How flies whate'er the moon o'ershone!
How fast 'tis backward driven!
How all above has backward flown,
The stars and the blue heaven!

"Dost fear, my love? the moon shines bright. Hurra! The dead ride well to night.

Dost fear the dead, my dearest ?"
"Why wilt thou name them, dearest?"

"Barb, barb, methinks the cock doth crow; The sand is nigh expended.

Barb, barb, I feel the morn air blow.
Barb, here our course is ended.
Right well, right well, our ride has sped
All ready stands the bridal bed.
The dead are good at riding!
Here, here's our home abiding."

Up to an iron grated door

At headlong speed he rushes;
One stroke with slender rod, no more,
Padlock and bolt back pushes.
The jarring gates fly open wide
And over graves they onward ride,
All round in moonlight beaming
The grave stars white were gleaming.

And lo! with startling suddenness,
Ah me, a grousome wonder!
The rider's garments peice by peice,
Fall mouldering asunder.

His head becomes a skull all bare
Of hair or flesh, his body fair
A skeleton unfolding

The scythe and hour glass holding.

High rears the steed, snorts fearfully,
The sparks around him darting,
And sinks beneath her suddenly,

Swift through the earth departing.

And howls on howls through high air sound, And moonings deep from under ground.

Leonora's heart is rending,

"Twixt life and death contending.

Now swiftly sport by moonlight's glance
A band of phantoms scowling,
All round about in curling dance
These words in concert howling,
"Be patient! If thy heart must break
Blame not what God in heaven spake.
this hour must end it.

Thy life
Thy soul

SCHILLER'S DIVISION OF THE

EARTH.

Literally translated.

"TAKE ye the world" spake Jove from high Olympus To men below, "I give it freely: take! It shall be yours forever to inherit;

Like brothers the division make."

Then hastened all mankind to take possession,
And quickly young and old their claims made good.
The farmer seized the first fruits of the harvest
The squire rode gaily through the wood.

The merchant took what filléd his warehouses
The abbot chose the jovial old Rhine wine
The King stopped up the highways and the bridges
And said "the tenth of all is mine."

At length arrived, long after the division
The tardy poet; from afar came he.
But everything alas! had now its master.
There was for him no vacancy.

"Ah me! and shall I only of all others.
Forgotten be? What, I, thy truest son!"
So poured he forth the voice of his complaining
And flung himself before Jove's throne.

"If thou amid the land of dreams didst wander" Replied the God, "then quarel not with me. Where wast thou pray, when man the world divided?" "I was" exlaimed the bard "with thee.

Mine eye was on thy radiant countenance hanging.
Upon thy heaven's harmony mine ear.
Forgive the spirit which in thee entrancéd
And all forgot the earthly sphere."

"Alas!" quoth Jove "the world away is given.
Field, wood, and town no more belong to me.
Whilt thou then come and dwell with me in heaven?
It shall be ever open unto thee."

THE MAIDEN'S LAMENT.

Literally translated from Schiller.

THE oak-wood murmurs,

The clouds swam high,

The maiden sitteth

The green shore by;

The billows are breaking in might, in might,
And she sigheth out to the darksome night,
Her fair eye the gushing tear staineth.

"The heart is perished,

The world is waste,

And gives nought longer

Of joy to taste.

Thou Holy One, summon thy child back to thee!
Enough of this world and its fortune for me.

I have lived and have loved what remaineth?"

"Thy tears that are flowing

All fruitlessly pour

Thy weeping can waken

The dead never more.

Then seek for what comforts and sooths the sad heart
When the pleasures of Love like a vision depart.
I, the Holy one will not deny thee."

"Then let my tears flowing

All fruitlessly pour, Let weeping not waken

The dead ever more!

The sweetest relief for the sorrowing heart
When Love's fairy joys like a vision depart
It's tears and laments will supply me."
New Haven, 1840.

ANCEUS.

FROM THE GERMAN.

"ANCEUS reigned in Ionia. **** He was told by one of his servants, whom he pressed with hard labor in his vineyard, that he would never taste the produce of his vines. He had already the cup in hand, and called the prophet to convince him of his falsehood, when the slave, yet firm in his conviction, uttered the well-known proverb

'Multa cadunt inter calicem supremaque labra.'

"Twixt cup and lip there's many a slip.'

And at that very moment Ancæus was told that a wild boar had entered his vineyard; upon which the threw down the cup and hastened to drive away the wild beast. He perished in the attempt."

THE Monarch of Samos (Ancæus his name),
His vineyard with pleasure surveyed

His vines he was carefully planting; up came
An old slave and solemnly said.

"Oh stay, King Ancæus, thy sedulous hand!
Hie home to thy palace and rest!

The juice of the vineyard which now thou hast planned Shall ne'er for thy goblet be pressed!"

The monarch looked on him and smiled in disdain, And thus to the old man said he:

"Thy task shall it be, when the goblet I drain, To fill it, thou dotard, for me."

"Trust not Fortune, aye beguilling;
Trust not Hope, for Hope is vain.
Now is Fortune on thee smiling?
She may quickly change again.
"Twixt the vine and press, I ween,
Storm and frost may intervene."

The vines have up-sprouted so spreading and high;
The leaves are fresh-blowing and green;
The grapes in rich clusters all under them lie,
Or peep out the foliage between.

And as the glad monarch the gathering viewed,
He saw that the old man was near,

And hailed him, exulting "The vintage is good; Are goblet and cup-bearer here ?"

Then answered in sorrow that servitor gray,
"Yes, fair is this vintage of thine;

Yet hast thou, thy sedulous toil to repay,
Not tasted one drop of the wine.

"Trust not Fortune, aye beguiling;
Trust not Hope, for Hope is vain.
Now is Fortune on thee smiling?
She may quickly change again.
'Twixt the press and cup, alas!
Time enough has yet to pass."

The feast is made ready

fair sight to behold;

The slave in sad silence is there:

He bears to the monarch the goblet of gold,
But shudders that goblet to bear.

Then out spoke the monarch in merriest mood "All hail to thee, prophet of ill!

My labors have brought me a recompense good; Say, why art thou shuddering still?