Alive, as the wind-harp, how lightly soever If wooed by the zephyr, to music will quiver, Is woman to hope and to fear; All, tender one! still at the shadow of grieving, How quiver the chords--how thy bosom is heaving-- How trembles thy glance through the tear!

Man's dominion, war and labor; Might to right the statue gave; Laws are in the Scythian's sabre; Where the Mede reigned--see the slave!

Peace and meekness grimly routing, Prowls the war-l.u.s.t, rude and wild; Eris rages, hoa.r.s.ely shouting, Where the vanished graces smiled.

But woman, the soft one, persuasively prayeth-- Of the life [48] that she charmeth, the sceptre she swayeth; She lulls, as she looks from above, The discord whose bell for its victims is gaping, And blending awhile the forever escaping, Whispers hate to the image of love!

HOPE.

We speak with the lip, and we dream in the soul, Of some better and fairer day; And our days, the meanwhile, to that golden goal Are gliding and sliding away.

Now the world becomes old, now again it is young, But "The better" 's forever the word on the tongue.

At the threshold of life hope leads us in-- Hope plays round the mirthful boy; Though the best of its charms may with youth begin, Yet for age it reserves its toy.

THE GERMAN ART.

By no kind Augustus reared, To no Medici endeared, German art arose; Fostering glory smiled not on her, Ne'er with kingly smiles to sun her, Did her blooms unclose.

No,--she went by monarchs slighted Went unhonored, unrequited, From high Frederick's throne; Praise and pride be all the greater, That man's genius did create her, From man's worth alone.

Therefore, all from loftier mountains, Purer wells and richer fountains, Streams our poet-art; So no rule to curb its rushing-- All the fuller flows it gushing From its deep--the heart!

ODYSSEUS.

Seeking to find his home, Odysseus crosses each water; Through Charybdis so dread; ay, and through Scylla's wild yells, Through the alarms of the raging sea, the alarms of the land too,-- E'en to the kingdom of h.e.l.l leads him his wandering course.

And at length, as he sleeps, to Ithaca's coast fate conducts him; There he awakes, and, with grief, knows not his fatherland now.

CARTHAGE.

Oh thou degenerate child of the great and glorious mother, Who with the Romans' strong might couplest the Tyrians' deceit!

But those ever governed with vigor the earth they had conquered,-- These instructed the world that they with cunning had won.

Say! what renown does history grant thee? Thou, Roman-like, gained'st That with the steel, which with gold, Tyrian-like, then thou didst rule!

THE SOWER.

Sure of the spring that warms them into birth, The golden seeds thou trustest to the earth; And dost thou doubt the eternal spring sublime, For deeds--the seeds which wisdom sows in time.

THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN.

Oh, n.o.bly shone the fearful cross upon your mail afar, When Rhodes and Acre hailed your might, O lions of the war!

When leading many a pilgrim horde, through wastes of Syrian gloom; Or standing with the cherub's sword before the holy tomb.

Yet on your forms the ap.r.o.n seemed a n.o.bler armor far, When by the sick man's bed ye stood, O lions of the war!

When ye, the high-born, bowed your pride to tend the lowly weakness, The duty, though it brought no fame, fulfilled by Christian meekness-- Religion of the cross, thou blend'st, as in a single flower, The twofold branches of the palm--humility and power. [49]

THE MERCHANT.

Where sails the ship?--It leads the Tyrian forth For the rich amber of the liberal north.

Be kind, ye seas--winds, lend your gentlest wing, May in each creek sweet wells restoring spring!-- To you, ye G.o.ds, belong the merchant!--o'er The waves his sails the wide world's goods explore; And, all the while, wherever waft the gales The wide world's good sails with him as he sails!

GERMAN FAITH. [50]

Once for the sceptre of Germany, fought with Bavarian Louis Frederick, of Hapsburg descent, both being called to the throne.

But the envious fortune of war delivered the Austrian Into the hands of the foe, who overcame him in fight.

With the throne he purchased his freedom, pledging his honor For the victor to draw 'gainst his own people his sword; But what he vowed when in chains, when free he could not accomplish, So, of his own free accord, put on his fetters again.

Deeply moved, his foe embraced him,--and from thenceforward As a friend with a friend, pledged they the cup at the feast; Arm-in-arm, the princes on one couch slumbered together.

While a still bloodier hate severed the nations apart.

'Gainst the army of Frederick Louis now went, and behind him Left the foe he had fought, over Bavaria to watch.

"Ay, it is true! 'Tis really true! I have it in writing!"

Thus did the Pontifex cry, when he first heard of the news.

THE s.e.xES.

See in the babe two loveliest flowers united--yet in truth, While in the bud they seem the same--the virgin and the youth!

But loosened is the gentle bond, no longer side by side-- From holy shame the fiery strength will soon itself divide.

Permit the youth to sport, and still the wild desire to chase, For, but when sated, weary strength returns to seek the grace.

Yet in the bud, the double flowers the future strife begin, How precious all--yet naught can still the longing heart within.

In ripening charms the virgin bloom to woman shape hath grown, But round the ripening charms the pride hath clasped its guardian zone; Shy, as before the hunter's horn the doe all trembling moves, She flies from man as from a foe, and hates before she loves!

From lowering brows this struggling world the fearless youth observes, And hardened for the strife betimes, he strains the willing nerves; Far to the armed throng and to the race prepared to start, Inviting glory calls him forth, and grasps the troubled heart:-- Protect thy work, O Nature now! one from the other flies, Till thou unitest each at last that for the other sighs.

There art thou, mighty one! where'er the discord darkest frown, Thou call'st the meek harmonious peace, the G.o.d-like soother down.

The noisy chase is lulled asleep, day's clamor dies afar, And through the sweet and veiled air in beauty comes the star.

Soft-sighing through the crisped reeds, the brooklet glides along, And every wood the nightingale melodious fills with song.

O virgin! now what instinct heaves thy bosom with the sigh?