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Under them hear they the clang of harpstrings, and angels from
gold clouds Beckon to them like brothers, and fan with their pinions of purple. Closed was the Teacher's task, and with heaven in their hearts
and their faces, Up rose the children all, and each bowed him, weeping full sorely, Downward to kiss that reverend hand, but all of them pressed he Moved to his bosom, and laid, with a prayer, his hands full of
blessings, Now on the holy breast, and now on the innocent tresses.
THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR.
FROM THE GERMAN OF PFIZER.
A YOUTH, light-hearted and content,
I wander through the world;
And straight again is furled.
Close in my heart was locked,
A blessed child I rocked.
Too long did it remain!
It ever comes again.
To a grave so cold and deep
Then dropt the child asleep.
I bathe mine eyes and see;
A youth so light and free.
Left me that vision mild ;
The blond is from the child.
Pale grows the evening-red;
I wish that I were dead.
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 !
To love me in prosperity,
And leave me in adversity!
as summer laughs she sings,
It flows so long as falls the rain,
In drought its springs soon dry again.
ANNIE OF THARAW.
FROM THE LOW GERMAK OF SIMON DACI.
ANNIE of Tharaw, my true love of old,
Annie of Tharaw, my light and my sun,
THE STATUE OVER THE CATHEDRAL DOOR
FROM THE GERMAN OF JULIUS MOSEN.
Forms of saints and kings are standing
The cathedral door above;
Who hath soothed my soul with love.
As their robes the sowers wind,
Flowers and weeds of every kind.
High in wind and tempest wild ;
I would be like him, a child !
To the doors of heaven would bear,
Round me still these birds of air,
THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSBILL.
FROM THE GERMAN OF JULIUS MOSEN,
On the cross the dying Saviour
Heavenward lifts his eyelids calm,
In his pierced and bleeding palm.
And by all the world forsaken,
Sees he how with zealous care
A little bird is striving there.
With its beak it doth not cease,
Its Creator's Son release.
“Blest be thou cf all the good !
Marks of blood and holy rood !"
Covered all with blood so clear.
Songs, like legends, strange to hear.
THE SEA HATH ITS PEARLS.
BOM TIR GERMAN OF HEINRICH HEINE.
THE sea hath its pearls,
The heaven hath its stars ;
My heart hath its love.
Yet greater is my heart,
Flashes and beams my love.
Come unto my great heart;
Are melting away with love!
FROM THE SIXNGEDICHTE OF FRIEDRICI VON LOGAU.-SEVENTEENTI
THE BEST MEDICINES.
POVERTY AND BLINDNESS.
LAW OF LIFE.
THE RESTLESS HEART. A millstone and the human heart are driven ever round; If they have nothing else to grind, they must themselves be ground.
ART AND TACT.
Though the mills cf God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding
small; Though with patience hestands waiting, with exactness grinds he all.
When by night the frogs are croaking, kindle but a torch's fire, Ha! how soon they all are silent! Thus Truth silences the liar.
If perhaps these rhymes of mine should sound not well in strangers'
ears, They have only to bethink them that it happens so with theirs ; For so long as words, like mortals, call a fatherland their own, They will be most highly valued where they are best and longest