And presently a baby fair Upon her gentle breast she reared; When midst the wreath that bound her hair Rich golden fruit appeared. But when her love lay cold in death, Yet still the withered wreath she wore ; THE KING ON THE TOWER. FROM UHLAND. "Da liegen sie alle, die grauen Höhen." THE cold gray hills they bind me around, Oh! for all I have suffered and striven, Care has embittered my cup and my feast; But here is the night and the dark blue heaven, And my soul shall be at rest. O golden legends writ in the skies! I turn towards you with longing soul, And list to the awful harmonies Of the Spheres as on they roll. My hair is gray and my sight nigh gone; O blessed rest! O royal night! ON A VERY OLD WOMAN. LA MOTTE FOUQUÉ. "Und Du gingst einst, die Myrt' im Haare." AND thou wert once a maiden fair, A blushing virgin warm and young: With myrtles wreathed in golden hair, And glossy brow that knew no careUpon a bridegroom's arm you hung. The golden locks are silvered now, The blushing cheek is pale and wan ; A moment-and thou sink'st to rest! In the bright presence of thy Lord. Oh, weary is life's path to all! But wondrous the reward! A CREDO. I. For the sole edification I will sing a holy chant. If the ditty sound but oddly, Sang it so long ago— Then sing as Martin Luther sang, "Who loves not wine, woman and song, He is a fool his whole life long!" II. He, by custom patriarchal, Loved to see the beaker sparkle; By the kindly lips he loved. To combine love, song, wine, And sing as Martin Luther sang, As Doctor Martin Luther sang: "Who loves not wine, woman and song, He is a fool his whole life long!" III. Who refuses this our Credo, I'd pronounce him heterodox, Banish quick the heretic, Who will not sing as Luther sang, As Doctor Martin Luther sang : "Who loves not wine, woman and song, He is a fool his whole life long !" |