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If to far India's coast we sail,

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright;
Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,

Thy skin is ivory so white.
Thus every beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.
Though battle call me from thy arms,

Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms,

William shall to his dear return. Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye. The boatswain gave the dreadful word;

The sails their swelling bosom spread; No longer must she stay aboard :

They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head : Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land: Adieu ! she cries; and waved her lily hand.

A BALLAD.
(From "What D’ye Call It ? ”)
'Twas when the seas were roaring

With hollow blasts of wind,
A damsel lay deploring,

All on a rock reclined.
Wide o'er the foaming billows

She cast a wistful look ;
Her head was crowned with willows,

That tremble o'er the brook.
6 Twelve months are gone and over,

And nine long tedious days;
Why didst thou, venturous lover,

Why didst thou trust the seas ?
Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean,

And let my lover rest:
Ah! what's thy troubled motion
To that within

my

breast?
“ The merchant robbed of pleasure

Sees tempests in despair;
But what's the loss of treasure,

To losing of my dear ?

Should you some coast be laid on,

Where gold and diamonds grow, You'll find a richer maiden,

But none that loves you so.

“How can they say that nature

Has nothing made in vain; Why then, beneath the water,

Should hideous rocks remain ? No eyes the rocks discover

That lurk beneath the deep, To wreck the wandering lover,

And leave the maid to weep." All melancholy lying,

Thus wailed she for her dear! Repaid each blast with sighing,

Each billow with a tear. When o'er the white wave stooping,

His floating corpse she spied, Then, like a lily drooping,

She bowed her head and died.

EMANUEL GEIBEL.

EMANUEL GEIBEL, a German poet, born at Lübeck, Oct. 17, 1815; died there, April 6, 1884. In 1838 he went to Athens as tutor in the Russian Ambassador's family. Here he continued his studies. On his return to Lübeck he published in 1840 a volume of poems, and with Curtius a volume of translations from the Greek poets, entitled “ Classische Studien.” His poem « Zeitstimmen appeared in 1841, and “Spanische Volkslieder und Romanzen" in 1843; “King Roderick," a drama (1844); “King Sigurd's Betrothal ” and “Zwölf Sonette für Schleswig-Holstein " (1846); “The Songs of Junius” (1848); “The death of Siegfried” (1851); the “Spanisches Liederbuch," translated in conjunction with Paul Heyse (1852); “Neue Gedichte" (1856); “ Brunhilde,” a tragedy (1857); “ Gedichte und Gedenkblätter,” (1864); “Sophonisbe” (1868); "Heroldsrufe” (1871); "Spätherbstblätter" (1877). After the publication of his first volume of poems the King of Prussia granted him a yearly pension. In 1852, at the invitation of King Maximilian II., he went as an honorary professor in the faculty of Philosophy to Munich. After the death of the King he was obliged, in 1868, to resign his position and return to Lübeck.

To GEORGE HERWEGH.
THY song resounded in my ear,

So sharp and clear, with thrilling ring,
As if from out his sepulcher

Had stepped an ancient poet king.
And yet I hurl my glove at thee,

In mail be clad, in steel be shod,
Come on into the lists with me!
War to the knife's point, war with thee,

Thou poet by the Grace of God. ...
Or, why this clashing of the steel,

These battles which thy song demands,
This glow in which thy passions reel

And burn like flaming firebands?

No! thus no German arm is nerved ;

We too may fight for what is new,
Round freedom's banner we have served,
In serried ranks, but e'er preserved

Our ancient loyalty so true.

Put up thy sword, then, in its sheath,

As Peter once when he had sinned;
For murder wears not freedom's wreath,

As Paris in thy ear hath dinned.
Through mind alone she beareth fruit,

And he who would with stains of blood
Her vesture pure and bright pollute,
And though he struck an angel's lute,

Fights for the world, not for his God.

As IT OFTEN HAPPENS.

“ He loves thee not,” thus spoke they to the maid,

“ He sports with thee” she bowed her head in grief, And o'er her cheek the pearly tear-drops strayed

Like dew from roses; why this rash belief ?
And when he found that doubt assailed the maid,

His froward heart its sadness would not own,
He drank, and laughed aloud, and sang and played,

To weep throughout the night alone.
What though an angel whispered in her ear,

“Stretch out thy hand, he's faithful still to thee,” What though, amid his woes, a voice he hear,

“She loves thee still, thy own sweet love is she. Speak one kind word, hear one kind word replied;

So is the spell that separates ye broken."
They came, they met. - Alas! O pride! O pride!

That one short word remained unspoken.
And so they parted. In the minster's aisle

Thus fades away the altar lamp's red light, It first grows dim, then flickers forth awhile,

Once more 'tis clear, then all is dark, dark night. So died their love, lamented first with tears.

With longing sighed for back, and then — forgot, Until the past but as a dream appears,

A dream of love, where love was not.

Yet oft by moonlight from their couch they rose,

Moist with the tears that mourned their wretched lot, Still on their cheeks the burning drops repose;

They had been dreaming both - I know not what, They thought then of the blissful times long past,

And of their doubts, their broken, plighted troth, The gulf between them now, so deep, so vast,

O God forgive, forgive them both!

THE WOODLAND.

THE wood grows denser at each stride;

No path more, no trail !

Only murm’ring waters glide
Through tangled ferns and woodland flowers pale.

Ah, and under the great oaks teeming
How soft the moss, the grass, how high!

And the heavenly depth of cloudless sky,
How blue through the leaves it seems to me!
Here I'll sit, resting and dreaming,

Dreaming of thee.

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