Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne,1 Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves ! DANTE. TUSCAN, that wanderest through the realms of gloom, As up the convent-walls, in golden streaks, (1) Charlemagne may be called by preeminence the monarch of farmers. According to the German tradition, in seasons of great abundance his spirit crosses the Rhine on a golden bridge at Bingen, and blesses the cornfields and the vineyards. During his lifetime he did not disdain, says Montesquieu, "to sell the eggs from the farm-yards of his domains, and the superfluous vegetables of his gardens, while he distributed among his people the wealth of the Lombards and the immense treasures of the Huns.” Lo! in the painted oriel of the West, Of all her radiant garments, and reclines Behind the sombre screen of yonder pines, With slumber and soft dreams of love oppressed. O my beloved, my sweet Hesperus! My morning and my evening star of love! My best and gentlest lady! even thus, As that fair planet in the sky above, Dost thou retire unto thy rest at night, And from thy darkened window fades the light. 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 ! 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, But in the autumn spreads her wings. 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 ANNIE OF THARAW. Annie of Tharaw, my riches, my good, 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, Shouldst thou be torn from me to wander alone In a desolate land where the sun is scarce known, Through forests I'll follow, and where the sea flows, Annie of Tharaw, my light and my sun, 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; Like a dog and a cat live such man and wife. Annie of Tharaw, such is not our love; Whate'er my desire is, in thine may be seen; I am king of the household, and thou art its queen. It is this, O my Annie, my heart's sweetest rest, This turns to a heaven the hut where we dwell; |