Withouten more delay I left the bank. A gently-breathing air, that no mutation Did all of them bow downward towards that side Where its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain; Yet not from their upright direction bent Through the pine forests on the shore of Chiassi, When Eolus unlooses the Sirocco. Already my slow steps had led me on Could see no more the place where I had entered. And lo! my farther course cut off a river, Bent down the grass that on its margin sprang. Compared with that, which nothing doth conceal. Although it moves on with a brown, brown current, Under the shade perpetual, that never 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, 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, 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. And they shrink away, and they filce in fear, Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old, And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold, We must cower over the embers low; Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky Thou tearest away the mournful shroud, 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 Upon that tender eye, my little friend, 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, THE GRAVE. FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON. For thee was a mould meant Now I shall measure thee, Thy house is not Thy breast full nigh. So thou shalt in mould Doorless is that house, And worms shall divide thee. Thus thou art laid, And leavest thy friends 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 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, Unto whose dwelling-place Now doth my soul draw near! All in their silent graves, And they no longer weep.. Here, where all gladness flics! Calls them, they slumber. THE BIRD AND THE SHIP. "THE rivers rush into the sea, "The clouds are passing far and high, And everything that can sing and fly "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? With merry companions aн."- For the mainmast tall too heavy am I, I dart away, in the bright blue day, WHITHER? FROM THE GERMAN OF MULLER. I HEARD a brooklet gushing SONG OF THE BELL. 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! Say! how canst thou mourn? Thou art but metal dull! 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, The clouds float gorgeously. "And fain it would stoop downward "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? They were moving slow in weeds of woe, 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 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, At the first blow, Fell the youth from the saddle-bow, 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 "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, Looks the fear-struck father gray, Woe, the blessed children both 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! 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, 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! Of the pine forest, dark and hoar! Tongues of the dead not lost, Of the vast plain where Death encamps! BALLAD S. 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, Why dost thou haunt me?" From the heart's chamber. No Saga taught thee! Tamed the ger-falcon; "Oft to his frozen lair Sang from the meadow. With the marauders. By our stern orders. Set the cocks crowing. Filled to o'erflowing. Burning yet tender: Fell their soft splendour. Our vows were plighted |