SIEGELINDE.

A BALLAD FROM UHLAND.

I.

THE Lady Siegelinde
She hath a proud array,
As to the Virgin's Chapelle
They go in state to pray.
Her silken robes entwining

With blossoms fair to see;
Her gold and jewels shining;
To evil doom went she.

II.

There be three ancient lindens, Hard by the Church they grow,

Where sat the noble Heime,

He spake a word full low : "Oh! what of gold or jewels, For none of these I pine;

But for one flower, thou fairest, From out that wreath of thine."

III.

Just then the wind, as Heime

Spoke thus in gentle tone, From out the Lady's garland

The fairest rose has blown. The young man saw where, haply, The rose had fallen apart; He kissed it, and in fondness He held it to his heart.

IV.

Another knight was standing

In Siegelinde's train,

His heart was stern and cruel,

He spake in high disdain.

"In chivalry and honour

Thou shalt be taught by me; And learn that beauty's chaplet

Has not one leaf for thee."

V.

Woe fall the garden ever

Where thus the roses bloom;
May flower the lindens never
That grow with such a doom.
For now in mortal combat

Their clashing swords are red;
And, in a moment stricken,
The youth has fallen dead.

VI.

The Lady Siegelinde,

She laid the rose once more Amid her wreath, and entered Within the Church's door. Her silken robes entwining With blossoms fair to see; Her gold and jewels shining, In bitter grief was she.

VII.

Before our Lady's picture

She laid the garland down: "Thou pure of heart and holy, To thee belongs the crown. And now the world forsaking, Like thee, to fast and pray, I take the veil, and shroud me

Το weep the dead alwaie."

C. P. M.

EMMELINE.

WHY sittest thou by the shore,
Emmeline?

Why sportest thou no more,
Emmeline;

'Mid those oozy-looking damsels just emerging from the brine, Thy blue eyes on the blue water why so sadly dost incline, Looking wistful and half tristful,

Emmeline?

One summer morn like this,

Emmeline,

Thy heart beat close to his,
Emmeline!

And I rather think he took the liberty to twine

His arm just for one moment round that slender waist of thine;
Oh! wasn't it imprudent for a penniless law-student,

Emmeline?

He loves you the poor wretch!

Emmeline;

But there's many a better catch,

Emmeline.

Cut him dead when next you meet him, burn his letters every line, And deserve the eligible match your dearest friends assign:

He is but a poor and true man, you a lady (not a woman),

Emmeline.

THE FISHER-MAIDEN.

H. HEINE.

THOU fair young fisher-maiden,
Come steer thy boat to land,
And rest thee here beside me,

We'll whisper hand in hand.

C. P. M.

Rest on my heart thy bosom,
And, fearless, trust in me,
Who, daily, thus unfearing,
Can'st trust the stormy sea.

My heart is like that ocean,

With storm, and ebb, and flow;

But brightest pearls are sleeping

In silent depths below.

C. P. M.

THOMSON'S CHUBB.

de

Ir was 1 o'clock, by College time, as I finished my breakfast. Rather a late hour for breakfast, some people may say; and I am not prepared to contradict them. But this was not an every-day case. On the contrary, I, in general, breakfast early. But a great deal in this way pends on the time one goes to bed; and if a man goes there late, the chances are he will leave it late also. "Early to bed" is very closely connected with "early to rise;" for there are few who can do without sleep to the same degree as Zumalacarrequi or Wellington. The former limited himself, during a campaign, to a nap of one hour, and that taken, not in his bed, but in his saddle; the latter seldom, I believe, at any time, whether in peace or in war, exceeded three hours, or four at the utmost. But I am neither Zumalacarrequi nor Wellington. I like a good seven hours' sleep, and prefer an additional sixty minutes when I can manage it. On the present occasion I had not gone to bed till the College clock struck 6; and, as I rose at 12, I, in fact, rose an hour or two before my time. On the whole, I considered myself as an early riser on this particular day, and felt all the conscious glow of having performed an eminently virtuous action.

Yes, but what kept you out of your bed till 6 o'clock in the morning, my good sir? Was your time spent in consuming the midnight oil, after the approved manner of all proper students? Truly, there was a great consumption of oil in Tom O'Sullivan's new moderateur lamps, and a great consumption, besides, of liquor of a very different description. The fact was, that Tom O'Sullivan had been recently elected to a scholarship, and had invited all his friends to drink his health on the previous evening in his rooms.

The result, accordingly, was that it was 1 o'clock when I had finished my breakfast. So, having filled my pipe with a mixture of my own compounding, and drawn my arm-chair near the fire, I placed my feet on the chimney-piece, after the manner of Brother Jonathan, and began to enjoy myself thoroughly.

I was aroused from the dreamy reverie into which I had fallen by a loud knocking at the door.

"Hang it," said I to myself, "here is some one coming to plague me just as I was commencing to feel comfortable." And I looked at the smoke as it curled in graceful eddies above my head, and forgot that there was anybody outside.

Knock knock! knock!

"Now, really," growled I, "this is too great a nuisance. Must I take my legs off the chimney-piece, and go to the confounded door ?"

And I was relapsing into my reverie when a furious assault of hands and feet, to say nothing of a stick (the brass knocker which once adorned my panels having been long since feloniously abstracted), brought me to my waking senses in no time. Hurrying to the door, for the double purpose of preserving it and the tympanum of my own ears, at the same time, I admitted Tom O'Sullivan himself.

Why the deuce did you keep me waiting all this time," exclaimed Tom, "I began to fear you were as sick as Bob Thomson."

"What! is Bob sick?"

"As sick as a dog; at least he says so himself, and I suppose he knows better than any one else."

"Why," said I, "he was pretty well when I left your rooms this morning, and that is not more than seven hours ago. For a sick man he contrived to make an immense deal of noise, and his songs gave me a headach I shan't get rid of in a hurry. But what is the matter with him now?"

"Well, you see," said O'Sullivan, sitting down in the chair I had vacated, "Bob has been going it pretty strong lately, and I think the life he leads is beginning to tell. Have you another pipe? Thank you. Now, he was not what you could call drunk last night, but he was not very far from it; and, between ourselves, he has not been very far from it three nights in the week for some months. That's a mighty weak mixture of yours; have you no cavendish? Thank you. What was I saying? Oh! about Thomson. You see, though he is as strong as a horse, he cannot go on racketing and rioting for ever without suffering for it in the long run."