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SONNETS.

THE EVENING STAR.

Lo ! in the painted oriel of the "West, Whose panes the sunken sun incarnadines,

Like a lair lady at her casement, shines The evening star, the star of love and rest!

And then anon she doth herself divest Of all her radiant garments, and reclines

Behind the sombre screen of yonder pines,

With slumber and soft dreams of love oppressed. O my beloved, my sweet Hesperus! My morning and my evening star of love!

My best and gentlest lady ! even thus, As that fair planet in the sky above, Dost thou retire unto thy rest at night, And from thy darkened window fades the light.

AUTUMN.

Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain,

With banners, by great gales incessant fanned,

Brighter than brightest silks of Samarcand,

And stately oxen harnessed to thy wain!

Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne,

Upon thy bridge of gold; thy royal hand

Outstretched with benedictions o'er the land,

Blessing the farms through all thy vast domain!

Thy shield is the red harvest moon, suspended

So long beneath the heaven's o'er

hanging eaves; Thy steps are by the farmer's prayers

attended;

Like flames upon an altar shine the sheaves;

And, following thee, in thy ovation splendid,

Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves!

DANTE.

Tuscan, that wanderest through the realms of gloom, With thoughtful pace, and sad, majestic eyes, Stern thoughts and awful from thy

soul arise, Like Farinata from his fiery tomb. Thy sacred song is like the trump of doom;

Yet in thy heart what human sympathies,

What soft compassion glows, as in the skies

The tender stars their clouded lamps relume!

Methinks I see thee stand, with pallid cheeks,

By Fra Hilario in his diocese,
As up the convent-walls, in golden
streaks,

The ascending sunbeams mark the day's decrease;

And, as he asks what there the stranger seeks,

Thy voice along the cloister whispers, "Peace!

TRANSLATIONS.

THE HEMLOCK TREE.

FROM THE GERMAN.

0 Hemlock tree ! O hemlock tree ! how faithful are thy branches! Green not alone in summer time, But in the winter's frost and rime! O hemlock tree ! O hemlock tree ! how faithful are thy branches!

O maiden fair! O maiden fair! how faithless is thy bosom! To love me in prosperity, And leave me in adversity! O maiden fair! O maiden fair! how faithless is thy bosom!

The nightingale, the nightingale, thou tak'st for thine example! So long as summer laughs she sings, But in the autumn spreads her wings.

The nightingale, the nightingale, thou tak'st for thine example!

The meadow brook, the meadow brook, is mirror of thy falsehood! It flows so long as falls the rain, In drought its springs soon dry again. • The meadow brook, the meadow brook, is mirror of thy falsehood!

ANNIE OF THARAW.

FROM THE LOW GERMAN OF SIMON DACH.

AnnrE of Tharaw, my true love of old, She is my life, and my goods, and my gold.

Annie of Tharaw, her heart once again To me has surrendered in joy and in pain.

Annie of Tharaw, my riches, my good, Thou, O my soul, my flesh, and my blood!

Then come the wild weather, come sleet

or come snow, We will stand by each other, however

it blow.

Oppression, and sickness, and sorrow, and pain

Shall be to our true love as links to the chain.

As the palm-tree standeth so straight

and so tall, The more the hail beats, and the more

the rains fall,—

So love in our hearts shall grow mighty

and strong, Through crosses, through sorrows,

through manifold wrong.

Shouldst thou be torn from me to wander alone

In a desolate land where the sun is scarce known, —

Through forests I 'll follow, and where

the sea flows, Through ice, and through iron, through

armies of foes.

Annie of Tharaw, my light and my sun, The threads of our two lives are woven in one.

Whate'er I have bidden thee thou hast obeyed,

Whatever forbidden thou hast not gainsaid.

How in the turmoil of life can love stand, Where there is not one heart, and one mouth, and one hand?

Some seek for dissension, and trouble,

and strife; Like a dog and a cat live such man and

wife.

Annie of Tharaw, such is not our love; Thou art my lambkin, my chick, and my dove.

Whate'er my desire is, in thine may be seen;

I am king of the household, and thou art its queen.

It is this, O my Annie, <ray heart's

sweetest rest, That makes of us twain but one soul in

one breast.

This turns to a heaven the hut where we dwell;

While wrangling soon changes a home to a hell.

THE STATUE OVER THE CATHEDRAL DOOR.

FROM THK GERMAN OK JULIUS MOSES.

FonMS of saints and kings are standing

The cathedral door above; Yet I saw but one among them

Who hath soothed my soul with love.

In his mantle, — wound about him,
As their robes the sowers wind, —

Bore he swallows and their fledglings,
Flowers and weeds of every kind.

And so stands he calm and childlike,
High in wind and tempest wild;

O, were I like him exalted,
I would be like him, a child!

And my songs, — green leaves and blossom —

To the doors of heaven would bear, Calling even in storm and tempest,

Round me still these birds of air.

THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSBILL.

FROM THE GERMAN OF JULIUS MOSES.

On the cross the dying Saviour
Heavenward lifts his eyelids calm,

Feels, but scarcely feels, a trembling
In his pierced and bleeding palm.

And by all the world forsaken,
Sees he how with zealous care

At the ruthless nail of iron i
A little bird is striving there.

Stained with blood and never tiring,
With its beak it doth not cease,

From the cross't would free the Saviour,
Its Creator's Son release.

And the Saviour speaks in mildness: "Blest be thou of all the good!

Bear, as token of this moment,
Marks of blood and holy rood!"

And that bird is called the crossbill;

Covered all with blood so clear, In the groves of pine it singeth

Songs, like legends, strange to hear.

THE SEA HATH ITS PEARLS. FROM THE GERMAN OF HE1NRICH HEINE.

The sea hath its pearls,

The heaven hath its stars; But my heart, my heart,

My heart hath its love.

Great are the sea and the heaven;

Yet greater is my heart,
And fairer than pearls and stars

Flashes and beams my love.

Thou little, youthful maiden,
Come unto my great heart;

My heart, and the sea, and the heaven
Are melting away with love!

POETIC APHORISMS.

FROM THE SINNGEDICHTE OF FRIEDHICH VON LOGAU.

SEVENTEENTH CEXTURT.

MONEY.

WhEiterXTO is money good?
Who has it not wants hardihood,
Who has it has much trouble and care,
Who once has had it has despair.

THE BEST MEDICINES.

.toy and Temperance and Repose
Slam the door on the doctor's nose.

SIX.

Man-like is it to fall into sin, Fiend-like is it to dwell therein, Christ-like is it for sin to grieve, God-like is it all sin to leave.

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