ik 
 
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 0"
 
 
 SONGS AND LYRICS.
 
 Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty, 
 
 at Hie Edinburgh University Press, 
 
 for James Thin.
 
 (S 
 
 SONGS AND LYRICS 
 
 BY HEINRICH HEINE 
 
 AND OTHER GERMAN "POETS 
 
 Done into English Verse 
 BY JAMES GEIKIE 
 
 Author of ' The Great Ice Age," 
 ' Prehistoric Europe,' etc. 
 
 EDINBURGH: JAMES THIN 
 
 Publisher to the University 
 
 1887 
 
 ,/0
 
 %o mp mitz
 
 ',A tranjlator dyes an author, like an old Jluff, with a new 
 colour, hut can never give it the lujlre of the firfi tinBure, 
 as filks that are twice dyed lofe their glojfes, and never 
 receive a fair colour. He is a fmall fa£lor that imports 
 hooks of the growth of one language into another, hut it 
 feldom turns to account ; for the commodity is perifhable, 
 and the finer it is, the worfe it endures tranfportation, as 
 the niojl delicate of Indian fruits are by no art to be brought 
 over. . . . His labours are like difhes of meat twice 
 dreft, that become injipid, and lofe the pleafant tajle they 
 had at firjl. He differs from an author as a fiddler does 
 from a mufician, that plays other men's compofitions, but is 
 not able to make any of his own.' — Butler.
 
 Note by the Translator. 
 
 All the critics agree that Heine's verse is untranshtt- 
 able. And yet the present is as far from being the 
 first as it is unlikely to be the last rash attempt to 
 accomplish the impossible. In explanation of his temerity 
 the Translator may be allowed to state that all the 
 renderings given in this little volume were done for 
 his own amusement in those ' brave days of youth,' 
 when difficulties and impossibilities are hardly recog- 
 nised. Some apology for their publication is perhaps 
 required ; but if his rhymes do not justify themselves, 
 the Translator knows of no excuse for their appearance 
 that is likely to pass muster. While he has endeavoured 
 in these versions of some of Heine's most characteristic 
 Songs and Lyrics to interpret the poet's language 
 literally, he has at the same time done his best to 
 follow the rhythm and rhymes of the German. Whether 
 he has succeeded in retaining even the slightest flavour 
 of the original, or in reproducing any far-off echo of 
 the music of the immortal Buch der Lteder, others must 
 judge. 
 
 The Poems in Part H. have not been selected upon 
 any principle. While not a few of them have already 
 been Englished, a considerable number, it is believed, 
 appear now for the first time in our tongue. 
 
 Edinburgh, July S, i88y.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 The Book of Songs 
 
 BY HEINRICH HEINE. 
 Preface to the Third Edition (1839), . . Page i 
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS.— 18 17-182 1. 
 
 Dream Pictures. 
 
 I once would dream of love, — of sunny hair, . . 3 
 
 An eerie, thrilling dream I dream 'd, .... 3 
 
 Why doth my blood so madly flow ? . . . . 7 
 
 In sweetest dreams, by silent night, .... 8 
 
 Thou dark, scowling fellow, I 've paid thee, I trow ! . 11 
 
 I wander'd back from my darling's bower, ... 14 
 
 I fell asleep, and quietly slept, 20 
 
 The ghastly spectres grieve me, 21 
 
 Songs. 
 
 Up I start at morning, crying, 23 
 
 O'erhead the leaves are shaking, 23 
 
 Thy little hand lay on my heart, my fair ! ... 24 
 
 Cliff and castle, downward glancing, .... 24 
 
 First methought I 'd sink before it, .... 25 
 
 Fain would I deck this book of mine, .... 25
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Romances. 
 
 Every heart is filled with sorrow, 
 
 Sadly adown the valley rode, 
 
 On the hill-top, silent, darkling, . 
 
 My grannie bewitch'd poor Lizzie one day, 
 
 Two grenadiers, in Russia ta'en, . 
 
 Up ! up ! good knave, go saddle thy steed 
 
 I go not alone, my lady fair ! 
 
 ' Donna Clara ! Donna Clara : ' . 
 
 The midnight hour was drawing on, 
 
 Sad in my heart is written, . 
 
 I lean'd against the bending mast. 
 
 Sir Ulrich rides through the forest glade, 
 
 That lovely siren long will haunt me, . 
 
 Golden ducats, once my own, 
 
 Hear'st thou not these strains of wonder, 
 
 When spring-time comes with its sunny sheen. 
 
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 LYRICAL INTERMEZZO.— 1822-182^. 
 
 There once was a knight, wan and thin was his cheek, 
 
 'Twas in the glorious month of May, 
 
 Flowers from my tears are springing, 
 
 The rose, the lily, the dove, the sun, 
 
 When I look into thine eyes. 
 
 In dreams methinks I see thy face, 
 
 In the dainty cup of the lily, 
 
 All through the ages shine they, . 
 
 Away ! away ! with me, love ! 
 
 The lotus flower a-weary. 
 
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 CONTENTS. 
 
 Thou lov'st me not, thou lov'st me not, 
 
 swear not ! only kiss and kiss, . 
 Upon thine eyes, beloved mine, 
 Little darling, tell me truly, . 
 
 1 '11 not reproach thee ! though my heart should break, 
 Yes ! thou art wretched, and no plaint I make 
 There merry music soundeth. 
 And hast thou then forgotten fully. 
 And if each little blossom, . 
 Why are the roses so wan and pale ? 
 They 've plained to thee and lamented 
 The linden blossom'd, the nightingale sung, 
 The earth had been long a niggard of beauty, 
 Her eyes are violets wet with due, 
 The world is fair and the heavens are blue, 
 My love, when thou art gone away. 
 In the North a pine stands lonely. 
 Ah ! were I but the stool so light. 
 Since my loved one went afar. 
 The little songs I utter. 
 The cits in their Sunday dresses 
 Dreams of old times forgotten, 
 A youth he loved a maiden. 
 When the song she sang so sweetly, 
 I dreamt of a wan and tearful face. 
 In a little skiff I rested. 
 From olden legends springing. 
 On a sunny summer morning. 
 In its dim mysterious glory. 
 They worried me, and drove me, 
 Warm summer, love, is lying. 
 
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 CONTENTS. 
 
 When dearest friends are parting, 
 
 At the tea-table love was the topic, 
 
 And if my songs are poison'd, 
 
 I dream'd again the same old dream, 
 
 In dreams I fell a-weeping, . 
 
 In the dreams of night I see thee. 
 
 Wild is the night and eerie, . 
 
 The trees in the autumn wind rustle, 
 
 A star falls in the darkness, . 
 
 Night lay upon my eyelids, . 
 
 The old songs, wild and wicked, , 
 
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 THE liETURN HOME.— 1823-1824. 
 
 In my life so dark and dreary, 
 
 I know not what sad fate befalls me, . 
 
 Sad is my heart and weary, .... 
 
 Sad through the wood I wander, . 
 
 We sat by the fisherman's cottage. 
 
 Thou pretty fisher-maiden, .... 
 
 The storm plays weird dance music. 
 
 The clouds are creeping downward. 
 
 Far on the dim horizon, .... 
 
 'Tis night, not a sound through the streets doth go. 
 
 How canst thou sleep so quietly ? . 
 
 A maiden slept in her chamber, . 
 
 I stood in dark dreams gazing, 
 
 The years are waxing and waning, 
 
 Methought that the moon shone mournfully, 
 
 What means this lonely tear-drop. 
 
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 CONTENTS. 
 
 The sickle moon of autumn, 
 
 It rains, and snows, and blusters, 
 
 They tell me I am grieving, 
 
 Has she then no notice taken, 
 
 They both were in love, but neither. 
 
 When I told you the sorrowful life I had led 
 
 I call'd the devil and he came, 
 
 My httle one, we were children, . 
 
 My heart within me is a- wear}'. 
 
 As yon moon in brightness breaketh, . 
 
 Heart of mine, be not dejected, . 
 
 So fair, so pure, so gentle, . 
 
 When on my couch I lay me, 
 
 Maiden, with the lips so rosy. 
 
 Canst thou not read in my wan cheek, . 
 
 Worthy friend, thou art in love ! . 
 
 When I with you would tarry, 
 
 Thine eyes are sapphires, sweet and bright, 
 
 In one single word, could I utter. 
 
 Diamonds and pearls are thine, love ! . 
 
 They counsell'd me, and well advised me, 
 
 How in youth love's glow hath brought me. 
 
 On the walls of Salamanca, . 
 
 Where dreamlike stretch the houses. 
 
 Ah ! these are yet the very eyes, . 
 
 Death is the night, so cool, so calm, 
 
 Say, where is thy maiden sweet ? . 
 
 At the window stands the mother, 
 
 I am the Princess Use (from the To7ir in the Harz) 
 
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 CONTENTS. 
 
 LATER POEMS. 
 
 When, Germany, of thee I think, 
 
 There was a king, an old king. 
 
 Now spring's blue eyes are peeping, 
 
 The waters glitter and glide away. 
 
 Sweetly in my heart doth ring, 
 
 Where then shall I rest for ever {posthumous verses)., 
 
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 no 
 III 
 III 
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 PART II. 
 
 Miscellaneous Pieces 
 
 BY VARIOUS GERMAN POETS. 
 
 Spring Song ( Wilhehn J\ fit Her), 
 
 A Change {Goethe), 
 
 New Life {Biirger), 
 
 No Answer {Robei-t Reinick), 
 
 The Secret will out {Emanuel Geibel) 
 
 Secrecy {Carl Drcixler- Manfred), 
 
 Paxi'mg {Volkslzed), 
 
 Presence in Absence {Goethe), 
 
 The Soldier's Love {Wilhehn Hauff), 
 
 An Evil Conscience {Moritz Graf Strachivitz 
 
 The Three Roses ( Volkslied), 
 
 Desolation {Albert Traeger), 
 
 The Old Oak-tree ( Volkslied), 
 
 Unrest {EtJiaiitiel Geibel), . 
 
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 CONTENTS. 
 
 Calm after Storm {Moritz Graf Sirachwitz), 
 
 Winter Dreams {Eduard Ferrand), 
 
 TheNun(ro/^j&<f), . 
 
 The Landlady's Daughter [Ukland), 
 
 Love's Legacy [EiHamiel Geibel), 
 
 Dame Nightingale {Volkslied), 
 
 The Laurel and the Rose {Ernst Schulze), 
 
 The Water Lilies {August Schnetzler), 
 
 The Rosebud {Friedrich von Salkt), 
 
 The Dying Flower {Friedrich Riickert), 
 
 The Maiden and the Butterfly {R. C. Wegener), 
 
 The Days of the Roses {Otto Roquette), 
 
 The Duet {Robert Reinick), .... 
 
 lov 
 
 e {Morit: 
 
 Song : How gladly at thy feet 
 Strachwitz), .... 
 Wandering {Etnmiuel Geibel), 
 The Apprentice setting out {Uhland) 
 Hidden Pain ( Fb/-('j&^), 
 The Linden-Tree ( Wilhelm Miiller), 
 The Elder-Tree {Otto Roqtiette), . 
 Evening Song {Friedrich Riickert), 
 Autumn {Hermann Lingg), 
 Onward {Heinrich Zeise), 
 Longings (C A. Mahlniann), 
 The Little Sister (Fo/^j//^^/), 
 The Trial of Love ( Volkslied), . 
 The Dark Brown Nixie ( Volkslied), 
 The Inexorable Captain ( Volkslied), 
 The Poet King {Joseph Freiho-r von Eichendorff) 
 The Captive Knight {J. C. z'on Zedlitz), 
 The Two Coffins {Justinus Kerner), 
 
 Graf 
 
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 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Poet's Consolation {Justijuis Kerner), 
 
 The Castle by the Sea (W//««rt'), 
 
 The Ancestral Vault (Wi/flW(/), . 
 
 The Blind King (C%/a«^), . 
 
 The Nibelunger's Treasure ( Volkslied), 
 
 The Pope and the Sultan ( Volkslied), . 
 
 Crambambuli {Sttidentenlied), 
 
 The Man in the Cellar {K. Milchler), . 
 
 Comfort at Parting [A. F. F. von Kotzebiie), 
 
 Fiducit {^Sttidentenlied), 
 
 Chateau Boncourt [^Adalbert von Chamisso), 
 
 To the Fatherland {Nicolaiis Lenau), . 
 
 Rhine Song { Wolfgang- Miiller), . 
 
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 IMITATIONS. 
 
 Butterflies, Butterflies, tell me true, 
 Down where the aspens quiver. 
 Long ago, when my heart was young, 
 
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 ERRATA. 
 
 Page 61, line 2 from top, /or violet read violets. 
 ,, 112, line 8 from bottom, y^r sing read ring.
 
 PART I. 
 
 From ' The Book of Songs ' 
 
 HEINRICH HEINE.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 It is the fairy wood of old, 
 
 With bloom of the lindens haunted ; 
 The wondrous sheen of the moon, I ween. 
 
 My heart and soul enchanted, 
 
 I wander'd on, and as I roam'd 
 
 Soft notes o'erhead kept ringing — 
 
 It is the nightingale, of love 
 
 And love's wild sorrow singing. 
 
 With love and yearning, tears and smiles. 
 
 Her tender breast is shaken ; 
 Her jubilant grief, her joyous sobs 
 
 Old dreams in my heart awaken. 
 
 I wander'd on, and as I roam'd 
 
 Saw glimmering before me 
 A mighty castle in a glade — 
 
 High soar'd its turrets o'er me. 
 
 Closed were the windows, all was sad. 
 
 And not a sound did waken ; 
 It seem'd as death itself abode 
 
 Within these walls forsaken. 
 
 Before the door there crouch'd a sphynx. 
 
 Alluring and yet gruesome ; 
 A lion's body and paws it had, 
 
 A woman's head and bosom :
 
 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 A beautiful woman, whose white cheek told 
 
 Of passionate love and tender; 
 The dumb lips seeni'd to smile, as they 
 
 Would fain their sweets surrender. 
 
 So witchingly sang the nightingale — 
 
 How could my heart resist it ? 
 I kiss'd that lovely face, and knew 
 
 My fate was seal'd when I kiss'd it. 
 
 Life through the marble 'gan to thrill — 
 
 Soft sighs and balmy bhsses — 
 With eager, panting thirst she drank 
 
 The glow of my hot kisses. 
 
 She almost drank my breath away ; 
 
 To her panting bosom she bore me — 
 Her panting, craving bosom — and deep 
 
 The claws of the lion tore me. 
 
 rapturous torment 1 O blissful woe ! 
 The pain, like the joy, stupendous — 
 
 The kisses thrill'd to my inmost heart. 
 
 But the clutch of the claws was tremendous 
 
 The nightingale sang : ' O beautiful Sphynx, 
 
 O loved one, say how this is — 
 Why dost thou mingle t)ie pains of death 
 
 With all thy rapturous kisses ? 
 
 * O beautiful Sphynx, this riddle read, 
 And in my maze bestead me ; 
 
 1 've ponder'd it many a thousand years, 
 
 But ever its meaning: fled me.'
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 
 
 DREAM PICTURES. 
 
 „Wlit itaumU einft tion foilbem Siel^efglii^n." 
 
 I OKCE would dream of love, — of sunny hair, 
 And mignonette and myrtle intermingled. 
 Of sweet red lips, and bitter words that tingled, 
 
 Of many a mournful song and plaintive air. 
 
 Ah me ! those dreams have long ago departed, 
 My dearest vision never comes again ; 
 Love's anguish and wild joy and throbbing pain 
 
 Live only in these numbers broken-hearted. 
 
 Thou, orphaned song ! art left : do thou too hie, 
 And seek again for me that long-lost vision ; 
 And shouldst thou find it, be thy gentle mission 
 
 To greet that light shade with an airy sigh. 
 
 „ @in Stautn, gat feUfam fii^auevUd^/' 
 
 An eerie, thrilling dream I dream'd. 
 Half fearful and half sweet it seem'd. 
 That eerie dream I can't forget, 
 My troubled heart throbs wildly yet.
 
 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 It was a garden wondrous fair, 
 And fain was I to wander there ; 
 Sweet flowers a many look'd at me, 
 And all my spirit danced with glee. 
 
 The birds i' the twinkling boughs above 
 Sang many a cheery song of love ; 
 r the golden light the red sun threw 
 The flowerets bright and brighter grew. 
 
 Rich herbs with many a balmy sigh 
 Scented the breeze that flutter'd by ; 
 Around me all was fresh and fair — 
 'Twas light and laughter everywhere. 
 
 Deep in the heart of that good land 
 I saw a marble fountain stand, 
 And by its marge a maiden bright. 
 Washing a vestment snowy white. 
 
 Her eyes were soft, her cheeks were fair, 
 And rich the gleam of her yellow hair ; 
 And while I gazed on her, methought 
 I knew, and yet I knew her not. 
 
 The lovely maiden sped her toil, 
 
 And croon'd a wondrous song the while : 
 
 ' Hasten, hasten, waterflow ! 
 
 Wash the hnen white as snow.' 
 
 Then to her side I softly drew. 
 And whisper'd low : * O tell me true, 
 Thou lovely maiden, sweet and dear, 
 For whom is this white vestment here?'
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 
 
 Quickly she answer'd : ' Ready be ! 
 I wash thy winding-sheet for thee ;' 
 And hardly had these words been said 
 Ere like a mist the vision fled. 
 
 Enchanted still, methought I stood 
 "Within a wild and darksome wood ; 
 To heaven the forest tower'd confused, 
 And marvelHng there, I mused, and mused. 
 
 But hark ! what distant echo wakes ? — 
 A hatchet-stroke the silence breaks ! — 
 Far through the wood the sound I chase. 
 And reach at last an open space. 
 
 There, in the midst of that green glade, 
 A mighty oak-tree casts its shade : 
 And lo ! the self-same maid appears, 
 And 'gainst the oak a hatchet rears. 
 
 With stroke on stroke she sped her toil, 
 And swung her axe, and croon'd the while 
 * Iron bright, iron best, 
 Shape me quick an oaken chest.' 
 
 Then to her side I softly drew. 
 And whisper'd low : ' O tell me true. 
 Thou wondrous lovely maiden mine. 
 For whom dost shape this oaken shrine?' 
 
 duickly she cried : ' The end draws nigh ; 
 To shape thy coffin here am I.' 
 And hardly had these words been said, 
 Ere like a mist the vision fled.
 
 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Now only a wan waste and wide 
 Stretch'd drearily on every side : 
 I felt I knew not how, and stood 
 To secret shuddering subdued. 
 
 As on I wander'd, far away 
 A white streak glimmer' d like a ray : 
 I hasten'd o'er the moorland bare 
 To reach it — and the maid was there. 
 
 On the wide heath-land stood the maid, 
 And deep in earth she dug her spade ; 
 Scarce dared I look, for in my dream 
 Fearful, though lovely, did she seem. 
 
 Eager the maiden sped her toil 
 
 And croon'd a wondrous song the while 
 
 ' Shovel, shovel, sharp and tried, 
 
 Dig a hollow deep and wide.' 
 
 Then to her side I softly drew, 
 And whisper'd her : ' O tell me true. 
 Thou lovely maiden, sweet and dear, 
 What means this gaping hollow here ?' 
 
 Quickly she answer'd : ' Silent be ! 
 A deep, cool grave I've dug for thee.' 
 And while the maiden thus replied. 
 The hollow, yawning, open'd wide. 
 
 As towards the brink I fearful drew, 
 An icy shiver thrill'd me through i 
 Into the chasm that yawn'd and"~quaked 
 Sudden I stumbled — and awaked.
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 
 
 „3Sad tttm uttti ioU mein toDed ^lut?" 
 
 Why doth my blood so madly flow? 
 What sets my fever'd heart aglow ? 
 My hot blood boils and frets and fumes, 
 And this wild glow my heart consumes. 
 
 My hot blood boils since that weird dream 
 When gloomy Night's dark Son did seem 
 To come to me at midnight grim, 
 And draw me panting after him. 
 
 To a brave house he brought me, where 
 'Mid tapers' gleam and torches' flare. 
 And sounding harp, and mirtli, and aU, 
 I softly stepp'd into the hall. 
 
 It was a wedding-feast, I knew : 
 The merry guests to table drew : 
 I stood the happy pair beside — 
 
 woe ! my loved one was the bride. 
 
 It was my darling, none but she ; 
 Her mate a stranger was to me. 
 And close behind the lady's chair 
 
 1 shrinking stood in mute despair. 
 
 The music rang ; I took no part 
 r the joyous din that chiU'd my heart : 
 The bride's sweet glances spoke her bliss, 
 The bridegroom press'd her hands in his.
 
 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 The bridegroom fill'd a beaker up, 
 And drank thereout, and pass'd the cup : 
 Sweetly she smiled her love to thank — 
 O woe ! it was my blood she drank. 
 
 The bride took up an apple fair. 
 And gave it to the bridegroom there : 
 He cut it with his knife apart — 
 O woe ! it was my very heart. 
 
 Her look was soft, his gaze was warm, 
 He boldly clasp'd her yielding form. 
 And kiss'd her cheek so bright of blee — 
 O woe ! but icy Death kiss'd me. 
 
 My tongue like lead in silence lay, 
 
 A single word I could not say : 
 
 The din uprose, 'twas revel all, 
 
 The happy pair danced through the haU. 
 
 Whilst cold and lifeless thus I stood. 
 The dancers wheel'd in merry mood : 
 The bridegroom spoke a low, soft word, 
 Then blush'd yet smiled the bonnie bird. 
 
 „^m fiif^en Sraum, Iici ftiQet: yiaOft." 
 
 In sweetest dreams, by silent night, 
 There came to me with magic might. 
 With magic might, my dearest dear. 
 Into my little chamber here.
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 
 
 I gazed, and to my earnest gaze 
 A gentle smile lit up her face ; 
 And as she smiled my heart beat high, 
 And forth these words in tumult fly : 
 
 * My sweet, take all, take all from me, — 
 Gladly I '11 yield up all to thee,— 
 Wih thou, lock'd in my arms, but stay 
 From midnight till the break of day.' 
 
 The dear one look'd upon me fain, 
 A strange, sad look of love and pain : 
 And, gazing thus, cried earnestly : 
 ' O give thy hope of heaven to me ! ' 
 
 ' My life, my youth, yea, all that 's mine, 
 To thee I '11 eagerly resign. 
 But ah ! sweet maiden, as I live, 
 My hope of heaven I cannot give ! ' 
 
 The words were bold and swiftly said. 
 Yet ever fairer bloom'd the maid. 
 And, gazing still, cried earnestly : 
 ' O o'ive thy hope of heaven to me ! ' 
 
 And aye these words rang in my ear, 
 And smote my inmost heart with fear ; 
 In fire my very soul they sheathed ; 
 Panting I lay, and hardly breathed. 
 
 And now fair angels to my gaze 
 
 Stood shining in a golden haze, 
 
 When up there came, with shriek and shout, 
 
 A black and horrid goblin rout.
 
 10 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 They struggled with the angel band, 
 They drove away the angel band ; 
 And then I saw the goblin crew 
 In clouds and darkness vanish too. 
 
 I long'd to fade in joy away, 
 My loved one on my bosom lay ; 
 Close crept she like a little roe, 
 Yet wept the while with bitter woe. 
 
 She wept — and why full well I wist ! 
 To peace her rosy lips I kiss'd : 
 ' O stay those bitter tears of thine, 
 And yield thee to this love of mine ! 
 
 ' Yield to the love that yearns for thee ! ' 
 Then sudden froze my blood in me : 
 Earth trembled from its depths profound, 
 A yawning chasm rent wide the ground. 
 
 Out from the chasm the goblin trail 
 Rose black and grim ; my love grew pale, 
 And, fading in my arms, my own. 
 My loved one, left me all alone ! 
 
 In a dark ring the goblin rout 
 Danced round me now with shriek and shout ; 
 They hustled me, they clutch'd me tight, 
 And scoff'd and jeer'd with all their might. 
 
 And ever nearer me they come. 
 And ever these fearful words they hum — 
 * Thou 'st given thy hope of heaven away, 
 And ours thou art for ever and aye 1 '
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. ii 
 
 „lWim ifta^ btt bo3 Saufgctb, nun jogerft t>u buis^?" 
 
 Thou dark, scowling fellow, I 've paid thee, I trow ! 
 So prithee, begone ! What 's keeping thee now ? 
 Here I in my snug little chamber abide, 
 Mirk midnight draws near, and I wait but the bride. 
 
 Damp, shuddering winds from the churchyard sigh — 
 Have you seen, clammy winds, my wee bride passing by ? 
 Then all round about me wild, wan faces press, 
 And bow to me, nodding and grinning, ' O yes 1 ' 
 
 Come, out with thy message ! what is thy desire. 
 
 Thou ugly black scoundrel, in livery of fire ? 
 
 * My most gracious lady doth here notify 
 
 That, drawn by her dragons, she comes by and by.' 
 
 Dead master of mine, what wind has brought thee ? 
 Dear grey little mannie, what wantest with me ? 
 He looks in my face, touch'd and sad as he may, 
 Then shakes his old head, and goes on his way. 
 
 Why whimpers that shaggy dog, wagging his tail? 
 Why glares the black tom-cat, with eyes fierce and fell? 
 And why howl the women with long, streaming hair? 
 And why sings old nursey my cradle-song there? 
 
 Old nurse, bide at home with that sing-song and prate, — 
 That hush-a-by-baby is rather too late ! 
 To-day is my wedding — see ! many a guest 
 Already approaches, trick'd out in his best.
 
 12 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Just look! — My dear sirs, now I call it polite 
 
 With heads 'stead of hats in your hands to alight ! 
 
 Ye clattering-boned fellows in gallows array, 
 
 What 's kept ye? — the wind has been sleeping all day. 
 
 On her broomstick an old witch comes riding to me — 
 Ah, bless me, my mother ! thy son I must be. 
 The blue lips twitch in her wan, wither'd face — 
 ' For ever, amen ! ' are the words that she says. 
 
 Twelve scrannel-piped singers make piteous appeals, 
 
 A blind fiddler-wife limps in at their heels ; 
 
 On a grave-digger's back next clumsily jogs 
 
 A clown through my room in his bright-colour'd togs. 
 
 Now twelve nuns, all dancing and skipping, advance. 
 The leering old abbess aye leading the dance ; 
 Next twelve wanton priests, who, without any qualm, 
 Strike up a vile song to the tune of a psalm. 
 
 Old clothesman ! don't bawl yourself blue in the face ; 
 Your fur-coat in hell would be quite out of place ; 
 Down there fire costs nothing, fed through the long years, 
 Not with wood, but with bones of paupers and peers. 
 
 The flower-girls, crooked and bent though they be, 
 Tumble head over heels in the room beside me ; 
 With grasshopper legs and owlish-like gibs — 
 Give up, I beseech ye, that rattling of ribs ! 
 
 Now surely all hell is let loose for the night ; 
 The rout swarms hither in tumult and fight ; 
 E'en the waltz of damnation resounds far and near — 
 Hush ! hush ! for my loved one will shortly be here.
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 13 
 
 Hush ! hush ! ye vile scum, or pack off to your lair — 
 I hardly can hear myself speak, I declare ! 
 Dear me, there 's a carriage my dwelling before — 
 Old cookie, where are you? Quick — open the door! 
 
 Now welcome, my darling 1 how dost thou, my fair ? 
 And you, Mister Parson, pray do take a chair ; 
 With your horse-hoofs and tail. Mister Parson, you see 
 Your humble and dutiful servant in me ! 
 
 Sweet bride, why art thou so silent and white? 
 
 The parson is ready to wed us to-night. 
 
 I '11 pay him his dues, dear as blood though they be ; 
 
 They are nothing when weigh'd 'gainst the winning of thee. 
 
 Kneel down then, sweet bride ; kneel down by my side 1 — 
 There kneels she, there sinks she — O rapturous tide ! 
 She sinks on my heart, all wild in its nest ; 
 I clasp her with shuddering joy to my breast. 
 
 Now o'er us the golden locks waver and shine, 
 Now warmly beateth her heart against mine. 
 With rapture and woe to and fro they are driven. 
 And soar away into the bosom of heaven. 
 
 And there up above, in God's holy height. 
 Our hearts are swimming in rapture and light ; 
 But ah 1 on our heads, as a terrible brand. 
 Has hell laid in triumph a withering hand. 
 
 The dark son of night and terror, no less. 
 Is the priest who comes our union to bless ; 
 From a blood-stain'd book he murmurs the verse, 
 His prayer is blaspheming, his blessing a curse.
 
 14 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 But hark ! how it crashes, and hisses, and howls, 
 As when thunder rattles and wild ocean scowls ; 
 And see ! in the gloom a sudden blue blaze — 
 ' For ever, amen !' the old mother says. 
 
 „^iS) iam tion tncincr pectin $(iu8." 
 
 I wander'd back from my darling's bower, 
 In frenzy and dread, at the midnight hour. 
 And as I stole through the churchyard grey 
 The solemn tombs nid-nodded away. 
 
 The minstrel's tombstone is nodding, methinks, — 
 Yet no 1 'tis the moon that flickers and blinks ! 
 Hush! a whisper : ' Dear brother, I come! I come!' 
 And a pale weird shade rises out of the tomb. 
 
 'Tis the ghost of the minstrel himself I see — 
 Perch'd high on the top of his tomb sits he ; 
 The strings of his lute he strikes with a will, 
 And sings as he plays right hollow and shrill : 
 
 ' Dull chords and sad, know ye still the lay, 
 The lay that once the heart could sway, 
 
 And to frenzy could inflame it ? 
 'Tis the joy of heaven, sing the angel choir ; 
 'Tis the woe of hell, howl the devils in fire — 
 
 And Jove poor mortals name it.' 
 
 The sound of that word is scarcely gone 
 Ere the graves begin to open and yawn ; 
 And shadowy forms in crowds draw near 
 And screech round the singer shrill and clear —
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 15 
 
 ' Love, O love, it was thy might 
 Sent to bed each luckless vv^ight, 
 And his eyelids shut up tight, — 
 Why then waken us to-night ?' 
 
 Thus howl they, and hiss, and moan, and groan, 
 And patter and clatter round the stone. 
 Where the minstrel sits and wildly sings 
 As he strikes again the quivering strings — 
 
 * Brave ! bravo ! ye have heard ! 
 
 Mad as ever. 
 
 Ah ! ye never 
 Can resist my magic word. 
 Since in our dark chamber we 
 Quiet as mice must ever be, 
 To-night we '11 freak it merrily ! — 
 
 Stop a bit ! — 
 Is there no man here to see ? — 
 Noodles were we in the world, 
 By our passion madly hurl'd 
 Into love's fierce flaming pit ! 
 Now to freak it well and fully. 
 Each one here shall tell us truly 
 How it happen'd in his case — 
 
 How o'erborne 
 
 He was torn 
 In love's frantic, furious chase.' 
 
 Then, light as the wind, skips out from the throng 
 A thin, meagre shadow, humming this song: —
 
 1 6 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 ' A tailor was my master, 
 
 With needle and with shears ; 
 Than I none plodded faster 
 
 With needle and with shears. 
 
 His daughter play'd her part, Sir, 
 
 With needle and with shears ; 
 And prick'd me to the heart. Sir, 
 
 With needle and with shears.' 
 
 Then laugh'd all the ghosts with a merry shout ; 
 As grave as a judge a second stepp'd out : — 
 
 ' By Rinaldo Rinaldini, 
 Schinderhanno, Orlandini, 
 And especially Charles Moor, 
 As my model men I swore. 
 
 And since they had loved and courted, 
 So I too myself disported ; 
 Dreaming of the fairest maid, 
 I was hke to lose my head. 
 
 Sighing, cooing, hard and harder, 
 I went mad with love and ardour, 
 And my thoughtless fingers slid 
 'Neath my neighbour's pocket-lid. 
 
 But the street-watch used me badly^ 
 And my tears were flowing sadly, 
 Till I dried up all my grief 
 In my neighbour's handkerchief.
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. i? 
 
 Then facetious bailiffs chased me, 
 Caught me kindly and embraced me ; 
 And in Bridewell, free from harms, 
 There I found a mother's arms. 
 
 Full of love, and musing sweetly. 
 There much wool I spun discreetly, 
 Till Rinaldo's shade came by, 
 Snatch'd my soul, and— here am 1 1' 
 
 Then laugh'd all the ghosts with a merry shout. 
 Berouged and bedizen'd a third stepp'd out : — 
 ' As king of the boards I spouted, 
 
 A lover was my role ; 
 " Yc gods !" I bellow'd and shouted, 
 And sigh'd with all my soul. 
 
 To " Mortimer "—my best part, Sir,— 
 
 Maria was fair and fit ; 
 But though I play'd from the heart. Sir, 
 
 She never would see it a bit. 
 
 " Maria ! " cried I in a stagger 
 
 Of wild despairing, and fell — 
 For, nimbly plying a dagger, 
 
 I 'd stabbed myself rather too well.' 
 
 Then laugh'd all the ghosts with a merry shout. 
 In coarse white jacket a fourth stepp'd out : — 
 * The Professor held forth from his place in the College, 
 
 And soundly the while I snoozed on a bench ; 
 From his daughter I 'd rather been gathering knowledge- 
 She was such a neat little, sweet little wench, 
 
 B
 
 1 8 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Ah ! oft from her windows she 'd nod me a greeting. 
 My blossom of blossoms, the light of my Hfe : 
 
 My blossom of blossoms was pluck'd, and my sweeting — 
 A mean, money'd philistine had her to wife. 
 
 Then cursed I the women and rogues with long purses, 
 And mix'd devil's drugs in my wine rather free ; 
 
 And, drinking with Death, while I pour'd out my curses,— 
 " Your health ! I 'm your comrade for ever," cried he.* 
 
 Then laugh'd all the ghosts with a merry shout. 
 A fifth with a rope round his neck stepp'd out : — 
 
 * A purse-proud Count sat over his wine, 
 And bragg'd of his daughter and jewels so fine. 
 I heed not the jewels. Sir Count, that are thine, 
 I had rather thy dear little daughter were mine. 
 
 Now both, he thought, were safe as could be, 
 For bolts, and bars, and knaves had he. 
 But what were his doors and knaves to me? — 
 I had perfect faith in my ladder, d' ye see ? 
 
 Then up to the dear one's lattice I went. 
 When some one below to a curse gave vent : 
 " Fair and softly, my lad ; I 'm coming up too ; 
 I love the jewels as well as you." 
 
 Thus jeer'd the Count as he grasp'd me tight, 
 And his knaves stood round and laugh'd outright ; 
 " Deuce take ye, rascals ! no thief I be ; 
 I was only taking my love to me."
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 19 
 
 Explain as I would, it was no use ; 
 They soon got ready a rope and noose : 
 And the sun when he rose did wondering stare 
 As I swung about in the morning air.' 
 
 Then laugh'd all the ghosts with a merry shout. 
 And a sixth with his head in his hand stepp'd out : — 
 
 ' To hunt i' the wood love drove me out, 
 
 With gun in hand I crept about ; 
 
 A raven croaking in a tree 
 
 "Head off! head off! " stood eyeing me. 
 
 that I saw a Httle dove ! 
 
 For I would take it to my love, — 
 Thus musing, every bush and tree 
 My sportsman's eye scann'd narrowly. 
 
 But hush ! what low sweet cooing 's this ? — 
 Two turtle-doves I hope it is : 
 
 1 cock my gun, and steal hard by, 
 And there — my only love I spy ! 
 
 My dove, my bride, with all her charms, — 
 A stranger clasps her in his arms ! 
 Old gun, be steady ! fail me not ! — 
 The stranger on the ground lay shot. 
 
 Soon headsmen in the wood were seen, 
 
 Walking away with me between ; 
 
 The raven croaking in a tree 
 
 "Head off! head off! " stood eyeing me.'
 
 20 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Then laugh'd all the ghosts with a merry shout. 
 And last the minstrel himself stepp'd out : — 
 
 * I once sang a song, love's token ; 
 
 That beautiful song is o'er : 
 When the heart within me was broken, 
 
 Song left me evermore.' 
 
 Then louder and weirder their laughter rang out, 
 And round in a ring swept the wild, wan rout, 
 Till the clock struck one — then each ghostly knave, 
 With a wailing howl, rush'd into his grave ! 
 
 „^(S) lag unb fc^Iief, unb ftJ^Iief vc<S)t milb." 
 
 I FELL asleep, and quietly slept ; 
 
 Gone were my grief and care ; 
 In silent dreams before me swept 
 
 A maid divinely fair. 
 
 And pale as marble did she seem, 
 
 And strangely gazed at me ; 
 Her eyes they had a pearly gleam, 
 
 Her hair waved wondrously. 
 
 And lightly in my vision pass'd 
 
 That maiden pale and wan, 
 And on my heart sank down at last 
 
 That maiden pale and wan. 
 
 How heaved and throbb'd with joy and woe 
 
 The heart that burn'd in me ! 
 Nor heaved nor throbb'd her bosom so. 
 
 But cold as ice was she.
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 21 
 
 ' Nor heaves nor throbs with joy and woe 
 
 This icy heart, yet well 
 The mighty power of love I know — 
 
 Its heaven and its hell. 
 
 ' Nor lips nor cheeks with roses shine, 
 
 Nor red blood warms my heart ; 
 Yet shudder not, for I am thine — 
 
 My only love thou art 1 ' 
 
 And wilder yet she clung to me, ^ 
 
 My heart grew chill with dread ; 
 Then crow'd the cock, and silently 
 
 The pale wan maiden fled. 
 
 The ghastly spectres grieve me 
 I summon'd by word of might ; 
 
 They came, but will not leave me. 
 To sink to their ancient night. 
 
 The spell that is their master 
 I 've forgotten, to my dismay ; 
 
 To perdition, fast and faster. 
 The spectres drag me away. 
 
 Down to where darkness gloometh ! 
 
 Begone 1 — nor drag me so, — 
 There 's many a joy still bloometh 
 
 That I in the world may know.
 
 22 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Fain would I struggle and strive for 
 A flower I 've long watch'd o'er — 
 
 Ah, what is there left to live for, 
 If I must love no more ? 
 
 O once, but once, to fold her 
 
 In my bosom, glowing and fain ! 
 
 once with kisses to hold her — 
 Wild kisses of sweetest pain ! 
 
 One kind, loving word, could I hear it- 
 One whisper, my love, from thee — 
 
 1 'd follow that grisly spirit, 
 
 And the darkest of destinies dree. 
 
 The listening ghosts draw near me, 
 Their terrible nods I see ; 
 
 Ah, darling, darling, hear me ; 
 Sweet love, ah, lov'st thou me ?
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 23 
 
 SONGS. 
 
 „5!»otflen8 fte^ iO) fluf unb ftage." 
 
 Up I start at morning, crying, 
 
 ' Will she come to-day ? ' 
 Down I sink at evening, sighing, 
 
 ' She is still away ! ' 
 Through the night my fate I ponder. 
 
 Sad and sleepless aye ; 
 Dreaming, half awake, I wander 
 
 All the weary day. 
 
 „S^ umnSicltc untct ben ©aumcn." 
 
 O'erhead the leaves are shaking, 
 
 Alone I wander in pain. 
 And the old dream awaking. 
 
 Steals to my heart again. 
 
 Who taught you this word, ye birdies ? 
 
 Ah, cease your song in the tree ! 
 My heart, when it hears this word, is 
 
 Aweary and sad in me. 
 
 ' 'Twas here a maiden brought it ; 
 
 And ever she sang this word 
 So golden-sweet, she taught it 
 
 To every listening bird.'
 
 24 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Sly birds, pray do not borrow 
 Such stories to win me o'er ; 
 
 Ye would wile away my sorrow, 
 But I trust in no one more. 
 
 „ 2ic& Sicft^en, Icfl'8 ^dnt>t^en ouf'8 ^em taein." 
 
 Thy little hand lay on my heart, my fair ! 
 Hear'st thou how it knocks in its chamber there? 
 There bides a carpenter — wicked is he, — 
 So busily making a coffin for me. 
 
 He knocks and hammers night and day, 
 And long has driven my sleep away : 
 Haste, Master Carpenter ! haste, nor keep 
 Me longer awake — I fain would sleep. 
 
 w93evg' un* SJurgcn fri^ttu'n fjcruntet." 
 
 Cliff and castle, downward glancing, 
 
 In Rhine's silver bosom, see ! 
 'Mid bright rings of sunshine dancing, 
 
 Lo, my bark glides merrily. 
 
 While I watch the golden breaking 
 Of the waves through which we dart, 
 
 Silently those thoughts are waking 
 That he deepest in the heart. 
 
 Gaily luring, kindly greeting, 
 
 Gleaming, curls the dimpled flow ; 
 
 While in light its breast is beating, 
 Night and death lie hid below.
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 25 
 
 Bliss without, dark snares within thee, 
 Stream, thou dost my love portray ! 
 
 Nodding, as if friends thou 'dst win thee ; 
 Smiling sweetly— to betray. 
 
 First methought I 'd sink before it ; 
 
 Weary was my heart, I trow ! 
 Nathless, you can see, I bore it — 
 
 But pray do not ask me how. 
 
 „mii IRofcn, G^^jreffcn, unb gHtterfloIb." 
 
 Fain would I deck this book of mine 
 As if it were a dear one's shrine, 
 With rose and cypress and gold-leaf gay. 
 And in it bury my songs away. 
 
 And would that I could this love entomb ! 
 By the grave of love peace springs in bloom. 
 Folk pluck it there, but 'twill only be 
 In blossom on my grave for me. 
 
 Lo ! here are the songs that once uprose 
 Wild as the lava in Etna's throes : 
 They leap'd from my inmost soul, and threw 
 Bright sparkling showers of fiery dew. 
 
 Now silent and death-like are they laid— 
 Cold, cold, and still as a misty shade ;
 
 26 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Yet should the spirit of love pass o'er, 
 They 'd kindle and sparkle as of yore. 
 
 And well I think 'twill yet be so: 
 Beneath love's spii-t again they'll glow, 
 If ever this book shall reach thy hand. 
 Thou sweet love in yon distant land ; 
 
 Then the spell shall be loosed that froze my lays. 
 And the sad, wan letters will upward gaze, 
 Ah, so imploring, in thine eye. 
 And whisper of love with many a sigh !
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 27 
 
 ROMANCES. 
 
 THE MOURNER. 
 
 Every heart is fill'd with sorrow 
 
 For the pale youth, wrung with pain, 
 
 From whose brow no glad to-morrow 
 Lifts the clouds of grief again. 
 
 Cooling breezes, pity laden, 
 
 O'er his fever'd cheeks will play ; 
 Many a coy and gentle maiden 
 
 Fain would kiss his grief away. 
 
 In the greenwood see him wander. 
 
 Far from noisy haunts of men ; 
 Sweet the birds are warbling yonder, 
 
 In their rustling leafy den. 
 
 But that joyous warbling dieth. 
 
 Every bird sits hush'd and drear ! 
 Mournfully the wildwood sigheth 
 
 While the sad one draweth near. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN VOICE. 
 
 Sadly adown the valley rode 
 
 A trooper bold and brave ; 
 ' And do I go to my darling's arms, 
 
 Or down to the darksome grave ? ' — 
 The mountain answer gave — 
 
 * The darksome grave ! '
 
 28 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 And further then the trooper rode, 
 A deep sigh heaved his breast : 
 
 ' And do I go to the grave so young ? 
 Ah, well ! in the grave is rest 1 ' 
 
 The mountain voice confess'd — 
 * The grave is rest.' 
 
 A tear roll'd down the trooper's cheek, 
 
 A tear of bitter pain : 
 ' And is rest for me in the grave alone ?- 
 
 Then for me the grave is gain ! ' 
 The voice made low refrain — 
 
 ' The grave is gain ! ' 
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 On the hill-top, silent, darkling. 
 Stands the castle, wrapt in night ; 
 
 Lights are in the valley sparkling, 
 Swords are flashing wild and bright. 
 
 There the brothers, fierce and cruel. 
 Rage and fight with bloody knife ; 
 
 Say, what means this dreadful duel ? 
 Why this furious, raging strife ? 
 
 Laura's eye shines bright and kindly — 
 Countess Laura, sweet and fair,— 
 
 Both the brothers love her blindly — 
 Thus it is they struggle there.
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 29 
 
 Which, then, does the maiden favour ? 
 
 Which shall have her for his bride ? 
 Ah, she keeps the secret ever ! — 
 
 Out then, sabre^ and decide. 
 
 Clash on clash rings down the valley, 
 
 Fiercer, wilder, grows the fight — 
 Ah, ye madmen ! terrors sally 
 
 Grim and ghastly through the night. 
 
 Woe, ye brothers, blindly vying ! 
 
 Woe, ah woe, thou bloody glade ! 
 Each upon the sod is lying, 
 
 Slaughter'd by a brother's blade. 
 
 Many hundred years have flitted, 
 
 Many a race hath pass'd away. 
 And the castle, all unpitied, 
 
 Mutely crumbles to decay. 
 
 But at night strange forms of wonder 
 
 Gather in the gloomy glades ; 
 Hush ! 'tis midnight, and see yonder 
 
 Flash the brothers' eager blades. 
 
 SONG OF THE PRISONER. 
 
 My grannie bewitch'd poor Lizzie one day : 
 ' Go, burn her ! ' folks 'gan to mutter ; 
 
 But though the judge might scribble away. 
 No word of confession she 'd utter.
 
 30 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Loud shriek'd she ' Murder ! O murder and woe I' 
 When into a caldron they toss'd her ; 
 
 But ere the reek could smother her, lo ! 
 
 To a raven she 'hanged — and they lost her. 
 
 My black-wing'd grandmother, quickly flee 
 From the dark clouds closing above me ; 
 
 Through the bars of my dungeon come to me 
 With cheese and cakes, an you love me. 
 
 My black-wing'd grandmother, hear my cries 
 That I send to you in my sorrow — 
 
 Don't let old auntie pick out my eyes 
 When I swing in a rope to-morrow. 
 
 THE GRENADIERS. 
 
 Two grenadiers, in Russia ta'en, 
 To France were homeward faring, 
 
 But when they reach'd a German inn. 
 They hung their heads despairing ; 
 
 For there a woful tale hear they — 
 France lost and all forsaken — 
 
 Vanquish'd and shatter 'd her grande arviee- 
 And the Emperor, the Emperor taken ! 
 
 The bitter tears bedim their eyes — 
 Their hearts are fill'd with yearning : 
 
 ' Ah me 1 what pain is this ? ' one cries ; 
 ' How my old wound is burning ! '
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 31 
 
 The other sighs : ' That play is done, 
 
 And death with thee I 'd cherish ; 
 But ah ! my wife and little one, 
 
 If I come not, will perish.' 
 
 * What care I for wife or child ? 
 
 Far deeper longings waken : 
 Let them go beg with hunger wild — 
 My Emperor, my Emperor taken ! 
 
 * Grant me, my brother, this one prayer ; 
 
 I'm dying — don't gainsay me — 
 But carry me back to France, and there 
 In kindly French earth lay me. 
 
 * My honour-cross, with its crimson band. 
 
 Place thou on the heart that stirr'd me. 
 And clasp the gun in my clenched hand, 
 And with my sabre gird me, 
 
 * Thus still will I bide among the dead, 
 
 Like a sentinel, till the rattle 
 And roar of cannon shall thunder o'erhead. 
 And the tramp of the steeds to battle. 
 
 * When rides my Emperor over my grave, — 
 
 Swords' clank and glitter attending, — 
 Then, ready arm'd, I'll spring from the grave— 
 The Emperor, the Emperor defending I '
 
 32 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 THE MESSAGE. 
 
 Up ! up ! good knave, go saddle thy steed ; 
 
 In hot haste mount and hie 
 O'er hill and dale and wood, until 
 
 King Duncan's towers are nigh. 
 
 There in his stable wait, and when 
 The menial comes, then say — 
 
 * Which of King Duncan's daughters is 't 
 That 's bonnie bride to-day ? ' 
 
 And should he say — ' The dark one is 1 ' 
 
 Then hither quickly come ; 
 But should he say — * The fair one is ! ' 
 
 Ride not so swiftly home ! 
 
 But go into the town, and buy 
 
 A rope to take with thee. 
 And slowly ride ; speak not a word — 
 
 But bring that rope to me. 
 
 THE HOME-GOING. 
 
 I GO not alone, my lady fair ! 
 
 We two must wend together 
 To the dear old house, the home of my childhood 
 To the drear cold house, so lone in the wildwood — 
 My mother at the door will be 
 Watching and wearying for me.
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 55 
 
 O get thee hence, thou gloomy man ! 
 
 Who was 't bid thee hither ? 
 Thine eyes flash fire, thy breath 's aglow, 
 Thy hand is ice, thy cheek is snow. 
 O leave me alone to sing and dance 
 Where roses bloom and sunbeams glance ! 
 
 Let the roses bloom, let the sun shine bright, 
 
 My sweet ! my darling ! 
 Around thee fling the bride's attire. 
 And sweep the strings of the sounding lyre — 
 A bridal song thou 'It sing to me 
 While the night-wind pipes the melody. 
 
 DON RAMIRO. 
 
 ' Donna Clara ! Donna Clara ! 
 Many long years loved and courted ; 
 Thou hast doom'd me to my ruin, 
 Thou hast doom'd me without pity ! 
 
 ' Donna Clara ! Donna Clara ! 
 Life is sweet though life be cheerless 
 Fears and horrors lie beneath us 
 In the cold grave, dark and gloomy. 
 
 ' Donna Clara ! 'tis to-morrow 
 That Fernando at the ahar 
 As his happy bride will greet thee — 
 Wilt thou bid me to the wedding ? '
 
 34 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 * Don Ramiro ! Don Ramiro ! 
 Bitter are the words thou speakest ; 
 Harsher than the stars above us, 
 Yonder, mocking my heart's wishes. 
 
 ' Don Ramiro ! Don Ramiro ! 
 Shake away that gloomy sadness — 
 Some sweet maiden yet awaits thee ; 
 But we two by God are parted. 
 
 * Don Ramiro ! thou who bravely 
 Many a Moorish host hast conquer'd. 
 Conquer now thyself, Ramiro! — 
 Come to-morrow to my wedding.' 
 
 ' Donna Clara ! Donna Clara ! 
 
 I will come ! yes, hear me swear it ! 
 
 In the dance with thee I '11 foot it. 
 
 Sweet, good-night 1 I '11 come to-morrow. 
 
 ' Sweet, good-night 1 ' The window rattled 
 Sighing stood Ramiro under, 
 Pale and silent like a statue. 
 Then stole forth into the darkness. 
 
 And at last night long and dreary 
 Flies before the sunny dawning : 
 Like a brightly blooming garden 
 Lies Toledo, widely scatter'd. 
 
 Palaces and lordly mansions 
 Shimmer in the gleaming sunshine ; 
 Lofty dome and tower and steeple 
 Bright as burnish'd gold are flashing.
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 35 
 
 Like the hum of bees a-s\varming 
 Merry peals and chimes are tinkhng ; 
 While from holy house and cloister 
 Rise the grateful hymns of morning. 
 
 But see yonder, what commotion ! 
 
 Slowly from the market chapel 
 
 Crowds are swarming, crowds are streaming. 
 
 Gay with flowers and gala-dresses. 
 
 Gallant knights and lovely ladies 
 And gay courtiers there are shining ; 
 Joyous clash the bells above them, 
 And, between, the organ thunders. 
 
 Yet apart from all, with honour. 
 In the middle of the people. 
 Walk that young and gallant couple — 
 Donna Clara, Don Fernando. 
 
 To the palace of the bridegroom 
 Crowds the joyous throng of people ; 
 There the wedding feast beginneth 
 Bravely, in the good old fashion. 
 
 Now with tournament and feasting. 
 Now with song and loud rejoicing. 
 Swift the merry hours speed onward. 
 Daylight fades and night approaches. 
 
 In the palace then they gather, 
 Sweeping round in merry dances, 
 And the bright hall shines and blazes, 
 And the festive garments glitter.
 
 56 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 On a dais raised and lofty 
 Bride and bridegroom sit together — 
 Donna Clara, Don Fernando — 
 Sweetly there thej' chat and whisper. 
 
 And the dancers, sweeping, whirling, 
 Through the bright hall gleam and glitter ; 
 And the loud drums beat and rattle. 
 And the trumpets clang and clamour, 
 
 ' Wherefore, dear and lovely lady. 
 Dost thou gaze so rapt and silent 
 Tow'rds that distant corner yonder ?' 
 Thus the bridegroom spake in wonder. 
 
 ' Dost not see, then, Don Fernando, 
 Some one in a dark, black mantle ?' 
 And the knight smiled kindly on her — 
 ' Ah, 'tis but an empty shadow !' 
 
 Nearer, nearer drew the shadow — 
 And a man was 'neath the mantle ; 
 Clara, blushing, quickly knew him — 
 'Twas Ramiro that she greeted. 
 
 Down the hall now, sweeping, sailing, 
 Fast and furious wheel the dancers. 
 Round in mad and giddy waltzes. 
 And the broad floor groans and quivers. 
 
 * Gladly will I, Don Ramiro, 
 Dance with thee, since thou hast ask'd me, 
 Yet I would thou hadst not come here 
 In that black and gloomy mantle.'
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 37 
 
 With fix'd, piercing eyes, Ramiro 
 Gazes on the lovely Clara, 
 Clasps her firm, and mutters darkly — 
 ' Thou didst bid me to thy wedding I' 
 
 Through the maze and merry tumult 
 "Wheel and sail the two together ; 
 And the loud drums beat and rattle. 
 And the trumpets clang and clamour, 
 
 • Snow-white are thy cheeks, Ramiro ! ' 
 Whispers Clara, inly trembling ; 
 
 ' Thou didst bid me to thy wedding 1 ' 
 Hollow mutters Don Ramiro. 
 
 In the hall the tapers flicker 
 As the crowd sweeps madly onward ; 
 And the loud drums beat and rattle. 
 And the trumpets clang and clamour. 
 
 • Ice-cold are thy hands, Ramiro!' 
 Whispers Clara, fearful, shuddering ; 
 
 • Thou didst bid me to thy wedding !' — 
 And they whirl among the dancers. 
 
 'Leave me! leave me ! Don Ramiro, — 
 Cold and death-like is thy breathing ; 
 But again the dark words thrill her — 
 ' Thou didst bid me to thy wedding.' 
 
 ' Neath the dance the floor is glowing. 
 Loud the merry music soundeth ; 
 Like a wondrous magic-weaving, 
 All is madly whirl'd together.
 
 38 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 ' Leave me, leave me, Don Ramiro ! ' 
 Whimpers Clara 'midst the dancers : 
 Don Ramiro answers ever — 
 ' Thou didst bid me to thy wedding !' 
 
 ' In the name of God, now leave me !' 
 Clara cries with firmer utterance ; 
 And the words were hardly spoken 
 Ere Ramiro vanish'd from her. 
 
 Clara, pale and numb with horror. 
 
 Sinks, while blank cold night sweeps o'er her, 
 
 And a swoon bears her bright spirit 
 
 To its dark and gloomy kingdotn. 
 
 But the clouds and darkness leave her. 
 And once more her eyes she opens ; 
 Then with wonder and amazement 
 Closes them again, and trembles. 
 
 Since the dance began, she never 
 From the dais has arisen ; 
 Still she sits beside the bridegroom. 
 Who with anxious eye beholds her. 
 
 ' Speak ! what means this ashy paleness ? 
 Wherefore are thine eyes so troubled ? ' — 
 ' And Ramiro ! ' stammers Clara, 
 Stricken dumb with fear and horror. 
 
 But with bended brow the bridegroom 
 Sternly thus replied unto her : — 
 ' Lady, news of blood why ask for? — 
 Ere the noon pass'd, died Ramiro.'
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 39 
 
 BELSHAZZAR. 
 
 The midnight hour was drawing on ; 
 Still as the grave lay Babylon. 
 
 But in the palace of the king 
 Were noisy mirth and revelling. 
 
 There 'mid his peers and nobles all, 
 Belshazzar feasts in his banquet-hall. 
 
 His courtiers round him glitter and shine, 
 Draining beakers of sparkling wine. 
 
 They clink the beakers and shout aloud ; 
 And the king is haughty, the king is proud. 
 
 There 's a flush on his cheeks, a fire in his eyes, 
 And daring thoughts in the wine-cup rise. 
 
 Above the revel his voice is heard, 
 
 And he curses God with an impious word. 
 
 He vaunts himself, and rails, and jeers, 
 And the hall resounds to the shouting peers. 
 
 The king looks round with a haughty eye ; 
 A servant hastens at his cry ; 
 
 Aloft the vessels of gold he brings, 
 
 Robb'd from the house of the King of kings. 
 
 Then grasps the king with impious grip 
 A sacred goblet fill'd to the lip. 
 
 He drains at a draught the goblet dry, 
 And with lips a-foam doth jeering cry : —
 
 40 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 'Jehovah ! I scorn Thee and Thy throne ! — 
 I am the King of Babylon ! ' 
 
 But scarce had the fearful words been said, 
 Ere shook the heart of the king with dread ; 
 
 The loud laugh died to a shrinking breath, 
 And all in the hall was still as death. 
 
 And lo ! on the high wall, broad and bare. 
 The hand, as the hand of a man, was there ; 
 
 And wrote, and wrote on the wall, in red. 
 Red letters of fire, and vanished. 
 
 The dumb king gazed with awe and affright, 
 His joints were loosen'd, his face was white ; 
 
 Crept through the crowd an icy thrill, 
 None moved, and every lip was still. 
 
 The Magi came, yet vain were all 
 To read the writing on the wall ; 
 
 But his courtiers rose that night with care. 
 And fell on the king and slew him there. 
 
 THE WOUNDED KNIGHT. 
 
 Sad in my heart is written 
 A tale of the days of old — 
 
 A knight he lies love-smitten ; 
 His fair one is faithless and cold.
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 41 
 
 And now must he look upon her 
 
 As false whom he loves so true ; 
 Now deem it a dishonour 
 
 That love should thrill him through. 
 
 Into the lists see him rattle, 
 
 And wildly throw his glove — 
 * Let him be ready to battle 
 
 Who dares to slander my love ! ' 
 
 But all are silent around him — 
 
 All, save his own fierce pain ; 
 And he turns his lance to wound him. 
 
 And strikes his heart in twain. 
 
 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 I lean'd against the bending mast, 
 
 And every billow counted ; 
 Adieu, my lovely fatherland ! 
 
 And o'er the surge we mounted. 
 
 Her casement glitter'd as I pass'd. 
 Sweet, how my heart was beating 1 
 
 I almost gazed my eyes away ; 
 But no one waved a greeting. 
 
 O cease to flow, ye blinding tears, 
 For sight undimm'd I languish ; 
 
 And thou, poor heart ! ah, do not break 
 Beneath this weight of ans^uish !
 
 42 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 THE SONG OF REPENTANCE. 
 
 Sir Ulrich rides through the forest glade, 
 The leaves they rustle and glisten ; 
 
 Betwixt the boughs he sees a maid, 
 Who seems to stop and listen. 
 
 The young knight says : ' Ah, well I know 
 
 That sweetest of sweet faces ; 
 It haunts me still where'er I go 
 
 In towns and desert places. 
 
 ' Two dewy roses are the lips, 
 
 So fresh and bright they glitter, 
 Yet from between them often slips 
 
 A cruel word and bitter. 
 
 * That witching mouth that wounds and grieves, 
 
 A rose-bush doth resemble, 
 Where wily snakes, among the leaves, 
 
 With venom hiss and tremble. 
 
 ' That lovely dimple in the cheek — 
 
 That dimpled sweet so takes me. 
 It is the grave that I must seek — 
 
 A frenzied yearning makes me. 
 
 ' And yonder, round the fairest head, 
 
 GHmmer the sunniest tresses — 
 That is the net the devil outspread, — 
 
 Now close about mc it presses.
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 43 
 
 * Yon clear blue eyes, whose liquid look 
 
 Seems something more than mortal, 
 For the gate of heaven itself I took — 
 Alas ! 'twas hell's own portal.' 
 
 And further Sir Ulrich rode through the wood, 
 Sad rustled the green leaves o'er him ; 
 
 When, tearful and wan, at a distance stood 
 Another vision before him. 
 
 The young knight spake : ' O mother mine ! 
 
 How yearn'd thy bosom toward me, — 
 How long I vex'd that heart of thine 
 
 With the passionate thoughts that stirr'd me ! 
 
 * O to dry thine eyes with this hot pain 
 
 Of grief, that nought can smother 1 
 O to redden thy thin wan cheeks again 
 With my heart's blood, dearest mother 1 ' 
 
 And further he rode through the darkling glade, 
 
 As the daylight was a-dying ; 
 Strange voices 'gan to stir in the shade, 
 
 And the evening winds were sighing. 
 
 The young knight listens, and hears his words. 
 
 And deems the echoes flout him ; 
 'Tis only the happy little birds 
 
 That warble all about him — 
 
 « A charming song Sir Ulrich sings. 
 
 The song of a heart that rueth ; 
 And when to an end his chant he brings. 
 
 That strain he aye reneweth.'
 
 44 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 ON HEARING A LADY SING AN OLD BALLAD. 
 
 That lovely siren long will haunt me. 
 
 I see her still, as on that day 
 When her sweet voice's soft appealing 
 Woke in my heart the deepest feeling, 
 While down my cheek the tear-drops stealing 
 
 Told what no words of mine could say. 
 
 Dreams of long-vanish'd years came o'er me,- 
 
 Methought I was a child again. 
 And by the lamp I well remember 
 Sat silent in my mother's chamber 
 To read old tales, while drear December 
 
 Sobbed weirdly at the window-pane. 
 
 The tales with life began to quiver ; 
 
 The knights are rising from their graves ; 
 To Roncesvallcs to join the battle 
 Sir Roland rides, while round him rattle 
 Many keen swords, and that vile chattel 
 
 Base Ganelon, the knave of knaves. 
 
 Betray'd by him is brave Sir Roland, 
 
 He swims in blood and breathes with pain ; 
 Scarce may his horn, though far he send it, 
 Reach Charlemagne ; and all unfriended 
 The brave Sir Roland's days are ended — 
 And with him dies my dream again. 
 
 A long and loud confused echo 
 
 Brought back to me the common day ;
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 45 
 
 The song had ceased, my dreams were routed 
 By folk who clapp'd their hands, and shouted 
 ' Bravo ! ' with emphasis undoubted. — 
 The singer bow'd and moved away. 
 
 THE SONG OF THE DUCATS. 
 
 Golden ducats, once my own. 
 Tell me, whither have ye flown? 
 
 Are ye with the golden fishes. 
 That where sunny waters shimmer 
 Leap and dive i' the joyous glimmer ? 
 
 Are ye with the golden flowerets. 
 That in meadow green lie netted. 
 And with pearly dews are fretted ? 
 
 Are ye with the golden songsters, 
 That in joy are upward driven 
 To the shining blue of heaven? 
 
 Are ye with the golden starlets. 
 That all night in troops of glory 
 Smile in heaven their radiant story ? 
 
 Ye, my pretty golden ducats. 
 Swim not through the waves in light, 
 Sparkle not with pearly dew. 
 Fly not toward the shining blue, 
 Smile not in the heavens all night — 
 But the duns I plagued so much 
 Hold ye with a greedy clutch.
 
 46 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 DIALOGUE ON PADERBORN HEATH. 
 
 Hear'st thou not these strains of wonder, 
 Double-bass and fiddle sounding? 
 
 Many a maiden dances yonder, 
 
 O'er the greensward gaily bounding. 
 
 * Ah, my friend, 'tis stuff you 're speaking, 
 
 There 's no music far or near now ; 
 Only little piggy's squeaking 
 
 And the old one's grunt I hear now.' 
 
 Hear'st thou not the bugle playing ? 
 
 Huntsmen through the greenwood hie them 
 Yonder gentle lambs are straying. 
 
 And the shepherd piping by them. 
 
 ' Ah, my friend, I hear no blaring — 
 Neither horns nor pipes awaken ; 
 
 'Tis the sow-herd homeward faring 
 With his porkers — you 're mistaken.' 
 
 Hear'st thou float through air's dominions 
 Strains as minstrels sweet were vying ? 
 
 Gladden'd angels strike their pinions 
 When such strains are upward sighing. 
 
 * Ah, the music that so pretty 
 
 From the distance seems to wander, 
 Is the younker's lively ditty 
 
 Homeward drivinof s;^oose and grander.'
 
 YOUTH'S SORROWS. 47 
 
 Hear'st thou not from village steeple 
 Sweet bells sounding down the valley ? 
 
 To the church good pious people 
 Wend by field and shady alley. 
 
 ' Ah, that is the tinkling rattle 
 
 Of the cow-bells, gently shaking, 
 As with drooping heads the cattle 
 
 For their stalls are slowly making.' 
 
 See'st thou not that mantle streaming ? 
 
 See'st thou not that kindly greeting ? 
 There I see the dear one beaming ! — 
 
 Tearful are thine eyes, my sweeting ! 
 
 ' Ah, my friend, no fair one noddeth ; 
 
 There I see no bright nonesuches — 
 Only cripple Bess who ploddeth, 
 
 Pale and haggard, on her crutches.' 
 
 Now I see thee stare with wonder, 
 
 Stifled laughter in thy glances — 
 What my bosom labours under. 
 
 Dost thou take for idle fancies ? 
 
 QUITE TRUE. 
 
 When spring-time comes with its sunny sheen. 
 Then the flowerets wake from their winter sleep ; 
 When the moon begins through the sky to sweep 
 
 Then follow the stars their radiant queen.
 
 48 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 When the poet two beautiful eyes doth see. 
 
 Then songs from his inmost heart sings he : — 
 
 But songs and stars, and flowers and eyes, 
 
 And the sheen of the moon and sunny skies. 
 
 However deHghtful these may be — 
 
 They 're a long way from making the world, d 'you see ?
 
 LYRICAL INTERMEZZO. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 There once was a knight, wan and thin was his cheek, 
 
 And grief mark'd every feature ; 
 He totter'd and dawdled, aimless and weak, 
 
 In a maze — for to dream was his nature. 
 So awkward, so clumsy, and absent was he, 
 The flowerets and maidens would titter to see 
 
 The shuffling and stumbling creature. 
 
 At home oft he sat in the darkest nook. 
 
 From every intruder concealing. 
 There stretch'd out his arm with a yearning look — 
 
 A look of speechless appealing. 
 But when the midnight hour came round. 
 He heard a singing and tinkling sound, 
 
 And a knocking — his loved one revealing. 
 
 There, robed in the hghtsomest foam of the sea. 
 
 To his feet a fair nymph advances ; 
 And bright and sweet as a rose is she — 
 
 Her jewell'd veil flutters and glances. 
 Round her form, light and slender, the golden locks shine, 
 And fondly they gaze, and warmly entwine, 
 
 Deep drown'd in love's rosiest trances. 
 
 D
 
 50 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Thus close to his bosom the fair one he takes, — 
 New fire in the mazed dullard gloweth ; 
 
 The pale one flushes, the dreamer awakes, 
 And bolder and bolder he groweth. 
 
 But she — she saucily plagues him the while, 
 
 And over his head, with a roguish smile, 
 Her jewell'd veil cunningly throweth. 
 
 Then sudden the knight is ta'en by the sleight 
 Of that nixie, graceful and slender, 
 
 To a water-palace so wondrous bright 
 His eyes grow dim with the splendour. 
 
 Yet holds she her captive clasp'd to her side, — 
 
 The knight is bridegroom, the nixie is bride, — 
 Her nymphs with music attend her. 
 
 So sweetly they play, and so sweetly they trill, 
 Their feet in the dance lightly beating. 
 
 The knight is fast losing his senses, and still 
 More tightly he clings to his sweeting. 
 
 When sudden the lights go out — and, see ! 
 
 Alone in his poet's dark chamber sits he, 
 And all his bright visions are fleeting. 
 
 „S»t touniierfd^Sncn SWonot SWai." 
 
 'TwAS in the glorious month of May, 
 When buds from sleep are breaking, 
 
 That warm within my bosom 
 I felt love's first awaking.
 
 LYRICAL INTERMEZZO. $1 
 
 'Twas in the glorious month of May, 
 When birds" sweet notes are thronging, 
 
 That first to her I whisper'd 
 My yearning and my longing. 
 
 „2l«§ mcincn S^rancn f^jticftcn." 
 
 Flowers from my tears are springing, 
 There many a bloom exhales ; 
 
 And my soft sighs become, love, 
 A choir of nightingales. 
 
 And if thou lov'st me, darling, 
 All the flowers to thee I '11 bring, 
 
 And sweet before thy window 
 
 The nightingale's song shall ring. 
 
 „S)ic SRofc, bie Siljc, bic Sttu^c, bic Some." 
 
 The rose, the lily, the dove, the sun, — 
 I loved them all in the days that are done ; 
 But now I love only a dear little fair one — 
 A sweet one, a neat one, a pure one, a rare one ! 
 Sole fountain and source of love for me — 
 Rose, lily, and dove, and sun is she ! 
 
 „aSJcntt id^ in bcinc 2fuflen fc^'." 
 
 When I look into thine eyes. 
 Every pain and sorrow flies ;
 
 52 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 When I kiss thy budding lip. 
 There new lease of life I sip. 
 
 Leaning on thy breast divine, 
 What are angels' joys to mine ! 
 But when thou sayest, ' I love thee ! ' 
 Then my tears fall bitterly. 
 
 w^eitt atngcfic!^*, fo Iic6 uni Won." 
 
 In dreams methinks I see thy face, 
 So full of love and gentle grace ; 
 So like an angel's, meekly borne. 
 And yet so weary, wan, and worn. 
 
 Still on thy lips the roses play — 
 Death soon will kiss their bloom away 
 Thine eyes that shed a heavenly light 
 Are darkening into endless night. 
 
 „^(S) foiU meine <SeeIe taud^en." 
 
 In the dainty cup of the lily 
 I '11 steep this spirit of mine, 
 
 And the lily shall tinkle shrilly 
 A song of my love divine. 
 
 And the song it rings shall shiver 
 And tremble like that kiss 
 
 When her lips to mine did quiver 
 In a strange, sweet hour of bliss.
 
 LYRICAL INTERMEZZO. 5$ 
 
 „e§ ftef)cn mbmeaUO)." 
 
 All through the ages shine they, 
 
 Yon stars in heaven above ; 
 And gaze upon each other 
 
 With sad and yearning love. 
 
 They speak a wondrous language, 
 
 Wealthy and sweet, no doubt ; 
 Yet none of all our sages 
 
 Its meaning can make out. 
 
 But I can — and shall never 
 
 That meaning cease to trace. — 
 The grammar that assists me 
 
 Is my beloved's face. 
 
 „ aCuf Sluflern t>c§ ©cfanflcS." 
 
 Away ! away ! with me, love ! 
 
 On the wings of song we go ; 
 Where Ganges wanders free, love, 
 
 A beautiful spot I know. 
 
 Red, rosy blooms are shining 
 
 In the moonlight still and fair ; 
 And the lotus-flowers are pining 
 
 For their Httle sister there. 
 
 The violets whisper and titter, 
 
 And gaze at the stars above ; 
 And the roses, sighing, twitter 
 
 Their balmy tales of love.
 
 54 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 The gazelle skips nigh to listen 
 As the beautiful prattlers dream, 
 
 While in the distance glisten 
 
 The waves of the sacred stream. 
 
 There, sweet ! shall we, reclining 
 
 Where the broad palm droops its crest, 
 
 Our souls to love resigning, 
 
 Dream blissful dreams, and rest. 
 
 „2iic Soto§6tumc fingftigt." 
 
 The lotus-flower a-weary 
 Of the sun's meridian light, 
 
 Droop 'd its head in slumber. 
 To dream of the coming night. 
 
 The moon, her lover, wakes her, 
 With calm and tender rays, 
 
 And to him unveiling gladly 
 She lifts her gentle face. 
 
 She blooms, and glows, and brightens, 
 And gazes in silence above : 
 
 She sighs, and weeps, and trembles 
 With the bliss and the pain of love. 
 
 „Su liel&ft tnid^ nid)t, bu Itefift mii!^ ni^t." 
 
 Thou lov'st me not, thou lov'st me not — 
 But that shall ne'er distress me ! 
 
 I look into thy face, and lo ! 
 What kingly joys possess me !
 
 LYRICAL INTERMEZZO. /s 
 
 Thou hatest, yes, thou hatest me ! — 
 
 Thy rosy hps declare it ; — 
 Pray, let me kiss them, little one, 
 
 And so methinks I '11 bear it. 
 
 ,, O fd)toijcc nic^t un& liiffe nur." 
 
 O SWEAR not ! only kiss and kiss- 
 A woman's word ne'er trusted is ; 
 Thy word is sweet, but sweeter be 
 The kisses I have ta'en from thee. 
 On these alone I rest my faith — 
 A word is but an idle breath. 
 * * * 
 
 swear, my darling, ever swear ! 
 
 1 trust thee in each word I hear ! 
 Upon thy bosom I recline 
 
 And think my bliss indeed divine. 
 For ever, love 1 thou lovest me — 
 For ever? — nay, 'twill longer be ! 
 
 „2tuf tneincc ^crjUetiftert atugclein." 
 
 Upon thine eyes, beloved mine, 
 I write most beautiful lyrics ; 
 
 Upon that little mouth of thine 
 I write the best terzinas : 
 
 Upon thy cheeks so fresh and fine 
 I write the noblest stanzas ; 
 
 And hadst thou but a heart, upon it 
 
 I 'd write the most deHcious sonnet.
 
 5 6 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 „8ic6fte, foH^ mir ^cutc fageit." 
 
 Little darling, tell me truly 
 
 Is it some sweet dream thou art. 
 
 Such as golden s^'mmer duly 
 Wakes within a poet's heart? 
 
 No ! such lips, such eyes that quiver 
 With a magic all their own — 
 
 Such a little darling never 
 
 In a poet's dream was known. 
 
 Basilisks and monsters many, 
 
 Vampires, dragons, hideous things, — 
 
 Such the fabled shapes uncanny 
 That the dreaming poet sings. 
 
 Yes ! but ne'er from poet's fancies 
 Sprung thy perfidy and thee — 
 
 No 1 those false and tender glances 
 Ne'er a poet's dream could be. 
 
 wSd^ fltoKc nid^t, unb tocnn boS ^ctj aud^ bvitfft." 
 
 I 'll not reproach thee ! though my heart should break, 
 Ever-lost love, J will no umbrage take. 
 Though with thy gems thou beamest fair and bright, 
 No beam illumes thy heart's dark, dreary night. 
 
 Long have I known it, and in dreams unblest 
 I saw thee and the night within thy breast : 
 I saw the serpent preying on thy heart ; 
 I saw how wretched and how sad thou art !
 
 LYRICAL INTERMEZZO. 57 
 
 „^a bu bift elenb, un'b id^ QvoUe nic^f 
 
 Yes 1 thou art wretched, and no plaint I make ; 
 
 Dear love of mine, we both must wretched be ! 
 Till death our worn and weary hearts shall break, 
 
 Dear love of mine, we both must wretched be ! 
 
 I see the scorn about thy lips that dwells, 
 
 I see thine eyes, love, flash defiantly ; 
 I see the pride with which thy bosom swells, — 
 
 Yet thou art wretched — wretched, love, as I ! 
 
 About thy lips lurk hidden grief and pain ; 
 
 Thine eyes are dim with tears thou'dst hide from me ; 
 In thy proud bosom secret wounds remain ; 
 
 Dear love of mine, we both must wretched be! 
 
 „S)oS ift ein ^I'otm unb ©cigen." 
 
 There merry music soundeth. 
 
 Flutes, fiddles, and trumpets play : 
 
 Through joyous circles boundeth 
 My love on her wedding-day. 
 
 The pipe with the drum is vying. 
 There 's tinkle and clash and drone ; 
 
 Meanwhile good angels are sighing 
 With many a sob and moan. 
 
 „Bo ^aft bu gattj unb gat detgcffen." 
 
 And hast thou then forgotten fully 
 How long I held thy heart and truly? — 
 That heart so little and false and sweet — 
 A sweeter and falser never shall beat.
 
 58 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Are the love and woe forgot for ever, 
 That made my bosom throb and quiver ? 
 Ah, which was greatest I cannot tell ! 
 That both were great, I know too well. 
 
 ,, Itnb toiifttcn'S tie tinmen, t>ic ftcincn." 
 
 And if each little blossom 
 
 My heart's wound only knew, 
 
 Those flowers would weep, my bosom. 
 Weep tears of balm for you. 
 
 And were the griefs that haunt me 
 Known where the warblers stray, 
 
 The nightingales would chaunt me 
 A soft and soothing lay. 
 
 And were the secret given. 
 Yon golden stars would flee 
 
 Their radiant home in heaven 
 To whisper hope to me. 
 
 From star and bird and blossom 
 'Tis hid ! — one only knows ; 
 
 'Tis She hath rent my bosom. 
 And caused me all my woes. 
 
 „3Savutn flnt> bcnn bie 9lofen fo blafi." 
 
 Why are the roses so wan and pale ? 
 
 O say, my darling, say ! 
 Why are the violets of the dale 
 
 So dumb in the grass to-day ?
 
 LYRICAL INTERMEZZO. 59 
 
 "Why, dearest, does the lark repeat 
 
 So tristful a song o'erhead ? 
 Why breathes the wild thyme, once so sweet. 
 
 Dank odours of the dead ? 
 
 And why from the sun in heaven above 
 
 Has all the brightness gone ? 
 Why seems the earth like a grave, my love, 
 
 So desolate and wan ? 
 
 And why am I sad and sick at heart ? 
 Why, loved one, should this be ? — 
 O why, heart's darling as thou art, 
 Hast thou forsaken me ? 
 
 „ Sic f)ai>ett biv SSicI cv$a\)tei." 
 
 They 've plain'd to thee and lamented. 
 Thou 'st heard their ceaseless chat ; 
 
 But how my soul was tormented, — 
 They could not tell thee that. 
 
 Much fuss would they make, and snivel 
 Lugubrious, shaking the head ; 
 
 They call'd me — yes, call'd me the devil — 
 And thou didst believe what they said. 
 
 And yet, I know, the saddest 
 
 And worst ne'er came to the da^', — 
 
 The saddest and the maddest 
 I hid in my heart away.
 
 6o SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 wSic Sinbe bluffte, bic ^a^itQaU fang." 
 
 The linden blossom'^, the nightingale sung, 
 The sun with joy the green earth caress'd ; 
 
 You kiss'd me then, round my neck you hung, 
 And drew me close to your throbbing breast. 
 
 The leaves were falling, the raven croak'd nigh, 
 The sun blink'd sulkily over the lea. 
 
 Then coldly we bade each other ' Good-bye,' 
 And a courtly courtsey you made to me. 
 
 n^ie &vte toat fo lange geijig." 
 
 The earth had been long a niggard of beauty 
 Till prodigal May came to cheer up creation ; 
 
 Now every one laughs and shouts as in duty. 
 But as for myself I have no inclination. 
 
 The flowerets are blooming, the httle bells tinkling, 
 The birds talk in earnest and sweet conversation ; 
 
 And yet of their meaning I have not an inkling — 
 All 's wretched about me, and that 's my persuasion. 
 
 Now every one bores me — each son of old Adam — 
 Yes, even my friends are a sore botheration ; 
 
 And all this has come with that title of ' Madam ' 
 They 've gi'en to my darling, to my consternation.
 
 LYRICAL INTERMEZZO. 6i 
 
 ff3)ie Ulauen ^eilii^cn iet 3(ugclcin." 
 
 Her eyes are violet, wet with dew, 
 Her cheeks are roses of dazzling hue, 
 Her hands are lilies fair to view, — 
 Bright and blooming as ever are they — 
 'Tis only her heart that has wither'd away. 
 
 „^ie aSJcIt ift fo Won unb bet $tmmcl fo blau." 
 
 The world is fair and the heavens are blue, 
 And gently the zephyrs flutter and woo. 
 And the flowers peep up in the grass anew. 
 And glitter and shine in the morning dew. 
 And men are shouting — a joyful crew ! 
 Yet would I were in the grave at rest. 
 With my dead love folded into my breast. 
 
 w9nein fiiftcS Sieft, tocnn bu im fSvab." 
 
 My love, when thou art gone away. 
 
 And the gruesome grave doth hold thee, 
 
 I '11 sink to thee from the joyless day, 
 And in mine arms will fold thee. 
 
 I'll kiss thee wan and cold in thy sleep. 
 And wildly I '11 cling to my sweeting ! 
 
 I '11 shout, I '11 tremble, gently I '11 weep 
 Till my heart like thine cease beating ! 
 
 The dead will rise at the midnight hour — 
 They '11 dance — a shadowy number — 
 
 But we two will rest in our darksome bower. 
 And pale on thy bosom I '11 slumber.
 
 62 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 The dead will rise when the day of doom 
 Shall bliss and woe deliver — 
 
 What 's that to us ? we 'II bide in the tomb, 
 Lock'd in our arms for ever ! 
 
 „®in ^it^tcnhaum fte1)t einfam." 
 
 In the North a pine stands lonely 
 On a mountain bleak and bare, 
 
 And wrapt in a snowy mantle 
 It sleepeth and dreameth there. 
 
 It dreameth of a palm-tree. 
 
 Which, all alone and still. 
 In the distant East stands mourning, 
 
 On a parch'd and burning hill. 
 
 „2C(^, tocnn Off nut bet Si^^emel toot'." 
 
 {The Head says : — ) 
 
 Ah, were I but the stool so light 
 Beneath the darling's foot divine. 
 
 Then let her press with all her might, 
 A word of plaint should ne'er be mine. 
 
 (The Heart says : — ) 
 
 Ah, were I but that cushion now 
 In which her pins and needles be. 
 
 Whene'er she prick'd me sharp, I vow 
 'Twould be a very joy to me.
 
 LYRICAL INTERMEZZO. 63 
 
 (77;e Song says: — ) 
 
 Ah, were I but the paper roll 
 
 Round which a dainty curl she wreathes, 
 I 'd whisper to her all the soul 
 
 That in me ever lives and breathes. 
 
 „ ®cit bic Sieftftc ioat tntfcvnt." 
 
 Since my loved one went afar 
 Smile and laugh forgotten are ; 
 Folk may show their sorry wit, 
 But I cannot laugh at it. 
 
 Since I lost my love, no more 
 Weep I as I wept before ; 
 Though my heart breaks with its woe, 
 Yet my tears no longer flow. 
 
 „^n$ nteinen gro^cn Sji^mctjcn." 
 
 The little songs I utter 
 
 Out of my griefs are fashion'd, 
 They wave their wings impassion'd ; 
 
 And light to her bosom they flutter. 
 
 And now to my love they have floated. 
 Yet come they back appealing, 
 Complaining, but never revealing 
 
 What they in her bosom noted.
 
 64 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 w^^Uiftet in 'SonntaQ^vMUin." 
 
 The cits in their Sunday dresses 
 Ramble through field and wood, 
 
 They greet fair iTature that blesses, 
 And frolic in lightsome mood. 
 
 They strive, with wide eyes blinking. 
 Earth's fairy-like bloom to win. 
 
 And with long ears stand drinking 
 The chirp of the sparrow in. 
 
 But I with dark cloth cover 
 My chamber window alway, 
 
 And the spectres in darkness that hover, 
 They visit me even by day. 
 
 And my old love upsweepeth 
 From where all dead things be, 
 
 And sitteth beside me, and weepeth. 
 And melteth my heart in me. 
 
 ,, Wani^ aSilb tievge^enet Bciten-" 
 
 Dreams of old times forgotten 
 Rise from their darksome bed. 
 
 And show while I was near thee 
 The dreary life I led. 
 
 By day I stagger'd, dreaming, 
 Through the city's busy hum, 
 
 And people gazed and wonder'd. 
 So sad was I and dumb.
 
 LYRICAL INTERMEZZO. 6$ 
 
 At night, I trow, 'twas better, — 
 
 The din of life was gone, 
 And I with my shadow wander'd 
 
 In silence and alone. 
 
 As o'er the bridge I sped me 
 
 My footfall echoed loud ; 
 The moon with a solemn greeting 
 
 Peer'd through her dusky shroud. 
 
 Before thy house I linger'd, 
 
 And long I gazed on high, 
 Gazed fondly at thy window ; — 
 
 O sick at heart was 1 1 
 
 I know from that window often 
 
 Those callous eyes of thine 
 Have seen me stand Hke a statue 
 
 Still in the wan moonshine. 
 
 „ (Sin Siingling liel^t ein S^iibd^en." 
 
 A YOUTH he loved a maiden, 
 The maiden another chose. 
 
 But that one loves another. 
 
 And with her to the altar goes. 
 
 The luckless maiden cannot 
 The disappointment bear. 
 
 And weds the first that offers — 
 The youth is in despair. 
 
 E
 
 6e SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 It is an old, old story, 
 And yet 'tis ever new — 
 
 And he whose fate it pictures, 
 His heart 's rent in two. 
 
 „^ov' Of) bic Sicbii^cn Jtingcn." 
 
 When the song she sang so sweetly 
 
 I hear as I heard at first, 
 Wild yearnings unman me completely, 
 
 I feel as my heart would burst. 
 
 I seek the gloomy forest, 
 
 Impell'd by despair and fears ; 
 
 There, when my grief is sorest, 
 It loses itself in tears. 
 
 „^iv tvaumte bon cinem ^iinigSlittb." 
 
 I DREAMT of a wan and tearful face. 
 Of a king's child, fair as a flower, 
 
 And warm and lovingly did we embrace, 
 In the greening linden bower. 
 
 * I do not wish thy father's throne, 
 
 Nor crown nor sceptre sigh for, — 
 Of all his treasures, thee alone, 
 Thou beautiful one, I die for ! ' 
 
 * That cannot be,' she said to me ; 
 
 ' I lie where the cold worm turneth, 
 And only at night can I come to thee. 
 For whom my bosom yearneth.'
 
 LYRICAL INTERMEZZO. 67 
 
 „!inein Siebiffeit, bitt fa^en dti^ammen." 
 
 In a little skiff I rested, 
 
 O heart's delight, with thee, 
 And calm was the night we breasted 
 
 The swell of the boundless sea. 
 
 The beautiful isle Enchanted 
 
 Shone dim as the moonshine glanced ; 
 Thence fairy-Hke music panted. 
 
 And gossamer cloudlets danced. 
 
 And the bright mists waved and sliifted. 
 
 And sweeter the music grew ; 
 But we pass'd, and wearily drifted 
 
 Away o'er the trackless blue. 
 
 „ 3lu§ altttt fBU'dtifyett toinft cS." 
 
 From olden legends springing 
 There waves a snow-white hand, 
 
 I list to the ringing and singing 
 Of some bright magic land, 
 
 Where mighty flowers are shining 
 
 'Neath a golden even-sky, 
 And gazing there and pining 
 
 For love of their sisters nigh ; 
 
 Where the trees, a chorus making. 
 
 With music fill the air ; 
 And dancing springs are breaking 
 
 Into melody rich and rare ;
 
 68 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 And love-songs sweet are thronging- 
 Ne'er heardst thou such a strain ! 
 
 Till wondrous, blissful longing 
 Cheats the sad heart of pain. 
 
 O that I could for ever 
 
 Dwell in these realms of joy, 
 
 Where weariness comes never, 
 And no dark cares annoy. 
 
 Often in dreams Elysian 
 
 Through that bright land I stray, 
 
 But morning breaks — and the vision 
 Fades like a mist away. 
 
 ,, 3(in leud^tcnbcn iSommettnovgen." 
 
 On a sunny summer morning 
 
 In a garden fair am I, 
 The flowerets whisper and prattle, 
 
 But I pass silent by. 
 
 The flowerets whisper and prattle, 
 And me with pity scan, — 
 
 ' Be not unkind to our sister. 
 
 Thou pale-faced, mournful man.' 
 
 „&9 leu^tet tneine Sie^e." 
 
 In its dim mysterious glory 
 My love, you may perceive, 
 
 Is like a sad old story 
 
 That 's suncr on a summer's eve :—
 
 LYRICAL INTERMEZZO. 69 
 
 ' In a garden fair, enchanted, 
 
 Two lovers sigh'd in dreams ; 
 There the nightingale's bosom panted, 
 
 And glimmer'd the pale moonbeams. 
 
 ' Still stands the maiden ; her lover 
 
 Does homage on his knees ; 
 A giant springs from his cover — 
 
 The maiden in terror flees. 
 
 ' To earth the knight sinks, dying, 
 
 The giant reels to his den — ' 
 When I in my grave am lying. 
 
 That tale will be ended then. 
 
 r,@ie fatten mii^ gequdlct." 
 
 They worried me, and drove me 
 
 Into a doleful state — 
 Some with their love — confound them 
 
 And others with their hate. 
 
 My very glass they drugg'd it. 
 They poison'd the bread I ate — 
 
 Some with their love — confound them ! 
 And others with their hate. 
 
 But she who more than these others 
 Has aU but driven me mad — 
 
 For me no hate has cherish'd 
 Nor a thought of love ever had.
 
 70 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 „es Itegt bcr ficiftc ^ommev." 
 
 Warm summer, love, is lying 
 Upon that cheek so fair ; 
 
 But in thy heart cold winter — 
 Cold winter, love, is there. 
 
 Yet soon a change is commg, 
 O thou my love that art ; 
 
 With winter on thy cheeks, love, 
 And summer in thy heart. 
 
 When dearest friends are parting, 
 Lock'd hand in hand are they ; 
 
 With sighing and with weeping 
 They tear themselves away. 
 
 We wept not as we parted ; 
 
 We sighed npt ' Ah ! ' and ' Oh ! '- 
 The weeping and the sighing 
 
 Came afterwards, you know. 
 
 M^ie fa^en unb ivanUn am ^^eeti^iSf." 
 
 At the tea-table love was the topic, 
 With this the gentlemen dealt 
 
 In a manner most philosophic ; 
 The ladies spoke as they felt.
 
 LYRICAL INTERMEZZO. jt 
 
 ' Love ought to be platonical ! ' 
 
 The wither'd old Councillor cried ; 
 
 His wife, with a smile ironical, 
 A long-drawn ' Ah ! ' replied. 
 
 'Love should not be wild and unruly,' 
 Said the big-mouth'd Canon, ' or, lo! 
 
 'Twill act on the health unduly ; ' 
 The young lady lisp'd— ' How so ? ' 
 
 The Countess her deep feehng vented — 
 
 ' Love is a passion ! ' she cried. 
 And her cup with grace presented 
 
 To the Baron at her side. 
 
 The company wanted completeness ; 
 
 My love, you should have been there : 
 You can with so much sweetness 
 
 The tale of your love declare. 
 
 „$6ecgiftet tncine Sicbcr." 
 
 And if my songs are poison'd, 
 What wonder it should be ! 
 
 Thou hast, ah cruel 1 blighted 
 The bloom of life for me. 
 
 And if my songs are poison'd. 
 What wonder it should be ! 
 
 In my heart are many vipers, 
 And thee, my love, and thee.
 
 72 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 „fCHiv tvdumti toitbev bee alte 'Zvanm." 
 
 I DREAMED again the same old dream, 
 
 'Twas on a night in May ; 
 We pledged our troth 'neath the linden-trees, 
 
 And vow'd to keep it for aye. 
 
 We pledged it over and over again, 
 With billing and cooing and petting ; 
 
 And you bit my hand, that for me at least 
 There should be no forgetting. 
 
 O darling, with the sweet clear eyes ! 
 
 darling, love-inviting ! 
 Although the vows were well enough— 
 
 1 could have spared the biting. 
 
 „S^ f)«6' im Svaum flctocinct." 
 
 In dreams I fell a-weeping : 
 
 Methought that thou wert dead ; 
 
 I waked, and in the darkness 
 Full many a tear I shed. 
 
 In dreams I fell a-weeping : 
 
 Thou hadst forsaken me ; 
 I waked, and long I wept, love — 
 
 O long and bitterly ! 
 
 In dreams I fell a-weeping, 
 
 Methought thou still wert true ; 
 
 I waked, sweet one ! yet ever 
 The tears my cheeks bedew.
 
 LYRICAL INTERMEZZO. 73 
 
 „^nmi^tua} im SEroumc fc§' id^ r>i<S).'' 
 
 In the dreams of night I see thee, 
 
 Ah, kindly dost thou greet ! 
 I speak not, but in sorrow 
 
 Fall weeping at thy feet. 
 
 Sadly thou lookest on me, 
 
 Slow moves thy gentle head, 
 While, from thy bright eyes stealing, 
 
 The pearly tears are shed. 
 
 A tender word thou leavest. 
 
 And a cypress wreath, dear one 1 
 I wake— ah, where is the wreath, love ? 
 
 And the whisper'd word is gone. 
 
 ,,3)08 ifi ein «t:aufen unb ^eulcn." 
 
 Wild is the night and eerie 
 
 With tempest roar and moan ; 
 Where lingers, sad and weary. 
 
 My anxious little one ? 
 
 At the window she is kneeling 
 
 In her lonely little room ; 
 From her eyes the tears are stealing, 
 
 As she peers into the gloom. 
 
 wS)er $ectiftttiinb vixiicli bic QSaumc." 
 
 The trees in the autumn wind rustle. 
 
 The night is damp and shrewd ; 
 Close wrapp'd in my grey mantle, 
 
 I ride alone through the wood.
 
 74 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 My thoughts as I am riding 
 
 Go running on before, 
 And airily they bear me 
 
 To my beloved's door. 
 
 Loud bark the dogs ; the servants 
 In their hands bright torches bear ; 
 
 My iron spurs ring loudly 
 As I climb the winding stair. 
 
 In a sweet and cosie chamber, 
 And bright with all her charms. 
 
 My darling one awaits me — 
 I rush into her arms. 
 
 The wind through the leaves is sighing, 
 And an old oak says to me, — 
 
 ' What meaning, foolish horseman, 
 In thy foolish dream can be ? ' 
 
 „&i fSat cin Stern ^cruntet." 
 
 A STAR falls in the darkness 
 
 Down from its glittering height ; 
 
 'Tis the star of love, I know it 
 As it shoots across the night. 
 
 Showers of leaves and blossoms 
 
 Fall from the apple-trees. 
 To and fro they flutter, 
 
 And dance with the wanton breeze.
 
 LYRICAL INTERMEZZO. 75 
 
 On the mere the swan sings softly 
 
 As it gently breasts the wave, 
 Till, faint and fainter singing, 
 
 It sinks to its oozy grave. 
 
 The night is dark and stilly. 
 
 The blooms and leaves are gone, 
 
 The star to dust has crackled. 
 And silent is the swan. 
 
 „9laif)t las auf tneinem ^lugen." 
 
 Night lay upon my eyelids, 
 My lips were heavy and wan ; 
 
 Benumb'd were brain and bosom ; 
 In the grave I slumber'd on. 
 
 How long I lay thus silent. 
 
 With dreamless heart and head, 
 
 I cannot tell, when a knocking 
 I heard in my darksome bed. 
 
 * Wilt thou not rise, my Henry ? 
 
 The endless day doth break. 
 And the dead, aroused from slumber, 
 To eternal joys awake.' 
 
 * I cannot rise, my darling ! 
 
 For me there is no light : 
 My eyes with bitter weeping 
 Are closed in endless night.'
 
 76 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 ' O, I will kiss them, Henry ! 
 
 Kiss night from thine eyes away ; 
 And thou shalt see the angels 
 
 Shining in lasting day.' 
 
 ' I cannot rise, my darling ! 
 
 Deep in my bosom's core, 
 Where thy sharp word did stab me 
 
 The blood flows evermore ! ' 
 
 ' Upon thy bosom, Henry, 
 My hand will I gently lay ; 
 
 Then shall thy wound cease bleeding. 
 And the pain shall pass away. 
 
 ' I cannot rise, my darling 1 
 My head is bleeding free ; 
 
 'Twas there I sent a bullet 
 
 When thou wert rapt from me.' 
 
 ' Then with my tresses, Henry, 
 Will I wipe the bleeding pain, 
 
 And staunch the blood for ever. 
 And make thee well again.* 
 
 Her voice so soft, so tender, 
 
 Touches my bosom so. 
 Fain would I rise in the darkness. 
 
 And to my darling go. 
 
 Then all my wounds burst open. 
 And again doth wildly break 
 
 The blood from head and bosom ; — 
 And lo ! I am awake !
 
 LYRICAL INTERMEZZO. 77 
 
 „Sic alien, ISiifcn Siettct." 
 
 The old songs, wild and wicked, 
 The gruesome dreams, and all — 
 
 Let 's bury them for ever ; 
 For a mighty chest I call. 
 
 I 've much to hide within it — 
 
 What must yet a secret be : 
 The Heidelberg great tun won't 
 
 Be big enough for me. 
 
 And let a bier be brought me 
 Of good thick planks and strong, 
 
 And see that they be longer 
 
 Than the bridge at Mainz is long. 
 
 Fetch me also twelve great giants 
 
 Of stronger thews and bone 
 Than Christopher the Holy 
 
 In the Dome at Cologne. 
 
 They shall carry forth the coffin, 
 
 And sink it in the wave ; 
 For such a mighty coffin 
 
 Demands a fitting grave. 
 
 Can you guess why the coffin 
 
 Must so large and heavy be ? — 
 My love and all my sorrow 
 
 It shall bury in the sea.
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 
 
 wStt wein flttt fo bunflcS Seben." 
 
 In my life so dark and dreary 
 
 Beam'd a vision sweet and bright ; 
 
 That sweet vision now has faded ; 
 Round me gather gloom and night. 
 
 Little children in the darkness 
 
 Faint of heart and shrinking are ; 
 
 Loud they sing a cheery ditty, 
 Anxious thoughts to drive afar. 
 
 I, a foolish child, I sing me 
 
 In the dark my little lay ; 
 What although it be unpleasing — 
 
 It has driven sad care away. 
 
 „ ^0) tocift nid^t toa§ foB c§ ftcbcuten." 
 
 I KNOW not what sad fate befalls me, 
 But heavy at heart am I ; 
 
 An eerie legend enthralls me — 
 A tale of the days gone by.
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 79 
 
 » 
 The air is cool and darkling, 
 
 Rhine softly steals away, 
 And the mountain-tops are sparkling 
 
 In the flush of dying day. 
 
 Where the rocks in the red light shimmer, 
 
 A beautiful maid sits there, 
 And bright her jewels glimmer 
 
 As she combs her golden hair. 
 
 And her golden comb still ghstens. 
 
 While all the welkin rings ; 
 And the dreaming boatman hstens 
 
 To the luring song she sings. 
 
 And the listener's heart is laden 
 
 With yearning love and woe : 
 He gazes up at the maiden 
 
 Nor thinks of the rocks below. 
 
 The wan waves have no pity. 
 He sinks with the sinking sun — 
 
 And that with her eldritch ditty 
 The Loreley has done. 
 
 „fSlein l^etj, ntcitt $crj ift tttturig." 
 
 Sad is my heart and weary. 
 Yet lustily shines sweet May ; 
 
 I lean against a linden 
 
 On the bastion old and grey.
 
 8o SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Below me, drowsily flowing. 
 
 Is the still blue city moat. 
 Where a boy, fishing and whistling, 
 
 Floats on in his little boat. 
 
 Dwarf'd in the distance yonder 
 O'er many a dappled rood. 
 
 Are houses, and gardens, and people. 
 And cattle, and meadows, and wood. 
 
 On the grass white clothes are bleaching, 
 
 The maidens trip around, 
 And the mill-wheel scatters diamonds — 
 
 I hear its distant sound. 
 
 Hard by the old grey tower 
 Is the sentry's shelter-place ; 
 
 And to and fro in his red coat 
 I see that sentry pace. 
 
 He plays with his polish'd firelock. 
 Which glints in the sunshine red — 
 
 He shoulders it and presents it ; 
 I wish he would shoot me dead. 
 
 „Stn 90QaIbe toanbl' id) unb toeine." 
 
 Sad through the wood I wander. 
 The throstle sits high on a bough 
 
 And flutters her wings, singing yonder — 
 ' O why so woful art thou ? '
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 8 1 
 
 Could the swallows, thy sisters, confess all, 
 'Tis they could tell thee why : — 
 
 In cunning retreats they nestle 
 My darling's window by. 
 
 „a28it foftcn am fjrifi^ev^aufe." 
 
 We sat by the fisherman's cottage 
 
 And gazed across the sea, 
 The mists of eve around us 
 
 Were rising silently. 
 
 The lamps within the lighthouse 
 
 Were lit up one by one. 
 And far away in the distance 
 
 A ship lay all alone. 
 
 We talked of storm and shipwreck ; 
 
 Of the hardy sailor-boy, 
 Toss'd between sea and heaven. 
 
 Anxiety and joy. 
 
 Of far-off foreign countries. 
 
 Of North and South we spoke, 
 Discussing the strange manners 
 
 And customs of strange folk. 
 
 By the Ganges are sweetness and brightness 
 
 And giant-blooming bowers. 
 Where kneel in silence fair mortals 
 
 Before the lotus-flowers.
 
 82 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 In Lapland are dirty people, 
 
 Flat-pated, broad-mouthed, and small ; 
 They cower round the fire, baking fishes, 
 
 And chatter, and screech, and squall. 
 
 Eager the maidens listen'd ; 
 
 At last we spoke no more : 
 The ship was gone, and darkness 
 
 Rested on sea and shore. 
 
 „ ^u fii)bnc8 gifd^crmobd^cn." 
 
 Thou pretty fisher-maiden, 
 
 Row in thy boat to land, 
 And sit thee down beside me, — 
 
 We '11 prattle hand in hand. 
 
 Thy head lean on my bosom. 
 And have no doubt of me — 
 
 Dost thou not daily trust thee. 
 All fearless, to the sea? 
 
 My bosom, like the ocean. 
 
 Has storm, and ebb, and flow ; 
 
 And many pearls of beauty 
 Sleep in its depths below. 
 
 „ Sec Stucm f^ielt auf junt Sanje." 
 
 The storm plays weird dance music, 
 It whistles and roars and howls : 
 
 Hurrah 1 how the little ship boundeth ! 
 The wild night bellows and scowls.
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 85 
 
 The sea in living mountains 
 
 Heaves to the inky sliy ! 
 Here yawning in dark abysses, 
 
 There breaking in foam on high. 
 
 And curses, and retching, and prayers 
 
 Loud from the cabin come, 
 As fast to the mast I am clinging, 
 
 And sighing—' I wish I were home.' 
 
 „^ct aiftcnb fomtnt gcsoflcn." 
 
 The clouds are creeping downward, 
 Night comes with its doubts and fears ; 
 
 'Mid the dark waves, rolling onward, 
 A dim white form appears. 
 
 Nearer the mermaid, sweeping. 
 Leaps from the breakers to me ; 
 
 Over her thin vest peeping 
 
 Breasts white as the snow can be. 
 
 She clings to me fast ; she holds me. 
 And much I fear her might : 
 
 Too fast thine arm enfolds me, 
 Thou beautiful water-sprite. 
 
 ' Thus wild are my caresses. 
 For cold is the night to me ; 
 
 And thus my bosom presses 
 
 To share thy warmth with thee.'
 
 84 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 The moon peers ever drearier 
 Down from the dusky height ; 
 
 Thine eye grows wet and wearier, 
 Thou beautiful water-sprite. 
 
 ' Not wet and weary it groweth ; 
 
 The tears that dim mine eyes, 
 The crisped sea bestoweth 
 
 When out of the waves I rise.' 
 
 Sad shrieks the mew as it fleeteth, 
 Loud breaks the sea in its might 
 
 Thy heart it wildly beateth, 
 Thou beautiful water-sprite. 
 
 * My heart is wildly swelling 
 For thee and for thy race, 
 
 With love that is past all telling, 
 Thou kindly human-face.' 
 
 „ 2Cm fernctt ^orijontc." 
 
 Far on the dim horizon 
 The city with its towers 
 
 Floats like a cloudy vision. 
 
 While dark the twilight lowers. 
 
 A cold wet wind is blowing, 
 And ruffles the water wan : 
 
 Monotonous and dreary 
 Roweth the sailor on.
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 8 J 
 
 The sun a farewell gleameth 
 
 From the rim of the level sea, 
 And lights up the far-oflf city 
 
 Where my love was lost to me. 
 
 „ StiH ift bic maOft, c8 tu^cit bic ©flffen." 
 
 'Tis night, not a sound through the streets doth go : 
 And this was my darling's house, I wot ; 
 
 She left the city a long time ago. 
 
 But the house still stands in the self-same spot. 
 
 And there stands a man too, gazing on high. 
 And wringing his hands in piteous case ; 
 
 The moon shines out, and I shudder as I 
 
 My own features see in his pinch'd wan face. 
 
 You double ! you fellow with the pinch'd wan face, 
 
 Why do you mimic the part I bore 
 In that sad love-tale, when I stood in that place 
 
 FuU many a night in the days of yore ? 
 
 „aSJic lonnft t)u ru^ig fd^tafcn." 
 
 How canst thou sleep so quietly? 
 
 Thou know'st I 'm quite awake : 
 Should the old anger rouse me, 
 
 My yoke I'd quickly break. 
 
 Hast the old song forgotten 
 
 How once a clay-cold knave 
 At midnight snatch'd his sweetheart 
 
 And bore her away to the grave ?
 
 86 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Believe me, thou in beauty 
 All maids surpassing far, 
 
 I live, and am much stronger 
 Than all the dead folk are. 
 
 „ 2)ie Sunflfruu f li^Iof t in bcr fiammcr." 
 
 A MAIDEN slept in her chamber. 
 The moon look'd tremulous in : 
 
 Without there was singing and tinkling, 
 Like a dance's merry din. 
 
 * Now I will see from my window 
 
 Who scares my sleep away ' : — 
 There stood a skeleton, fiddling. 
 
 And singing the while to its play — 
 
 * Thou once to the dance didst tryst me. 
 
 That tryst was broken by thee ; 
 Now in the churchyard the dance is — 
 Come there and freak with me !' 
 
 A spell is upon the maiden, 
 
 It draws her away from the door ; 
 
 She follows ; the skeleton, singing 
 And fiddling, strides before. 
 
 It fiddles, and skips, and hops there, 
 
 And clatters with its bones ; 
 And nods and nods its skull, while 
 
 The moon shines down on the stones.
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 87 
 
 „^af ftttnS) in bunfcin Stoumcn." 
 
 I STOOD in dark dreams gazing 
 
 On a picture of my love ; 
 Mysteriously the sweet face 
 
 With life began to move. 
 
 About her lips played softly 
 
 A tender, tremulous smile, 
 And tears as of weary yearning 
 
 Glanced in her eyes the while. 
 
 My tears too flowed, — ah, darling, 
 
 While fondly I look on thee, 
 I cannot quite believe yet 
 
 That thou art lost to me ! 
 
 „2>ic ^aifve fommcn unb gctjen." 
 
 The years are waxing and waning. 
 And thousands go to the tomb. 
 
 But the flower of love in my bosom 
 Still lives in immortal bloom. 
 
 O once again to meet thee, 
 
 To fall upon my knee, 
 And, dying there, to whisper — 
 
 ' Madam, 1 love you — see ! ' 
 
 „ 2>lii: troumtc : tcaimg fdEiautc ict anonb." 
 
 Methought that the moon shone mournfully, 
 
 And sadly the stars were gleaming : 
 I was borne to the town where my loved one dwells. 
 
 Many long leagues away, in my dreaming.
 
 38 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 In silence I came to the step at her door, 
 
 With kisses I tenderly press'd it ; 
 There oft her garment has rustled past, 
 
 And her little foot has rested. 
 
 Cold were the stones, the night was cold. 
 
 And long it seeni'd and dreary : 
 From the lattice look'd out in the pale moonlight 
 
 A face that was wan and weary. 
 
 „aCBa§ ttilQ bic cinfome a;:^ranc?" 
 
 What means this lonely tear-drop 
 That troubles thus mine eye ? 
 
 'Tis the last surviving relic 
 Of weary days gone by. 
 
 Its many shining sisters, 
 
 Where are they? — vanish'd quite; 
 Gone with my joys and sorrows, 
 
 Gone in the stormy night. 
 
 Gone too, like mist, for ever 
 Are the little stars of blue. 
 
 That laugh'd into my bosom 
 All the griefs and joys I knew. 
 
 Ah me ! my love has faded 
 
 Like dew at the dawn of day — 
 
 Thou last long-lingering tear drop. 
 Do thou, too, fade away.
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 89 
 
 The sickle moon of autumn 
 
 Glints pale the clouds between ; 
 
 All lonel}' and still by the churchyard 
 The pastor's house is seen. 
 
 The mother reads her Bible, 
 
 The son at the lamp-Hght stares ; 
 
 The elder daughter yawneth ; 
 
 The younger her weariness shares : — 
 
 * Ah, God ! ' she cries, ' time drowses ; 
 
 And long is the day to me : 
 Only when some one is buried 
 
 Is there anything here to see ! ' 
 
 The mother looks up from her Bible : 
 
 * You 're wrong, for four have died 
 Since the day they buried your father 
 
 By the churchyard gate outside.' 
 
 The elder daughter yawneth : — 
 
 * I will not starve with you ; 
 
 I '11 go to the Count to-morrow — 
 He is rich, and loves me too.' 
 
 The son bursts out a-laughing : — 
 
 ' At the " Star " drink huntsmen three, 
 
 Much money they make, and are willing 
 To tell the secret to me ! '
 
 90 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 The mother throws her Bible 
 
 Into his lean, lank face : 
 ' And wouldst thou rob on the highway. 
 
 Thou thrice-accurst and base ? ' 
 
 They hear a knock at the window, 
 They see dark, beckoning hands ; 
 
 There in his black priest-garments 
 The pale dead father stands. 
 
 „Sa8 ift cin fci^rc^teS SScttet.'' 
 
 It rains, and snows, and blusters, 
 The storm is at its height : 
 
 I sit at the window gazing 
 Into the gloomy night. 
 
 Yonder a lone light twinkles, 
 
 Slowly it moves abroad ; 
 A mother with her lantern 
 
 Totters across the road. 
 
 To buy flour, eggs, and butter, 
 I 'm sure the old body has come : 
 
 A cake she wishes to bake for 
 
 Her big, plump daughter at home, 
 
 Where she at the light lies blinking. 
 Half-asleep in her snug arm-chair - 
 
 Her rosy cheeks nigh hidden 
 'Neath waves of golden hair.
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 91 
 
 ufSlan Qlauht, baft iO) micf) gromc." 
 
 They tell me I am grieving 
 
 And pining 'neath love's yoke, 
 Till now I almost credit 
 
 The tale, like other folk. 
 
 Thou little one with the great eyes, 
 
 I have vow'd to thee every day, 
 That my love is past all telling, 
 
 That it gnaws my heart away. 
 
 But 'tis only alone in my chamber 
 
 That I speak this way to thee : 
 For when I chance to be with thee 
 
 I 'm dumb as dumb can be. 
 
 Then wicked spirits plague me, 
 
 They seal my lips, I trow ; 
 And ah 1 'tis through their mahce 
 
 That I 'm so wretched now. 
 
 „ ^at flc ftd^ bemt nic geouftert." 
 
 Has she then no notice taken 
 
 Of a love so warm and tender ? 
 Could you in her eye discover 
 
 No responsive sweet surrender ? 
 
 Could not you by looks and glances 
 Reach her heart, and so get at her ? 
 
 Yet you once were thought no noodle, 
 Worthy Sir, in such a matter !
 
 92 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 „ @{e liel^ten fi(!^ ^eibe, boOf Reiner." 
 
 They both were in love, but neither 
 The secret tale would betray : 
 
 Their looks were cold and unfriendly. 
 
 Though with love they were pining away. 
 
 They parted at last for ever, 
 And only in dreams they met : 
 
 They had long been dead, but hardly 
 Was either aware of it yet. 
 
 „Unb alg ii^ eui^ meine S^mecjen QttlaQt." 
 
 When I told you the sorrowful life I had led, 
 You yawn'd, but never a word you said ; 
 But when I sung of it dainty-wise. 
 You praised my verses up to the skies. 
 
 „^(f) rief ben Scufel unb er tarn." 
 
 I call'd the devil and he came. 
 
 And my eyes with wonder over him ran : 
 
 Neither ill-favour'd is he nor lame. 
 
 But quite an agreeable, charming man. 
 
 In his prime, obliging, with plenty of tact — 
 
 A polish'd man of the world, in fact. 
 
 His diplomatic talent is great. 
 
 And he talks very well upon Church and State. 
 
 He 's pale — but no wonder, for 'tis en regie 
 
 With him to study Sanscrit and Hegel ; 
 
 His favourite poet is still Fouque :
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 95 
 
 But with criticism he '11 no more bother ; 
 
 To Hecate, his dear grandmother. 
 He 's given that up for ever and aye. 
 My juridical studies he much commended : 
 To such studies he 'd once himself attended. 
 My friendship could not be, he vow'd, 
 Too dear to him — here he gracefully bow'd, 
 And ask'd if he had not met before 
 
 At the Spanish Embassy with me? — 
 And when I look'd in his face once more. 
 
 An old acquaintance he proved to be. 
 
 ^SDicin Sinb, toii: hiaccn Sinbct." 
 
 My little one, we were children, 
 
 Our hearts were light and gay ; 
 We crept into the hen-house. 
 
 And hid below the hay. 
 
 Like fowls we crow'd and cackled - 
 
 And people, passing, heard — 
 Cock-a-doodle-doo ! and fancied 
 
 It was the very bird. 
 
 The boxes in the courtyard 
 
 We paper'd well, and there 
 We dwelt, and thought our mansion 
 
 Was grand beyond compare. 
 
 Oft came our neighbour's tabby 
 
 To see us in our house, 
 And much respect we paid it, 
 
 With compliments and bows.
 
 94 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 ' How do you, dear Pussie ? 
 
 Well ? -Good ! ' we both exclaim ; 
 
 Since then old cats a many- 
 Have heard us say the same. 
 
 And oft we sat and chatted 
 Like grave old folk, and said, 
 
 * In our times things were better ! ' 
 With a wise shake of the head. 
 
 ' For love, and truth, and faith — all 
 Have vanish'd from the earth I 
 
 And dear, too, is the coffee, — 
 And money ! what a dearth ! ' 
 
 Gone are our childish toyings, 
 And everything, in sooth — 
 
 Old times, and the world, and money, 
 And faith, and love, and truth. 
 
 My heart within me is a-weary. 
 Musing upon the good old days ; 
 
 Ah ! then the world was bright and cheery, 
 And folk still lived in quiet ways. 
 
 Now all that sweet, calm life has vanish'd ; 
 
 'Tis rush and crush for tear-stain'd bread ; 
 God from His heaven above is banish'd, 
 
 And down below the devil's dead.
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 95 
 
 Peevish and sad, of all bereft us, 
 Our lives are canker'd, cold, inane ; 
 
 But for the little love still left us. 
 
 What rag of comfort would remain ? 
 
 „SBie icr 2>?onS) fid^ Icuc^tcnb braitflct." 
 
 As yon moon in brightness breaketh 
 Through the dusky clouds of night, 
 
 So to me through dark years shineth, 
 Sweet and fair, a dream of light. 
 
 Crowds upon the deck were seated. 
 Proudly Rhine swept on below, 
 
 And its banks, all green with summer, 
 Shimmer'd in the even-glow. 
 
 Full of musings there I sat me, 
 
 By a lady sweet as May ; 
 In her face so fair, so pallid, 
 
 Flash'd the ruddy golden ray. 
 
 Lutes were sounding, youths were singing, 
 Ah, what bliss entranced the whole ! 
 
 Deeper grew the blue of heaven ; 
 Deeper, wider grew the soul. 
 
 Hill and castle, wood and meadow, 
 
 Famed in story flitted by — 
 All their beauty saw I beaming 
 
 In that lovely lady's eye.
 
 <)e SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 »»^e«S/ n»cin ^erj, fci nid^t bttlommtn." 
 
 Heart of mine, be not dejected ! 
 
 Let the years bring what they may ; 
 Spring restores the long-expected 
 
 Joys that Winter snatch'd away. 
 
 Heaven of all hath not bereft thee — 
 Earth's bright beauty cannot pall ; 
 
 What shall please thee ? — this is left thee ;- 
 Thou dost live to love it all. 
 
 wSu l^ift toie eine ^lume." 
 
 So fair, so pure, so gentle. 
 
 Like some dear flower thou art ; 
 
 I gaze on thee, and sadness 
 SHdes dumb into my heart. 
 
 I yearn, sweet one, to bless thee, 
 To press thy sunny hair. 
 
 And pray God aye to keep thee. 
 So gentle, pure, and fair. 
 
 „$C8enn i^ auf bent Sagev liege." 
 
 When on my couch I lay me, 
 And pillow my weary head, 
 
 A dear and lovely vision 
 Hovers around my bed.
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 97 
 
 And soon as the first kind slumbers 
 
 Softly my eyelids kiss, 
 Then glides that lovely vision 
 
 Into my dreams of bliss. 
 
 Yet with the dawn of morning 
 
 It flitteth not away, 
 Deep in my inmost bosom 
 
 I bear it all the day. 
 
 ^Sffiabd^en tnit bent vot^tn Wlvm'Dtffen." 
 
 Maiden, with the lips so rosy. 
 
 With the eyes so sweet and bright. 
 
 Thee, my darling little maiden. 
 Thee I think of day and night. 
 
 Long is now the winter evening — 
 
 Ah, to while away the hour, 
 Petting thee and chatting fondly 
 
 In thy cosy little bower ! 
 
 Little hand so white and dainty. 
 
 Fain I 'd kiss thee all the night ! 
 Fain with tears would I caress thee. 
 
 Little hand, so dainty-white. 
 
 „a}crtict^ meitt liIoffe§ 2(«8cfid^t." 
 
 Canst thou not read in my wan cheek 
 The love 'neath which I languish ? 
 
 And wouldst thou that these haughty lips 
 'Sought thee to soothe mine anguish ?
 
 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 O these proud lips can only kiss, 
 
 Or join in merry-making ! 
 They might perhaps deride and scorn 
 
 E'en while my heart was breaking. 
 
 „3;^curcip gteimb, in ftift bevliebt." 
 
 Worthy friend, thou art in love ! 
 
 Strange new pain thy patience taxes ; 
 Darker grows it in thy head ; 
 
 Lighter in thy heart it waxes. 
 
 Worthy friend, thou art in love ! — 
 Don't attempt to hide thy yearning ; 
 
 'Tis no use ! thy heart 's a-fire : 
 Through thy vest I see it burning. 
 
 ,,^0) tooQte bei bit toeUm." 
 
 When I with you would tarry, 
 
 And set myself to woo. 
 Away you needs must hurry, 
 
 You had so much to do. 
 
 And when, some short time after, 
 
 I did my love avow, 
 You answer'd me with laughter. 
 
 And a wicked mocking bow. 
 
 Yes, you severely tried me, 
 My heart was sorely spent ; 
 
 You know you even denied me 
 A kiss before I went.
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 99 
 
 Don't think that I will scatter 
 
 My brains out ; for, you see, 
 This miserable matter 
 
 Is nothing new to me. 
 
 n^aplfive finb bic SUugcn bcin." 
 
 Thine eyes are sapphires, sweet and bright, 
 
 Love in them shines and dances ; 
 And oh ! thrice happy is the man 
 
 Who wins their loving glances ! 
 
 Thy heart it is a diamond rare, 
 
 A glorious light it gleameth : 
 And oh ! thrice happy is the man 
 
 For whom with love it beameth ! 
 
 Thy lips are rubies — rubies red, 
 
 Surpassing in their glory ; 
 And oh ! thrice happy is the man 
 
 To whom they tell love's story ! 
 
 that I knew that happy man ! 
 
 O that, through greenwood wending, 
 
 1 could but meet him all alone ! — 
 
 His luck should soon have ending. 
 
 „^<S) tooUV tneine ^d^mcvjen crgbffcn." 
 
 In one single word, could I utter 
 
 The sum of my care and woe, 
 To the tricksy winds I would give it 
 
 To carry wherever they go.
 
 100 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 They should bear to thee, my darhng, 
 
 That sorrow-laden word ; 
 And everywhere and always 
 
 By thee it should be heard. 
 
 And even when in slumber 
 
 Thine eyes had ceased to gleam, 
 
 My word should still pursue thee 
 Into thy deepest dream. 
 
 „Su ^aft Siamanten unb ^etUn." 
 
 Diamonds and pearls are thine, love ! 
 
 What heart but covets thy store ? 
 And thou hast beautiful eyes, love ! — 
 
 My sweet, what wouldst thou more ? 
 
 Full many immortal songs, love, 
 
 Have I chanted o'er and o'er 
 In praise of thy beautiful eyes, love ! — 
 
 My sweet, what wouldst thou more ? 
 
 With those beautiful eyes, my darling. 
 Thou hast pierced me to the core, 
 
 And ruin'd me altogether— 
 
 My sweet, what wouldst thou more ? 
 
 n&abm mir 9tatf} un'D gutc Se^ren." 
 
 They counsell'd me, and well advised me, 
 Heap'd me with honours, said they prized me, 
 And if I 'd only wait, I 'd see 
 What wonderful things they 'd do for me.
 
 THE RETURN HOME. loi 
 
 And yet I 'm sure I should have perish'd 
 For all they did ; but I was cherish'd 
 And help'd along by a good man, 
 Who proved a real Samaritan. 
 
 Ay, that he is ! — I '11 ne'er forget him ! 
 He feeds me, and in my heart I set him ! 
 'Tis pity he can't have a kiss from me — 
 But that good man is myself, you see ! 
 
 „^abt aui^ in iungen ^a\)vm." 
 
 How in youth love's glow hath brought me 
 Bitter pangs, and mischief wrought me, 
 
 I could stories tell : 
 Now too costly is the fuel. 
 Faint and fail the flames so cruel — 
 
 Ma foi ! and that is well. 
 
 Pretty maiden, tears are silly, 
 Bid them go ! and, wiUy-nilly, 
 
 Banish foolish love's unrest. 
 Life 's before thee — why regret it ? 
 Leave the old love, and forget it, 
 
 Ma foi! upon my breast. 
 
 „ 2(uf ben SSJoHen (Satomonlo'3." 
 
 On the walls of Salamanca 
 
 Fresh the breezes come and go , 
 
 There I wander with my donna 
 In the summer even's glow I
 
 102 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 And I clasp the slender beauty 
 Of my loved and loving fair — 
 
 O how sweet to feel her bosom 
 Heaving fond and proudly there ! 
 
 Yet a strange, uneasy whisper 
 Stealeth through the linden-tree, 
 
 And the mill-stream dark beneath us 
 Murmurs evil dreams to me. 
 
 Ah, Senora ! much I fear me. 
 We shall never stray again 
 
 Here on Salamanca's ramparts — 
 For they '11 rusticate your swain. 
 
 „933ic bunHc S^rSumc ftef)cn." 
 
 Where dreamlike stretch the houses 
 
 In long and dark array, 
 My mantle wrapt around me, 
 
 I take my silent way. 
 
 The tower of the Cathedral 
 
 Clangs forth the midnight hour ; 
 
 My sweet, with her charms and kisses, 
 Awaits me in her bower. 
 
 The moon shines forth in glory, 
 And lights me to my love ; 
 
 I quickly reach her dwelling 
 And joyful call above —
 
 THE RETURN HOME. loj 
 
 O moon, old friend, I thank thee 
 That thou yon cloud hast furl'd. 
 
 Now leave me, I beseech thee, 
 And cheer the rest of the world. 
 
 And shouldst thou find a lover 
 
 Who all alone dost pine, 
 Be thou his best consoler, 
 
 As thou hast oft been mine. 
 
 „^lif), bie 3(ugen finb e§ ioiebec." 
 
 Ah, these are yet the very eyes 
 
 Whose glances trembled through me ; 
 
 And these are still the very lips 
 That sweeten'd life unto me. 
 
 And this too is the same dear voice 
 
 That once I heard so gladly ; 
 I only am the same no more — 
 
 Returned, but changed how sadly ! 
 
 And now her lovely snow-white arms 
 
 Are fondly round me stealing ; 
 Wearied I lie upon her breast, 
 
 Benumb'd in heart and feeling. 
 
 „S)cc Sob, 2)a§ ift bic tui)U 9ltt«^t." 
 
 Death is the night, so cool, so calm, 
 
 And life the restless, sultry day ; 
 
 Night comes, my eyes are heavy, 
 Of day so weary I am.
 
 104 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Over my bed there blossoms a tree 
 Where pensive sings the nightingale 
 Her song of love ever warbles, 
 
 In dreams it comes to me. 
 
 „@09, too ift l>cin f(!^onc§ mdit^enl" 
 
 Say, where is thy maiden sweet. 
 Theme of all thy tender art ? 
 
 Where the flames that once did beat 
 Magic-mighty through thy heart ? 
 
 Ah these flames no longer burn ! 
 
 Cold and sad at heart am I, 
 And this book is but the urn 
 
 Where my dead love's ashes lie 1 
 
 THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAR. 
 
 At the window stands the mother. 
 In bed her son doth He : 
 
 ' Wilt thou not rise, my William ? 
 The procession passes by.' 
 
 ' O, weary am I and sick, mother. 
 Nor hear can I nor see ; 
 
 I think of my poor dead Gretchen, 
 And sore is my heart in me.'
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 105 
 
 < Nay, rise ! we will to Kevlaar 
 
 With book and beads to-day ; 
 So will the Blessed Mother 
 
 Do all thy pain away.' 
 
 The sacred banners are waving, 
 
 Sweetly the music flows ; 
 To high Cologne on the river, 
 
 There the procession goes. 
 
 With the crowd the mother keepeth, 
 
 Her sick son leadeth she ; 
 They sing together in chorus — 
 
 ' O Mary, praise to thee ! ' 
 
 The Mother of God at Kevlaar 
 Must don her best to-day ; 
 
 With the sick will she be busy. 
 Who come in crowds to pray. 
 
 The sick folk bring as offerings 
 To the Holy Mother there 
 
 Limbs of the white wax fashion'd — 
 Both feet and hands they bear. 
 
 And he who a wax hand offers 
 Is heal'd where his own was sore : 
 
 And he who a wax foot offers 
 Is lame in his own no more.
 
 io6 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 To Kevlaar went many on crutches, 
 Now brisk on a rope dance they ; 
 
 And fingers that late were helpless 
 Now nimbly the viol play. 
 
 The mother brought a wax taper, 
 
 And of it made a heart : 
 ' Give that to the sweet God's Mother, 
 
 So will she heal thj' smart.' 
 
 And, sighing, the son brought the wax heart. 
 And, sighing, knelt him there : 
 
 From his eye the sad tear trembled, 
 From his heart went the woful prayer : 
 
 ' O Thou for ever blessed ! 
 
 Pure maiden, holy one ! 
 O lofty Q.ueen of heaven ! 
 
 To thee my griefs be known ! 
 
 ' I dwelt with my old mother 
 
 In Cologne, that city proud, 
 That city where in hundreds 
 
 Chapels and churches crowd. 
 
 * And near us dwelt my Gretchen ; 
 
 Now she in her grave lies low : 
 Mary, I offer a wax heart — 
 
 Heal thou my sick heart's woe. 
 
 ' Heal my poor heart, and early 
 
 And late my prayer will be — 
 My earnest hymn and prayer — 
 
 " O Mary, praise to thee ! " '
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 107 
 
 III. 
 
 The ailing son and his mother 
 
 Sleep in their chamber, where 
 The Mother of God she cometh, 
 
 And softly entereth there. 
 
 She bends her over the sick one, 
 
 Her hand doth she tenderly lay 
 On his heart, and, smiling gently. 
 
 Passes in silence away. 
 
 His mother sees all in her dreaming, 
 And more, much more, sees she : 
 
 Then wakes she from her slumber. 
 For the dogs bark furiously. 
 
 And there lay he outstretched — 
 
 Her son, and he was dead : 
 On his wan cheek play'd lightly 
 
 The morning golden red. 
 
 Her hands the mother folded. 
 
 What mingled thoughts had she ! 
 
 Resign'd, yet sang she softly, 
 ' O Mary, praise to thee 1 ' 
 
 THE PRINCESS ILSE.^ 
 
 I AM the Princess Use, 
 
 And dwell in the Ilsenstein ; 
 Come with me to my castle, 
 
 Rare pleasures shall be thine ! 
 
 ^ From the Tour in the Har%, 1824.
 
 io8 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 My crystal sparkling fountain 
 I 'II sprinkle on thy brow. 
 
 And all thy pain will vanish, 
 For sad at heart art thou. 
 
 Lock'd in my arms, and leaning 
 
 Upon my snowy breast. 
 Thou 'It dream of golden legends. 
 
 And take thy happy rest. 
 
 I '11 fondle thee and kiss thee. 
 As once, in days long fled, 
 
 I kiss'd and fondled Henry, 
 The Kaiser, who is dead. 
 
 Only the live are living. 
 The dead are dead for aye ; 
 
 I still am fair and blooming. 
 My heart beats ever gay. 
 
 Come to my sunken castle, 
 Where all is crystal clear : 
 
 There dance brave knights and ladies. 
 And squires shout o'er their cheer. 
 
 There rustle silken dresses. 
 There spurs of iron ring ; 
 
 There dwarfs sound drum and trumpet. 
 And fiddle and pipe and sing. 
 
 But there my arms shall fold thee. 
 Thou 'It fare as the Kaiser fared : 
 
 I held him, and he heard not 
 When loud the trumpet blared.
 
 LATER POEMS. 
 
 Night Thoughts. ^ 
 
 When, Germany, of thee I think 
 At night, I cannot sleep a wink, 
 But wide awake I He and weary. 
 Weeping and musing, sad and dreary. 
 
 The years glide on with quickening pace : 
 
 Since last I saw my mother's face 
 
 Twelve years have gone, and fond thoughts thronging 
 
 Rouse all my yearning and my longing. 
 
 My yearning evermore doth grow. 
 That dear one has bewitch'd me so ; 
 I think of her as of none other — 
 May God protect my dear old mother ! 
 
 Deep is that mother's love for me. 
 And in her letters I can see 
 How tremulous her hand hath shaken, 
 As all her mother's heart did waken. 
 
 1 This and the following four pieces are from the Neiie Gedkhte 
 (New Poems), 1831.
 
 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Her shrine is in ray bosom kept — 
 Twelve long, lone years have o'er me crept, 
 Twelve long, lone years since I caress'd her 
 And fondly to my bosom press'd her. 
 
 The fatherland doth ever stand, 
 It is a strong and healthy land ; 
 Yon gleaming vale and shining river, 
 Yon oaks and lindens bide for ever. 
 
 But if my mother were not there, 
 For Germany I less should care : 
 Of fatherland you can't bereave me — 
 My mother, she may die and leave me. 
 
 Since from my native land I hied, 
 
 A many there I loved have died ; 
 
 And while I reckon up the number 
 
 What grief is mine, what cark and cumber ! 
 
 Yet must I count them all, and woe 
 Still wilder to my heart doth go. 
 I feel as though the dead lean'd o'er me ! 
 Thank God, I wake — to see before me 
 
 My chamber-window gleam and glance 
 With thy bright sun, dear, joyous France ! 
 And, look ! my sweet French wife comes to me, 
 And doth from all these yearnings woo me.
 
 LATER POEMS. iii 
 
 „ @d toat ein altcv ^onig." 
 
 There was a king, an old king — 
 
 His heart was sad, his hair was grey ; 
 
 This poor old king he married 
 A young bride, sweet as May. 
 
 There was a page, a young page. 
 
 And light his heart, and bright his hair ; 
 
 The youthful queen he tendeth, 
 Her silken train to bear. 
 
 And dost thou know the old song. 
 So sweet its sigh, so sad its sigh ? — 
 
 Ah me ! they love too kindly ; 
 They love, and they must die. 
 
 Now spring's blue eyes are peeping 
 
 O'er all the grassy lea. 
 Dear violets are opening 
 
 And gazing up at me. 
 
 I pluck them, musing fondly. 
 
 And every thought that plays 
 About my heart in secret 
 
 The nightingale betrays. 
 
 Ah yes ! she warbles loudly 
 
 The thoughts that were my own ; 
 
 The secret of my bosom 
 To all the wood is known.
 
 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 ,,'Siie SSelten i^Iintcn unb flie^en Baffin." 
 
 The waters glitter and glide away, — 
 Love is lovely when spring is shining ! 
 
 By the stream a shepherdess sits all day, 
 The tenderest garlands twining. 
 
 Here are sweet blooms and the hum o' the bee, ■ 
 Love is lovely when spring is shining ! 
 
 The shepherdess sighs from her heart, ' Ah me ! 
 For whom are my garlands twining ?' 
 
 By comes a trooper ; with kindly grace 
 
 He greets her as on he prances. 
 The maiden looks up with a wistful face, 
 
 His gay plume flutters and dances. 
 
 She weeps, and into the river flings 
 
 The garlands she sat a-twining ; 
 Of love and kisses the nightingale sings — 
 
 Love is lovely when spring is shining. 
 
 „Seife iief)t butiii inein ®emutf)." 
 
 Sweetly in my heart doth sing 
 Fairy-like bell-tinkling : 
 
 Ring out, little song of spring. 
 Music gaily sprinkling ! 
 
 Fleetly hie yon cottage nigh, 
 Where, with flowerets meeting, 
 
 If a Rose thou floatest by. 
 Breathe my tender greeting.
 
 LATER POEMS. 115 
 
 „aC8o toitb cittft bcS aCSonbctmuben." ^ 
 
 Where then shall I rest for ever. 
 
 Worn and weary of my day ? 
 Under lindens by Rhine river ? 
 
 Under palm-trees far away? 
 
 Shall I, in the desert dying. 
 
 Buried be by stranger hands ? 
 Or, on some lone sea-coast lying, 
 
 Slumber in the shifting sands ? 
 
 Ah well ! God's own heaven will brighten 
 
 There as here above my bed ; 
 And at night the stars will lighten — 
 
 Glorious death-lamps o'er my head. 
 
 ^ A posthumous poem.
 
 PART I L 
 
 Miscellaneous Pieces 
 
 BY 
 
 VARIOUS GERMAN POETS.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 SPRING SONG. 
 
 Who shakes against my window here 
 
 The green twigs gaily glancing ? 
 The merry breeze of morn is near, 
 
 And with the leaves is dancing. 
 
 Up ! up ! thou child of earth, to thee 
 
 Thy sprightly mate appealeth, 
 As full of Spring it roveth free. 
 
 And past thy threshold stealeth. 
 
 And hear'st thou not the beetles' hum ? 
 
 Hear'st not the tinkling ticking, 
 When, drunk with light and sweets, they come. 
 
 Against thy window clicking ? 
 
 Shall frolic sunbeams steal in vain 
 
 Through leaves and branches to thee ? 
 
 With dazzling waving and twinkling, fain 
 Would they from slumber woo thee. 
 
 The nightingale she sung so long. 
 
 Her fainting notes I pitied ; 
 And since thou didst not hear her song, 
 
 Away the sweet bird flitted. 
 
 Here at thy window, here I call, 
 
 With idle branches beating, 
 Up ! up ! for Spring is over all. 
 
 And ah ! its glance is fleeting. 
 
 WILHELM MULLER.
 
 ii8 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 A CHANGE. 
 
 Heart, my heart, what doth undo thee ? 
 
 Why this changed and troubled lot ? 
 Strange new life is pulsing through thee ; 
 
 Life so strange, I know thee not. 
 All thy old desires are banish'd, 
 All thy vexing thoughts have vanish'd, 
 Zeal and rest alike I miss — 
 Ah, how cam'st thou, heart, to this ? 
 
 Is it youth, with beauty beaming, 
 That dear form hath captured thee ? 
 
 Must that glance with goodness gleaming 
 Ever thy enslaver be ? 
 
 Should I think no more to see her, 
 
 Gather heart, and stoutly flee her— 
 
 Ah ! the very path I track 
 
 In a moment leads me back. 
 
 By this magic thread, that surely 
 Will not break, I 'm holden still ; 
 
 And that roguish one securely 
 Keeps me thus against my will. 
 
 Ne'er her magic circle quitting, 
 
 I must live to do her bidding ; 
 
 Ah, how great a change to me ! — 
 
 Cruel love ! O set me free 1 
 
 GOETHE.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. ii(^ 
 
 NEW LIFE. 
 
 Ha ! what feelings wake and flower, 
 In my happy bosom seated ! 
 
 Ha ! before what sun of power 
 
 Hath my Hfe's dark night retreated ! 
 
 Golden sweet the greetings be 
 
 From this rosy dawn to me. 
 
 Yonder to my lifted eyes 
 
 Paradise doth bloom and glisten ; 
 To glad music from the skies 
 
 Breathless here I stand and listen ; 
 Eden's amaranthine air 
 Breathes around me everywhere. 
 
 Art so near me, god of wine, 
 At life's feast my kind protector. 
 
 Turning this poor cup of mine 
 To ambrosia and to nectar? — 
 
 Giver of these gifts divine — 
 
 Art so near me, god of wine ? 
 
 Love ! O wonder-working love ! 
 
 Thou to me new life hast given, 
 Raising this poor heart above 
 
 To the happiness of heaven ; 
 O unchanged with thee to rest, 
 Ever young and ever blest ! 
 
 BURGER.
 
 120 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 NO ANSWER. 
 
 When earth in the sweet Spring-time awakes, 
 What feeling of bhss hath she ? 
 
 When from dark woods a brooklet breaks, 
 What can its musings be ? 
 
 And what thinks the rose, the rose overnight 
 That oped its breast to the dew ? 
 
 And when a maiden wakes to love's light, 
 What thrilleth her bosom through ? 
 
 I ask'd the rose, and then the brook, 
 And I ask'd the shining earth ; 
 
 And they smiled on me with a joyous look, 
 But dumb were they all in their mirth. 
 
 Then I ask'd my love, whose little head 
 
 Hath so much wisdom conn'd. 
 Yet never a word my darling said. 
 
 But kiss'd me, silent and fond. 
 
 A little tear stole down her cheek, 
 
 Happy she look'd on me — 
 Now I think in my heart. Shall I further seek. 
 
 Or shall this an answer be ? 
 
 ROBERT REINICK. 
 
 THE SECRET WILL OUT. 
 
 Speed on ! speed on ! my winsome grey, 
 
 How slow thy gallop seemeth ! 
 Haste, haste with me and my secret away 
 
 To where the wildwood gleameth.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 121 
 
 O red and rosy the cloudlets flee 
 
 Yon glimmering mountains over ! 
 O sweetly lilts from every tree 
 
 Each blithesome little rover ! 
 
 And O like the lark from earth to spring, 
 
 A gladsome, jubilant spirit 1 
 'Mong the rosy clouds my joy to sing 
 
 Till all the heavens should hear it. 
 
 Or a mighty winged storm to be, 
 
 To rouse the dark blue ocean, 
 And confide to the waves of the surging sea 
 
 This sweet and glowing emotion ! 
 
 No ear shall hear it ; I cannot hie 
 
 Like a lark on the wing to quiver. 
 Nor over the waves like the tempest fly — 
 
 And yet I must whisper it ever. 
 
 Listen, ye beeches ! thou moon, hear this. 
 
 In the weltering water captured — 
 She is mine ! she is mine ! her burning kiss 
 
 Glows on my lips enraptured. 
 
 EMANUEL GEIBEL. 
 
 SECRECY. 
 
 Ah, if love thy bosom presses, 
 Never let that love be known ; 
 
 Deep within thy heart's recesses, 
 Keep it to thyself alone.
 
 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 See ! yon mountain ne'er revealeth 
 
 Where the golden treasures He, 
 But its secret mine concealeth 
 
 Safely from the intruder's eye. 
 
 And the pearls Hke sweet thoughts cluster, 
 
 Sleeping in a dusky shell, 
 No eye marks their shrouded lustre 
 
 In the dark house where they dwell. 
 
 And unseen thy heart abideth 
 
 In its passion and its rest ; 
 All unmark'd the giant hideth 
 
 With the secrets of thy breast. 
 
 Thus let love, unseen and lonely, 
 
 Nestle in thy bosom's shrine ; 
 Tell the balmy secret only 
 
 To the loved one that is thine. 
 
 To the blind yon heavens discover 
 
 Nothing of their starry sheen ; 
 And by no one save a lover 
 
 Can love's loveliness be seen. 
 
 CARL DRAXLER-MANFRED. 
 
 PARTING. 
 
 Maun I then, maun I then to the toun awa', 
 
 And we twae parted be ? 
 When I come, when I come, when I come again, 
 
 Nae mair I '11 gae frae thee.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 123 
 
 Though wi' thee I canna ever bide, 
 
 Thou art yet my heart to me ; 
 When I come, when I come, when I come again, 
 
 I will gae nae mair frae thee. 
 
 Sair thou greets, sair thou greets that I maun awa'. 
 
 Just as if our loves were by : 
 In yon toun, in yon toun mony lassies be. 
 
 But, my hinnie, true am 1. 
 Dinna think when I anither see 
 
 That my love will a' blaw by : 
 In yon toun, in yon toun mony lassies be. 
 
 But, my hinnie, true am I. 
 
 At the hairst, at the hairst, when they strip the trees. 
 
 Back again I '11 come to thee ; 
 Aye the same, aye the same, thy sweetheart still ; 
 
 Then shall our wedding be. 
 Hairst weel owre, then is my service by, 
 
 I 'm bound to nane but thee ; 
 Aye the same, aye the same, thy sweetheart still — 
 
 O wedded we shall be ! 
 
 VOLKSLIED. 
 
 PRESENXE IN ABSENCE. 
 
 I THINK of thee when far o'er ocean shimmers 
 
 Day's golden gleam ; 
 I think of thee when in the fountain glimmers 
 
 The pale moonbeam.
 
 124 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 I see thee when the frolic dust-cloud quivers 
 
 In dreamy light ; 
 When on the narrow bridge the wanderer shivers 
 
 In the deep night. 
 
 I hear thee when the rushing billows glisten 
 
 And burst in foam ; 
 Oft in yon silent grove for thee I hsten 
 
 When all is dumb. 
 
 I 'm with thee, love 1 Though far away thou'rt dreaming, 
 
 Yet art thou near ! 
 The sun goes down, soon will the stars be gleaming — 
 
 O wert thou here ! 
 
 GOETHE. 
 
 THE soldier's LOVE. 
 
 As still at midnight, dark and deep. 
 My lonely watch and ward I keep, 
 I think of her, my little pet, 
 And wonder if she loves me yet. 
 
 She kiss'd me tenderly that day 
 When to the wars I would away ; 
 With ribbons gay my hat she dress'd, 
 And, weeping, drew me to her breast. 
 
 She loves me still — yes, true is she ; 
 No dark foreboding troubles me ; 
 My heart beats warm i' the cold night air 
 When thinking of my faithful fair.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 125 
 
 Perchance this is the very hour 
 Thy lamp is Ht within thy bower, 
 And thou dost kneel to God and pray 
 For me, thy lover, far away. 
 
 And if war's perils wake thy fears, 
 And thou be sad, and full of tears. 
 Fear not, for God shall keep me through, 
 He loves a soldier good and true. 
 
 But, hark, a bell ! relief is near. 
 My watch will soon be over here ; 
 Now peaceful may thy slumbers be, 
 And in thy dreamings think of me. 
 
 WILHELM HAUFF. 
 
 AN EVIL CONSCIENCE. 
 
 ' Warm are thy kisses, bright thine eye, 
 
 I lean upon thy breast ; 
 But ever upon thy brow doth lie 
 
 A dark cloud of unrest. 
 
 * I love thee as loveth the river its vale, 
 
 As ocean its golden sand, 
 As fairies the moonlight in the dale, 
 
 As the hungry flame its brand. 
 
 ' I love thee as loveth the world sweet day. 
 
 And deeper and truer still — 
 Then chide me not, but say, O say 
 
 What griefs thy bosom thrill.'
 
 126 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 * Proud is thy beauty, bright thine eye. 
 
 And warm is thy spirit in thee ; 
 O fair ! O noble ! thine every sigh 
 Breathes infinite love for me. 
 
 ' And ah ! what pains me wouldst thou know ? 
 
 What secret shades my brow ? — 
 A blue-eyed little one long ago 
 
 I loved as I love thee now. 
 
 ' I loved her as loveth the river its vale, 
 
 As ocean its golden sand. 
 As fairies the moonlight in the dale. 
 
 As the hungry flame its brand. 
 
 * I loved her as loveth the world sweet day, 
 
 And deeper and truer my sigh — 
 O shudder not, sweet ! but hear me say, 
 I loved, yet faithless was I. 
 
 ' My brow is dark, my heart is sore. 
 
 Restless I tremble, and say : 
 Thou lovest me as I loved before, — 
 
 And that old love faded away.' 
 
 MORITZ GRAF STRACHWITZ. 
 
 THE THREE ROSES. 
 
 I SIT me doun by a spring, 
 
 Nae thirst hae I ; 
 I seek a fause-hearted love. 
 
 She comes na bv.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 127 
 
 And here am I a' my lane 
 
 'Mang the greenerie : 
 Upo' my breist fa' doun 
 
 Reid roses three. 
 
 I look a' round and aboon 
 
 Wi' anxious een ; 
 I hae my fause-hearted love 
 
 Wi' anither seen. 
 
 She throws the roses to him 
 
 On me that licht ; 
 She thinks they 're a' alane — 
 
 I 'm a waefu' wicht ! 
 
 To see anither wi' her, 
 
 This pains me sair ; 
 Ah, thee, my fause-hearted love, 
 
 I '11 see nae mair ! 
 
 I '11 gae, and paper and pen 
 
 And ink I '11 buy, 
 And write to my fause-hearted love 
 
 Fareweel for aye. 
 
 And could ye sae soon gae awa' 
 
 And lichtly me ? — 
 I gae, my fause-hearted love, 
 
 Far, far frae thee. 
 
 And noo I lay me adoun 
 
 'Mang the hay and straw, 
 And saflly there on my breist 
 
 Three roses fa' !
 
 128 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 And thae three roses, I wat, 
 
 Are bluid bluid reid : 
 I kenna whether my love 
 
 Be Hvin' or deid. 
 
 VOLKSLIED. 
 
 DESOLATION. 
 
 Little flower, in thy narrow dell, 
 Light from heaven on thy beauty fell : 
 Woful heart in thy aching breast. 
 Love with thee once found a rest. 
 
 And the floweret droops and pines 
 For the sun no longer shines ; 
 And the heart doth break at last, 
 For the short-lived joy is past. 
 
 ALBERT TRAEGER. 
 
 THE OLD OAK-TREE. 
 
 There 's a grand old oak in the low countrie 
 Shines bright in its summer green ; 
 
 Ah, many a time by that old oak-tree 
 Have I with my true love been. 
 
 There 's a dear wee bird would whistle there 
 
 Till sweetly the welkin rang, 
 And my darling and I oft linger'd near 
 
 To hear what the wee bird sans;.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 129 
 
 To the topmost bough the wee bird took 
 
 To rest his little wing ; 
 And he hush'd his note till he saw us look, 
 
 Then he could not choose but sing. 
 
 The wee bird slept in his cosie nest, 
 When the leaves had ceased to gleam — 
 
 love ! have I ever thy bosom press'd. 
 Or is this but an idle dream? 
 
 1 came again to my love, my bride — 
 
 The tree was dead at last ; 
 And a stranger walk'd by the dear one's side — 
 O yes 1 I had dream'd the past. 
 
 The old oak stands in the low countrie, 
 
 While, forsaken and forsaking. 
 Where the mountain snows lie drearilie, 
 
 There my heart, my heart, is breaking. 
 
 VOLKSLIED. 
 
 UNREST. 
 
 Wild heart so oft deceived, tell me now 
 
 What means this frenzied beating in my breast ? 
 After such anguish past, say, wilt not thou 
 Calm thee to rest ? 
 
 Youth is gone by, its joys have sunk in night, 
 
 With rosy blooms life's tree hath ceased to gleam 
 Ah, what once raised thee to yon heaven of light 
 Was but a dream !
 
 130 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 The blossoms fell, for me was left the thorn, 
 
 From whose sharp wound the blood flows evermore : 
 Now grief, and yearning, and an angry scorn 
 Are all my store. 
 
 And yet were one to bring me Lethe's tide, 
 
 And say, ' Drink thou, and all thy pain will go, 
 And soft forgetfulness the past will hide ' — 
 I 'd answer, No ! 
 
 For were it but an idle dream, yet I 
 
 Know it was fair and sweet all else above ; 
 Deep, deep I feel in every breath and sigh 
 That still I love ! 
 
 Then let me go ! and, heart, still bleed amain ! 
 
 Yearning I seek a spot by night and day. 
 Where with my closing song this grief and pain 
 May sigh away. 
 
 EMANUEL GEIBEL. 
 
 CALM AFTER STORM. 
 
 All the day long hath she raged and raved, 
 
 As if in wrath and pain ; 
 Now calm, and smoothing her rufiled breast. 
 
 Slumbers the billowy main. 
 
 Gently goeth the evening wind 
 
 Over the watery lea : 
 It is the breath of God that moves. 
 
 Lulling the slumbering sea.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 151 
 
 It kisses her curled tresses there, 
 
 That late were streaming wild, 
 And the whisper'd blessing tenderly falls — 
 
 ' Sleep now, thou wayward child.' 
 
 MORITZ GRAF STRACHWITZ. 
 
 WINTER DREAMS. 
 
 My soul is gently shaken 
 
 With a yearning sweet as May, 
 
 And in my heart awaken 
 
 Bright dreams of a summer day. 
 
 I think of woods as they glisten 
 
 At golden eve, and seem 
 In their glades to lie and hsten 
 
 To the distant horn, and dream. 
 
 I feel as I were sinking 
 
 In the coolest grass e'er grew. 
 And from sweet cups were drinking 
 
 Rare draughts of pearly dew. 
 
 Methinks I see heaven beaming 
 
 With the light of dying day ; 
 While the clouds on its breast are gleaming, 
 
 And the little birds haste away. 
 
 And I seem to ask these, smiling, 
 
 Whither away haste ye. 
 While I, the hours beguiling. 
 
 Lie sunk in a flowery sea ?
 
 132 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Oh, I feel in this dark weather 
 Sweet thoughts of the past awake, 
 
 Old dreams and songs together 
 Will over my bosom break. 
 
 Ah, why should earth and heaven 
 Only bloom in our bosoms so, 
 
 And into our paths be driven 
 The dreary winter snow? 
 
 EDUARD FERRAND. 
 
 High on a hill I rested, 
 And gazed into a vale ; 
 
 I saw three knights in a shallop 
 Adown a river sail. 
 
 The youngest of the rovers 
 
 In that fair companie, 
 The wine from his own wine-cup 
 
 He once did give to me. 
 
 What took he from his finger? — 
 A ring of gold so bright — 
 
 ' And keep it ever, fair one. 
 For sake of thy true knight.' 
 
 ' What shall I with the ring. Sir ? 
 
 Few summers have I told ; 
 I 'm but a poor young maiden. 
 
 With neither goods nor gold.'
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 135 
 
 ' Art thou a poor young maiden ? 
 
 Hast neither goods nor gold ? 
 Think ever of the rich love 
 
 Our faithful bosoms hold.' 
 
 ' I do not know what love is, 
 
 I think of ne'er a one — 
 So will I to the cloister 
 
 And there become a nun.' 
 
 ' And wilt thou to the cloister, 
 
 A little nun to be ? 
 So through the world I 'U wander 
 
 And come again to thee.' 
 
 When three months were nigh passed 
 
 He dream'd a dreary dream — 
 Shut up within the cloister 
 
 His little love did seem. 
 
 The knight call'd to his henchman, 
 ' Go saddle our steeds in haste ; 
 
 We '11 take the way, as well we may 
 By dale and mountain waste.' 
 
 And when he came to the cloister. 
 
 He knock'd with meikle fear : 
 ' Where is the youngest sister 
 
 Was last to enter here ? ' 
 
 But no one comes to his bidding — 
 
 An angry man is he — 
 * Oh, I will burn the cloister, 
 
 God's house although it be ! '
 
 134 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Thus loudly call'd, she cometh, 
 All clad in white, and pale ; 
 
 Gone are her sunny tresses : 
 The maid has ta'en the veil. 
 
 Gently she bids them welcome 
 Into this strange countrie — 
 
 * Who was it bade ye hither ? 
 Whose messengers are ye r ' 
 
 Then woful, woful was the knight, 
 Her words did vex him so : 
 
 He turn'd away, while down his cheeks 
 The warm tears bitter flow. 
 
 What holds she in her hands there ? — 
 
 A golden cup to drain ; 
 But hardly had he touch'd the cup 
 
 Ere broke his heart in twain. 
 
 With her white hands the maiden 
 Dug for the kniglit a grave ; 
 
 And holy water from her eyes, 
 Her dark brown eyes, she gave. 
 
 Her sweet voice in soft dirges 
 Sang o'er the sleeper's head ; 
 
 Her sweet voice was the little bell 
 That toll'd above his bed. 
 
 VOLKSLIED. 
 THE landlady's DAUGHTER. 
 
 Over the Rhine went students three, 
 And quickly came to an hostelrie.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 13$ 
 
 'Landlady ! hast thou good beer and wine? 
 Where is that little daughter of thine? ' 
 
 ' My beer and wine are clear and bright; 
 My daughter sleeps in her shroud so white.' 
 
 The inner chamber they drew near, 
 And saw the little one on her bier. 
 
 The first laid aside the veil to gaze 
 
 With sadden'd look on the dear one's face : 
 
 * Ah, wert thou living now, sweet May ! 
 My heart I know would be thine this day.' 
 
 The second he cover'd her face again. 
 And weeping turn'd him away in pain : 
 
 ' Ah, thou that liest on thy bier, 
 
 I have loved thee, sweet, for many a year.' 
 
 The third once more raised up the veil, 
 And kiss'd the lips so cold and pale : 
 
 ' I love thee now as I loved before, 
 I love thee, love, for evermore.' 
 
 UHLAND. 
 
 LOVE S LEGACY. 
 
 O Spring it is so fair and bright 
 With sunshine, buds, and song ; 
 
 Since swift away it wings its flight, 
 Nor ever tarries long-.
 
 136 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 And ah ! so sweet the rosy glow 
 O'er love's first dreamings shed, 
 
 Since fleeter than the flowerets go 
 These rosy dreams are fled. 
 
 Yet round that heart warm treasures twine 
 Where young love bloom'd and gleam'd ; 
 
 A happy luck I think is mine 
 That I have loved and dream'd. 
 
 Beam after beam my heart hath ta'en 
 
 From this too fleeting day ; 
 But though the sun be on the wane, 
 
 Yet, come whatever may. 
 
 And still I '11 bear a steadfast mind, 
 
 Be grief or joy in store — 
 The treasure in my heart enshrined 
 
 Is mine for evermore. 
 
 EMANUEL GEIBEL. 
 
 DAME NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 Nightingale, thy vesper keeping. 
 While thou singest I am weeping ; 
 Pretty lady Nightingale, 
 Thee a thousand times I hail ! 
 
 Nightingale, I see thee hasten 
 To this fountain's rocky basin. 
 There to dip that bill of thine. 
 Deeming this the best of wine.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 137 
 
 Nightingale, say which is better — 
 On the linden tops to twitter ; 
 Or amid green boughs to rest 
 In thy dainty little nest ? 
 
 Now, again, thy notes are ringing ! 
 How delicious is thy singing ! 
 Come to me, and tell me true 
 What, sweet lady, can I do ? 
 
 Dost thou, then, in sorrow languish ? 
 Come, and I will heal thine anguish ; 
 Bid thy fancies all be gone — 
 Where does thy beloved won? 
 
 Thou shalt find him, little lady, — 
 Leave thy bowers cool and shady, 
 Seek on hill and seek on plain — 
 Greet him o'er and o'er again. 
 
 VOLKSLIED. 
 
 THE LAUREL AND THE ROSE. 
 
 Let the laurel, if he choose. 
 
 Crown each poet ever ; 
 Nor a chain of gold refuse 
 
 Critics sharp and clever. 
 
 Give me but the rose, love-fraught, 
 There all sweetness slumbers ; — 
 
 Love only was the Muse that taught 
 Me to lisp in numbers. 
 
 ERNST SCHULZE.
 
 138 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 THE WATER LILIES. 
 
 The lilies in the lonesome lake 
 
 Cluster in gleaming masses ; 
 They wave and play the livelong day 
 
 With every breeze that passes ; 
 But when the night puts day to flight, 
 And in yon heavens the moon is bright, 
 Like nymphs from out the waters, 
 Dance forth the lake's pale daughters. 
 
 Now rings the wind, now sings the reed. 
 
 And to the music sweetly 
 The lily maidens twine themselves 
 
 In wreaths, and foot it fetely. 
 Round in a ring they sweep and sail, 
 With robes and faces white and pale, 
 Until each wan cheek flushes 
 With tender rosy blushes. 
 
 Loud rings the wind, loud sings the reed. 
 
 Forth woodland echoes sally. 
 And clouds are strewn across the moon. 
 
 And shadows o'er the valley. 
 And to and fro the mad ones reel, 
 Through grass and dew they whirl and wheel ; 
 And loud and louder calleth 
 The wavelet where it falleth. 
 
 But lo ! an arm, with giant fist. 
 
 From out the water springeth, 
 And crown'd with reeds a dripping head, 
 
 To which a long beard chngeth. 
 
 i
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 139 
 
 And now a voice in thunder thrills 
 The slumbering echoes of the hills : — 
 * Back ! back ! pale lily-daughters, 
 And hide you 'neath the waters.' 
 
 Their frolics cease ; the maidens shriek, 
 
 And pale become as ever : 
 The father cries : — ' Waft, morning sighs. 
 
 Athwart each lake and river.' 
 Swift from the vale the mists are gone, 
 The skies are flushing with the dawn : 
 And in the lake the lilies toy. 
 And wave and flutter in their joy. 
 
 AUGUST SCHNETZLER. 
 THE ROSEBUD. 
 
 The rosebud dreams of the sunny sheen, 
 
 Of the rustle of leaves in forest green, 
 
 Of the musical fall of fairy springs, 
 
 And the dainty song the nightingale sings. 
 
 Of the breeze that laughs and dances for joy, 
 
 And the blooms that tenderly woo and toy. 
 
 The rosebud wakes, in beauty appears 
 
 And gently smiles through her shining tears ; 
 
 And she looks and listens, for all is bright, 
 
 And there 's music and rustling, and balmy delight ; 
 
 Her dreams have come true — her beautiful dreams — 
 
 And all in a tremulous wonder is she. 
 As softly she whispers — ' Truly it seems 
 
 As were not new all this beauty to me.' 
 
 FRIEDRICH VON SALLET.
 
 140 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 THE DYING FLOWER. 
 
 ' Hope that thou shalt live to see 
 
 Spring and sunshine come again ; 
 E'en as hopeth every tree 
 
 Stript by autumn winds and rain. 
 In thy heart a secret power 
 
 Sleepeth through the wintry gloom ; 
 When the sky has ceased to lower 
 
 It shall wake, and thou shalt bloom.' 
 
 ' Ah, I am no forest king. 
 
 Living down a thousand years, 
 Through whose winter dreams doth ring 
 
 Sweet May-music, drowning fears — 
 No ! a little flower am I, 
 
 Waken'd by the kiss of May, 
 Ere the snows about me lie 
 
 I must faint and fade away.' 
 
 ' Though thou art a tender flower. 
 
 Wherefore needst thou sigh or care, 
 Are not seeds the heavenly dower, 
 
 Thou and all thy sisters share? 
 Let the winter winds and rimes 
 
 Rudely lay thee in the tomb. 
 From the sod a thousand times 
 
 Thou shalt rise, and bud, and bloom.' 
 
 ' Yes, full many a flower, I ween, 
 After me in light will rise ; 
 
 Earth is green, for ever green, 
 But each little green thing dies.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 141 
 
 They will shine, as I have shone — 
 
 I who nothing was before ; 
 Now I Hve — when I am gone, 
 
 I am gone for evermore. 
 
 * When the sunshine o'er their bloom 
 
 Blazes as it blazes yet, 
 'Twill not mitigate my doom — 
 
 In dark night for ever set. 
 Ah, thou Sun ! e'en now thy gleam 
 
 Seems to hail them ere they glow ; 
 Wherefore with a frosty beam 
 
 Dost thou mock me while I go ? 
 
 ' Thee I trusted — woe is me ! 
 
 When thou kiss'd me into day : 
 And I look'd with love to thee ; 
 
 But thou filch'd my life away. 
 From thy pity will I hide 
 
 What poor Hfe thou yet hast left : 
 Closing my weak leaves, I bide 
 
 In myself till I am reft. 
 
 ' Yet the ice about my heart 
 
 Thou dost melt to tears that shine, — 
 Thou who ever hving art, 
 
 Take this fleeting life of mine ! 
 Yes, thou sunnest all the woe 
 
 From this fainting life and me ; 
 And I thank thee while I go — 
 
 All my beauty came from theej
 
 142 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 ' Every zephyr floating by 
 
 That I sweetly breathed upon, 
 Every twinkling butterfly 
 
 Dancing round my starry crown ; 
 Eyes that brighten'd at my sheen, 
 
 Hearts that for my balm would sigh — 
 Thou didst give me all, I ween, 
 
 And I thank thee ere I die. 
 
 ' Though I was a lowly birth, 
 
 Yet I deck'd this world of thine, 
 And thou bad'st me bloom on earth. 
 
 As the stars in heaven shine. 
 One breath draw I while I yield. 
 
 And a sigh it shall not be ; 
 One look have I for the field. 
 
 One for heaven and for thee. 
 
 ' Ever-burning heart o' the world, 
 
 Let me fade into thy light ! 
 Heaven's blue covering be unfurl'd 
 
 While my green one shrinks in night ! 
 Hail, thou morn, with balmy breath ! 
 
 Hail, O Spring, thou golden reign ! 
 Calmly now I sleep in death. 
 
 Nevermore to wake again 1 ' 
 
 FRIEDRICH RUCKERT.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 145 
 
 THE MAIDEN AND THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 It was a happy maiden 
 
 Walk'd in a woodland fair, 
 And as she gather'd posies, 
 Sweet violets and roses, 
 A butterfly alighted 
 
 And kiss'd the maiden there. 
 
 ' Forgive me,' said the flutterer, 
 
 ' If I 've done aught amiss : 
 The day it is so sunny 
 That I would gather honey. 
 And thy lips, red and dainty, 
 
 I did for roses kiss.' 
 
 Then said the little maiden, 
 
 ' For this time lightly go ! 
 And I forgive thee fully : — 
 But mark ! I tell thee truly. 
 That not for every flutterer 
 
 These dainty roses blow.' 
 
 R. C. WEGENER. 
 
 THE DAYS OF THE ROSES. 
 
 Now is the blooming and golden time ! — 
 
 O world so wide in thy beautiful prime ! 
 
 O deep, wide heart ! O day so fair ! 
 
 How the lark's song rings through the joyous air !
 
 144 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Let life's sweet May in the bosom chime — 
 Now is the beautiful blooming time — 
 Now are the days of the roses ! 
 
 And free is the h."art, and free is song, 
 And free is the youth who travels along, 
 And rosy kisses are not less free 
 Though bashful and coy the lips may be. 
 Where a kiss may be had, where a song doth chime. 
 Take them ! for now is the golden time — 
 Now are the days of the roses ! 
 
 Ah, deep in the heart is everything grown — 
 There the seeds of joy and sorrow are sown : 
 And what though our bosoms be peaceful and gay. 
 Soon tempests will rage and peace fly away : 
 Yet prompt are we ever to sing this rhyme — 
 Now is the beautiful golden time ! — 
 Now are the days of the roses ! 
 
 OTTO ROaUETTE. 
 THE DUET. 
 
 'TwAS an elder-tree, and a bird sat there, 
 
 In a calm and beautiful night in May ; 
 In the grass beneath was a maiden fair. 
 In a calm and beautiful night in May. 
 While the wee bird listen'd the maiden sang. 
 When the maiden ceased then the bird's note rang, 
 And far away 
 Their roundelay 
 Waken'd the vale where the moonbeams stray.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 14$ 
 
 What sang the bird upon the tree, 
 
 In that calm and beautiful night in May ? 
 And the little maiden, what sang she, 
 
 In that calm and beautiful night in May ? — 
 The wee bird warbled of Spring so bright, 
 And the maiden sang of love's delight ; 
 Ah, how their lay 
 Round my heart did play ! 
 'Twin live in my bosom for ever and aye ! 
 
 ROBERT REINICK. 
 
 SOXG. 
 
 How gladly at thy feet, love, 
 
 I sing my sweetest lay, 
 While through the window golden beams 
 
 At holy even stray. 
 Thy little head beats time to me, 
 
 Still'd is thy listening heart : 
 I fold my hands and sing, love — 
 
 * How wondrous fair thou art ! ' 
 
 How gladly at thy feet, love, 
 
 I gaze up at thine eyes ; 
 Soft pity seems to tremble there — 
 
 But spare, love, spare thy sighs ! 
 For well I know 'tis but thy play, 
 
 And yet I cannot part, 
 But kneel before thee singing — 
 
 ' How wondrous fair thou art !
 
 146 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 How gladly at thy feet, love, 
 
 In dumb grief could I die; 
 But rather would I, leaping up, 
 
 A thousand kisses try ! 
 Yes, I could kiss thee, kiss thee, love, 
 
 A whole long day to my heart, 
 And, sinking down, die singing — 
 
 ' How wondrous fair thou art ! ' 
 
 MORITZ GRAF STRACHWITZ. 
 
 WANDERING. 
 
 The happy trees are blooming, sweet May is come again, 
 Now bide at home who like it, with sorrow and pain ! 
 But as the clouds wander in the sunny summer day. 
 So through the wide world I 'II ramble far away. 
 
 Dear father ! dear mother ! God keep you evermore ! 
 Who knows what luck for me elsewhere may be in store ? 
 There 's many a road by which I never hied, 
 And many a wine too I never yet have tried. 
 
 Up! up, then, and off! while the golden cloudlets sail, 
 I '11 over the mountains and through the dewy dale ; 
 The cool fountains tinkle, the trees they swing and toy, 
 Like a lark my heart is soaring and singing in its joy. 
 
 At evening, all athirst, I reach a hostel sign — 
 ' Ho, landlord, master landlord ; a cup of white wine ! 
 And you, merry fiddler, strike up a cheery lay. 
 And I will a sing a song about my own dear may.'
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 147 
 
 And when I find no lodging, I lie in the sight 
 
 Of the dark blue heavens, where the stars watch all night ; 
 
 The breeze with the trees my lullaby doth make. 
 
 And the rosy blush of morning kisses me awake. 
 
 O wandering ! O wandering ! how truly am I blest ! 
 Now breathes the breath of heaven fresh in my breast ! 
 O the music ! O the rapture about me that are hurl'd — 
 How beautiful and bounteous is the wide, wide world ! 
 
 EMANUEL GEIBEL. 
 
 THE APPRENTICE SETTING OUT. 
 
 What ringing and singing is that in the street ? 
 Ye maidens, open your windows to greet 
 The youth of whom Fortune bereaves us, 
 And give him a smile ere he leaves us. 
 
 Loud shout his comrades, and cheer him along. 
 Troops of young fellows, a generous throng ; 
 He recks not the din that still groweth, 
 But pale in the midst there he goeth. 
 
 Loud clink the tankards and sparkles the wine — 
 ' Drink once and drink often, dear brother mine !' 
 ' While the parting-cup kindly is flowing 
 Die the thoughts in my soul that are glowing !' 
 
 From the corner house at the end of the street, 
 A maiden looks out the sad youth to greet ; 
 Her tears she hides in her posies — 
 Her violets rare and her roses.
 
 148 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 And there at this house as he passes by, 
 The youth looks up with a sorrowful eye ; 
 And she looks down, trembling blossom, 
 And lays her hand on her bosom. 
 
 ' Ah, brother, and hast thou no posy rare, 
 While so many blooms are nodding up there ? — 
 Ho, pretty one ! pluck him a flower, 
 Let it fall at his feet from thy bower.' 
 
 ' Ah, brothers ! and what is a flower to me ? 
 I have no sweetheart, comrades, as ye ! 
 The flower in the sunshine will wither, 
 And the winds blow it hither and tliither.' 
 
 And further, still further, with ringing and song. 
 And the maiden listens, and listens long ; 
 ' Woe is me ! in his going have perish'd 
 The hopes that in secret I cherish'd. 
 
 ' Here stood I with this love of mine, 
 With violets rare and with eglantine. 
 And all would I give him with gladness, 
 Now afar he wanders in sadness.' 
 
 HIDDEN PAIN. 
 
 My luve 's been awa' this mony a day — 
 
 And oh ! I canna tell— but my heart 's sae wae ! 
 
 It 's maybe that he 's deid, and sleepin' sound, sound, 
 
 That maks life to me sic a drearie round. 
 
 1
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 149 
 
 When to the kirk we 'd gae, my luve and I, 
 There fause, spitefu' tongues stood clypin' by ; 
 And ane said this, and anither said that — 
 And oh ! but aften and sair I grat ! 
 
 The nettle and the thorn they never stung 
 Sae shairp and sae sair as a fause, spitefu' tongue ; 
 And there 's nae fire on earth will e'er burn or blaw 
 Sae warm as the luve that 's hidden frae a'. 
 
 Ah, luve, my luve, come back again, and be 
 
 At my side when kirkwards they carry me — 
 
 At my side when they lay me the green grass amang. 
 
 For weel hae I lo'ed thee my hale life lang. 
 
 Ah, what gart my faither and mither dae this ? — 
 They forced me to wed against my wis — 
 To wed when my heart wasna mine to gie, 
 Sae weary and sae dreary now is life to me. 
 
 VOLKSLIED. 
 
 THE LINDEN-TREE. 
 
 Hard by yon bubbling fountain 
 There stands a linden-tree. 
 
 And often 'neath its shadow 
 
 Sweet dreams have come to me. 
 
 Ah, many a tender love-word 
 That dear old linden bore. 
 
 And still in joy or sorrow 
 It woos me as of yore.
 
 ISO SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 This night, when all is silent, 
 
 I pass that linden by. 
 Where often in my childhood 
 
 I have closed the weary eye. 
 
 Hark ! how its boughs are calling. 
 
 As they tremble to my breast, 
 ' Come here to me, old comrade, 
 
 Come here, and find thy rest !' 
 
 The biting winds they buffet 
 
 And strike me on the face ; 
 They bare my head — I heed not, 
 
 But ever onward pace. 
 
 Far, far now have I wander'd 
 
 From yonder linden-tree ; 
 But still I hear it calling — 
 
 ' Come back and rest with me !' 
 
 WILHELM MULLER. 
 THE ELDER-TREE. 
 
 Where the frolic wind goes fresh and free, 
 High on yon hill, stands an elder-tree. 
 Over the green earth bending. 
 
 The breeze is cool, and the night is fair, — 
 Two tearful lovers are lingering there. 
 For the hour has come to part them. 
 
 And, weeping, they tear themselves away — 
 O weary and sad at heart are they ! 
 And they met no more for ever. 
 
 I
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 151 
 
 And he went over the dark, broad sen, 
 And a fearful tale of death heard she ;^ 
 And far o'er the hill she wander'd. 
 
 Their very names are lost, O woe ! 
 Only the moon their graves doth know, 
 
 There the summer winds are straying. 
 
 And still on the hill stands the elder-tree, 
 
 All brit^ht with blossoms and fair to see. 
 
 Over the green earth bending. 
 
 OTTO ROaUETTE. 
 EVENING SONG. 
 
 On a swelling hill I rested, — 
 
 The sun was sinking low ; 
 And I saw the woodland vested 
 
 In even's golden glow. 
 
 As heaven to earth drew nearer, 
 
 Sweet peace with the dew-drop fell ; 
 
 And forth came Sleep, the cheerer, 
 At the sound of the evening bell. 
 
 And I said : — O heart, tired Nature 
 Now calms its throbbing breast ; 
 
 Do thou with every creature 
 Be still, and take thy rest. 
 
 The flowers in yonder meadows 
 Have closed their eyes to dream. 
 
 And the wavelets 'neath the shadows 
 Low ripple adown the stream.
 
 152 50iVG5 AND LYRICS. 
 
 The caterpillar creepeth 
 
 'Neath its tiny leaf to lie ; 
 Among the rushes sleepeth 
 
 The dew-drench'd dragon-fly. 
 
 The golden beetle lieth 
 
 In a rose-leaf, cradled light ; 
 With his flock the shepherd hieth 
 
 To rest in the gathering night. 
 
 Low in the dewy clover 
 
 The lark sits hush'd in its nest ; 
 
 And the hart, all day a rover. 
 With the hind lies down to rest. 
 
 Now every one repaireth 
 
 To where his fireside beams ; 
 And he who in far lands fareth 
 
 Yet homeward goes in dreams. 
 
 But this thought in my heart is swelling — 
 
 While all things restful be, 
 Heaven's sweet and peaceful dwelling 
 
 Is far away from me. 
 
 FRIEDRICH RiJCKERT. 
 
 The leaves are falling yonder, 
 As, at the close of day. 
 
 In silent dreams I wander 
 Along the rocky way.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 155 
 
 Swift flee the bright clouds, flaring 
 
 Wild in the golden light, 
 For storms afar preparing — 
 
 Their glory fades in night. 
 
 The wandering birds are driven 
 
 In flickering swarms to gain 
 Some brighter, balmier heaven, 
 
 And the year is on the wane. 
 
 Unseen the flowers are dying 
 
 Where the darkling waters stray. 
 And the last dew-drops are sighing 
 
 From their fainting bloom away. 
 
 Old times we so yearn after 
 
 Glide with the clouds along — 
 Where are the tears and laughter 
 
 And the kindly word and song? 
 
 Winds rave, the leaves down-beating ; — 
 
 I care not, let them play ! 
 The days like dreams are fleeting. 
 
 And the joys have pass'd away. 
 
 HERMANN LINGG. 
 
 Sigh not o'er the days departed. 
 Nor old times wish back again ; 
 
 In the present live, brave-hearted — 
 Tears for vanish'd joys are vain.
 
 154 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Steer thy bark serene, securely, 
 
 All the world before thee lies ; 
 Striving, suffering, hoping, surely 
 
 Thou shalt gain the distant prize. 
 
 Woe to him who, weak, despairing, 
 Sighs for moments past recall — 
 
 In his own strength never daring. 
 But the present blames for all — 
 
 Who with anxious fear and sorrow, 
 
 Ever looketh back in pain ! — 
 Golden fair beyond the morrow 
 
 Gleams the bright land thou must gain. 
 
 Onward ! onward ! by such straining 
 Was the Golden Fleece secured ; 
 
 So shalt thou, the haven attaining, 
 Grasp the prize thy youth assured. 
 
 Sigh not o'er the days departed, 
 Nor old times wish back again ; 
 
 In the present live, brave-hearted — 
 Tears for vanish'd joys are vain. 
 
 HEINRICH ZEISE. 
 
 LONGINGS. 
 
 Sweet days, dear hours, now lost to me for ever ! 
 
 Ah happy youth and blooming time ! 
 Come, blessed Fancy 1 through my bosom quiver, 
 
 And give me back in dreams my golden prime.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 155 
 
 Float nigh, thou morning, with thy gleam and glory, 
 
 That woo'd me forth upon my way : 
 Ah, then life seem'd a beautiful, bright story — 
 
 No care, no grief to cloud the broadening day. 
 
 Dear innocence of childhood, float around me, 
 
 Lost paradise of sinless hours ! 
 Sweet hope ! how strong the ties to earth that bound me — 
 
 That sunny earth, that wilderness of flowers ! 
 
 How did I fold ye warm in my embraces, 
 Friends of my youth, true heart to heart ! 
 
 Where are ye gone, dear old familiar faces, 
 That once in every frolic bore a part ? 
 
 Ah, many now the lonesome grave encloses. 
 
 Each slumbers in his mother's arm ; 
 Ye pale wan cheeks, bloom bright again with roses ! 
 
 Once more, ye cold hearts, quicken and grow warm. 
 
 In vain ! in vain ! my yearning cannot waken 
 
 The dead ones where they lowly lie : 
 Swift fade the flowers of life by rude winds shaken ; 
 
 And we — we wither slowly when they die. 
 
 O sweet fair land, where flowers for ever blossom ! 
 
 Where time and death are all unknown ! 
 O sweet fair land, far in thy happy bosom 
 
 There would my yearning heart fain seek its own. 
 
 What though before mine eyes dark shades assemble, 
 
 This night of time will soon be o'er ; 
 Thou restful land, how do I yearn and tremble 
 
 To reach thy Sabbath on the golden shore ! 
 
 A. MAHLMANN.
 
 156 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 THE LITTLE SISTER. 
 
 There was a Margrave by the Rhine — 
 He had three daughters fair and fine. 
 
 The first was wedded in Netherland ; 
 The next she mated near at hand. 
 
 The third with father and mother stayed 
 Till they in death were lowly laid. 
 
 Then forth she wanders far away, 
 And wist not where her sister lay. 
 
 She stands a merchant's house before. 
 And taps there gently at the door. 
 
 ' Who stands out there ? who knocks so light, 
 And wakes me from my sleep to-night ?' 
 
 ' A poor little maiden here you see, 
 That gladly would your handmaid be.' 
 
 ' Too gay, methinks, thou dost appear, 
 Thou goest with young lords, I fear.' 
 
 ' Ah no ! ah no ! that cannot be, 
 My good name is too dear to me.' 
 
 For half a year she hires the maid ; 
 For seven years the maiden stay'd ; 
 
 And when the seventh year had fled 
 The maiden she lay sick abed.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. is? 
 
 ' Maiden, since ill thou mayest be. 
 Who are thy parents tell to me.' 
 
 ' My father was Margrave by the Rhine, 
 My mother came of a kingly line.' 
 
 ' Ah no 1 ah no ! that cannot be. 
 Else wert thou youngest sister to me.' 
 
 ' Since then my words untrue appear, 
 Step you before my little chest here ; 
 
 ' There on the lid the same words be. 
 As you with your own eyes may see.' 
 
 And as she reads the graven scroll, 
 Fast down her cheeks the tears do roll. 
 
 ' Ah, hadst thou told me before this morn, 
 Velvet and silk shouldst thou have worn.' 
 
 ' Velvet and silk are not for me, 
 Soon in the cold dark grave to be.' 
 
 ' Ah, bring me wine ! ah, bring me bread ! 
 Or my youngest sister will be dead.' 
 
 ' Sister, nor wine nor bread I heed, 
 A little coffin is all I need.' 
 
 And when the maiden was laid to rest. 
 There grew three lilies over her breast ; 
 
 And under the middle one was writ, 
 ' The little maid to her God is knit.' 
 
 VOLKSLIED.
 
 is8 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 THE TRIAL OF LOVE. 
 
 Deep in a dale a tree did grow, 
 'Twas braid aboon and sma' below : 
 Aneath its shade twa lovers sat, 
 And in their love their wae forgat. 
 
 ' The hour has come that parts us twa ; 
 For seven years I maun awa' ; ' 
 * And maun thou bide sae lang frae me ? 
 I '11 wed nane other love but thee.' 
 
 When come and gane was the hin'most year, 
 She thinks her love maun soon be near : 
 Into her garden then she gaes, 
 And bides wi' care to see his face. 
 
 Underneath the trystin'-tree 
 
 She looks if there her love micht be ; 
 
 Syne wanders on into a wood, 
 
 When by there comes a knicht sae proud. 
 
 ' My bonnie lassie, God thee sain ! 
 What dost thou here in the wood alane ? 
 Do faither and mither flyte and ban ? 
 Or tell me, is 't thine ain guidman ? ' 
 
 ' My faither and mither flyte me not. 
 And ne'er a guidman hae I got ; 
 'Tis seven years and lang weeks three 
 Since my dear love he gaed frae me.' 
 
 ' Yestreen when I rade thro' a toun. 
 Thy love had on his weddin'-goun ;
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 159 
 
 Since that thy love has been untrue, 
 What ill wish dost thou wish him noo ? ' 
 
 * I wish him a' gude things that be, 
 As mony as leaves are on the tree ; 
 I wish him years and years o' joy, 
 As mony as stars are in the sky. 
 
 ' I wish him honours in great plentie, 
 As is the sand alang the sea ; 
 I wish him as meikle luck and a' 
 As draps o' rain frae heaven fa'.' 
 
 What took he aff his finger there ? 
 
 A ring o' gold sae reid and fair ; 
 
 Into her bosom this he threw. 
 
 Then wat were her cheeks wi' pearly dew. 
 
 What frae his pocket did he draw ? 
 A napkin white as the drifted snaw, — 
 
 * Noo wipe thy cheek and dry thine e'e, 
 Nane other love will I hae but thee ! 
 
 ' I did but try thee, love, to see 
 An thou wouldst ban or lichtly me : 
 And hadst thou let ae wild word fa', 
 I had turn'd about and ridden awa'.' 
 
 VOLKSLIED. 
 
 THE DARK BROWN NIXIE, 
 
 A HUNTSMAN blew his hunting horn : 
 
 But he blew for nought— he was all forlorn.
 
 i6o SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 ' And if I must blow my horn for nought, 
 I had rather no huntsman be, I wot.' 
 
 Over a bush his net he flung, 
 
 From 'neath it ? dark brown maiden sprung. 
 
 ' Ah, dark brown maiden, flee not from me ! 
 I have a hound will follow thee.' 
 
 ' Thy hounds will do me no harm, I wot ; 
 My tricks and doubles they know them not.' 
 
 ' Thy tricks and doubles full well know they, 
 And they know that thou must die to-day.' 
 
 ' And if I die, then, when I am dead, 
 Bury me under the roses red ; 
 
 ' Under the roses hidden away 
 I will not bide for ever and aye : 
 
 When I have long enough rested, then 
 Out of the grave will I rise again.' 
 
 There grew three lilies over this may, 
 
 By came a proud trooper would pluck them away. 
 
 Ah, leave the lilies where they have sprung, 
 They grow for a huntsman lusty and young. 
 
 VOLKSLIED. 
 THE INEXORABLE CAPTAIN. 
 
 O Strassburg, O Strassburg, 
 Thou city proud and brave ! 
 
 Full many a weary soldier 
 In thee has found a grave. 
 
 i 
 
 .«
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. i6i 
 
 Full many a soldier 
 
 Of stout and hardy mind 
 His father and dear mother 
 
 Has cruelly left behind. 
 
 So left them, so left them — 
 
 It cannot but be so ; 
 To Strassburg, yes, to Strassburg, 
 
 The soldiers they must go ! 
 
 The father and the mother 
 
 They seek the Captain then : 
 ' Ah, Captain, kind Sir Captain, 
 
 Give me my son again ! ' 
 
 ' Your son I cannot give you — 
 
 No, not for gold will I ; 
 Your son he must march with me 
 
 When to the war I hie. 
 
 ' To war then, afar then, 
 
 E'en to the devil must he ! 
 Ay, though his dark brown maiden 
 
 Weep o'er him bitterly.' 
 
 With sighing and crying 
 
 The maiden sobb'd full sore — 
 ' Adieu, my heart's beloved ! 
 
 Adieu for evermore ! ' 
 
 VOLKSLIED.
 
 1 62 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 THE POET KING. 
 
 I KNOW not what it means — before 
 I get beyond my cottage door 
 The lark to greet me upward springs, 
 And through the blue a triumph rings. 
 
 The grass and flowerets wait me there 
 With pearls and jewels in their hair ; 
 And bush and corn and poplar-tree 
 Do ceremonious bow to me. 
 
 My messenger, the brooklet, darts ; 
 And, as the wind the foliage parts, 
 Shy peeps the mead, and now will hide, 
 As if she were my own dear bride. 
 
 When, weary, I would roam no more, 
 The nightingale before the door 
 Doth serenade me ; glow-worms light 
 The darkling forest in the night. 
 
 And truly now 'tis ever so. 
 
 No poet goes incognito ; 
 
 Gay Spring doth quickly note who reigns 
 
 As king and lord in her domains. 
 
 JOSEPH FREIHHRR VON EICHENDORFF. 
 THE CAPTIVE KNIGHT, 
 
 Two castles, old and towering, 
 
 Glance in the sunny sheen. 
 They stand on cliffs opposing, 
 
 And Rhine flows swift between.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 165 
 
 And here a knight lies captive, 
 
 And sick at heart is he, 
 For yonder wons his true love — 
 
 His love he may not see. 
 
 He hears the river raving 
 
 With restless onward flow, 
 And day by day for ever 
 
 The waves they come and go. 
 
 He shakes the iron grating, — 
 
 But firm the grating stands ; 
 Vainly the door he forces 
 
 With strong yet helpless hands. 
 
 His dear guitar he taketh 
 
 Down from the wall again ; 
 His joy when times were happier, 
 
 His comfort now in pain. 
 
 Sad on his couch he sits there, 
 
 And wakes and sighs ; and light 
 His dear guitar he touches 
 
 And sings alone i' the night. 
 
 JOSEPH CHRISTIAN VON ZEDLITZ. 
 
 THE TWO COFFINS. 
 
 'Neath the dome of an old Cathedral 
 Lie two coffins side by side : 
 
 There a gentle poet sleepeth, 
 And King Ottmar in his pride.
 
 1 64 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 The king once high and mighty, 
 On his father's throne sat he ; 
 
 A sword they put in his right hand, 
 And crown him for dignitie. 
 
 Yet side by side with the monarch 
 
 Sleeps the gentle poet here, 
 His clay-cold hands stUl clasping 
 
 The harp he held so dear. 
 
 Tower with tower is warring, 
 Battle rings through the land, 
 
 But the rusting sword moves never, 
 Lock'd in the pale king's hand. 
 
 Blooms and gentle breezes 
 
 Breathe soft the vale along. 
 And the poet's harp resoundeth 
 
 Its never-dying song. 
 
 JUSTIXUS KERNER. 
 
 THE poet's consolation. 
 
 No fond tear may trickle 
 
 Where I lowly rest, 
 But the flowers will weep their 
 
 Dews upon my breast. >|- 
 
 No one there may linger * 
 
 Ere he passes by, 
 But soft beams will come there 
 
 From the moonlit sky.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 165 
 
 What though of my country 
 
 I forgotten be ! 
 Yet its groves and meadows 
 
 They will think of me. 
 
 Flower, and grove, and meadow, 
 
 Moon, and starry sheen, 
 They will keep their poet's 
 
 Memory ever green, 
 
 JUSTIXUS KERXER. 
 
 THE CASTLE BY THE SEA, 
 
 Hast thou seen the castle olden. 
 
 High towering by the sea ? 
 Crimson-bright and golden 
 
 The clouds above it be, 
 
 Down stooping, it appeareth 
 In the glassy wave below ; 
 Its lofty towers it reareth 
 Where the clouds of even glow. 
 
 Well have I seen it towering. 
 
 That castle by the sea ; 
 And the moon above it lowering, 
 
 And the mists about it flee. 
 
 The winds and the waves rebounding, 
 Say, rang they fresh and clear ? 
 
 Heard'st thou from bright halls sounding 
 Music and festal cheer ?
 
 1 66 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 The winds and waves were sleeping, 
 
 But from that castle high 
 The sound of wailing and weeping 
 
 Brought tears into mine eye. 
 
 Saw'st thou in grandeur gleaming 
 The king and his lady queen ? 
 
 And the purple mantles streaming ? 
 
 And the crowns with their golden sheen ? 
 
 With rapturous love and tender, 
 
 Led they a maiden there — 
 Bright as the sun in its splendour — 
 
 Beaming with golden hair ? 
 
 The king and queen, grief-laden, 
 I saw, and their crowns were gone ; 
 
 Sad weeds they wore, — no maiden 
 Beside them in beauty shone. 
 
 UHLAND. 
 
 THE ANCESTRAL VAULT. 
 
 'Tis over the moorland dreary 
 In the choir of the grey chapelle, 
 
 Paced a warrior old and weary 
 Where the darksome shadows fell. 
 
 The coffins of his fathers 
 
 Range all along the hall. 
 And a wondrous sound upgathers 
 
 From where his footsteps fall.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 167 
 
 ' O glad I hear your greeting, 
 
 Ye noble dead ! and hie 
 To close your ranks — proud meeting ! 
 
 And worthy too am I.' 
 
 An empty coffin makes he 
 
 To be his cold dark bed, 
 And for his pillow takes he 
 
 The shield beneath his head. 
 
 His hand he dumbly places 
 
 On his sword, and slumbers fain ; 
 
 The ghostly greeting ceases, 
 And peace and silence reign. 
 
 UHLAND. 
 
 THE BLIND KING. 
 
 Why on that high and rocky shore 
 
 Do these stout Norsemen stand ? 
 "What does the old king, blind and hoar, 
 
 Amid that warrior band ? 
 He leans, with anguish shaken. 
 
 On 's staff, and loud cries he, 
 And his wild words awaken 
 
 Yon island in the sea. 
 
 ' Yield me, thou robber, from thy thrall 
 My daughter good and true ; 
 
 Her harp and song so sweet were all 
 The joys of eld I knew.
 
 1 68 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 From meadow-dance, rank riever ! 
 
 Thou snatch'd her o'er the sea ; — 
 Dark shame awaits thee ever, 
 
 And my heart dies in me.' 
 
 Out from his cave the robber flings, 
 
 He scoffs, and scorns to yield ; 
 Aloft his giant sword he swings 
 
 And clashes on his shield. 
 'Stout guards thou hast a many — 
 
 Why did they let me stir ? 
 Strong swords — but never any 
 
 Come here to fight for her !' 
 
 Tongue-tied they hear the taunt and boast, 
 
 To brave him steppeth none ; 
 The blind king turneth to his host — 
 
 ' Am I then all alone ?' 
 But warm the young son graspeth 
 
 His father's hand in his — 
 ' O let me fight !' he gaspeth ; 
 
 ' Strong is my arm for this ! ' 
 
 ' My son, the fiend is stark and rough, 
 
 Against him none may stand ; 
 And yet — thou hast the noble stuff" — 
 
 I feel it in thy hand ! 
 Take thou my sword, young Rover ! 
 
 That sword tlie minstrels sing. 
 And shouldst thou fall, then over 
 
 Into the flood I spring !'
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 169 
 
 Swiftly the bark roars through the wave, 
 
 Hark, how the waters foam ! 
 The blind king stands and listens grave, 
 
 And all around are dumb. 
 Till in yon isle the rattle 
 
 Of sword and shield they hear. 
 And the wild din of battle. 
 
 And echos loud and drear. 
 
 With anxious joy then cries the king, 
 
 ' Now tell me what ye see ! 
 My sword !— I know the good true ring ; 
 
 It strook with such a glee !' 
 ' The robber's deeds are over. 
 
 Sunk to his bloody grave ;— 
 All hail to thee, young Rover 1 
 
 Thou bravest of the brave.' 
 
 Again the warriors silent stand. 
 
 The blind king Hstens dumb — 
 ' What hear I foaming to the strand ? 
 
 Who doth so swiftly come ?' 
 ' Here comes across the water 
 
 Thy son with sword and shield, 
 Bringing thee back thy daughter, 
 
 The sunny-hair'd Gunild.' 
 
 ' Welcome !' from where the cliff uprears 
 
 He cries across the wave ; 
 ' Now am I happy in my years, 
 
 And honour'd in my grave.
 
 lyo SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 My son ! the good sword bring me, 
 
 By this right hand to lie, 
 My dirge, sweet daughter ! sing me ; 
 
 The blind old king will die !' 
 
 UHLAND. 
 
 THE NIBELUNGER S TREASURE. 
 
 By Rhine, so goes the story, 
 A king dwelt long ago ; 
 
 And he was old and hoary. 
 And hated wars and woe. 
 
 So long his nobles fought o'er 
 
 A treasure in the land. 
 Ere the wild strife was got o'er 
 
 Nigh kill'd were all the band. 
 
 He call'd them, as in duty, — 
 ' What matters gold, ye gulls, 
 
 If ye this golden booty 
 
 Must pay for with your skulls ? 
 
 ' Go sink it in the river. 
 
 And so end strife and care ; 
 
 For ever and for ever 
 Let it lie buried there.' 
 
 The cause of all the squabble 
 Soon at the bottom lay, 
 
 In time the glittering bauble 
 Was melted quite away.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 171 
 
 It gave a sheen and lustre 
 
 To Rhine as on he roll'd ; 
 It swell'd the vine-tree's cluster, 
 
 And made it gleam like gold. 
 
 And now may each one borrow 
 
 A lesson from the king, 
 And ne'er let care or sorrow 
 
 His manly bosom wring ; 
 
 But bury all his troubles 
 
 And quarrels in old Rhine, 
 And drink with joy the bubbles 
 
 That sparkle in its wine. 
 
 VOLKSLIED. 
 
 THE POPE AND THE SULTAN. 
 
 The Pope a lordly state doth hold, 
 He never feels the want of gold, 
 Of wine the very best drinks he, — 
 O would that I the Pope might be ! 
 
 Yet no ! poor wight, he lacks one bliss- 
 A pretty lass he may not kiss ; 
 Alone in his cold bed sleeps he — 
 So I the Pope don't wish to be. 
 
 The Sultan leads a jovial life. 
 With many a lovely lass to wife, 
 In a great palace by the sea — 
 So I the Sultan fain would be.
 
 172 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Yet no ! poor man, he must be true 
 To what the Koran bids him do, 
 And never a drop of wine may pree — 
 So I the Suhan would not be. 
 
 Now each apart I somewhat scorn, 
 .1 'd rather live as I 've been born — 
 But oh ! 'twould be a joy to me 
 Could I half Pope, half Sultan be 1 
 
 Come, give me, lass, your sweetest kiss, 
 And I '11 be Sultan in my bliss ! 
 And, comrades, let the wine flow free. 
 And I the lordly Pope will be ! 
 
 VOLKSLIED. 
 
 CRAMBAMBULI. 
 
 Crambambuli, 'tis thus we christen 
 The drink that sets our hearts aglow ; 
 
 Whene'er we bid the nectar gUsten 
 Away our cares and troubles go. 
 
 And thus at morn and night, you see, 
 
 I drink my glass Crambambuli. 
 
 When at mine inn I have dismounted. 
 Like some bold knight of old romaunt. 
 
 Your beef and bread for nought are counted- 
 A corkscrew is my only want. 
 
 And while the horn sounds ' tan-tran-ti ' 
 
 I quaff" my glass Crambambuli.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. i73 
 
 When headache all my temper ruffles, 
 
 And in my food I find no zest ; 
 When I am bother'd with the snuffles, 
 
 Or plagued with wheezing in the chest, 
 Your only medicine for me 
 Is just a glass Crambambuli. 
 
 Had I been born to power unbounded — 
 
 An Emperor — then in a trice 
 An order fair I would have founded. 
 
 With this for motto and device — 
 ' Toujours fidele et sans souci 
 C'est Vordre du Crambamhuli.' 
 
 When I at play am sorely bitten. 
 And my poor purse is vilely bled : 
 
 When ne'er a word my lass hath written- 
 But funeral letters come instead ; — 
 
 My dumps and I at once agree 
 
 To bumpers of Crambambuli. 
 
 Ah, could the folk at home by thinking 
 Guess at the need their sons must know : 
 
 How hard we strive to keep from sinking— 
 Their tears for us would quickly flow ; 
 
 But we meanwhile for comfort flee 
 
 And find it in Crambambuli. 
 
 An empty purse shall ne'er confound us, 
 We '11 take on tick from wealthy knaves, 
 
 Thinking 'tis vanity all round us, 
 
 From students down to beggar slaves :
 
 174 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 This is the prime philosophy 
 We suck from our Crambambuh. 
 
 When I for student-rights do battle, 
 Or draw the s-vord for Fatherland, 
 
 Before the sabres round me rattle, 
 I take my comrade by the hand : — 
 
 ' Ere we begin, mon cher ami, 
 
 Let 's have one glass Crambambuli.' 
 
 Ye prigs, who sneer at jovial glasses. 
 Who love no love, who drink no wine ; 
 
 No hope have ye to be but asses. 
 
 Although for saints ye think to shine ; 
 
 Swill, like the long-ear'd things ye be, 
 
 Swill water for Crambambuli. 
 
 When age comes on, and joys wax colder, 
 I still will love a brimming cup. 
 
 And when Death taps me on the shoulder 
 To tell me that my time is up, 
 
 I '11 drink with him, pour compagnie. 
 
 One last fond glass Crambambuli. 
 
 students' song. 
 
 THE MAN IN THE CELLAR. 
 
 In a cool cellar on a cask 
 
 I sit enthroned and beaming, 
 
 To drink good wine my only task, 
 And glory in its gleaming.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 175 
 
 The drawer fills a brimming cup, 
 
 Obedient to my winking ; 
 I hold the sparkling beaker up — 
 
 I 'm drinking, drinking, drinking ! 
 
 The demon Thirst disturbs my soul, 
 
 And so, to scare the fellow, 
 I fill again the brimming bowl 
 
 With Rhine-wine rich and mellow ; 
 The whole round world now seems to me 
 
 Through rosy colours blinking, — 
 I would do harm to nobody — 
 
 I 'm drinking, drinking, drinking ! 
 
 But with each goblet that I drain 
 
 My thirst grows big and bigger ; 
 This is the case, I do maintain. 
 
 With each true Rhine-wine swigger. 
 And yet I feel, come what come can. 
 
 Whilst to the floor I 'm sinking, 
 I 've done my duty like a man 
 
 In drinking, drinking, drinking ! 
 
 K. MUCHLER. 
 
 COMFORT AT PARTING. 
 
 'Neath the moon that is waxing and waning 
 
 We linger but for a day ; 
 Swiftly our blooming-time fadeth 
 
 With us from the world away.
 
 176 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Full many a troop of good fellows, 
 Before us hath lived and laugh'd ; 
 
 To the sleepers under the wild-flowers 
 Be a beaker in memory quaff'd. 
 
 And many a troop of good fellows, 
 
 Long after our bosoms are still, 
 To us sleeping under the wild-flowers 
 
 Will beakers in memory fill. 
 
 We sit here so happy together. 
 
 So lovingly live in our day ; 
 And cheer up the world for each other — 
 
 Ah, would we could live thus for aye I 
 
 Since vain is the wish, then let ever 
 Warm love in our bosoms abide ; 
 
 We know not how soon the fate cometh 
 To scatter us far and wide. 
 
 And thus though long leagues stretch between us, 
 Yet near will our fond hearts be ; 
 
 And the joy of one will be ever 
 A joy to you and to me. 
 
 And when our wanderings are over, 
 Should friend once more meet friend ; 
 
 Then a new and joyous beginning 
 We '11 knit to a jovial end. 
 
 AUGUST FRIEDRICH FERDINAND VON KOTZEBUE.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 177 
 
 There were three boon companions, 
 
 A merrie companie — 
 And gaily the wine-cup circled 
 
 Among the trusty three. 
 
 They laugh'd and sang together — 
 The lightest hearts on earth — 
 
 The world's grim cares and troubles 
 Ne'er touch'd them in their mirth. 
 
 But Death call'd one unto him, 
 
 Another follow'd fast ; 
 And then the third sat lonely 
 
 Where the hours of joy had pass'd. 
 
 Yet still as the time returned 
 To drain the sparkling bowl, 
 
 He fill'd each brother's wine-cup, 
 And sang with all his soul. 
 
 And once as he sang all lonely 
 To the harp he loved so well, 
 
 A tear-drop glitter'd downward. 
 And into his wine-cup fell. 
 
 ' I drink ye a health, my brothers ! 
 
 Why so dumb and silent are ye? 
 Ah, what has the world to give now 
 
 If none will be merry with me ?' 
 M
 
 178 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 The glasses clink'd, and sudden 
 Stood drain'd on the table then- 
 
 ' Ftducit ! jovial brother!' — 
 He never drank aa:ain. 
 
 students' song. 
 
 CHATEAU BONCOURT. 
 
 I SHAKE my grey locks aweary, 
 And dream of the days of yore — 
 
 Ye scenes that I thought forgotten, 
 Why haunt me any more ? 
 
 High out of a bowery covert 
 
 A castle glimmers in state, 
 I know the towers and turrets. 
 
 The old stone bridge, and the gate. 
 
 There from the old escutcheon 
 
 The lions look kindly on me ; 
 I greet the dear old faces. 
 
 And into the courtyard flee. 
 
 There crouches the Sphinx by the fountain,- 
 
 I see my fig-tree gleam ; 
 'Twas there behind that window 
 
 I dream'd sweet childhood's dream. 
 
 Softly I enter the chapel. 
 
 And come to my fathers' tomb ; 
 
 There from the pillar beside it, 
 Their banner droops in gloom.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 179 
 
 Bright through the colour'd window 
 
 A gleam lights up the place, 
 But the words of the old inscription 
 
 My dim eyes cannot trace. 
 
 And thus, O hall of my fathers, 
 
 So true in my heart art thou ! 
 Ah me 1 from the world thou'st vanish'd, 
 
 The plough goes over thee now. 
 
 Dear soil that I love, be fruitful ; 
 
 My blessing rest on each field ; 
 To whomsoever ploughs thee 
 
 Rich harvests ever yield ! 
 
 But I will arise, and taking 
 
 My harp into my hand. 
 Wide o'er the world I '11 wander, 
 
 And sing from land to land. 
 
 ADALBERT VON CHAMISSO. 
 
 TO THE FATHERLAND. 
 
 FATHERLAND, though far thou art. 
 Thou com'st to me in truth ! 
 
 1 think of thee as of the heart, 
 
 The vanish'd heart of youth. 
 
 I stand alone and dream of thee. 
 And gaze across the waves. 
 
 And my dreams mingle with the sea 
 As nightly thus it raves.
 
 i8o SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 And haply to my heart is brought 
 Joy from the breakers' roar, 
 
 I listen dumb as if I caught 
 Some tidings from thy shore. 
 
 Methinks I hear the breezes play 
 About thy oaken bowers, 
 
 Where, musing, I would dream away 
 The long sweet summer hours. 
 
 Let the dark seething billows rush, 
 They tell of friends and thee, 
 
 For then I hear thy brooklets gush 
 Reproachful calling me. 
 
 The tinkle of thy cattle-bells 
 Once more methinks I hear ; 
 
 Once more thy mountain-carol swells 
 And thrills upon my ear. 
 
 Thy groves sigh'd at the parting time. 
 The bird sang from the tree. 
 
 And every little leaf did chime, 
 ' Ah, wanderer ! think of me,' — 
 
 What time beside the rolling flood 
 To thy dear shore I clung. 
 
 While 'neath the linden-tree I stood 
 And sad farewell I sung. 
 
 My tears fell fast, so loath to part ! 
 
 And 'neath that linden-tree. 
 Ah, fondly in my deepest heart 
 
 I pledged my troth to thee.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. i8i 
 
 Of thee, loved land, I fondly think, 
 
 Thou hast the friends I know ; 
 To thee by darkling ocean's brink 
 
 My warm tears ever flow. 
 
 NICOLAUS LENAU. 
 
 RHINE SONG. 
 
 My heart 's with the Rhine ! O thou dearly-loved strand ! 
 My heart 's with the Rhine of my own native land ! 
 Where my youth glided past, where the kind faces be. 
 Where my loved one is blooming and thinking of me, 
 Where I have been merry with music and wine — 
 Wherever I wander my heart 's with the Rhine ! 
 
 I greet thee, thou broad glancing river ! still roam 
 By castle and hamlet, by city and dome. 
 Thou bright golden grain in the soft swelling vale, 
 Ye woods and rough crags and dark gorges I hail ! 
 And you, sunny hill-slopes, where gleameth the vine ! — 
 Wherever I wander my heart 's with the Rhine ! 
 
 I greet ye, old times ! and ah fondly I muse 
 
 On the songs and the wassail and frolicsome crews ! 
 
 I greet thee, brave race ! and I greet thee again, 
 
 For fair are thy women, and true are thy men ! 
 
 O'er thy path through the world may the sun ever shine ! 
 
 Wherever I wander my heart 's with the Rhine ! 
 
 My heart 's with the Rhine ! O thou dearly-loved strand ! 
 My heart 's with the Rhine of my own native land !
 
 1 82 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 Where my youth glided past, where the kind faces be — 
 Where my loved one is blooming and thinking of me — 
 Unchanged thus remain ! and be mine, still be mine ! 
 Wherever I wander my heart 's with the Rhine ! 
 
 WOLFGANG MULLER.
 
 Imitations.
 
 IMITATIONS. 
 
 TO NELL. 
 
 Butterflies, butterflies, tell me true, 
 Is there aught so fair in the world as you ? — 
 Aught so brimming with innocent mirth, 
 As ye dance about o'er the laughing earth ? 
 
 Wild-flowers, wild-flowers, fretted with dew, 
 Is there aught so tender and gentle as you ? 
 So trustful, so true, methinks ye were given 
 For types of the angel-life in heaven. 
 
 Little bird, little bird, where shall we meet 
 With love so pure as thy notes repeat ? — 
 With love so joyous and bright and strong ? — 
 Thy life is only a beautiful song. 
 
 Yes ! hghtsome and gay as the dainty things 
 That flutter about on golden wings ; 
 And tender and gentle and trustful and true 
 As the little flowers all fretted with dew ; 
 
 And full of love as the little bird 
 Whose song in the summer sky is heard ; 
 And dearer to me than tongue can tell 
 Or heart can think is my own sweet Nell.
 
 1 86 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 DOWN WHERE THE ASPENS Q.U1VER. 
 
 Down where the aspens quiver 
 
 I nightly take my rest, 
 And whisper to the river 
 
 With the stars upon its breast. 
 
 I sigh for the golden blisses 
 
 Of which the roses dream, 
 I scatter many kisses 
 
 Upon the glancing stream. 
 
 The dew-drop comes to the blossom, 
 And sleep to the bird on the tree ; 
 
 But, ah ! my love-lorn bosom, 
 No balm will come to thee. 
 
 Where the broadening river glistens 
 
 In the moonlight far away, 
 A maiden stoops and listens 
 
 To the wavelets' roundelay. 
 
 They sing of a bootless battle. 
 Of love and a lovelorn breast ; 
 
 And, mix'd with their own sweet prattle. 
 Come yearning sighs for rest. 
 
 The maiden caught the kisses 
 
 As they floated down the stream. 
 
 And dream'd of golden blisses 
 Such as the roses dream ;
 
 IMITATIONS. 187 
 
 And bending low, she blushes, 
 
 And breathes a balm for me — 
 But ah ! the river rushes 
 
 Down to the desolate sea. 
 
 LUX NATURE. 
 
 Long ago when my heart was young 
 Life was a lamp with diamonds hung. 
 O the golden light it shed abroad 
 Made earth a heaven and man a god ! 
 
 Then the secret song of my soul I heard 
 In the fall of the wave and the song of the bird ; 
 And the mystic thoughts no tongue may tell 
 Were breathed back to me in a dewy dell. 
 
 Does the light burn dim ? does my heart grow cold ? 
 Do I dream as I dreamt in the days of old ? 
 Have shadows fallen where the light was thrown, 
 And time crept o'er me like moss on a stone ? 
 
 Shall this world of beauty bloom no more 
 
 With a purple glory as of yore ? 
 
 Must the flowers be dumb, and the birds and streams 
 
 Utter no more my secret dreams ? 
 
 Away ! away ! for the sun is up, 
 And the dewdfop faints in its azure cup ; 
 The mists of the morning dissolve in light, 
 And music rings out from the crystal height.
 
 1 88 SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 
 And lo ! again in field and fell 
 Glimmer the thoughts no tongue may tell ; 
 A secret spirit breathes through the whole 
 And trembles softly to my soul. 
 
 And ah ! whate'er may await me in time, 
 I ne'er shall forget this golden prime : 
 'Twill brighten the glance of the sinking light, 
 And gleam on the curtains of the night. 
 
 PRINTED BY T. AND A. CONSTABLE, PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY, 
 AT THE EDINBURGH UNIVERSITY PRESS.
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
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