. Why, Brutus, thou wouldst make me vain, did I Believe the pretty things which thou dost utter: But feigning is the poetry of love; Therefore are lovers so poetical! Bru. This poetry of love is life's day-spring; And till it shine existence is a blank A feverish dream—a longing for the dawn, Which when it breaks, if clouds o'erspread the sky, Luc. Farewell, my friend- farewell - I must away, Bru. Wilt go so soon? I scarce have heard thy voice. Is an eternity! One moment more: Of darkest paths, where shapeless phantoms lured For what is life to those who do not love When to no beacon we can steer our bark? Thou wilt say fame- but fame 's an empty word; The fairest flowers that grow on her soil. Then give me an eternity of love; For heaven without it would possess no charms, If it exist and we too be immortal. Luc. Thou speak'st as though no future dawned for us! I know no heaven but in thy pure sweet: With thee is happiness - from thee is woe! ACT III.-SCENE VIII. Canstantius and a woman upon a battle-field, among the dead and dying soldiers. Wom. He dies, my lord-behold! Sol. Woman, behold your influence! How strong man Doth bare his breast unto the tide of life, Stemming its flood with all his pride and strength, The love of woman, which doth send its ray KATE A. DU BOSE. RS. DU BOSE is the eldest daughter of Rev. William Richards, shire, England, in 1828. Shortly after her birth, the family came to the United States, and settled in Georgia, but removed in a few years to their present home in Carolina. In 1848, she was married to Charles W. Du Bose, Esq., an accomplished gentleman, and lawyer of talent and ability, of Sparta, Georgia, where they still reside. Mrs. Du Bose was educated in Northern cities, but for some years was a teacher in Georgia, her adopted home. At an early age, she gave indications of a love of letters, and had she chosen to "break the lance" with professional contestants for literary honors, she must have won distinction and an enviable fame. But as a bird sings because it must find vent for its rapture, or as the heart will overflow when too full for concealment, thus with her writings. Her productions have been given to the public from time to time, through journals and magazines, generally under the nom de plume of “Leila Cameron." Some of her best poems appeared in the "Southern Literary Gazette," published in Charleston, and edited by her brother, Rev. William C. Richards, now a resident of Providence, R. I. The "Orion Magazine," of Georgia, was also favored with contributions from her pen, and in its columns appeared the prize poem, entitled "Wachulla," the name of a famous and wonderful fountain near Tallahassee, Florida. This poem was deservedly popular, and if the spirit of the fountain had chosen a nymph from its own charmed circle to sing the praises of "beautiful Wachulla" and its surroundings, the lay could not have gushed up from a heart more alive to its beauties and attractions than that of its talented author. In 1858, Mrs. Du Bose's first volume was published by Sheldon & Co., New York. This is a prose story for the young, entitled, "The Pastor's Household "- a story of continuous interest, displaying narrative and dramatic power. The portraiture of "Lame Jimmy," one of the prominent characters -"a meek, silent boy," with pale face, |