[From the German of Wolfgang Muller.]

My heart's on the Rhine--in the old Father-land; Where my cradle was rocked by a dear mother's hand, My youth and my friends--they are there yet, I know, And my love dreams of me with her cheeks all aglow; O there where I reveled in song and in wine!

Wherever I wander my heart's on the Rhine.

I hail thee, thou broad-breasted, golden-green stream; Ye cities and churches and castles that gleam; Ye grain-fields of gold in the valley so blue; Ye vineyards that glow in the sun-shimmered dew; Ye forests and caverns and cliffs that were mine!

Wherever I wander my heart's on the Rhine.

I hail thee, O life of the soul-stirring song, Of waltz and of wine, with a yearning so strong, Hail, ye stout race of heroes, so brave and so true.

Ye blue-eyed, gay maidens, a greeting to you!

Your life and your aims and your efforts be mine; Wherever I wander my heart's on the Rhine.

My heart's on the Rhine--in the old Father-land, Where my cradle was rocked by a dear mother's hand; My youth and my friends--they are there yet, I know, And my love dreams of me with her cheeks all aglow: Be thou ever the same to me, Land of the Vine!

Wherever I wander my heart's on the Rhine.

THE MINSTREL

[From the German of Goethe]

[_Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship, Book 2, Chap. 2._]

"What hear I at the gateway ringing?

What bard upon the drawbridge singing?

Go bid him to repeat his song Here, in the hall amid the throng,"

The monarch cried; The little page hied; As back he sped, The monarch said-- "Bring in the gray-haired minstrel."

"I greet you, n.o.ble lords and peers; I greet you, lovely dames.

O heaven begemmed with golden spheres!

Who knows your n.o.ble names?

In hall of splendor so sublime, Close ye, mine eyes--'tis not the time To gaze in idle wonder."

The gray-haired minstrel closed his eyes; He struck his wildest air; Brave faces glowed like sunset skies; Cast down their eyes the fair.

The king well pleased with the minstrel's song, Sent the little page through the wondering throng A chain of gold to bear him.

"O give not me the chain of gold; Award it to thy braves, Before whose faces fierce and bold Quail foes when battle raves; Or give it thy chancellor of state, And let him wear its golden weight With his official burdens.

"I sing, I sing as the wild birds sing That in the forest dwell; The songs that from my bosom spring Alone reward me well: But may I ask that page of thine To bring me one good cup of wine In golden goblet sparkling?"

He took the cup; he drank it all: "O soothing nectar thine!

Thrice bless'd the highly favored hall Where flows such glorious wine: If thou farest well, then think of me, And thank thy G.o.d, as I thank thee For this inspiring goblet."

HOPE

[From the German of Schiller.]

Men talk and dream of better days-- Of a golden time to come; Toward a happy and shining goal They run with a ceaseless hum.

The world grows old and grows young again, Still hope of the better is bright to men.

Hope leads us in at the gate of life; She crowns the boyish head; Her bright lamp lures the stalwart youth, Nor burns out with the gray-haired dead; For the grave closes over his trouble and care, But see--on the grave--Hope is planted there!

'Tis not an empty and flattering deceit, Begot in a foolish brain; For the heart speaks loud with its ceaseless throbs, "We are not born in vain"; And the words that out of the heart-throbs roll, They cannot deceive the hoping soul.

MRS. MCNAIR

_Misce stult.i.tiam consiliis brevem.--Horace._

Mrs. McNair Was tall and fair; Mrs. McNair was slim; She had flashing black eyes and raven hair; But a very remarkably modest air; And her only care was for Mr. McNair; She was exceedingly fond of him.

He sold "notions" and lace With wonderful grace, And kept everything neatly displayed in its place: The red, curly hair on his head and his face He always persisted Should be oiled and twisted; He was the sleekest young husband that ever existed.

Precisely at four He would leave his store; And Mr. McNair with his modest bride Seated snugly and lovingly by his side, On the rural Broadway, Every pleasant day, In his spick-span carriage would rattle away.

Though it must be allowed The lady was proud, She'd have no maid about her the dear lady vowed: So for Mr. McNair The wear and the fare She made it a care of her own to prepare.

I think I may guess, being married myself, That the cause was not solely the saving of pelf.

As for her, I'll declare, Though raven her hair, Though her eyes were so dark and her body so slim, She hadn't a thought for a man but him.

From three to nine, Invited to dine, Oft met at the house of the pair divine: Her husband--and who, by the way, was well able-- Did all the "agreeable" done at the table; While she--most remarkably loving bride-- Sat snugly and modestly down by his side.

And when they went out It was whispered about, "She's the lovingest wife in the town beyond doubt;"

And every one swore, from pastor to clown, They were the most affectionate couple in town.

Yes; Mrs McNair Was modest and fair; She never fell into a pout or a fret; And Mr. McNair Was her only care And indeed her only pet.

The few short hours he spent at his store She spent sewing or reading the romancers' lore; And whoever came It was always the same With the modest lady that opened the door.

But there came to town One Captain Brown To spend a month or more.

Now this same Captain Brown Was a man of renown, And a dashing blue coat he wore; And a bright, bra.s.s star.

And a visible scar On his brow--that he said he had got in the war As he led the van: (He never ran!) In short, he was the "General's" right-hand man, And had written his name on the pages of fame.

He was smooth as an eel, And rode so genteel That in less than a week every old maid and dame Was constantly lisping the bold Captain's name.

Now Mr. McNair, As well as the fair, Had a "b.u.mp of reverence" as big as a pear, And whoever like Brown Had a little renown, And happened to visit that rural town, Was invited of course by McNair--to "go down."

So merely by chance, The son of the lance Became the bold hero of quite a romance: For Mrs. McNair thought him wonderful fair, And that none but her husband could with him compare.

Half her timidity vanished in air The first time he dined with herself and McNair.

Now the Captain was arch In whiskers and starch And preferred, now and then, a gay waltz to a march.

A man, too, he was of uncommon good taste; Always "at home" and never in haste, And his manners and speech were remarkably chaste.

To tell you in short His daily resort He made at the house of "his good friend McNair,"

Who ('twas really too bad) was so frequently out When the Captain called in "just to see _him_" (no doubt) But Mrs. McNair was so lonely--too bad; So he chatted and chattered and made her look glad.

And many a view Of his coat of blue, All studded with b.u.t.tons gilt, spangled and new, The dear lady took Half askance from her book, As she modestly sat in the opposite nook.

Familiarly he And modestly she Talked nonsense and sense so strangely commingled, That the dear lady's heart was delighted and tingled.

A man of sobriety Renown and variety It could not be wrong to enjoy his society: O was it a sin For him to "drop in,"

And sometimes to pat her in sport on the chin?