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composed by Schiller in answer to the inquiries of a friend respecting the fate of Thekla, whose beautiful character is withdrawn from the tragedy of Wallenstein's Death, after her resolution to visit the grave of her lover is made known.]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 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, 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, And well he feels, no error of the dust Drew to the stars of heaven his mortal ken; There shall each feeling, beautiful and high, 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! Ring, joyous chords !-But who art thou In the misty depths of thy soft dark eyes? Thou hast loved, fair girl! thou hast loved too well! There is not a tone in our songs for thee— Ring, joyous chords !-ring out again! Ring, joyous chords !-ring forth again! But thou, though a reckless mien be thine, And thy cup be crown'd with the foaming wine, By thine eye's quick flash through its troubled cloud, I know thee! it is but the wakeful fear Of a haunted bosom that brings thee here! I know thee !-thou fearest the solemn night, With her piercing stars and her deep wind's might! There's a tone in her voice which thou fain wouldst shun, For it asks what the secret soul hath done! Ring, joyous chords!-ring out again! And bring fresh wreaths !-we will banish all That still should be where the mirthful meet ?— THE CONQUEROR'S SLEEP. SLEEP midst thy banners furl'd! Yes! thou art there, upon thy buckler lying, Stillness hath smooth'd thy brow, And now might love keep timid vigils by thee, Now might the foe with stealthy foot draw nigh thee, Alike unconscious and defenceless thou! Tread lightly, watchers! Now the field is won, Perchance some lovely dream Back from the stormy fight thy soul is bearing, But thou wilt wake at morn, With thy strong passions to the conflict leaping, And thy dark troubled thoughts all earth o'ersweeping; So wilt thou rise, O thou of woman born! And put thy terrors on, till none may dare Look upon thee the tired one, slumbering there! Why, so the peasant sleeps Beneath his vine!—and man must kneel before thee, And for his birthright vainly still implore thee ! Shalt thou be stay'd because thy brother weeps ?Wake! and forget that midst a dreaming world, Thou hast lain thus, with all thy banners furl'd! Forget that thou, even thou, Hast feebly shiver'd when the wind pass'd o'er thee, |