I for man's effort am zealous. Prove me such censure 's unfounded! Seems it surprising a lover grows jealous, — Hopes 't was for something his organ-pipes sounded, Tiring three boys at the bellows? Is it your moral of Life? Such a web, simple and subtle, Weave we on earth here in impotent strife, Backward and forward each throwing his shuttle, Death ending all with a knife? Over our heads Truth and Nature, Ins and outs weaving a new legislature, God's gold just shining its last where that lodges, Palled beneath Man's usurpature! So we o'ershroud stars and roses, Cherub and trophy and garland. Nothings grow something which quietly closes Heaven's earnest eye, not a glimpse of the far land Gets through our comments and glozes. Ah, but traditions, inventions, (Say we and make up a visage) So many men with such various intentions Down the past ages must know more than this age! Leave the web all its dimensions ! Who thinks Hugues wrote for the deaf? Proved a mere mountain in labor? Better submit, try again, what's the clef? 'Faith, it's no trifle for pipe and for tabor, — Four flats, the minor in F. Friend, your fugue taxes the finger. Hugues! I advise meá pœná (Counterpoint glares like a Gorgon) Bid One, Two, Three, Four, Five, clear the arena ! Say the word, straight I unstop the Full-Organ, Blare out the mode Palestrina. While in the roof, if I'm right there, - What, you want, do you, to come unawares, At the foot of your rotten-planked rat-riddled stairs? Robert Browning. IN Siebengebirge. THE KING OF THE SEVEN HILLS. ancient times, beside the Rhine, a king sat on his throne, And all his people called him " good," no other name is known. Seven hills and seven old castles marked the land beneath his sway; His children all were beautiful and cheerful as the day. Oft, clad in simple garments, he travelled through the land, And to the poorest subject there he gave a friendly hand. Now when this good old king believed his latest hour was nigh, He bade his servants bear him to a neighboring mountain high: Below he saw the pleasant fields in cloudless sunlight shine, While through the valleys, brightly green, flowed peacefully the Rhine; And pastures, gayly decked with flowers, extended far away; While round them stood the mighty hills in darklyblue array; And on the hills along the Rhine seven noble castles frown, Stern guardians! on their charge below forever looking down. Long gazed the king upon that land; his eyes with tears o'erflow, He cries, My own loved country! I must bless thee ere I go! "O fairest of all rivers! my own, my noble Rhine ! How beauteous are the pastures all that on thy margin shine. "To leave thee, O my land! wakes my bosom's latest sigh, Let me spend my breath in blessing thee, and so, contented, die. "My good and loving people all! my land! farewell forever! May sorrow and oppression come within your borders never! 'May people, land, and river, all, in sure protection lie Forever 'neath the guardianship of the Almighty's eye!" Soon as the blessing was pronounced, the good old king was dead, And the halo of the setting sun shone all around his head. SONNENBERG. STET HAVEN (STETTINER-HAFF.) 81 That king was always called " the good," name is known; no other But his blessing still is resting on the land he called his own. Joseph Matzerath. Tr. R. Harrison. Sonnenberg. IMPROMPTU, WRITTEN AMONG THE RUINS OF THE SONNENBERG. HOU who within thyself dost not behold Ruins as great as these, though not as old, Canst scarce through life have travelled many a year, Or lack'st the spirit of a pilgrim here. Youth hath its walls of strength, its towers of pride, Love, its warm hearth-stones, hope, its prospects wide, Life's fortress in thee, held these, one and all, As they have fallen to ruin, or shall fall. Frances Anne Kemble. Stet Haven (Stettiner-Haff). KING OLAF AND EARL SIGVALD. ON the gray sea-sands Ο King Olaf stands, Northward and seaward He points with his hands. |