THE NIGHTINGALE'S DEATH-SONG.

Far from the breathings of changeful skies,
Over the seas and the graves it lies;

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Where the day of the lightning and cloud is done, And joy reigns alone, as the lonely sun!

THE NIGHTINGALE'S DEATH-SONG.

Willst du nach den Nachtigallen fragen,

Die mit seelenvollen melodie

Dich entzückten in des Lenzes Tagen?
-Nur so lang sie liebten, waren sie.

SCHILLER.

MOURNFULLY, sing mournfully,
And die away, my heart!
The rose, the glorious rose is gone,
And I, too, will depart.

The skies have lost their splendour,
The waters changed their tone,
And wherefore, in the faded world,
Should music linger on?

Where is the golden sunshine,

And where the flower-cup's glow?
And where the joy of the dancing leaves,
And the fountain's laughing flow?

A voice, in every whisper

Of the wave, the bough, the air,
Comes asking for the beautiful,

And moaning, "Where, oh! where?"
VOL. VI. 13

Tell of the brightness parted,

Thou bee, thou lamb at play!
Thou lark, in thy victorious mirth!
-Are ye, too, pass'd away!

Mournfully, sing mournfully!
The royal rose is gone.

Melt from the woods, my spirit, melt
In one deep farewell tone!

Not so, swell forth triumphantly,
The full, rich, fervent strain!
Hence with young love and life I go,
In the summer's joyous train.

With sunshine, with sweet odour,
With every precious thing,
Upon the last warm southern breeze
My soul its flight shall wing.

Alone I shall not linger,

When the days of hope are past, To watch the fall of leaf by leaf, To wait the rushing blast.

Triumphantly, triumphantly!
Sing to the woods, I go!
For me, perchance, in other lands,

The glorious rose may blow.

The sky's transparent azure,

And the greensward's violet breath, And the dance of light leaves in the wind, May there know nought of death.

THE DIVER.

No more, no more sing mournfully!
Swell high, then break, my heart!
With love, the spirit of the woods,
With summer I depart!

THE DIVER.

"They learn in suffering what they teach in song.'

SHELLEY.

THOU hast been where the rocks of coral grow,
Thou hast fought with eddying waves;-
Thy cheek is pale, and thy heart beats low,
Thou searcher of ocean's caves!

Thou hast look'd on the gleaming wealth of old,
And wrecks where the brave have striven:
The deep is a strong and a fearful hold,
But thou its bar hast riven!

A wild and weary life is thine;
A wasting task and lone,

Though treasure-grots for thee may shine,
To all besides unknown!

A weary life! but a swift decay

Soon, soon shall set thee free;
Thou 'rt passing fast from thy toils away,
Thou wrestler with the sea!

In thy dim eye, on thy hollow cheek,
Well are the death-signs read-
Go! for the pearl in its cavern seek,
Ere hope and power be fled!

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And bright in beauty's coronal
That glistening gem shall be;
A star to all in the festive hall-
But who will think on thee?

None! as it gleams from the queen-like head, Not one 'midst throngs will say,

"A life hath been like a rain-drop shed,
For that pale quivering ray."

Woe for the wealth thus dearly bought!
-And are not those like thee,

Who win for earth the gems of thought?
O wrestler with the sea!

Down to the gulfs of the soul they go,
Where the passion-fountains burn,

Gathering the jewels far below

Wringing from lava-veins the fire,
That o'er bright words is pour'd;
Learning deep sounds, to make the lyre
A spirit in each chord.

But, oh! the price of bitter tears,

Paid for the lonely power

That throws at last o'er desert years,

A darkly glorious dower!

Like flower-seeds, by the wild wind spread,
So radiant thoughts are strew'd;

-The soul whence those high gifts are shed,
May faint in solitude!

THE REQUIEM OF GENIUS.

And who will think, when the strain is sung
Till a thousand hearts are stirr'd,
What life-drops, from the minstrel wrung,
Have gush'd with every word?

None, none!-his treasures live like thine,
He strives and dies like thee;

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-Thou, that hast been to the pearl's dark shrine, O wrestler with the sea!

THE REQUIEM OF GENIUS.

'Les poètes dont l'imagination tient à la puissance d'aimer et de souffrir, ne sont-ils pas les bannis d'une autre région?"

MADAME DE STAEL- -De L'Allemagne.

No tears for thee!-though light be from us gone
With thy soul's radiance, bright, yet restless one!
No tears for thee!

They that have loved an exile, must not mourn
To see him parting for his native bourne

O'er the dark sea.

All the high music of thy spirit here,
Breathed but the language of another sphere,
Unecho'd round;

And strange, though sweet, as 'midst our weeping skies

Some half-remember'd strain of paradise

Might sadly sound.