Annie of Tharaw, my riches, my good,
Thou, O my soul, my flesh and my blood !

Then come the wild weather, come sleet, or come snow,
We will stand by each other, however it blow.

Oppression, and sickness, and sorrow, and pain,
Shall be to our true love as links to the chain.

As the palm-tree standeth so straight and so tall,
The more the hail beats, and the more the rains fall, -

So love in our hearts shall grow mighty and strong,
Through crosses, through sorrows, through manifold wrong.

Shouldst thou be torn from me to wander alone
In a desolate land where the sun is scarce known,-

Through forests I'll follow, and where the sea flows,
Through ice and through iron, through armies of foes.

Annie of Tharaw, my light and my sun,
The threads of our two lives are woven in one.

Whate'er I have bidden thee thou hast obeyed,
Whatever forbiddeu thou hast not gainsaid.

How in the turmoil of life can love stand,
Where there is not one heart, and one mouth, and one hand ?

Some seek for dissension, and trouble, and strife;
Like a dog and a cat live such man and wife.

Annie of Tharaw, such is not our love:
Thou art my lambkin, my chick, and my dove.

Whate'er my desire is, in thine may be seen;
I am king of the household, and thou art its queen.

It is this, O my Annie, my heart's sweetest rest,
That makes of us twain but one soul in one breast.

This turns to a heaven the hut where we dwell;
While wrangling soon changes a home to a hell.

THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSBILL.

FROM JULIUS MOSEN.

On the cross the dying Saviour

Heavenward lifts his eyelids calm,
Feels, but scarcely feels, a trembling

In his pierced and bleeding palm.

And by all the world forsaken,

Sees he how with zealous care
At the ruthless nail of iron

A little bird is striving there.

Stained with blood and never tiring,

With its beak it doth not cease,
From the cross 'twould free the Saviour,

Its Creator's Son release.

And the Saviour speaks in mildness;

“Blest be thou of all the good! Bear, as token of this moment,

Marks of blood and holy rood !”

And that bird is called the crossbill;

Covered all with blood so clear.
In the groves of pine it singeth

Songs, like legends, strange to hear.

POETIC APHORISMS.

FROM THE SINNGEDICHTE OF FRIEDRICH VON LOGAU.-

SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.

MONEY.

WHEREUNTO is money good ?
Who has it not wants bardihood,
Who has it has much trouble and care,
Who once has had it has despair.

THE BEST MEDICINES.

Joy and Temperance and Repose
Slam the door on the doctor's nose.

SIN.

LAW OF LIFE.

Man-like is it to fall into sin,
Fiend-like is it to dwell therein,
Christ-like is it for sin to grieve,
God-like is it all sin to leave.

Live I, so live I,
To my Lord heartily,
To my Prince faithfully,
To my Neighbour honestly,
Die I, so die I.

POVERTY AND BLINDNESS.

A blind man is a poor man, and blind a poor man is;
For the former seeth no man, and the latter no man sees.

CREEDS. Lutheran, Popish, Calvinistic, all these creeds and doctrines three Extant are; but still the doubt is, where Christianity may be.

THE RESTLESS HEART.

A millstone and the human heart, are driven ever round;
If they have nothing else to grind, they must themselves be ground.

CHRISTIAN LOVE. Whilom Love was like a fire, and warmth and comfort it bespoke; But, alas! it is now quenched, and only bites us, like the smoke.

ART AND TACT.
Intelligence and courtesy not always are combined ;
Often in a wooden house a golden room we find. .

RETRIBUTION. Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small; Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds he all.

TRUTH.

When by night the frogs are croaking, kindle but a torch's fire, Ha! how soon they all are silent! Thus Truth silences the liar.

RHYMES. If perhaps these rhymes of mine should sound not well in strangers'

ears, They have only to bethink them that it happens so with theirs ; For so long as words, like mortals, call a fatherland their own, They will be most highly valued where they are best and longest known.

THE SEA HATH ITS PEARLS.

FROM HEINRICH HEINE.
THE sea hath its pearls,

The heaven hath its stars ;
But my heart, my heart,

My heart hath its love.

Great are the sea and the heaven;

Yet greater is my heart,
And fairer than pearls and stars

Flashes and beams my love.
Thou little, youthful maiden,

Come unto my great heart;
My heart, and the sea, and the heaven,

Are melting away with love !

SONG OF THE SILENT LAND.

FROM SALIS.
Into the Silent Land!
Ah! who shall lead us thither!
Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather,
And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand.
Who leads us with a gentle hand
Thither, O thither,
Into the Silent Land?

Into the Silent Land !
To you, ye boundless regions
Of all perfection! Tender morning-visions
Of beauteous souls! The Future's pledge and band !
Who in Life's battle firm doth stand,
Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms
Into the Silent Land!

O Land! O Land !
For all the broken-hearted
The mildest herald by our faith allotted,
Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand
To lead us with a gentle hand
Into the land of the great Departed,
Into the Silent Land!

BLESSED ARE THE DEAD.

O, how blest are ye whose toils are ended !
Who, through death, have unto God ascended!
Ye have arisen
From the cares which keep us still in prison.

We are still as in a dungeon living,
Still oppressed with sorrow and misgiving;
Our undertakings
Are but toils, and troubles, and heart-breakings.

Ye, meanwhile, are in your chambers sleeping,
Quiet, and set free from all our weeping;
No cross nor trial
Hinders your enjoyments with denial.

Christ has wiped away your tears for ever;
Ye have that for which we still endeavour.
To you are chanted
Songs which yet no mortal ear have haunted.

Ah! who would not, then, depart with gladness,
To inherit heaven for earthly sadness
Who here would languish
Longer in bewailing and in anguish ?

Come, O Christ, and loose the chains that bind us !
Lead us forth, and cast this world behind us !
With thee, the Anointed,
Finds the soul its joy and rest appointed.

THE WAVE

FROM TIEDGE.

“ WAITHER, thou turbid wave?

Whither, with so much haste,
As if a thief wert thou ?”

"I am the Wave of Life, Stained with my margin's dust;

From the struggle and the strife
Of the narrow stream I fly
To the Sea's immensity,
To wash from me the slime
Of the muddy banks of Time.”