,
But star thy robes with them.

Far in the temple of the sun
The vestal fires of being burn;
Thence beauty's finest fibres run,
And weave where'er we turn.

Thy plumes are in the yellow corn,--
But chief the gold of priceless days
In bosom of thy friend is borne,
Coined in his kindly rays.

Here lies thy wealth, go gather it,--
The mine is near, its deeps explore,
And freely give love, metal, wit,--
Thine is the exhaustless ore:

Thine are the precious stones whereon
The weary pass grief's flooded ford,
And thine the jewelled pavement won
By those who love the Lord.

THE VENGEANCE OF DOMINIC DE GOURGUES.

There was a gentleman of Mont-de-Marsan, Dominic de Gourgues, a soldier
of ancient birth and high renown. That he was a Huguenot is not certain.
The Spanish annalist calls him a "terrible heretic"; but the French
Jesuit, Charlevoix, anxious that the faithful should share the glory of
his exploits, affirms, that, like his ancestors before him, he was a
good Catholic. If so, his faith sat lightly upon him; and Catholic or
heretic, he hated the Spaniards with a mortal hate. Fighting in the
Italian wars,--for, from boyhood, he was wedded to the sword,--they had
taken him prisoner near Siena, where he had signalized himself by a
fiery and determined bravery. With brutal insult, they chained him to
the oar as a galley-slave. After long endurance of this ignominy, the
Turks had captured the vessel and carried her to Constantinople. It was
but a change of tyrants; but, soon after, putting out on a cruise,
Gourgues still at the oar, a galley of the Maltese knights hove in
sight, bore down on the prize, recaptured her, and set the prisoner
free. For several years after, his restless spirit found escape in
voyages to Africa, Brazil, and regions yet more remote. His naval repute
rose high, but his grudge against the Spaniards still rankled within
him; and when, returned from his rovings, he learned the tidings from
Florida, his hot Gascon blood boiled with fury.

The honor of France had been foully stained, and there was none to wipe
away the shame. The faction-ridden King was dumb. The nobles who
surrounded him were in the Spanish interest. Then, since they proved
recreant, he, Dominic de Gourgues, a simple gentleman, would take upon
him to avenge the wrong, and restore the dimmed lustre of the French
name. He so