And when I lamented my cruel lot, You yawned in my face and you answered not.

But now that I set it in daintiest rhyme, You flourish my trumpet all the time.

x.x.xVII.

I called the devil and he came, His face with wonder I must scan; He is not ugly, he is not lame, He is a delightful, charming man.

A man in the prime of life, in fact, Courteous, engaging and full of tact.

A diplomat, too, of wide research Who cleverly talks about state and church.

A little pale, but that is _en regle_, For now he is studying Sanscrit and Hegel.

His favorite poet is still Fouque; With the brawls of the critics he meddles no more, For all such things he has given o'er, Unto his grandmother Hecate.

He praised my forensic works that he saw, He had dabbled a little himself in law.

He said he was proud my acquaintance to make, And should prize my friendship, and bowed as he spake.

And asked if we had not met before At the house of the Spanish Amba.s.sador?

Then I noted his features line by line, And found him an old acquaintance of mine.

x.x.xVIII.

Mortal, sneer not at the devil; Life's a short and narrow way, And perdition everlasting Is no error of the day.

Mortal, pay thy debts precisely, Life's a long and weary way; And to-morrow thou must borrow, As thou borrow'dst yesterday.

x.x.xIX.

Three holy kings from the land of the West Go asking whoso pa.s.ses, "Where is the road to Bethlehem, Ye gentle lads and la.s.ses?"

But neither young nor old can tell.

The kings fare patient onward, They follow a golden star o'erhead, That bright and kind shines downward.

The star stands still o'er Joseph's house, Thither the pilgrims bringing; The oxen low, the Infant cries, The three wise kings are singing.

XL.

My child, we two were children, As lively as ever you saw, We crept into the hencoop, And we hid there beneath the straw.

And there, like c.o.c.ks, crowed loudly, While folk went pa.s.sing by.

"Kickery-koo!" they fancied, 'Twas really the c.o.c.k's own cry.

The chests that lay in the courtyard, With paper we overlaid.

Therein we lived together; An excellent house we made.

The old cat of our neighbor Would visit us at whiles; We gave her bows and curtsies, And compliments and smiles.

After her health we inquired Gravely whenever she came.

To many an ancient Tabby Since then we have done the same.

We talked like grown folks sagely, And sat there oft and long, Complaining how all had altered, Since the days when we were young.

How love and faith and friendship Had vanished, the world was bare; How dear were tea and coffee, And money had grown so rare!

Those childish games are over, All things roll on with youth,-- Money, the world, and the seasons, And faith and love and truth.

XLI.

My heart is heavy; from the present It yearns towards those old days again, When still the world seemed fair and pleasant, And men lived happy, free from pain.

Now all things seem at six and sevens, A scramble and a constant dread; Dead is the Lord G.o.d in the heavens, Below us is the devil dead.

And all folks sad and mournful moving, Wear such a cross, cold, anxious face; Were there not still a little loving, There would not be a resting place.

XLII.

As the moon with splendor pierces Through the dark cloud-veil of night, From my darksome Past emerges Once again a dream of light.

All upon the deck were seated, Proudly sailing down the Rhine.

Green with June the sh.o.r.es were glowing In the evening's sunset-shine.

At the feet of a fair lady Sat I, full of thoughts untold, O'er her pale and lovely features Played the sunlight's ruddy gold.

Lutes were ringing, boys were singing, Wondrous joy on stream and sh.o.r.e.

Blue and bluer grew the heavens, And the spirit seemed to soar.

Hill and city, wood and meadow, Glided past in fairy-wise.

And I saw the whole scene mirrored In the lovely lady's eyes.

XLIII.

In a dream I saw my sweetheart, A woman hara.s.sed with care; Faded, and haggard, and withered, The form that had bloomed so fair.

One child in her arms she carried, And one by the hand she led.

And trouble and poverty plainly In her eyes and her raiment I read.

Across the square she tottered, And face to face we stood.

She looked at me, and I spoke then In quiet but mournful mood.

"Come home with me to my dwelling, Thou art pale and ill, I think, And there, with unceasing labor, I will furnish thee meat and drink.

"And I will serve thee, and cherish Thy children so wan and mild.

And thyself more dearly than any, Thou poor, unhappy child.

"Nor will I vex thee by telling The love that burns in my breast; And I will weep when thou diest Over thy place of rest."