DANTE. TUSCAN, that wanderest through the realms of gloom, Thy sacred song is like the trump of doom; As up the convent-walls, in golden streaks, Translations. THE HEMLOCK TREE. FROM THE GERMAN. O HEMLOCK tree! O hemlock tree! how faithful are thy branches! Green not alone in summer time, But in the winter's frost and rime! O hemlock tree! O hemlock tree! how faithful are thy branches! O maiden fair! O maiden fair! how faithless is thy bosom! To love me in prosperity, And leave me in adversity! O maiden fair! O maiden fair! how faithless is thy bosom! The nightingale, the nightingale, thou tak'st for thine example! So long as summer laughs she sings, The nightingale, the nightingale, thou tak'st for thine example! The meadow brook, the meadow brook, is mirror of thy falsehood! It flows so long as falls the rain, In drought its springs soon dry again. The meadow brook, the meadow brook, is mirror of thy falsehood! ANNIE OF THARAW. FROM THE LOW GERMAN OF SIMON DACH. ANNIE OF THARAW, my true love of old, Annie of Tharaw, her heart once again Then come the wild weather, come sleet or come snow, Oppression, and sickness, and sorrow, and pain As the palm-tree standeth so straight and so tall, So love in our hearts shall grow mighty and strong, wrong. Shouldst thou be torn from me to wander alone Through forests I'll follow, and where the sea flows, The threads of our two lives are woven in one. Whate'er I have bidden thee thou hast obeyed, How in the turmoil of life can love stand, Where there is not one heart, and one mouth, and one hand? Some seek for dissension, and trouble, and strife; Annie of Tharaw, such is not our love; This turns to a heaven the hut where we dwell; THE STATUE OVER THE CATHEDRAL DOOR. FROM THE GERMAN OF JULIUS MOSEN. FORMS of saints and kings are standing Who hath soothed my soul with love. In his mantle,-wound about him, And so stands he calm and childlike, I would be like him a child! And my songs,-green leaves and blossoms,- Round me still these birds of air. THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSBILL. FROM THE GERMAN OF JULIUS MOSEN. On the cross the dying Saviour And by all the world forsaken, A little bird is striving there. Stained with blood and never tiring, And the Saviour speaks in mildness: 66 Blest be thou of all the good! Bear, as token of this moment, Marks of blood and holy rood!" And that bird is called the crossbill; THE SEA HATH ITS PEARLS. FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINRICH HEINE. THE sea hath its pearls, The heaven hath its stars; But my heart, my heart, Great are the sea and the heaven; Thou little, youthful maiden, POETIC APHORISMS. FROM THE SINNGEDICHTE OF FRIEDRICH VON LOGAU. SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. MONEY. WHEREUNTO is money good? Who has it not wants hardihood, THE BEST MEDICINES. Joy and Temperance and Repose |