With large and sinewy hands; His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, And children coming home from school And catch the burning sparks that fly He goes on Sunday to the church, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, ་ THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, And silver white the river gleams, Had dropt her silver bow On such a tranquil night as this, She woke Endymion with a kiss, When, sleeping in the grove, He dreamed not of her love. ENDYMION. Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, Love gives itself, but is not bought; Its deep, impassioned gaze. It comes, the beautiful, the free, In silence and alone To seek the elected one. It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep, Of him, who slumbering lies. O, weary hearts! O, slumbering eyes! Are fraught with fear and pain, Ye shall be loved again! No one is so accursed by fate, No one so utterly desolate, But some heart, though unknown, Responds, as if with unseen wings, "Where hast thou stayed so long!" THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR. FROM THE GERMAN OF PFIZER. A YOUTH, light-hearted and content, Yet oft I dream, that once a wife I wake! Away that dream,-away! Too long did it remain ! So long, that both by night and day The end lies ever in my thought; But now the dream is wholly o'er, I bathe mine eyes and see; And wander through the world once more, A youth so light and free. Two locks, and they are wondrous fair,- Left me that vision mild; The brown is from the mother's hair, The blond is from the child. And when I see that lock of gold, Pale grows the evening-red; And when the dark lock I behold, |