"A pipe for fortune's finger To play what stops she please;" ther in heaven nor in earth, such an ele- | patible with the character of a truly great ment as the spiritual. They rear no altars man, the creature of circumstances— to any unknown divinity. Cui bono, in the most secular sense of the phrase, is their test of the beautiful. They would, without compunction, convert the Parthenon into a Fourierite quadrangle, and put up the field of Marathon at auction, in lots to suit purchasers. It is not in a literary point of view alone, that the name of Uhland deserves honorable mention: his services in the cause of freedom have been neither few nor unimportant, and the universal admiration in which he is held throughout Germany, is a tribute of praise to the virtues of the citizen, as well as to the genius of the poet. A patriot in the war of 1813, he has proved himself, since the overthrow of the common enemy of the German Confederation, a vigilant guardian of the popular liberties from the encroachments of domestic tyranny. In the year 1815, a period of great political excitement in Wurtemburg, his songs were echoed from every tongue; and from the time of his election as a member of the Diet of that principality, in 1809, until his resignation, which occurred a few years ago, in consequence of the liberal complexion of his political views, and the boldness with which he expressed them, he was the constant and unwavering advocate of those great and important constitutional rights which despotism is always most eager to suppress. In this respect he manifests a vast moral superiority over the great oracle of German literature, the "many-sided" Goethe, whose facility of disposition led him to regard with comparative indifference the dangers that threatened his country both from hostile armies without, and arbitrary rulers within its borders, provided only that his individual quiet remained undisturbed and his literary pursuits uninterrupted. He viewed everything from an artistical point of view; even the most momentous interests, present and future, of humanity, seem to have been regarded by him merely as subjects of philosophical speculation. Indeed, his character and principles were none of the strictest, nor was his temperament capable of enduring those restraints to which men of sterner mould easily submit. He was, far more than is com and it is well for his reputation that his life flowed on in a smooth and even current, exposed to few of those dangers and trials that call forth the exercise of the loftiest and most self-denying virtues. Uhland has withdrawn entirely from public life, and now enjoys a competency which renders him independent of the smiles and frowns of princes. His residence is thus described by Howitt, in his Rural and Domestic Life in Germany :" "He lives in a house on the hill-side overlooking the Necker bridge, as you go out toward Ulm; above lie his pleasure garden and vineyard, and here he has a full view of the distant Swabian Alps, shutting in with beautiful and animated landscapes in that their varied outlines one of the most rich, pleasant Swabian land.” Professor Wolff, of the University of Jena, in a paper on German Literature contributed to the London Athenæum for 1835, says, in reference to Uhland : "I could write through whole pages and yet tion, for his patriotism, his love of mankind, his not praise him thoroughly to my own satisfacnoble nature, and all the beautiful qualities of his character. Never was a man so universally loved and revered in Germany, and I never read or heard his name mentioned, without demonstrations of respect, and declarations of sincerest affection." Uhland is considered by the critics of Germany, as belonging to the Romantic School of poetry, which numbers among its followers the Schlegels, Tieck, Novalis, Gleim, Chamisse, and a host of others of less distinction. The characteristics of this class, which dates its origin from the German War of Liberation in 1813, are described by Dr. Wolff as a true perception of the nature of romantic poetry, and its relation to that of the classical school, a more thorough recognition of the intellect and the poetry of the German middle age, a more profound understanding of Shakspeare's greatness, and of the rich treasures of Spanish and Italian poetry, for a true and noble estimation of the treasures of which Germany was indebted 66 to Lessing and Goethe, and for an unre- poems, selected chiefly from his ballads and romances, in order that our readers may form some estimate of his poetical powers. Should a feeling of disappointment be experienced in reading them, we beg that some allowance may be made for the difference between American or English and German taste, as well as for the obvious disadvantage presented by the appearance of an author under a foreign garb. Other specimens may be found in Longfellow's Poets and Poetry of Europe," in "Gostick's Survey of German Poetry," and in the "Foreign Quarterly Review for 1837. The Democratic Review for 1846, also contains "some translations from the Songs and Ballads of Uhland," by W. A. Butler, prefaced by some introductory verses of considerable merit. 66 The following ballad, which is among the best of the collection, has lately furnished the subject of a beautiful painting from the pencil of Munchen. THE MINSTREL'S CURSE. In olden times, erect and proud, a lofty castle stood, Therein a haughty monarch dwelt, in lands and conquests great, Once at the castle bounds appear'd a noble minstrel pair, The old man to the younger spake: "My son, thou must prepare! Within the lofty pillar'd hall, the minstrels twain are seen, The hoary minstrel struck the strings-he played so wondrous well, In tones of heavenly clearness streamed the youth's sweet voice along, They sing of spring-tide and of love-the age ere wo began― All lovely things they celebrate, that heave the human breast, The troop of courtiers gather round, their scorn forgotten now- My people he has led away, will he corrupt my wife?" As if a storm had scattered them, the hearers fled away. But now before the lofty gates the hoary minstrel stands, "Wo, wo to you, ye lofty halls, no sweet and soothing tone "Wo to you all, ye gardens sweet, in the May month's pleasant light— "Wo to thee, ruthless murderer! of minstrelsy the pest; The old man's voice has died away, but Heav'n has heard his cry; Around, where once the garden smiled, is now a desert land, "The Ferry" is a little poem which gives a very fair impression of some of the most marked peculiarities of Uhland's manner. He delights in summoning from the dim mysterious past" the scenes, the thoughts and feelings of that happier time, when the vivid imagination of youth had power to clothe and comparing the pictures which hope and fancy then portrayed, with the harsh realities into which experience has since transmuted them. As the contrast of the present with the past generally suggests reflections of a somewhat mournful character, inasmuch as the advancing footsteps of time are constantly crushing some flower that bloomed in our pathway, whose frail life we fondly deemed of perennial duration, the heart of the poet whose sympa thies and feelings lie garnered up among the records of departed years, of which his song is but the echo, must often be touched with a sentiment of sadness at the retrospect. THE FERRY. Many a year is past and o'er, Then our passengers were three— One a life of quiet pass'd, So, when o'er those happy days, That which ev'ry friendship binds, Take, then, boatman, thrice thy fee- Two whom thou hast ferried o'er, "The Ride by Night" exhibits the same peculiarity. I ride thro' the darksome land afar, Uncheer'd by moonbeam or twinkling star, Cold tempests around me lowering; Often before have I pass'd this way, When the golden sunshine smiling lay Among roses freshly flow'ring. I ride to the gloomy garden ground, Extinguished now is the sun's glad ray, The roses have wither'd and died away, And the grave my belov'd is holding; My darksome journey I now pursue, In the wintry storm, with no star in view, My mantle around me folding. "The Shepherd " is a lay of the middle ages, short and simple-its moral the motto of all things earthly-" passing away." "Twas near a kingly castle wall, "Oh! might I venture down with thee," With kindly voice she said; "How white do yonder lambkins seem, The blossoms here, how red." The youth, in answer, thus replied: "Oh! would'st thou come with me? Fair glow those rosy cheeks of thine, Those arms-can whiter be ?" And now each morn, in silent grief, This friendly greeting then he sent : "Hail! maid of royal line." A gentle answer echoed soon"Thanks, gentle shepherd mine." The winter pass'd, the spring appear'd, The flow'rs bloomed rich and fair; The castle bounds he sought again, But she no more was there. In sorrowing tones, he cried aloud, "Adieu! thou shepherd mine." "The Wreath is a charming little fairy story, told with exquisite delicacy and simplicity. Though the “sterner stuff" of manhood may pass it by as an idle fable, destitute of sense or significance, it will, in all probability, be regarded with favor by the fairer portion of our readers, whose quick perception will soon enable them to unveil its meaning, though expressed in allegorical language. THE WREATH. A maiden on a sunny glade, Was gath'ring flow'rs of varied hue; There came from out the greenwood shade A lady fair to view. She join❜d the maid, in friendly guise, And twined a wreathlet in her hair: "Tho' barren now, flow'rs hence will riseOh! wear it ever there." With martial train did Harald ride, Around his march the moonbeams shone, Oh! many a gorgeous banner there What lurks and rustles in each bush? What throws the blossoms here and there? Whence come these kisses, soft and sweet? It is a sprightly band of fays; The chief alone remains behindHarald, the bold true knight; From top to toe his form appears In polished steel bedight. His warriors all have disappeared—– In heavy sadness thereupon He hears a purling 'mid the rocks, Dismounts with hasty fling, Unclasps his helmet from his head, And quaffs the cooling spring. Scarce has the chieftain quench'd his thirst, There sleeps and slumbers on. He's slumbered on the self-same stone, Thro' ages past away; Upon his breast his head is sunk, 'His beard and locks are gray. When lightnings flash, and thunders roll, The "Dream" is decidedly Uhlandish. THE DREAM. Join'd hand in hand, a loving pair Each kissed the other's pallid face, Two little bells rang sharp and clear-- The Monk and the Shepherd" has a certain picturesqueness about it, which brings the scene depicted as vividly before the eye as if it had been portrayed by the sister art. |