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, Care has embittered my cup and my feast t; 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; 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! IMITATION OF HORACE. TO HIS SERVING BOY. Persicos odi, Puer, apparatus; Displicent nexæ Philyrâ coronæ : Rosa quo locorum Sera moretur. Simplici myrto Sedulus cura: Neque te ministrum AD MINISTRAM. DEAR Lucy, you know what my 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, '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, My faith then I plighted, my love I confess'd, gave you the BATTLE-AXE marked with your crest! * WAPPING OLD STAIRS. "Your Molly has never been false she declares, Since the last time we parted at Wapping Old Stairs; And gave you the 'bacco-box marked with my name. 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? |