Withouten more delay I left the bank.
Crossing the level country slowly, slowly,
Over the soil, that everywhere breathed fra-
grance.

A gently-breathing air, that no mutation
Had in itself, smote me upon the forehead,
No heavier blow, than of a pleasant breeze.
Whereat the tremulous branches readily

Did all of them bow downward towards that side

Where its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain;

Yet not from their upright direction bent
So that the little birds upon their tops
Should cease the practice of their tuneful art;
But with full-throated joy, the hours of prime
Singing received they in the midst of foliage
That made monotonous burden to their rhymes,
Even as from branch to branch it gathering
swells,

Through the pine forests on the shore of Chiassi,

When Eolus unlooses the Sirocco.

Already my slow steps had led me on
Into the ancient wood so far, that I

Could see no more the place where I had entered.

And lo! my farther course cut off a river,
Which, towards the left hand, with its little
waves,

Bent down the grass that on its margin sprang.
All waters that on earth most limpid are,
Would seem to have within themselves some
mixture,

Compared with that, which nothing doth conceal.

Although it moves on with a brown, brown current,

Under the shade perpetual, that never
Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon.

BEATRICE.

FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, XXX, XXXI. EVEN as the Blessed. in the new covenant, Shall rise up quickened, each one from his grave,

Wearing again the garments of the flesh,

So, upon that celestial chariot,

A hundred rose ad vocem tanti senis,
Ministers and messengers of life eternal.

They all were saying; "Benedictus qui venis,” And scattering flowers above and round about, "Manibus O! datelilia plenis."

I once beheld, at the approach of day,
The orient sky all stained with roseate hues,
And the other heaven with light serene adorned,
And the sun's face uprising, overshadowed,
So that, by temperate influence of vapours,
The eye sustained his aspect for long while;
Thus in the bosom of a cloud of flowers,
Which from those hands angelic were thrown

FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES D'ORLEANS XV. CENTURY.

GENTLE Spring!-in sunshine clad,

Well dost thou thy power display! For Winter maketh the light heart sad,

And thou-thou makest the sad heart gay.
He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train.
The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the
rain;

And they shrink away, and they filce in fear,
When thy merry step draws near.

Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old,
Their beards of icicles and snow:

And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold,

We must cower over the embers low;
And, snugly housed from the wind and weather,
Mope like birds that are changing feather.
But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear,
When thy merry step draws near.

Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky
Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud;
But, Heaven be praised, thy step is nigh;

Thou tearest away the mournful shroud,
And the earth looks bright, and Winter surly,
Who has toiled for nought both late and early,
Is banished afar by the new-born year,
When thy merry step draws near.

THE CHILD ASLEEP.

FROM THE FRENCH.

SWEET babe! true portrait of thy father's face, Sleep on the bosom, that thy lips have pressed!

Sleep, little one; and closely, gently place
Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's breast.

Upon that tender eye, my little friend,
Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me!
I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend,-
'Tis sweet to watch for thee,-alone for thee!
His arms fall down; sleep sits upon his brow;
His eye is closed; he sleeps, nor dreams of
harm.

Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy glow, Would you not say he slept on Death's cold

Sweet error!-he but slept,-I breathe again;— Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep beguile!

Oh! when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain,
Beside me watch to see thy waking smile?

THE GRAVE.

FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON.
For thee was a house built
Ere thou wast born

For thee was a mould meant
Ere thou of mother camest.
But it is not made ready,
Nor its depth measured,"
Nor is it seen
How long it shall be.
Now I bring thee
Where thou shalt be;

Now I shall measure thee,
And the mould afterwards

Thy house is not
Highly timbered,
It is unhigh and low;
When thou art therein,
The heel-ways are low,
The side-ways unhigh.
The roof is built

Thy breast full nigh.

So thou shalt in mould
Dwell full cold,
Dimly and dark.

Doorless is that house,
And dark it is within;
There thou art fast detained,
And Death hath the key.
Loathsome is that earth-house,
And grim within to dwell.
There thou shalt dwell,

And worms shall divide thee.

Thus thou art laid,

And leavest thy friends
Thou hast no friend,
Who will come to thee,

Who will ever see

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.

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 the miner blows the bugle, Over mountain gorge and bourn."

THE DEAD.

FROM THE GERMAN OF KLOPSTOCK.

How they so softly rest,
All, all the holy dead,

Unto whose dwelling-place

Now doth my soul draw near!
How they so softly rest,

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 flics!
And, by the cypresses
Softly o'ershadowed,
Until the Angel

Calls them, they slumber.

THE BIRD AND THE SHIP.
FROM THE GERMAN OF MÜLLER,

"THE rivers rush into the sea,
By castle and town they go;
The winds behind them merrily
Their noisy trumpets blow.

"The clouds are passing far and high,
We little birds in them play;

And everything that can sing and fly
Goes with us, and far away.

"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 see no longer a hill,

I have trusted all to the sounding gale,
And it will not let me stand still."

"And wilt thou, little bird, go with us?
Thou mayest stand on the mainmast tall,
For full to sinking is my house

With merry companions aн."-
"I need not and seek not company,
Bonny boat, I can sing all alone;

For the mainmast tall too heavy am I,
Bonny boat, I have wings of my own.
"High over the the sails, high over the mast,
Who shall gainsay these joys?
When thy 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,
And the golden fields of the sun.
"Thus do I sing my weary song,
Wherever the foul winds blow;
And this same song, my whole life long
Neither Poet nor Printer may know.'

WHITHER?

FROM THE GERMAN OF MULLER.

I HEARD a brooklet gushing
From its rocky fountain near,
Down into the valley rushing,
So fresh and wondrous clear.
I know not what came o'er me,
Nor who the counsel gave;
But I must hasten downward,
All with my pilgrim stave;
Downward, and ever farther,
And ever the brook beside;
And ever fresher murmured,
And ever clearer, the tide,

SONG OF THE BELL.
FROM THE GERMAN.

BELL! thou soundest merrily,
When the bridal party

To the church doth hie:
Bell! thou soundest solemnly
When on Sabbath morning,
Fields deserted lie!

Bell! thou soundest merrily;
Tellest thou at evening.

Bed-time draweth nigh?

Bell! thou soundest mournfully; Tellest thou the bitter

Parting hath gone by!

Say! how canst thou mourn?
How canst thou rejoice?

Thou art but metal dull!
And yet all our sorrowings,
And all our rejoicings,

Thou dost feel them all! God hath wonders many, Which we cannot fathom, Placed within thy form! When the heart is sinking, Thou alone canst raise it, Trembling in the storm!

THE CASTLE BY THE SEA.

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.

"HAST thou seen that lordly castle,
That castle by the Sea?
Golden and red above it

The clouds float gorgeously.

"And fain it would stoop downward
To the mirrored wave below:
And fain it would soar upward
In the evening's crimson glow.
"Well have I seen that castle,
That castle by the Sea,
And the moon above it standing,
And the mist rise solemnly."

"The winds and the waves of occan,

Had they a merry chime?

Didst thou hear, from those lofty chambers, The harp and the minstrel's rhyme?"

"The winds and waves of the ocean, They restedly quietly,

But I heard on the gale the sound of wail, And tears came to mine eye.'

And sawest thou on the turrets

The King and his royal bride?

And the wave of their crimson mantles?
And the golden crown of pride?
"Led they not forth in rapture,
A beauteous maiden there?
Resplendent as the morning sun,
Beaming with golden hair ?"
Well saw I the ancient parents,
Without the crown of pride;

They were moving slow in weeds of woe,
No maiden was by their side!"

THE BLACK KNIGHT.

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. "TWAS Pentecost, the Feast of Gladness, When woods and fields put off all sadness. Thus began the King and spake; "So from the halls

Of ancient Hofburg's walls,

A luxuriant Spring shall break." Drums and trumpets echo loudly. Wave the crimson banners proudly. From balcony the King looked on; In the play of spears,

Fell all the cavaliers,

Beford the monarch's stalwart son.

To the barrier of the fight
Rode at last a sable Knight.

Sir Knight! your name and scutcheon, say!"

"Should I speak it here,

Ye would stand aghast with fear;

I am a Prince of mighty sway!"

When he rode into the lists,

The arch of heaven grew black with mist,
And the castle 'gan to rock.

At the first blow,

Fell the youth from the saddle-bow,
Hardly rises from the shock.

Pipe and viol call the dances,

Torch-light through the high halls glances! Waves a mighty shadow in!

With manner bland

Doth ask the maiden's hand, Doth with her the dance begin! Danced in sable iron sark,

Danced a measure weird and dark, Coldly clasped her limbs around. From breast and hair

Down fall from her the fair

Flowerets, faded, to the ground.

To the sumptuous banquet came
Every Knight and every Dame.

"Twixt son and daughter ail distraught, With mournful mind

The ancient King reclined,

Gazed at them in silent thought.

Pale the children both did look,

But the guest a beaker took;

"Golden wine will make you whole!" The children drank,

Gave many a courteous thank;

"Oh, that draught was very cool!"

Each the Father's breast embraces,
Son and daughter; and their faces
Colourless grow utterly.
Whichever way

Looks the fear-struck father gray,
He beholds his children die.

Woe, the blessed children both
Takest thou in the joy of youth;

Take me, too, the joyless father!" Spake the grim Guest,

From his hollow, cavernous breast, "Roses in the Spring I gather!"

SONG OF THE SILENT LAND.

FROM THE GERMAN OF SALIS.

INTO the Silent Land!

Ah! who shall lead us thither?

Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. Who leads us with a gentle hand

Thither, oh, thither,
Into the Silent Land!

Into the Silent Land!

To you, ye boundless regions

Of all perfection! Tender morning visions

Of beauteous souls! The Future's pledge and band!

Who in Life's battle firm doth stand,

Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms

Into the Silent Land!

O Land! O Land!

For all the broken-hearted

The mildest herald by our fate allotted,

Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand

To lead us with a gentle hand

Into the land of the great Departed,
Into the Silent Land!

L'ENVOI

YE voices, that arose

After the Evening's close,

And whispered to my restless heart repose;

Go, breathe it in the ear,

Of all who doubt and fear,

And say to them, "Be of good cheer!"

Ye sounds, so low and calm,

That in the groves of balm

Seemed to me like an angel's psalm!
Go, mingle yet once more
With the perpetual roar

Of the pine forest, dark and hoar!

Tongues of the dead not lost,
But speaking from death's frost,
Like fiery tongues at Pentecost!
Glimmer, as funeral lamps,
Amid the chills and damps

Of the vast plain where Death encamps!

THE SKELETON IN ARMOUR.

[THE following ballad was suggested to me while riding on the sea-shore at Newport. A year or two previous a skeleton had been dug up at Fall River, clad in broken and corroded armour; and the idea occurred to me of connecting it with the Round Tower at Newport, generally known hitherto as the Old Wind-Mill, though now claimed by the Danes as a work of their early ancestors. Professor Rafn, in the Memoires de la Societe Royale des Antiquaires du Nord, for 1838-1839, says:

"There is no mistaking in this instance the style in which the more ancient stone edifices of the North were constructed, the style which belongs to the Roman or Ante-Gothic architecture, and which, especially after the time of Charlemagne, diffused itself from Italy over the whole of the West and North of Europe, where it continued to predominate until the close of the 12th century; that style, which some authors have, from one of its most striking characteristics, called the round-arch style, the same which in England is denominated Saxon and sometimes Norman architecture.

"On the ancient structure in Newport there are no ornaments remaining, which might possibly have served to guide us in assigning the probable date of its erection. That no vestige whatever is found of the pointed arch, nor any approximation to it, is indicative of an earlier rather than of a later period. From such characteristics as remain, however, we can scarcely form any other inference than one, in which I am persuaded that all, who are familiar with Old-Northern Architecture, will concur, THAT THIS BUILDING WAS ERECTED AT A PERIOD DECIDEDLY NOT LATER THAN THE 12TH CENTURY. This remark applies, of course, to the original building only, and not to the alterations that it subsequently received; for there are several such alterations in the upper part of the building which cannot be mistaken, and which were most likely occasioned by its being adapted in modern times to various uses, for example, as the substructure of a wind-mill, aud latterly as a hay magazine. To the same times may be referred the windows, the fire-place, and the apertures made above the columns. That this building could not have been erected for a wind-mill, is what an architect will easily discern."

I will not enter into a discussion of the point. It is sufficiently well established for the purpose of a ballad; though doubtless many an honest citizen of Newport, who has passed his days in sight of the Round Tower, will be ready to exclaim with Sancho: "God bless me! did I not warn you to have a care of what you were doing, for that it was nothing but a wind-mill; and nobody could mistake it, but one who had the like in his head."]

"SPEAK! speak! thou fearful guest! Who, with thy hollow breast Still in rude armour drest,

Comest to daunt me!

Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
But with thy fleshless palms
Stretched, as if asking alms,

Why dost thou haunt me?"
Then, from those cavernous eyes
Pale flashes seemed to rise,
As when the Northern skies
Gleam in December:
And, like the water's flow
Under December's snow,
Came a dull voice of woe

From the heart's chamber.
"I was a Viking old!
My deeds, though manifold,
No Skald in song has told,

No Saga taught thee!
Take heed, that in thy verse
Thou dost the tale rehearse,
Else dread a dead man's curse!
For this I sought thee.
"Far in the Northern Land,
By the wild Baltic's strand,
I, with my childish hand,

Tamed the ger-falcon;
And, with my skates fast-bound,
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,
That the poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.

"Oft to his frozen lair
Tracked I the grisly bear,
While from my path the hare
Fled like a shadow:
Oft through the forest dark
Followed the were-wolf's bark,
Until the soaring lark

Sang from the meadow.
"But when I older grew,
Joining a corsair's crew,
O'er the dark sea I flew

With the marauders.
Wild was the life we led;
Many the souls that sped,
Many the hearts that bled,

By our stern orders.
"Many a wassail bout
Wore the long Winter out;
Often our midnight shout

Set the cocks crowing.
As we the Berserk's tale
Measured in cups of ale,
Draining the oaken pail,

Filled to o'erflowing.
"Once as I told in glee
Tales of the stormy sea,
Soft eyes did gaze on me,

Burning yet tender:
And as the white stars shine
On the dark Norway pine,
On that dark heart of mine

Fell their soft splendour.
"I wooed the blue-eyed maid,
Yielding, yet half afraid,
And in the forest's shade

Our vows were plighted