But when her love lay cold in death, Yet still the withered wreath she wore; THE KING ON THE TOWER. UHLAND. "Da liegen sie alle, die grauen Höhen." THE cold gray hills they bind me around, Oh! for all I have suffered and striven, 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 ; O blessed rest! O royal night! 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 careUpon 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. Oh, weary is life's path to all! But wondrous the reward! IMITATION OF HORACE. TO HIS SERVING BOY. Persicos odi, Puer, apparatus; Simplici myrto Sedulus cura: Neque te ministrum Vite bibentem. AD MINISTRAM. DEAR Lucy, you know what my wish is,— 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, 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, your crest! * WAPPING OLD STAIRS. "Your Molly has never been false she declares, To be useful and kind to my Thomas I stay'd, "Though you promised last Sunday to walk in the Mall In silence I stood your unkindness to hear, And only upbraided my Tom with a tear. Why should Sall, or should Susan, than me be more prized? |