The roof is built So thou shalt in mould Dimly and dark. Doorless is that house, Thus thou art laid, Who will come to thee, How that house pleaseth thee, Who will ever open The door for thee, And descend after thee, For soon thou art loathsome And hateful to see. German. THE HAPPIEST LAND. FRAGMENT OF A MODERN BALLAD. THERE sat one day in quiet, The landlord's daughter filled their cups 'But, when the maid departed, "The greatest kingdom upon earth "Ha!" cried a Saxon, laughing And dashed his beard with wine"I had rather live in Lapland, Than that Swabian land of thine! "The goodliest land on all this earth, It is the Saxon land! There have I as many maidens As fingers on this hand!" "Hold your tongues! both Swabian and Saxon!" A bold Bohemian cries; "If there's a heaven upon this earth, In Bohemia it lies. 'There the tailor blows the flute, And the cobbler blows the horn, And then the landlord's daughter THE WAVE. FROM TIEDGE. "WHITHER, thou turbid wave? Whither, with so much haste, As if a thief wert thou ?" "I am the wave of Life, To wash from me the slime THE DEAD. FROM KLOPSTOCK. How they so softly rest, Now doth my soul draw near! All in their silent graves, Deep to corruption Slowly down-sinking! And they no longer weep, Here, where complaint is still! And they no longer feel, Here, where all gladness flies! And, by the cypresses Softly o'ershadowed, Until the Angel Calls them, they slumber! THE BIRD AND THE SHIP. FROM MULLER. "THE rivers rush into the sea, "The clouds are passing far and high, "I greet thee, bonny boat! Whither, or whence, With thy fluttering golden band ?"— "I greet thee, little bird! To the wide sea I haste from the narrow land. "Full and swollen is every sail; I have trusted all to the sounding gale, "And wilt thou, little bird, go with us? "I need not, and seek not company, "High over the sails, high over the mast, When the merry companions are still, at last, Thou shalt hear the sound of my voice. "Who neither may rest, nor listen may, God bless them every one! I dart away, in the bright blue day, "Thus do I sing my weary song WHITHER? FROM MULLER. I HEARD a brooklet gushing I know not what came o'er me, Downward, and ever farther, Is this the way I was going? What do I say of a murmur? |