Then in vain o'er tower and turret, From the walls and woodland nests, When the Minster bells rang noontide, Gathered the unwelcome guests.

Then in vain, with cries discordant, Clamourous round the Gothic spire, Screamed the feathered Minnesingers For the children of the choir!

Time has long effaced the inscriptions On the cloister's funeral stones; And tradition only tells us

Where repose the poet's bones.

But around the vast cathedral,
By sweet echoes multiplied,
Still the birds repeat the legend,
And the name of Vogelweid.

THE BRIDGE.

I STOOD on the bridge at midnight,
As the clocks were striking the hour,
And the moon rose o'er the city,
Behind the dark church-tower.

I saw her bright reflection
In the waters under me,
Like a golden goblet falling
And sinking into the sea.
And far in the hazy distance
Of that lovely night in June,
The blaze of the flaming furnace
Gleamed redder than the moon.
Among the long, black rafters,
The wavering shadows lay,

And the currents that came from the ocean
Seemed to lift and bear them away;

As, sweeping and eddying through them, Rose the belated tide,

And, streaming into the moonlight,

The seaweed floated wide.

And like those waters rushing
Among the wooden piers,
A flood of thoughts came o'er me
That filled my eyes with tears.

How often, oh, how often,

In the days that had gone by, I had stood on that bridge at midnight And gazed on that wave and sky!

How often, oh, how often,

I had wished that the ebbing tide Would bear me away on its bosom O'er the ocean wild and wide!

For my heart was hot and restless,
And my life was full of care,

And the burden laid upon me

Seemed greater than I could bear.

But now it has fallen from me;
It is buried in the sea,
And only the sorrow of others
Throws its shadow over me.

Yet whenever I cross the river
On its bridge with wooden piers,
Like the odour of brine from the ocean
Comes the thought of other years.

And I think how

many thousands

Of care-encumbered men,

Each bearing his burden of sorrow, Have crossed the bridge since then.

I see the long procession

Still passing to and fro,

The young heart hot and restless,
And the old subdued and slow!

And for ever, and for ever,

As long as the river flows,
As long as the heart has passions,
As long as life has woes;

The moon and its broken reflection
And its shadows shall appear,
As the symbol of love in heaven,
And its wavering image here.

TO THE DRIVING CLOUD.

GLOOMY and dark art thou, O chief of the mighty Omawhaws;

Gloomy and dark, as the driving cloud, whose name thou hast taken!

Wrapt in thy scarlet blanket, I see thee stalk through the city's

Narrow and populous streets, as once by the margin of rivers

Stalked those birds unknown, that have left us only their footprints.

What, in a few short years, will remain of thy race but the footprints ?

How canst thou walk in these streets, who hast trod the green turf of the prairies ? How canst thou breathe in this air, who hast

breathed the sweet air of the mountains ? Ah! 'tis in vain that with lordly looks of disdain thou dost challenge

Looks of dislike in return, and question these walls and these pavements,