Nadowessische Todtenklage.

THIS Dirge is classed by Hoffmeister among the Ballads, to which species, in a certain sense, it belongs; but, as it contains no narrative, is, on that account, more properly to be ranked in a different order. It affords another instance of the facility and vivacity of description with which the Poet embodied those images which attracted his fancy in the course of his excursive reading, being founded, together with other of his poetical productions of the same period, which have not been recovered, on the accounts of the manners and customs of the North American Indians, given by Carver in his book of travels, then recently published. Goëthe considered it as one of Schiller's ablest and most extraordinary performances, while Humboldt censured it as defective in ideality, which perhaps constituted with Goëthe its principal merit.

SEE him on his mat reposing!
Upright sits he there;

That unalter'd mien disclosing

Which in life he bare.

But oh where the grasp unfailing ?-
Breath, once taught to roll
Incense, from his pipe exhaling,
To the Eternal Soul?

Where the eyes, whose falcon glances
Track'd the fleet rein-deer

O'er the grass that, wave-like, dances?
O'er the dew-drops clear?

These the limbs that reek'd not danger,

Bounding through the snow,

Like the many-antler'd ranger,

Like the mountain roe?

These the arms, by whose endeavour
Strongest bows were bent?

See their life is fled for ever!
See their nerves are spent!

He is bless'd-he goeth thither
Where are no more snows-
Where, in fields that may not wither,
Maize uncultur'd grows;

Where with birds the groves resounding,

Forests teem with prey;

Where in lakes the fishes bounding

Blithely leap and play.

There he feasts 'mid happy spirits,

Leaves us all alone,

Here, below, to chaunt his merits,
And his acts make known.

With the parting gifts provide him!
Sing his death-lament!

All things be entomb'd beside him,
That may yield content!

FLORENCE.

Des Mädchens Klage.

THERE is nothing in this little poem, nor in that which is here made immediately to follow it, though composed some years later, to demand particular notice, except the resemblance of sentiment, which furnishes Hoffmeister with a ground of comparison, and seems to invite juxtaposition. I have taken the liberty of adopting the first version, with some alteration, from that of the late Mr. Anstice, printed in his Selections from Greek Choric Poetry.

THE clouds are flitting,
The Oak woods roar,
And the maiden is sitting

On Ocean's shore.

The waves of the Sea dash mightily,

And the murky night long still sigheth she,
The tears in her dim eye moving;
"My heart's bliss hath perish'd;

The world is a void;

With nought to be cherish'd,
Or hop'd, or enjoy'd.

Thou holy one, call thy poor child back again!

The

cup of Earth's bliss 'twas allow'd me to drain. I have liv'd, and liv'd for loving."

The tears thou art weeping
Stream, sad one, in vain.
Tears woo not the sleeping
In death back again!

But say, what can comfort and heal the torn breast,
When Love is departed-its once-cherish'd guest?
From the Heavenly fear no denying!
"Let the tears I am weeping

Stream on, though in vain ;

True, they wake not the sleeping
In death once again—

But the sweetest of balm for the sorrowing breast,
When Love is departed-its once-cherish'd guest-
Is Love's bitter wailing and sighing."

Der Jüngling am Bache.

By the brook the boy was seated;
Flowers he wove in garland bright:
And he saw them whirl'd before him
In the dancing waters' flight.
"Even thus my days are speeding,

Like the stream, in senseless haste;
And my bloom of youth is wasting,
Ev'n as those bright colours waste!

"Ask not wherefore thus I languish
In the flowery prime of life.
All with joy and hope is teeming
When the flush of spring is rife.
But the thousand gladsome voices

That awakening Nature pours,
Sound within my sadden'd bosom
But to open sorrow's stores.

"What can all the joys avail me,
Proffer'd by the lovely May?
One there is, my heart still pants for;
She is near-yet far away.
To that form, by fancy cherish'd,
Longing, wide my arms I spread.
Ah! in vain I strive to grasp it—
And my heart to joy is dead.

"Come, O come, thou lovely fair-one!
Come, and leave yon lordly seat!

Flowers the birth of Spring's bright season—
Free I scatter at thy feet.
Hark! the grove with song

is ringing,

And the streamlet ripples clear

In the smallest hut is shelter

For a happy, loving pair."

L.

Die Hoffnung.

THIS, and the few following Poems, which, though not all in regular succession in respect of date, are here classed together on account of their affinity in substance and spirit, afford pleasing evidence, if, after many of the preceding Ballads, any such had been wanting, of the altered state of the Poet's religious hopes and impressions, since the period of those earlier compositions which have attached to his name the reputation of scepticism on the most vital points of religious persuasion. "Even the very phænomena of