On their broad backs, O what a jest, To mark a nice blue token!

We came at last to the end of our course, O'er our failure in knowledge repining; Then slowly I turned my gallant horse, Myself to silence resigning;

Too proud to believe--my thoughts all free,-- To the cave as a refuge flying.

The world is far too shallow for me, The core is deeper lying.

I for my weapons no longer care, In the corner there they lie rusting.

No priggish fool to provoke me shall dare, To my valour alone I am trusting.

These owls and bats a look alone Suffices to abolish; Still serveth well an a.s.s's bone, The Philistines to demolish.

VI.

Be proud, and thy lot n.o.bly bear, From tears and sighs desisting; Like thee will many others fare, While thinkers are existing.

There are many problems left unsolved By former speculations; But when thou art to dust resolved, Come other generations.

The wrinkles on thy lofty brow Let them go on increasing, They are the scars which show us how Thought's struggle was unceasing.

And if no laurel-crown to thee To deck thy brow be given; Still be thou proud; thy soul so free For thought alone has striven.

SOME OF MARGARETTA'S SONGS.

I.

How proud he is and stately!

How n.o.ble is his air!

A trumpeter he's only, Yet I for him do care.

And owned he castles seven, He could not look more fair.

O would to him were given Another name to bear!

Ah, were he but a n.o.ble, A knight of the Golden Fleece!

Love, thou art full of trouble, Love, thou art full of peace.

II.

Two days now have pa.s.sed already, Since I gave him that first kiss; Ever since that fatal hour All with me has gone amiss.

My dear little room, so pretty, Where so nice a life I led, Is now in such dire confusion.

That it almost turns my head.

My sweet roses and carnations, Withered now, for care ye pine!

Oh, I think, instead of water, I have deluged you with wine.

My dear lovely snow-white pigeon Has no water and no bread; And the goldfinch in his cage there Looks as if he were half dead.

I am putting blue and red yarn In my white net as I knit; And I work in my embroidery White wool where it doth not fit.

Where are Parcival and Theuerdank?

If I only, only knew!

I believe that I those poets In the kitchen-pantry threw.

And the kitchen plates are standing On the book-case--what a shame!

Ah, for all these many blunders I my love, my love must blame!

III.

Away he is gone in the wide wide world; No word of farewell has he spoken.

Thou fresh young player in wood and mead, Thou sun whose light is my daily need, When wilt thou send me a token?

I hardly had time in his eyes to gaze, When the dream already had vanished; Oh Love, why dost thou two lovers unite, With thy burning torch their hearts ignite, When their bliss so soon must be banished?

And where does he go? The world is so large, So full of deep snares for a rover.

He even may go to Italia, where The women, I hear, are so false and so fair!

May Heaven protect my dear lover.

FIVE YEARS LATER.

WERNER'S SONGS FROM ITALY.

I.