THE GRAVE OF KÖRNER. Charles Theodore Körner, the celebrated young German poet and soldier, was killed in a skirmish with a detachment of French troops, on the 20th of August 1813, a few hours after the composition of his popular piece, "The Sword Song." He was buried at the village of Wöbbelin in Mecklenburg, under a beautiful oak, in a recess of which he had frequently deposited verses composed by him while campaigning in its vicinity. The monument erected to his memory is of cast iron, and the upper part is wrought into a lyre and a sword, a favourite emblem of Körner's, from which one of his works had been entitled. Near the grave of the poet is that of his only sister, who died of grief for his loss, having only survived him long enough to complete his portrait, and a drawing of his burial-place. Over the gate of the cemetery is engraved one of his own lines. Vergiss die treuen Tödten nicht." "Forget not the faithful Dead." See Downes's Letters from Mecklenburg, and Körner's Prosaische Aufsätze, von C. A. Tiedge. GREEN wave the oak for ever o'er thy rest, Thou that beneath its crowning foliage sleepest, Rest Bard, rest Soldier!-by the father's hand The poems of Körner, which were chiefly devoted to the cause of his country, are strikingly distinguished by religious feelings, and a confidence in the Supreme Justice for the final deliverance of Germany. VOL. II. 10 110 THE GRAVE OF KÖRNer. The oak waved proudly o'er thy burial rite, On thy crown'd bier to slumber warriors bore thee, And with true hearts thy brethren of the fight Wept as they veil'd their drooping banners o'er thee; Thou hast a hero's tomb-a lowlier bed Fame was thy gift from others-but for her, It was thy spirit, brother! which had made The bright world glorious to her thoughtful eye, Wo, yet not long-she linger'd but to trace The earth grew silent when thy voice departed, Have ye not met ere now ?-so let those trust THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. THEY grew in beauty, side by side, One, 'midst the forests of the West, The Indian knows his place of rest, The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one, One sleeps where southern vines are drest, He wrapt his colours round his breast, And one-o'er her the myrtle showers And parted thus they rest, who play'd They that with smiles lit up the hall, Alas! for love, if thou wert all, 112 THE LAST WISH. THE LAST WISH. Go to the forest shade, Seek thou the well-known glade And bathed in hues of summer's midnight sky. A breath of May, and of the wood's repose; With a reluctant heart, That fain would linger where the bright sun glows. Fain would I stay with thee Alas! this must not be; Yet bring me still the gifts of happier hours! Catches, in glassy rest, The dim green light that pours through laurel bowers. The water-lilies tremble there, e'en now; And from its whispering sedge Bring me those flowers, to cool my fever'd brow. Then, as in hope's young days, Track thou the antique maze Of the rich garden, to its grassy mound Shedding, in sudden snows, Its faint leaves o'er the emerald turf around. Well know'st thou that fair tree! -A murmur of the bee Dwells ever in the honey'd lime above; Of all its clustering shower For on that spot we first reveal'd our love! Gather one woodbine bough, Then, from the lattice low Of the bower'd cottage which I bade thee mark, Through dim wood-lanes we pass'd, Where dews were glancing to the glow-worm's spark. Haste! to my pillow bear My hand no more may bind them up at eve; One bright dream round me waft, Of life, youth, summer-all that I must leave! And oh! if thou wouldst ask, The grove, the stream, the hamlet-vale to trace ; The spirit bound to each familiar place. I bid mine image dwell, In the deep wood and by the fountain side- Rove where we two have roved, A MONARCH'S DEATH-BED. The Emperor Albert of Hapsburg, who was assassinated by his nephew, afterwards called John the Parricide, was left to die by the way-side, and was supported in his last moments by a female peasant who happened to be passing. A MONARCH on his death-bed lay- A long tree waving o'er his head, |