Hardly we find the path of love, to sink the self, forget the 'I,' When sad suspicion grips the heart, when Man, the Man begins to die:

Friends of my youth, a last adieu! haply some day we meet again; Yet ne'er the self-same men shall meet; the years shall make us other men.

How Thought is imp'otent to divine the secret which the gods defend, The Why of birth and life and death, that Isis-veil no hand may rend. Eternal Morrows make…

The Translator has ventured to entitle a 'Lay of the Higher Law' the following composition, which aims at being in advance of its time; and he has not feared t…