The Rhine flows bright, but its waves ere long Must hear a voice of war, And a clash of spears our hills among, And a trumpet from afar ; And the brave on a bloody turf must lie, For the Huntsman hath gone by! BRANDENBURGH HARVEST-SONG.* FROM THE GERMAN OF LA MOTTE FOUQUE. THE corn, in golden light, Now send we far around Comes o'er the day! On every breeze a knell The hamlets pour, -We know its cause too well, She is no more! Earth shrouds with burial sod Her soft eye's blue,— Fall tears like dew! *For the year of the Queen of Prussia's death. THE SHADE OF THESEUS. ANCIENT GREEK TRADITION. KNOW ye not when our dead On their covering greensward rung! When banners caught the breeze, There was one, a leader crown'd, In the battle's front he stood, With his tall and shadowy crest; But the arrows drew no blood Though their path was through his breast. When banners caught the breeze, When masts were on the seas, His sword was seen to flash Where the boldest deeds were done; But it smote without a clash; The stroke was heard by none ! His voice was not of those That swell'd the rolling blast, And his steps fell hush'd like snows"Twas the Shade of Theseus pass'd! When banners caught the breeze, Far sweeping through the foe, As the Shade of Theseus pass'd ! |