It is her largeness, and her overflow,
Which being incomplete, disquieteth me so!

IV.

For never touch of gladness stirs my heart,
But tim'rously beginning to rejoice

Like a blind Arab, that from sleep doth start
In lonesome tent, I listen for thy voice.
Beloved! 'tis not thine; thou art not there!
Then melts the bubble into idle air,

And wishing without hope I restlessly despair.

The mother with anticipated glee

Smiles o'er the child, that, standing by her chair
And flatt'ning its round cheek upon her knee,
Looks up, and doth its rosy lips prepare

To mock the coming sounds. At that sweet sight
She hears her own voice with a new delight;
And if the babe perchance should lisp the notes
aright,

VI.

Then is she tenfold gladder than before!

But should disease or chance the darling take,
What then avail those songs, which sweet of yore
Were only sweet for their sweet echo's sake?
Dear maid! no prattler at a mother's knee
Was e'er so dearly prized as I prize thee:

Why was I made for Love and Love denied to me?

WH

DESIRE.

WHERE true Love burns, Desire is Love's pure flame;

It is the reflex of our earthly frame,

That takes its meaning from the nobler part,
And but translates the language of the heart.

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP OPPOSITE.

HER

ER attachment may differ from yours in degree, Provided they are both of one kind;

But friendship how tender soever it be

Gives no accord to Love, however refined.

Love, that meets not with Love, its true nature revealing,

Grows ashamed of itself, and demurs:

If you cannot lift hers up to your state of feeling, You must lower down your state to hers.

NOT AT HOME.

THAT Jealousy may rule a mind

Where Love could never be

I know; but ne'er expect to find
Love without Jealousy.

She has a strange cast in her ee,
A swart sour-visaged maid-
But yet Love's own twin-sister she,
His house-mate and his shade.

Ask for her and she'll be denied :—
What then? they only mean
Their mistress has lain down to sleep,
And can't just then be seen.

TO A LADY,

OFFENDED BY A SPORTIVE OBSERVATION THAT WOMEN HAVE NO SOULS.

NAY, dearest Anna! why so grave

I said you had no soul, 'tis true!

?

For what you are, you cannot have; 'Tis I, that have one since I first had you!

I

HAVE heard of reasons manifold

Why Love must needs be blind,

But this the best of all I hold-
His eyes are in his mind.

What outward form and feature are
He guesseth but in part;
But what within is good and fair
He seeth with the heart.

HEAR, sweet spirit, hear the spell,
Lest a blacker charm compel!

So shall the midnight breezes swell
With thy deep long-lingering knell,

And at evening evermore,

In a chapel on the shore,

Shall the chaunter, sad and saintly,
Yellow tapers burning faintly,
Doleful masses chaunt for thee,
Miserere Domine

Hark! the cadence dies away,
On the quiet moonlight sea:

The boatmen rest their oars and say,
Miserere Dominie!

SONG.

FROM "ZAPOLYA."

A SUNNY shaft did I behold

From sky to earth it slanted:

And poised therein a bird so bold-
Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted!
He sank, he rose, he twinkled, he trolled
Within that shaft of sunny mist;

His eyes of fire, his beak of gold,
All else of amethyst !

And thus he sang: "Adieu! adieu !
Love's dreams prove seldom true.
The blossoms, they make no delay:
The sparkling dewdrops will not stay.
Sweet month of May,

We must away;
Far, far away!

To day to day!

CHORAL SONG.

FROM "ZAPOYLA."

UP, up! ye dames, ye lasses gay!
To the meadows trip away.

"Tis you must tend the flocks this morn,
And scare the small birds from the corn.
Not a soul at home may stay ;

For the shepherds must go
With lance and bow

To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.

Leave the hearth and leave the house
To the cricket and the mouse:
Find grannam out a sunny seat,
With babe and lambkin at her feet.
Not a soul at home may stay:
For the shepherds must go
With lance and bow

To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.

SONG OF THEKLA.

FROM THE PICCOLOMINI, OR FIRST PART OF

WALLENSTEIN.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER.

HE cloud doth gather, the green-wood roar,

THE

The damsel paces along the shore;

The billows they tumble with might, with might; And she flings out her voice to the darksome

night;

Her bosom is swelling with sorrow;