Nadowessische Todtenklage. THIS Dirge is classed by Hoffmeister among the Ballads, to which species, in a certain sense, it belongs; but, as it contains no narrative, is, on that account, more properly to be ranked in a different order. It affords another instance of the facility and vivacity of description with which the Poet embodied those images which attracted his fancy in the course of his excursive reading, being founded, together with other of his poetical productions of the same period, which have not been recovered, on the accounts of the manners and customs of the North American Indians, given by Carver in his book of travels, then recently published. Goëthe considered it as one of Schiller's ablest and most extraordinary performances, while Humboldt censured it as defective in ideality, which perhaps constituted with Goëthe its principal merit. SEE him on his mat reposing! That unalter'd mien disclosing Which in life he bare. But oh where the grasp unfailing ?- Where the eyes, whose falcon glances O'er the grass that, wave-like, dances? These the limbs that reek'd not danger, Bounding through the snow, Like the many-antler'd ranger, Like the mountain roe? These the arms, by whose endeavour See their life is fled for ever! He is bless'd-he goeth thither Where with birds the groves resounding, Forests teem with prey; Where in lakes the fishes bounding Blithely leap and play. There he feasts 'mid happy spirits, Leaves us all alone, Here, below, to chaunt his merits, With the parting gifts provide him! All things be entomb'd beside him, FLORENCE. Des Mädchens Klage. THERE is nothing in this little poem, nor in that which is here made immediately to follow it, though composed some years later, to demand particular notice, except the resemblance of sentiment, which furnishes Hoffmeister with a ground of comparison, and seems to invite juxtaposition. I have taken the liberty of adopting the first version, with some alteration, from that of the late Mr. Anstice, printed in his Selections from Greek Choric Poetry. THE clouds are flitting, On Ocean's shore. The waves of the Sea dash mightily, And the murky night long still sigheth she, The world is a void; With nought to be cherish'd, Thou holy one, call thy poor child back again! The cup of Earth's bliss 'twas allow'd me to drain. I have liv'd, and liv'd for loving." The tears thou art weeping But say, what can comfort and heal the torn breast, Stream on, though in vain ; True, they wake not the sleeping But the sweetest of balm for the sorrowing breast, Der Jüngling am Bache. By the brook the boy was seated; Like the stream, in senseless haste; "Ask not wherefore thus I languish That awakening Nature pours, "What can all the joys avail me, "Come, O come, thou lovely fair-one! Flowers the birth of Spring's bright season— is ringing, And the streamlet ripples clear In the smallest hut is shelter For a happy, loving pair." L. Die Hoffnung. THIS, and the few following Poems, which, though not all in regular succession in respect of date, are here classed together on account of their affinity in substance and spirit, afford pleasing evidence, if, after many of the preceding Ballads, any such had been wanting, of the altered state of the Poet's religious hopes and impressions, since the period of those earlier compositions which have attached to his name the reputation of scepticism on the most vital points of religious persuasion. "Even the very phænomena of |