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But when her love lay cold in death,
Sunk in the black and silent tomb, All sere and withered was the wreath
That wont so bright to bloom.
Yet still the withered wreath she wore;
She wore it at her dying hour; When, lo! the wondrous garland bore
Both leaf, and fruit, and flower!
THE KING ON THE TOWER.
“Da liegen sie alle, die grauen Höhen.”
The cold gray hills they bind me around,
The darksome valleys lie sleeping below, But the winds as they pass o'er all this ground,
Bring me never a sound of wo!
Oh! for all I have suffered and striven,
Care bas embittered my cup and my feast; But here is the night and the dark blue heaven,
And my soul shall be at rest.
O golden legends writ in the skies !
I turn towards you with longing soul, And list to the awful harmonies
Of the Spheres as on they roll.
My hair is gray and my sight nigh gone ;
My sword it rusteth upon the wall; Right have I spoken, and right have I done : · When shall I rest me once for all ?
O blessed rest! O royal night!
Wherefore seemeth the time so long Till I see yon stars in their fullest light,
And list to their loudest song?
TO A VERY OLD WOMAN.
LA MOTTE FOUQUÉ.
“Und Du gingst einst, die Myrt im Haare.”
And thou wert once a maiden fair,
A blushing virgin, warm and young, With myrtles wreathed in golden hair, And glossy brow that knew no care
Upon a bridegroom's arm you hung.
The golden locks are silvered now,
The blushing cheek is pale and wan; The spring may bloom, the autumn glow, All's one-in chimney corner thou
Sitt'st shivering on.
A moment—and thou sink'st to rest !
In the bright presence of thy Lord.
But wondrous the reward !
IMITATION OF HORACE.
TO HIS SERVING BOY.
DEAR Lucy, you know what my wish is,
I hate all your Frenchified fuss : Your silly entrées and made dishes
Were never intended for us.
No footman in lace and in ruffles
Need dangle behind my arm-chair ; And never mind seeking for truffles,
Although they be ever so rare.
But a plain leg of mutton, my Lucy,
I pr’ythee get ready at three : Have it smoking, and tender and juicy,
And what better meat can there be ? And when it has feasted the master,
'Twill amply suffice for the maid ; Meanwhile I will smoke my canaster,
And tipple my ale in the shade.
AN OLD FRIEND WITH A NEW FACE.*
THE KNIGHTLY GUERDON.
UNTRUE to my Ulric I never could be,
* WAPPING OLD STAIRS.
“Your Molly has never been false she declares,
Since the last time we parted at Wapping Old Stairs ;
• Though you promised last Sunday to walk in the Mall