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490 SARA J. CLARKE.

Were all too blissful for thy lot;
And shall I let thee live,
When anguish, such as thou should'st feel,
This world can never give?

But I have not discharged the debt
From Sabines due to thee:—
Warriors, on your left arms, you bear
The price of treachery!"

He threw to her the bribe, for which
Imperial Rome was lost,
And there upon the traitoress
His heavy shield he toss'd.

She fell beneath it, with one shriek,
One agonizing moan,
While fast the weighty shields were piled,
And golden bracelets thrown.

Buried beneath her infamy,
Crush'd 'neath her weight of guilt,
Her ignominious monument
Of her reward was built.

SARA J. CLARKE

Was born in a small village in Onondaga Co., New York. She wen to school at Rochester, and while there her poems were first published in the papers of that city. Afterwards she resided in New Brighton, a village situated in the western part of Pennsylvania, and soon became known to the literary world, by her contributions to the New Mirror, which was then just re-established by Willis and Morris. Her poems she signed with her real name, but her spirited prose sketches,

SARA J. CLARKE. 491

which displayed so much wit and keen observation, she wrote under a feigned signature; and it is only within a short time that Sara J. Clarke and Grace Greenwood are known to be the same person. A volume entitled "Greenwood Scenes," was published in Boston, Jan. 1850, containing various sketches, letters and poems. Her nom-de-guerre was very happily chosen. It is descriptive of her genius; for her style both in prose and verse possesses a natural grace; while her thoughts and feelings have, assuredly, as much freedom and freshness, health, joy, and harmony, as is found of a May morning, in the merrie greenwood. Although she is decidedly original, and evidently too honest and too proud to copy, yet she strongly reminds us of Eliza Cook. The same noble enthusiasm, the same high-spirited independence, the same generous and far-reaching sympathy, and the same love—bold, free, and fearless—of nature and adventure, characterize both. In the heart-
arousing Voices from the Old World, and the dashing Morning Ride, this resemblance is very observable; it is not to be seen, however, in the skilful and nervous poem on Ariadne, whose features remind us of no other, in their lofty scorn, and stinging satire.

ARIADNE.

The demi-god, Theseus, having won the love of Ariadne, daughter of the King of Crete, deserted her on the isle of Naxos. In Miss Bremer's "H——— Family," the blind girl is described as singing "Ariadne à Naxos,"in which Ariadne is represented as following Theseus, climbing a high rock to watch his departing vessel, and calling upon him, in her despairing anguish.

DAUGHTER of Crete—how one brief hour,
E'en in thy young love's early morn,
Sends storm and darkness o'er thy bower—
Oh doom'd, oh desolate, oh lorn!
The breast which pillow'd thy fair head
Rejects its burden—and the eye
Which look'd its love so earnestly,
Its last cold glance hath on thee shed;—
The arms which were thy living zone,
Around thee closely, warmly thrown,
Shall others clasp—deserted one!

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---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-30 11:29:45