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Shonldst thon be torn from ine to wander alone la a desolate land where the snn is scaree known,—

Throngh forests I'll follow, and where the sea

roars. Throngh ice, and throngh iron, throngh armies

of foes.

Aunie of Tharaw, my light and my snn.

The threads of onr two lives are woven in one.

W-l.ate'or I have bidden thee thon hast obeyed, Whatever forbidden than hast not gaiusaid.

How in the tnrmoil of life can love stang, Where there is not one heart, and one month, and one hand!

Some seek for disseusion, and trouble, and strife; Like a dog and a cat live snch man and wile.

Aunie of Tharaw, snch is not ovr love;

Thon art my lambkin, my chick, and my dove.

Whate'er my desire, in thine may be seen; l am king of the honsehold, and thon art its qneen.

lt is this, O my Aunie, my heart's sweetest rest. That makes of ns twain bnt one sonl in one bixast.

This tnrus to a heaven the tint where we dwell; While wrangling soon changes a home to a hell.

THE STATUE OVER THE CATHEDRAL DOOR.

FROM THE GERMAN OF JULIUS MOSEX

Forms of saints and kings are standing

The cathedral door above; Yet l saw bnt one among them

Who hath soothed my sonl with love. In his mantle—wennd abont him,

As their robes the sowers wind.— Bore he swallows and their fledglings.

Flowers and weeds of every kind

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

Oh, where l like hun exalted,
I wonld be like him, a child!

And my songs,—green leaves and blossoms,-
To the doors of heaven wonld bear,

Calling, even in storm and tempest,
Ronnd me still these birds of air.

THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSBlLL.

FROM THE GERMAN OF JULlUS MOSEN.

On the cross the dying Savionr

Heavenward lifts his eyelids calm. Feels, bnt scareely feels, a trembling

ln his piereed and bleeding palm. And by all the world forsaken.

Sees he how with zealons care At the rnthiess nail of iron

A little bird is striving there. Stained with blood and never tiring,

With its beak it doth not cease. From the cross 'twonld free the Savionr

Its Creators Son release.

And the savionr speaks in mildness;

"Blest be thon 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 clearln the groves of pine it sfngeth Tongs like legends strange to hear.

THE SEA HATH lTS PEARLS. FROM THE GERMAN OF HElN1UC1I HElNE.

The sea hath its pearls.

The heaven hath its stars Bnt my heart, mv 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.

Thon little, yonthfnl maiden,

Come nnto my great heart;
My heart, and the sea, and the heaven

Are welting away with love!

POETlC APHORlSMS AND CURFEW.

POETIC APliORISMS.

rROJI THE SINNGEDlCHTE OF FRIEDRlCH VON LOGAU, SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.

MONEY.

Whereunto is money good?
Who has it not wants hardibood,
Who has it has umch tronble ami care,
Who once has had it has despair.

THE BEST MEDlClNES.

Joy and Temperance and Reposo
Slam the door on the doctor's nose.

SlN.

Manlike is it. to fall into sin. Fiendlike is it to dwell therein, Christlike is it for sin to grieve, God-like is it all sin to leave.

POVERTY AND BLlNDNESS.

A Rlind man is a poor man, and blind a poor man

is; For the former sceth no man, and the latter no

man sees.

LAW OF LlFE.

Live l. so live I.
To my Lord heartily.
To my Prince faithfnlly.
To my neighbonr honestly.
Die l, so die I.

CREEDS.

Lutheran. Popish. Cnlvinistie, all these creeds and doctrines three

Extant are; bnt still the donbt is, where Christianity may be.

THE RESTLESS HEART.

A Millstonr and the lmman heart are driven

ever ronnd: lf they have nothing else to grind, they umst

themselves be gronnd.

CHRlSTlAN LOVE. Whilsom Love Was like a fire, and warmth and

comfort it bespoke: Bnt, nlasl it now is qnenched, and only bites ns

like the smoke.

ART AND TACT.

Intelligence and conrtesy not always are combined; Often in a wooden honse a golden room we find.

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Solemnly, monrnfnlly

Dealing its dole, The Cnrfew Hell

ls begiuning to toll.

Cover the embers.

And pnt ont the light.
Toil comes with the morning,

And rest with the night.

Dark grow the windows.
And qnenched is the fire,

Sonnd fades into silence,—
All footsteps retire.

No voice in the chambers,

No sonnd in the hall l Sleep and oblivion

Reigu over all!

1t. The book is completed.

And closed like the day:
And the hand that has written it

Lays it away.
Dim grow its fancies;

Forgotten they lie;
Like coals in the ashes,

They darken and die.

Song sinks into silence,

The story is told.
The windows are darkened,

The hearth-stone is cold.

Darker, and darker
The black shadows fall;

Sleep and oblivion
Reigu over all.

VOICES OF THE NIGHT.

PRELUDE.

Pleasant it was. when woods were green.

And winds were soft and low. To lie amid some sylvan scene.' Where, the long drooping bonghs between, Shadows dark and suulight sheen

Alternate come and go;

Or where the deuser grove receives

No suulight from above,
Bnt the dark foliage interweaves
In one uubroken roof of leaves,
Underneath whose stooping caves

The shadows hardly move.

Beneath some patriarehal tree

1 lay upon the gronnd;
His hoary arms uplifted he.
And all the broad leaves over mc
Clapped their little hands in glee,

With one continuons sonnd,—

A slumbering sonnd,—a sonnd that brings

The feelings of a dream,—
As of iunumerable wings.
As, when a bell no longer swings,
Faint the hollow umrumr rings

O'er meadow, lake, and stream.

And dreams of that which caunot die,

Bright visious, came to me.
As wrapped in thonght I used to He,
And gaze into the summer sky.
Where the sailing clonds went by,

Like ships upon the sea;

Dreams that the sonl of yonth engage,

Ere Faney has been qnelled; Old legends of the monkish page, Traditious of the saint and sago, Tales that have the rime of age.

And chronicles of Eld

And, loving still these quaint old themes

Even in the city's throng I feel the freshuess of the streams, That, crossed by shades and suuny gleams, Water the green land of dreams,

The holy land of song.

Therefore, at Pentecost, which brings
The Spring, clothed like a bride,

When nestling bnds unfold their wings,

And hishop's-caps have golden rings,

Musing upon many things,
I songht the woodlands wide.

The green trees whispered low and mild;

It was a sonnd of joy!
They were my playma'tes when a child,
Ami rocked me in their arms so wild;
Still they looked at me and smiled,

As if I were a boy;

And ever whispered mild and low,

"Come be a child once more!''
And waved their long arms to and fro,

And beckoned solemuly and slow;
Oh, I conld not choose bnt go
Into the woodlands hoar;

Into the blithe and breathing air,

Into the soleum wood.
Soleum and silent everywhere!
Nature with folded hands seemed there,
Kneeling at her evening prayer!

Like one in prayer 1 stood.

Before me rose an avenne

Of tall and sombrons pines; Abroad their fan-like branches grew. And, where the suushine darted throngh, Spread a vaponr soft and blne,

In long and sloping iines.

And, falling on my weary brain,

Like a fast-falling shower.
The dreams of yonth came back again;
Low lispings of the summer rain,
Dropping on the ripened grain;

As once upon the flower.

Vision of childhood! Stay. ob. stay!

Yet were so sweet and wild! And distant voices seemed to say. "It caunot be! They pass away! .Other themes demand thy lay:

Thon art no more a child I

"The land of Song within thee lies.

Watered by living springs ,
The lids of Faney's sleepless eyes
Are gates unto that Paradise.
Holy thonghts, like stars, arlso,

Its clonds are angels' wings.

"Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be, Not monntaius capped with suow,

Nor forests sonnding like the sea.

Nor rivers flowing ceaselessly.

Where the woodlands bend to sec
The bending heaveus below.

"There is a forest where the din

Of iron branches sonnds!
A mighty river roars between.
And whosoever looks therein.
Sees tlie heaveus all black with sin,—

Sees not its depths, nor bonnds.

"Athwart the swinging branches cast,

Soft rays of suushine ponr; Then comes the fearful wintry blast: Our hopes, like withered leaves, fall fast; Pallid lips say, 'It is past!

We can return no more!'

"Look then, into thine heart and write!

Yes, into Life's deep stream!
All forms of sorrows ami delight.
All soleum Voices of the Night,
That can soothe thee, or affright,—

Bo these henceforth thy theme.''

B1TMN TO THE NIGHT.

Ihkaed the trailing garments of the Night

Sweep throngh her marble halls!
I saw her sable skirt all fringed with light.

From the celestial walls I

I felt her presence, by its spell of might,

Swop o er me from above;
The caim, majestic presence of the Night,

As of the one 1 love.

I heard the sonnds of sorrow and delight.

The manifold, soft chimes.
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night,

Like some old poet"s rhymes.

From the cool cisterus of the miduight air

My spirit drank repose; The fonntain of perpetual peace flows Lucre,— From those deep cisterus flow.

0 holy Night! from thee I leara to bear

What man has borne before!
Thon layest thy finger on the lips of Care,

And they complain no more.

Peace! peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer! Descend with broad-winged flight. The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, The best-beloved Night!

A PSALM OF LIFE.

WHAT TIIE HEART OF THK YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALHIST.

Tell me not, in monrnful numbers,

"Life is bnt an empty dream!"
For the sonl is dead that slumbers,

And things.are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal;
"Dusl thon art, to dust returnest,"

Was not spoken of the sonl.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow.

Is onr destined end or way;
Bnt to aet, that each to-morrow

Flnds us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

And onr hearts, thongh stont and brave,
Still, like umffled drums are heating

Funeral marehes to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,

In the bivonac of Life.
Be not like dumh, driven cattle!

Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Fnture, howe'er pleasant!

Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Aet.—aet in the living Present!

Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make onr lives sublime,

And. departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;—

Footprints, that perhaps another.

Sailing o'er life's soleum main.
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother

Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us. then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labonr and to wait.

THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS.
TnERK is a Reaper, whose name is Death,

And. with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at n breath

And the flowers that grow between.

"Shall I have nonght that is fair?" saith he;

"Have nonght bnt the bearded grain? Thongh the breath of these flowers is sweet tome,

I will give them all back again."
He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes

He kissed their drooping leaves;
It was for the Lord of Paradise

He bonnd them in his sheaves.

"2?7 Ii?rd has need of these flowerets gay."

The Reaper said, and smiled; Dear tokeus of the earth are they,

Where he was once a child.

"They shall all bloom in fields of light.

Trausplanted by my care.
And saints upon their garments white,

These sacred blossoms wear."

And the mother gave, in tears and pain,

The flowers she most did love;
She knew she wonld find them all again

In the fields of light above.

Oh. not in crnelty, not in pain,

The Reaper came that day;
'Twas an angel visited the green earth.

And took the flowers away.

THE LIGHT OF STARS.

The night is come, bnt not too soon;

And sinking silentlv.
All silently the little'moon

Drops down behind the sky.

There is no light in earth or heaven,

Bnt the cold light of stars:
And the first watch of night is given

To the red planet Mars.

Is it the tender star of love?

The star of love and dreams?
Oh. no! from that blne tent above,

A hero's armonr gleams.

And earnest thonghts within me rise,

When I behold afar,.
Suspended in the evening skies

The shield of that red star.

O star of strength! I see thee stand
And smile upon my pain;

Thon beckonest with thy mailed hand.
And I am strong again.

Within my breast there is no light,
Bnt the cold light of stars;

1 give the first watch of the night
To the red planet Mars.

The star of the unconquered will,

He rises in my breast.
Serene, and resolnte, and still.

And caim, and self-possessed.

And thon, too, whosoe'er thon art,

That readest this brief psaim,
As one by one thy hopes depart,

Be resolnte and caim.

Oh, fear not in a world like this.

And thon shalt know ere long.
Know how sublime a thing it is

To suffer and be strong.

FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS.
When the honrs of Day are numbered,

And the voices of the night
Wake the better sonl that slumbered,

To a holy, caim delight;

Ere the evening lamps are lighted.

And, like phantoms grim and tall, Shadows from the fitful flre-light

Dance upon the parlonr wall'

Then the forms of the departed

Enter at the open door;
The beloved, the trne-hearted,

Come to visit me once more:

He. the yonng and strong, who cherished

Noble longings for the strife,
Bv the road-side fell and perished,

Weary with the march of life!

They, the holy ones and weakly.

Who the cross of suffering bore, Folded their pale hands so meekly.

Spake with us on earth no more!

And with them the Being Beanteons,

Who unto my yonth was given. More than all things else to love ine,

And is now a saint in heaven.

With a slow and noiseless footstep

Comes that messenger divine. Takes the vacant chair beside ine,

Lays her gentle hand in mine.

And she sits and gazes at rse,
With those deep and tender eyes.

Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
Looking downward from the skies.

Uttered not, yet comprehended.

Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,

Breathing from her lips of air.

Oll, thongh oft depressed and lonely,

All my fears are laid aside, If 1 bnt remember ouly

Snch as these have lived and died I

FLOWERS Spaee full welt, in language quaint and olden,

One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers so blne and golden,

Stars, that in earth's flrmament do shine : —

Stars they are, wherein we read onr history.

As astrologers and seers of eld;
Yet not wrapped abont with awful mystery,

Like the burning stars which they beheld.

Wondrons trnths, and manifold as wondrons,
God hath written in those stars above;

Bnt not less in the bright flowerets undents
Stamls the revelation of his love.

Bright and glorions is that revelation.
Written nil over this great world of onrs:

Making evident onr own creation.
In these stars of earth,—these golden flowers.

And the I'oet. faithful and fur-scobig
Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part

Of the self-sainc universal being.
Which is throbbing in his brain and heart.

Gorgeons flowerets in the suulight shining,
Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day.

Treumlons leaves, with soft and silver lining.
Bnds that open ouly to decay;

Brilliant hopes, nil woven in gorgeons tissnes,
Flaunting gayly in the golden light;

Large desires, with most uncertain issnes,
Tender wishes, blossoming at night!

These in flowers and men are more than seeming,
Workings are they of the self-same power,

Which the Poet, in no idle dreaming,
Seeth in himself and in the flowers.

Everywhere abont us are they glowing,
Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born;

Others, their blne eyes with tears o'crflowing.
Stand like Rnth amid the golden corn;

Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing,
And in Summer's green-emblazoned field,

Bnt in arms of brave old Antuum's wearing.
In the centre of his brazen shield;

Not alone in meadows and green alleys.

On the monntain-top, ami by the brink Of seqnestered pools in woodland vulleys.

Where the slaves of Nature stoop to drink;

Not along in her vast dome of glory,
Not on graves of birds and beasts alone.

Bnt in old cathedrals, high and hoary.
On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone;

In the cottage of the rndest peasant.

In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers, Speaking of the Past unto the Present,

Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers;

In all places, then, and in all seasous.
Flowers expand their light and sonl-like
wings,

Teaching us, by most persuasive reasous,
How akin they are to human things.

And with childlike, credulons affeetion
We behold their tender bnds expand;

Emblems of onr own great resurreetion.
Emblems of the bright and better land.

THE BELEAGUERED CITY.

I nAVK read, in some old marvellons tale,
Some legend strange and vagne.

That a miduight host of spee/res pale
Bcleagured the walls of Pragne.

Beside the Moldau's rushing stream.

With the wan moon overhead. There stood, as in an awful dream,

The army of the dead.

AVhitc as a sea-fog. hmdward bonnd,

The speetral camp was seen.
And. with a sorrowful, deep sonnd,

The river flowed between.

No other voice nor sonnd was there,

Nor drum, nor sentry's pace;
The mist-like bauners clasped the air.

As clonds with clonds embrace.

Bnt. when the old cathedral bell
Proclaimed the morning prayer.

The white pavilions rose and fell
On tlie alarmed air

Down the broad v.rllev fast and far

The tronbled army fled:
Uprose the glorions morning star,

The ghastly host was dead.

I have read, in the marvellons heart of man,

That strange and mystic scroti.
That an army of phantoms vast and wan,

Beleagncr'the human sonl.

Encamped beside Life's rushing stream.

In Faney's misty light.
Gigantic shapes and shadows gh?nm

Portentons throngh the night.

Upon its miduight battle-gronnd

The sceptral camp is syen.
And. wilh a sorrowful, deep sonnd

Flows the River of Life between.

No other voice, nor sonnd is there.

In the army of the grave;
No other challenge breaks the air.

Bnt the rushing ofLife's wave.

And, when the soleum and deep chureh-bell

Entreats the sonl to pray.
The miduight phantoms feel the spell,

The shadows sweep away.

Down the broad Vale of Tears afar

The speetral camp is fled; Faith shineth as a morning-star.

Our ghostly fears are dead.

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