Ye trees of Catholic England, Nursed on her loyal breast, Oh, murmur softly in her ear':

The Minstrel and Lute.

FROM THE GERMAN OF KÖRNER.

ON a rock there sat a minstrel,
And looked down into the sea;
And he saw the billows heaving,
And rolling dark and free.

His lute was laid beside him,
The air was mild and clear,
And from memory's far gray distance
Came many an image dear.

And then a gentle slumber

Played with his silver hair,

And it closed, so soft and holy,
His weary eye-lid pair.

And with the dreams' bright circle

Came early joys once more,
And many a broken blossom

Bloomed lovely as before.

And old and happy hours

Came back upon him new,

As though he had found his loved one, As though the loved were true!

But then a sudden terror

Swept o'er him like a storm: 'Mid the waves he saw with horror His loved one's sinking form.

And now in dreams of beauty
No more the minstrel raves,

He wakes to foaming billows,
He sees the gloomy waves.

He hears the winds' shrill whistle
And wail, along the shore;
He seeks his lute, his treasure,
But finds that lute no more.

'Twas carried away by the whirlwind, It floats on the dreary wave, And the minstrel's tears are falling

As though by his loved one's grave.

'Tis as though he heard her calling, As though the chords resound, And he dives amid the billows:The salt waves heave around.

Far off he sees it gleaming,
And swims to it wearily,

And holds it aloft: then vanish

Both minstrel and lute in the sea.

The Cloud.

DARK cloud, that 'mid the evening sky,

O'er its bright fields of blue, Dost spread thy sombre canopy, Thy veil of mourning hue.

None loveth thee, thou lonely cloud,

And as thou drawest near,

E'en the young flowers their heads have bowed, And closed their leaves in fear.

Yet dost thou shed thy precious dews

Upon earth's thankless clay,

And, melting into rainbow hues,

Dost pour thyself away.

Alas! thou dark, unwelcome cloud,

There are sad hearts like thee,

Who dwell, as in a misty shroud,

'Mid this world's revelry.

I