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Seest thou the dewy grapes before thee swelling ?

-He that hath left me train'd that loaded vine !

He was a child when thus the bower he wove,

(Oh ! hath a day fled since his childhood's time ?) That I might sit and hear the sound I love,

Beneath its shade--the convent's vesper-chime. And sit thou there !—for he was gentle ever,

With his glad voice he would have welcomed thee, And brought fresh fruits to cool thy parch'd lips'

fever. There in his place thou’rt resting—where is he?

If I could hear that laughing voice again,

But once again! How oft it wanders by,
In the still hours, like some remember'd strain,

Troubling the heart with its wild melody!-
Thou hast seen much, tired pilgrim ! hast thou seen

In that far land, the chosen land of yore, A youth-my Guido-with the fiery mien

And the dark eye of this Italian shore ?

The dark, clear, lightning eye! On heaven and

earth It smiled as if man were not dust it smiled ! The very air seem'd kindling with his mirth,

And I-my heart grew young before my child ! My blessed child !—I had but him-yet he

Fill'd all my home even with o'erflowing joy, Sweet laughter, and wild song, and footstep free.

Where is he now ?-my pride, my flower, my boy! His sunny childhood melted from my sight,

Like a spring dew-drop. Then his forehead wore A prouder look-his eye a keener light :

I knew these woods might be his world no more ! He loved me—but he left me!

Thus they go Whom we have rear'd, watch'd, bless’d, too much

adored! He heard the trumpet of the Red Cross blow,

And bounded from me with his father's sword !

Thou weep'st-I tremble !—Thou hast seen the slain

Pressing a bloody turf—the young and fair, With their pale beauty strewing o'er the plain Where hosts have met : speak ! answer !—was he

there? Oh! hath his smile departed? Could the grave Shut o'er those bursts of bright and tameless

glee? No! I shall yet behold his dark locks wave !

That look gives hope—I knew it could not be !

Still weep'st thou, wanderer? Some fond mother's

glance O’er thee, too, brooded in thine early years— Think'st thou of her, whose gentle eye, perchance,

Bathed all thy faded hair with parting tears ? Speak, for thy tears disturb me !—what art thou ?

Why dost thou hide thy face, yet weeping on? Look up! Oh! is it—that wan cheek and brow !

Is it—alas ! yet joy !--my son, my son !

THEKLA'S SONG ; OR, THE VOICE OF A SPIRIT.

FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER.

[This song is said to have been composed by Schiller in

answer to the inquiries of a friend respecting the fate of Thekla, whose beautiful character is withdrawn from the tragedy of Wallenstein's Death, after her resolution to visit the grave of her lover is made known.]

“'Tis not merely
The human being's pride that peoples space
With life and mystical predominance;
Since likewise for the stricken heart of love
This visible nature, and this common world,
Are all too narrow."

COLERIDGE'S Wallenstein.

Ask’st thou my home ?-my pathway wouldst thou

know,

When from thine eye my floating shadow pass'd ? Was not my work fulfill’d and closed below ?

Had I not lived and loved ? My lot was cast.

Wouldst thou ask where the nightingale is gone,

That, melting into song her soul away, Gave the spring-breeze what witch'd thee in its

tone ? But while she loved, she lived, in that deep lay!

Think'st thou my heart its lost one hath not found?

Yes! we are one : oh! trust me, we have met, Where naught again may part what love hath bound,

Where falls no tear, and whispers no regret.

There shalt thou find us, there with us be blest,

If, as our love, thy love is pure and true ! There dwells my father,* sinless and at rest,

Where the fierce murderer may no more pursue.

And well he feels, no error of the dust

Drew to the stars of heaven his mortal ken; There it is with us even as is our trust

He that believes is near the holy then.

There shall each feeling, beautiful and high,

Keep the sweet promise of its earthly day. Oh ! fear thou not to dream with waking eye!

There lies deep meaning oft in childish play.

THE REVELLERS.

Ring, joyous chords !-ring out again!
A swifter and a wilder strain !
They are here—the fair face and the careless heart,
And stars shall wane ere the mirthful part.-
But I met a dimly mournful glance,
In a sudden turn of the flying dance ;
I heard the tone of a heavy sigh
In a pause of the thrilling melody!
And it is not well that woe should breathe
On the bright spring-flowers of the festal wreath!-
Ye that to thought or to grief belong,

Leave, leave the hall of song!

* Wallenstein.

Ring, joyous chords !- -But who art thou
With the shadowy locks o'er thy pale young brow,
And the world of dreamy gloom that lies
In the misty depths of thy soft dark eyes?
Thou hast loved, fair girl! thou hast loved too well !
Thou art mourning now o'er a broken spell;
Thou hast pour'd thy heart's rich treasures forth,
And art unrepaid for their priceless worth !
Mourn on !—yet come thou not here the while,
It is but a pain to see thee smile !
There is not a tone in our songs for thee-

Home with thy sorrows flee !

Ring, joyous chords !ring out again !-
But what dost thou with the revel's train ?
A silvery voice through the soft air floats,
But thou hast no part in the gladdening notes;
There are bright young faces that pass thee by,
But they fix no glance of thy wandering eye!
Away! there's a void in thy yearning breast,
Thou weary man! wilt thou here find rest !
Away! for thy thoughts from the scene have fled,
And the love of thy spirit is with the dead :
Thou art but more lone midst the sounds of mirth-

Back to thy silent hearth!

Ring, joyous chords !-ring forth again!
A swifter still, and a wilder strain !-
But thou, though a reckless mien be thine,
And thy cup be crown'd with the foaming wine,
By the fitful bursts of thy laughter loud,
By thine eye's quick flash through its troubled cloud,

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