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False lights, that lead the soul to rove,
Then vanish in an hour!
The king can drink the best of wine—
So can I;
So have I;
Nor can I.
Do trusty friends surround his throne
Night and day?
No, not they.
Bless'd be they!
Do knaves around me lie in wait
And would grieve?
By my leave?
He has his fools, with jests and quips,
When he'd play;
Great are they;
I wear the cap and he the crown—
What of that?
What of that?
What of that?
AN INVITATION TO THE COUNTRY.
An. day, from shrubs by our summer dwelling,
A merry warbler, he chides the blossoms,
The blue-bird chants, from elm's long branches,
The south wind wanders from field to forest,
Come, daughter mine, from the gloomy city,
The violet breathes by our door as sweetly
Though many a flower in the wood is waking,
She pushes upward the sward already,
No lays so joyous as these are warbled
No pamper'd bloom of the green-house chamber
Yet these sweet lays of the early season,
Are only sweet when we fondly listen,
There is no glory in star or blossom
Till look'd upon by a loving eye; There is no fragrance in April's breezes
Till breathed with joy as they wander by.
Come, Julia dear, for the sprouting willows,
And hollows green in the sun are waiting
THE WOOD THRUSH.
Whithee hath the Wood-thrush flown,
Wherefore builds he not again,
Bid him come! for on his wings,
And the heart unlocks its springs,
Lover-like the creature waits,
All his little soul of song
Toward the dawn he poureth.
Sweet one, why art thou not heard
Oh, come back! and bring with thee
Laughing thoughts,—delighting songs,
Dreams of azure hours,—
Is to see thee ours!
'Tis enough that thou should'st sing
'Tis enough that thou hast once
THE BIRD AND THE SHIP. Translated from the German of Muller, by Longfellow.
"The rivers rush'into the sea,
By castle and town they go;
Their noisy trumpets blow.
"The clouds are passing far and high, • We little birds in them play;
And everything that can sing and fly
"I greet thee, bonny boat! Whither, or whence,
"I greet, thee, little bird! To the wide sea
"Full and swollen is every sail;
I see no longer a hill,
And it will not let me stand still.
"And wilt thou, little bird, go with us?
Thou mayest stand on the mainmast tall,
With merry companions all."—
"I need not and seek not company,
For the mainmast tall too heavy am I,
"High over the'sails, high over the mast,
Who shall gainsay these joys?
Thou shalt hear^the sound of my voice.
"Who neither may rest, nor listen may,
God bless them every one!
And the golden fields of the sun.
"Thus do I sing my weary song,
Wherever the four winds blow;
Neither poet nor printer may know."
She how yon flaming herald treads
The ridged and rolling waves,
She bows her surly slaves!
She rends the clinging sea,
Beneath her hissing lee.
The morning spray, like sea-born flowers,
With heap'd and glistening bells,
With every wave that swells;
In lurid fringes thrown,
Along her flashing zone.
With clashing wheel, and lifting keel,
And smoking torch on high,
She thunders foaming by;
With even beam she glides, The sunshine glimmering through the green
That skirts her gleaming sides.
Now, like a wild nymph, far apart
She veils her shadowy form, The beating of her restless heart
Still sounding through the storm;