THE DEAD.

FROM THE GERMAN OF KLOPSTOCK.

How they so softly rest,

All, all the holy dead,

Unto whose dwelling-place

Now doth my soul draw near!

How they so softly rest,

All in their silent graves,

Deep to corruption

Slowly down-sinking!

And they no longer weep, Here, where complaint is still!

And they no longer feel.

"WHITHER, thou turbid wave?
Whither, with so much haste,
As if a thief wert thou?”

"I am the Wave of Life,
Stained with my margin's dust;
From the struggle and the strife
Of the narrow stream I fly
To the Sea's immensity,

To wash from me the slime

Of the muddy banks of Time."

THE DEAD.

8008

FROM THE GERMAN OF KLOPSTOCK.

How they so softly rest,

All, all the holy dead,

Unto whose dwelling-place

Now doth my soul draw near!

How they so softly rest,

All in their silent graves,

Deep to corruption

Slowly down-sinking!

And they no longer weep, Here, where complaint is still!

And they no longer feel.

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TRANSLATIONS.

Here, where all gladness flics!

And, by the cypresses

Softly o'ershadowed,

Until the Angel

Calls them, they slumber!

THE BIRD AND THE SHIP.

FROM THE GERMAN OF MULLER

"THE rivers rush into the sea,
By castle and town they go;
The winds behind them merrily
Their noisy trumpets blow.

"The clouds are passing far and high, We little birds in them play;

And every thing, that can sing and fly, Goes with us, and far away.