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The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched

asunder, The rattling musketry, the clashing blade; And ever and anon, in tones of thunder,

The diapason of the cannonade.

Is it, О man, with such discordant noises,

With such accursed instruments as these, Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly

voices, And jarrest the celestial harmonies;

Were half the power that fills the world with

terror, Where half the wealth, bestowed on camps

and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error,

There were no need of arsenals nor forts :

The warrior's name would be a name abhorred!

And every nation, that should lift again Its hand against a brother, on its forehead

Would wear for evermore the curse of Cain !

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NUREMBERG.

valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad meadow-lands he blue Franconian mountains, Nuremberg, the ancient, stands.

it old town of toil and traffic, quaint old town of art and

song, ories haunt thy pointed gables, like the rooks that round them throng :

Down the dark future, through long genera

tions, The echoing sounds grow fainter and then

cease; And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, I hear once more the voice of Christ say,

“ Peace!”

Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals The blast of war's great organ shakes the

skies! But beautiful as songs of the immortals,

The holy melodies of love arise.

NUREMBERG.

In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad

meadow-lands Rise the blue Franconian mountains, Nurem

berg, the ancient, stands.

Quaint old town of toil and traffic, quaint old

town of art and song, Memories haunt thy pointed gables, like the

rooks that round them throng :

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