Beneath the gold acacia buds My gentle Nora sits and broods, Far, far away in Boston woods My gentle Nora!

I see the tear-drop in her e'e, Her bosom's heaving tenderly; I know--I know she thinks of me, My Darling Nora!

And where am I? My love, whilst thou Sitt'st sad beneath the acacia bough, Where pearl's on neck, and wreath on brow, I stand, my Nora!

Mid carcanet and coronet, Where joy-lamps shine and flowers are set-- Where England's chivalry are met, Behold me, Nora!

In this strange scene of revelry, Amidst this gorgeous chivalry, A form I saw was like to thee, My love--my Nora!

She paused amidst her converse glad; The lady saw that I was sad, She pitied the poor lonely lad,-- Dost love her, Nora?

In sooth, she is a lovely dame, A lip of red, and eye of flame, And cl.u.s.tering golden locks, the same As thine, dear Nora?

Her glance is softer than the dawn's, Her foot is lighter than the fawn's, Her breast is whiter than the swan's, Or thine, my Nora!

Oh, gentle breast to pity me!

Oh, lovely Ladye Emily!

Till death--till death I'll think of thee-- Of thee and Nora!

TO MARY.

I seem, in the midst of the crowd, The lightest of all; My laughter rings cheery and loud, In banquet and ball.

My lip hath its smiles and its sneers, For all men to see; But my soul, and my truth, and my tears, Are for thee, are for thee!

Around me they flatter and fawn-- The young and the old.

The fairest are ready to p.a.w.n Their hearts for my gold.

They sue me--I laugh as I spurn The slaves at my knee; But in faith and in fondness I turn Unto thee, unto thee!

SERENADE.

Now the toils of day are over, And the sun hath sunk to rest, Seeking, like a fiery lover, The bosom of the blushing west--

The faithful night keeps watch and ward, Raising the moon her silver shield, And summoning the stars to guard The slumbers of my fair Mathilde!

The faithful night! Now all things lie Hid by her mantle dark and dim, In pious hope I hither hie, And humbly chant mine ev'ning hymn.

Thou art my prayer, my saint, my shrine!

(For never holy pilgrim kneel'd, Or wept at feet more pure than thine), My virgin love, my sweet Mathilde!

THE MINARET BELLS.

Tink-a-tink, tink-a-tink, By the light of the star, On the blue river's brink, I heard a guitar.

I heard a guitar, On the blue waters clear, And knew by its music, That Selim was near!

Tink-a-tink, tink-a-tink, How the soft music swells, And I hear the soft clink Of the minaret bells!

COME TO THE GREENWOOD TREE.

Come to the greenwood tree, Come where the dark woods be, Dearest, O come with me!

Let us rove--O my love--O my love!

Come--'tis the moonlight hour, Dew is on leaf and flower, Come to the linden bower,-- Let us rove--O my love--O my love!

Dark is the wood, and wide Dangers, they say, betide; But, at my Albert's side, Nought I fear, O my love--O my love!

Welcome the greenwood tree, Welcome the forest free, Dearest, with thee, with thee, Nought I fear, O my love--O my love!

FIVE GERMAN DITTIES.

A TRAGIC STORY.

BY ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO.

"--'s war Einer, dem's zu Herzen gieng."

There lived a sage in days of yore And he a handsome pigtail wore; But wondered much and sorrowed more Because it hung behind him.

He mused upon this curious case, And swore he'd change the pigtail's place, And have it hanging at his face, Not dangling there behind him.

Says he, "The mystery I've found,-- I'll turn me round,"--he turned him round; But still it hung behind him.

Then round, and round, and out and in, All day the puzzled sage did spin; In vain--it mattered not a pin,-- The pigtail hung behind him.

And right, and left, and round about, And up, and down, and in, and out, He turned; but still the pigtail stout Hung steadily behind him.