How joyous then the stream that our whole soul pervades!

What life from out our glances pours!

Sweet Philomela's song, resounding through the glades, Ourselves, our youthful strength restores!

Oh, may this whisper breathe--(let Rieger bear in mind The storm by which in age we're bent!)-- His guardian angel, when the evening's star so kind Gleams softly from the firmament!

In silence be he led to yonder thundering height, And guided be his eye, that he, In valley and on plain, may see his friends aright.

And that, with growing ecstacy,

On yonder holy spot, when he their number tells, He may experience friendship's bliss, Now first unveiled, until with pride his bosom swells, Conscious that all their love is his.

Then will the distant voice be loudly heard to say: "And G--, too, is a friend of thine!

When silvery locks no more around his temples play, G-- still will be a friend of thine!"

"E'en yonder"--and now in his eye the crystal tear Will gleam--"e'en yonder he will love!

Love thee too, when his heart, in yonder spring-like sphere, Linked on to thine, can rapture prove!"

EPITAPH.

Here lies a man cut off by fate Too soon for all good men; For s.e.xtons he died late--too late For those who wield the pen.

QUIRL.

You tell me that you feel surprise Because Quirl's paper's grown in size; And yet they're crying through the street That there's a rise in bread and meat.

THE PLAGUE.

A PHANTASY.

Plague's contagious murderous breath G.o.d's strong might with terror reveals, As through the dreary valley of death With its brotherhood fell it steals!

Fearfully throbs the anguish-struck heart, Horribly quivers each nerve in the frame; Frenzy's wild laughs the torment proclaim, Howling convulsions disclose the fierce smart.

Fierce delirium writhes upon the bed-- Poisonous mists hang o'er the cities dead; Men all haggard, pale, and wan, To the shadow-realm press on.

Death lies brooding in the humid air, Plague, in dark graves, piles up treasures fair, And its voice exultingly raises.

Funeral silence--churchyard calm, Rapture change to dread alarm.-- Thus the plague G.o.d wildly praises!

MONUMENT OF MOOR THE ROBBER. [65]

'Tis ended!

Welcome! 'tis ended Oh thou sinner majestic, All thy terrible part is now played!

n.o.ble abased one!

Thou, of thy race beginner and ender!

Wondrous son of her fearfulest humor, Mother Nature's blunder sublime!

Through cloud-covered night a radiant gleam!

Hark how behind him the portals are closing!

Night's gloomy jaws veil him darkly in shade!

Nations are trembling, At his destructive splendor afraid!

Thou art welcome! 'Tis ended!

Oh thou sinner majestic, All thy terrible part is now played!

Crumble,--decay In the cradle of wide-open heaven!

Terrible sight to each sinner that breathes, When the hot thirst for glory Raises its barriers over against the dread throne!

See! to eternity shame has consigned thee!

To the bright stars of fame Thou hast clambered aloft, on the shoulders of shame!

Yet time will come when shame will crumble beneath thee, When admiration at length will be thine!

With moist eye, by thy sepulchre dreaded, Man has pa.s.sed onward-- Rejoice in the tears that man sheddeth, Oh thou soul of the judged!

With moist eye, by the sepulchre dreaded, Lately a maiden pa.s.sed onward, Hearing the fearful announcement Told of thy deeds by the herald of marble; And the maiden--rejoice thee! rejoice thee!

Sought not to dry up her tears.

Far away I stood as the pearls were falling, And I shouted: Amalia!

Oh, ye youths! Oh, ye youths!-- With the dangerous lightning of genius Learn to play with more caution!

Wildly his bit champs the charger of Phoebus; Though, 'neath the reins of his master, More gently he rocks earth and heaven, Reined by a child's hand, he kindles Earth and heaven in blazing destruction!

Obstinate Phaeton perished, Buried beneath the sad wreck.

Child of the heavenly genius!

Glowing bosom all panting for action!

Art thou charmed by the tale of my robber?

Glowing like time was his bosom, and panting for action!

He, like thee, was the child of the heavenly genius.

But thou smilest and goest-- Thy gaze flies through the realms of the world's long story, Moor, the robber, it finds not there-- Stay, thou youth, and smile not!

Still survive all his sins and his shame-- Robber Moor liveth--in all but name.

THE BAD MONARCHS. [66]

Earthly G.o.ds--my lyre shall win your praise, Though but wont its gentle sounds to raise When the joyous feast the people throng; Softly at your pompous-sounding names, Shyly round your greatness purple flames, Trembles now my song.

Answer! shall I strike the golden string, When, borne on by exultation's wing, O'er the battle-field your chariots trail?

When ye, from the iron grasp set free, For your mistress' soft arms, joyously Change your pond'rous mail?--

Shall my daring hymn, ye G.o.ds, resound, While the golden splendor gleams around, Where, by mystic darkness overcome, With the thunderbolt your spleen may play, Or in crime humanity array, Till--the grave is dumb?