THE WAVE. FROM THE GERMAN OF TIEDGE. "WHITHER, thou turbid wave? Whither, with so much haste, As if a thief wert thou?" "I am the Wave of Life, Stained with my margin's dust; From the struggle and the strife Of the narrow stream I fly To the Sea's immensity, To wash from me the slime Of the muddy banks of Time." THE DEAD. FROM THE GERMAN OF 1.OPSTOCK. How they so softly rest, All in their silent graves, 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 THE GERMAN OF MÜLLER. "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. I see no longer a hill, I have trusted all to the sounding gale, “And wilt thou, little bird, go with us? "I need not and seek not company, 66 For the mainmast tall too heavy am I, High over the sails, high over the mast, When thy merry companions are still, at last, "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 four winds blow; And this same song, my whole life long, WHITHER? FROM THE GERMAN OF MÜLLER. I HEARD a brooklet gushing Is this the way I was going? What do I say of a murmur? That can no murmur be! 'Tis the water-nymphs, that are singing Let them sing, my friend, let them murmur, And wander merrily near; The wheels of a mill are going In every brooklet clear. She has two eyes, so soft and brown, She gives a side-glance and looks down, Beware! beware! Trust her not, She is fooling thee! And she has hair of a golden hue, And what she says, it is not true, Trust her not, She is fooling thee! She has a bosom as white as snow, Take care! She knows how much it is best to show, Beware! beware! Trust her not, She is fooling thee She gives thee a garland woven fair, Take care! It is a fool's cap for thee to wear, Beware! beware! Trust her not, She is fooling thee! SONG OF THE BELL. FROM THE GERMAN. BELL! thou soundest merrily, To the church doth hie! Bell! thou soundest merrily; Bed-time draweth nigh! Bell! thou soundest mournfully; Tellest thou the bitter Parting hath gone by! |