Through forests I'll follow, and where the sea

flows,

Through ice, and through iron, through armies of foes.

Annie of Tharaw, my light and my sun,
The threads of our two lives are woven in one

Whate'er I havebidden thee thou hast obey'd, Whatever forbidden thou hast not gainsaid.

How in the turmoil of life can love stand, Where there is not one heart, and one mouth, and one hand?

Some seek for dissension, and trouble, and strife,

Like a dog and a cat live such man and wife.

Annie of Tharaw, such is not our love;

Thou art my lambkin, my chick, and my dove.

POEMS

in thine

may be seen;

I am king of the household, and thou art its

queen.

It is this, O my Annie, my heart's sweetest

rest,

That makes of us twain but one soul in one breast.

This turns to heaven the hut where we dwell, While wrangling soon changes a home to a

hell

THE STATUE OVER THE CATHDRAL DOOR. 120

THE STATUE OVER THE CATHEDRAL

DOOR.

FROM THE GERMAN OF JULIUS MOSEN.

FORMS of saints and kings are standing
The cathedral door above;

Yet I saw but one among them

Who hath soothed my soul with love.

In his mantle-wound about him.
As their robes the sowers wind,—
Bore he swallows and their fledglings,
Flowers and weeds of every kind

POEMS.

And so stands he, calm and childlike,
High in wind and tempest wild;
O, were I like him exalted,

I would be like him, a child

And

my songs, green leaves and blossoms, To the doors of heaven would bear, Calling, even in storm and tempesi,

Round me still these birds of air.

THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSBILL.

FROM THE GERMAN OF JULIUS MOSEN.

On the cross the dying Saviour
Heavenward lifts his eyelids calm,
Feels, but scarcely feels, a trembling
In his pierced and bleeding palm.

And by all the world forsaken,
Sees he how with zealous care
At the ruthless nail of iron

A little bird is striving there.