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by Schiller in answer to the inquiries of his friends respecting the fate of Thekla, whose beautiful character is withdrawn from the tragedy of "Wallenstein's Death," after her resolution to visit the grave of her lover is made known.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 Translation of Wallenstein.

ASK'Sт 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 nought 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, ev'n 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.

* Wallenstein.

THE REVELLERS.

RING, joyous chords !-ring out again!

A swifter still, 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

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!