Our later years are active in
disentangling thought from injustice and vulgarity.

THE TRIBUTE OF TASSO.

TORQUATO TASSO, a celebrated Italian epic poet. Born at Sorrento
March 11, 1544; died in Rome, April, 1595.

Tu spiegherai, Colombo, a un novo polo
Lontane si le fortunate antenne,
Ch'a pena seguira con gli occhi il volo
La Fama ch' ha mille occhi e mille penne
Canti ella Alcide, e Bacco, e di te solo
Basti a i posteri tuoi ch' alquanto accenne;
Che quel poco dara, lunga memoria
Di poema degnissima e d'istoria.[58]

--Gerusalemme Liberata, canto XV

KNOWLEDGE OF ICELANDIC VOYAGES.

BAYARD TAYLOR, a distinguished American traveler, writer, and poet.
Born in Chester County, Pa., in 1825; died at Berlin, December 19,
1878. From a description of Iceland.

It is impossible that the knowledge of these voyages should not have
been current in Iceland in 1477, when Columbus, sailing in a ship from
Bristol, England, visited the island. As he was able to converse with
the priests and learned men in Latin, he undoubtedly learned of the
existence of another continent to the west and south; and this
knowledge, not the mere fanaticism of a vague belief, supported him
during many years of disappointment.

GLORY TO GOD.

The Rev. GEORGE L. TAYLOR, an American clergyman of the present
century. From "The Atlantic Telegraph."

Glory to God above,
The Lord of life and love!
Who makes His curtains clouds and waters dark;
Who spreads His chambers on the deep,
While all its armies silence keep;
Whose hand of old, world-rescuing, steered the ark;
Who led Troy's bands exiled,
And Genoa's god-like child,
And Mayflower, grandly wild,
And _now_ has guided safe a grander bark;
Who, from her iron loins,
Has spun the thread that joins
Two yearning worlds made one with lightning spark.

TENNYSON'S TRIBUTE.

ALFRED TENNYSON, Baron Tennyson D'Eyncourt of Aldworth, the poet
laureate of England. Born, 1809, at Somerby, Lincolnshire; raised
to the peerage in 1883.[59] From his poem, "Columbus."

There was a glimmering of God's hand. And God
Hath more than glimmer'd on me. O my lord,
I swear to you I heard his voice between
The thunders in the black Veragua nights,
"O soul of little faith, slow to believe,
Have I not been about thee from thy birth?
Given thee the keys of the great ocean-sea