obeyed,

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?

soms,

To the doors of heaven would bear, Calling even in storm and tempest, Round me still these birds of air.

strife;

BILL

(DER KREUZSchnabel, No. 3)

BY 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.

Stained with blood and never tiring,
With its beak it doth not cease,
From the cross 't would free the Saviour,
Its Creator's Son release.

And the Saviour speaks in mildness : "Blest be thou of all the good! Bear, as token of this moment,

Marks of blood and holy rood!"

And that bird is called the crossbill;
Covered all with blood so clear,
In the groves of pine it singeth

Songs, like legends, strange to hear.

THE SEA HATH ITS PEARLS

BY HEINRICH HEINE

THE sea hath its pearls,
The heaven hath its stars;
But my heart, my heart,
My heart hath its love.

Great are the sea and the heaven,
Yet greater is my heart;
And fairer than pearls and stars
Flashes and beams my love.

must themselves be ground.

cended!

How I started up in the night, in the night,
Drawn on without rest or reprieval!
The streets, with their watchmen, were lost
to my sight,

As I wandered so light
In the night, in the night,
Through the gate with the arch mediæval.

The mill-brook rushed from the rocky height,

I leaned o'er the bridge in my yearning;

Deep under me watched I the waves in their flight,

As they glided so light

In the night, in the night,

Yet backward not one was returning.

O'erhead were revolving, so countless and bright,

The stars in melodious existence;

Nor is it seen

How long it shall be.
Now I bring thee
Where thou shalt be;
Now I shall measure thee,
And the mould afterwards.

Thy house is not
Highly timbered,
It is unhigh and low;
When thou art therein,
The heel-ways are low,
The side-ways unhigh.
The roof is built
Thy breast full nigh,
So thou shalt in mould
Dwell full cold,
Dimly and dark.

Doorless is that house,
And dark it is within;
There thou art fast detained
And Death hath the key.
Loathsome is that earth-house,
And grim within to dwell.
There thou shalt dwell,
And worms shall divide thee.

Thus thou art laid, And leavest thy friends; Thou hast no friend, Who will come to thee, Who will ever see

How that house pleaseth thee; Who will ever open

The door for thee,

And descend after thee;
For soon thou art loathsome
And hateful to see.

BEOWULF'S EXPEDITION TO

HEORT

THUS then, much care-worn,

The son of Healfden

Sorrowed evermore,

Nor might the prudent hero
His woes avert.

The war was too hard,
Too loath and longsome,
That on the people came,
Dire wrath and grim,
Of night-woes the worst.

Noble and stalwart.
He bade him a sea-ship,
A goodly one, prepare.
Quoth he, the war-king,
Over the swan's road,
Seek he would
The mighty monarch,
Since he wanted men.
For him that journey
His prudent fellows
Straight made ready,
Those that loved him.
They excited their souls,
The omen they beheld.
Had the good-man
Of the Gothic people
Champions chosen,
Of those that keenest
He might find,
Some fifteen men.
The sea-wood sought he.
The warrior showed,
Sea-crafty man!
The land-marks,
And first went forth.

The ship was on the waves,
Boat under the cliffs.
The barons ready
To the prow mounted.
The streams they whirled
The sea against the sands.
The chieftains bore
On the naked breast

Bright ornaments,
War-gear, Goth-like.
The men shoved off,
Men on their willing way,
The bounden wood.

Then went over the sea-waves,

Hurried by the wind,

The ship with foamy neck,
Most like a sea-fowl,

Till about one hour
Of the second day
The curved prow
Had passed onward

So that the sailors
The land saw,

The shore-cliffs shining,
Mountains steep,

And broad sea-noses.
Then was the sea-sailing
Of the Earl at an end.
Then up speedily
The Weather people
On the land went,
The sea-bark moored,
Their mail-sarks shook,
Their war-weeds.
God thanked they,

That to them the sea-journey
Easy had been.

Then from the wall beheld
The warden of the Scyldings,
He who the sea-cliffs
Had in his keeping,

Bear o'er the balks
The bright shields,

The war-weapons speedily.
Him the doubt disturbed
In his mind's thought,
What these men might be.
Went then to the shore,
On his steed riding,
The Thane of Hrothgar.
Before the host he shook
His warden's-staff in hand,
In measured words demanded :
"What men are ye
War-gear wearing,
Host in harness,

Who thus the brown keel
Over the water-street

Leading come

Hither over the sea?

I these boundaries

As shore-warden hold,

That in the Land of the Danes

Nothing loathsome

With a ship-crew

Scathe us might. . . .

Ne'er saw I mightier

Earl upon earth
Than is your own,
Hero in harness.

Not seldom this warrior

Is in weapons distinguished;
Never his beauty belies him,
His peerless countenance !
Now would I fain