You gazed on him;

a sunny smile there flew,

Just as the vessel rounded into view,

O'er thy wan features' sad, resignéd mourning! With mournful pleasure thou on bended knee Upon thy river thine own bard didst see!

Yonder he fled, thy youngest, truest knight!

The last smoke fades in air, the ship retreating; Gone too thy smile; the hills no more stand bright; Thy last brave champion, who for thee doth fight,

And on a steamer! — strange my heart is beating! — Medieval inspiration borne away

By a new age's all-resistless sway !

A simile! It entered full my soul,

And would not thence again, my will defying!
The melancholy hence that o'er me stole !
Thou pale one, hushed and silent be thy dole!
An iron age! 't is for thee, harsh and trying.
Heedless it undermines thy tottering throne,
Alas! not with its steamers' keel alone!

Thy empire, lady, has departed long;

The world has changed; where, now, are thy dominions?

Another spirit than thine rules firm and strong;
It throbs in life, and flames out into song,

None e'er before it fluttered thus its pinions!
I also serve and wish it victory glad,

But why wage war with thee, thou exile sad?

Thou, whose proud banner but from mouldering wall
Doth lonely float, through the dull air slow-sailing,
Thou the dethroned ! — with agitated soul

Down at thy feet, I humbly, sadly fall,
A solemn witness of thy widow's wailing!
A child, all feverish, of this era new,
Yet for the past piously mourning too!

Not as a boy! Only one hour, and lo!

Stretched at thy feet, I'll join thee in thy sorrow! The spirit fresh that through these times doth blow, I've promised it; it has my word and vow,

My blade must flash yet in the fight to-morrow! Only one hour! But that devoted quite To thee alone, and to thy glory bright.

There, take me to thee! Take me in thy hold!
Hail, battlements, high in the air up-towering!
Hail, crumbling porches, mossy ruins old!
Hail, castle stern! Thou falcon's eyry bold!

How do ye wrap my soul with sway o'erpowering! Yon doth the Pfalz in fiery sunset shine,

The clouds seem castles, yes! this land is thine!

A church! I enter it as in a dream;

The windows, richly stained, are deeply glowing; The foliaged pillars throw a haughty gleam, And through the gloomy cloister's arches dim, Careless and wild, a garden small is showing; Blending its azure and its verdure gay With the cathedral's ever sombre gray.

And, softly trembling, nods the shadow light

Of waving boughs, upon the church-wall playing; Yon is the tomb of lady and of knight,

Their figures, carved in marble, stand upright,

Their hands are raised aloft, as if for praying; Gently resigned their pallid faces beam,

The peace of death o'er both doth brightly stream.

A sacred lull! Bustle and trade far gone!

Romance! behold, my mourning fast is fleeting!
That joy and peace divine, which is not known
To this new age, alas! - to thee alone!

Here I can feel it in my bosom beating;
Earth fades away, and heaven in blissful arms
Doth fold me close, hushed are all world's alarms!

Enough! enough! such haven not for aye!
Back to the present! Great is life's attraction!
But what this spot into my heart doth lay
May 't flame forever! In my pulses may

It throb unceasing, hallowing every action!

May 't give me gladness, strength, and courage free, When the loud day shall hoarsely summon me!

Thus will my service of the time be pure!

O exiled maid! with thee I would be grieving; I came thy shrine to wet with teardrops, sure, And lo! thou gav'st me power to endure;

Thy peace doth fill me; calmed, behold me leaving! Thou shedd'st thy light around me, I depart!

An exile,

but e'en now a queen thou art!

Farewell to-day! The sunset's molten gold

Doth flood the aisle; deep-toned the bells are ringing! Church-banners flutter o'er me half unrolled,

Ye ever wise, whom all things must be told,
Who therefore ask, what now I have been singing!·
Doth glow the eternal lamp, and incense roll-
Call it a requiem for Brentano's soul!

Ferdinand Freiligrath. Tr. K. F. Kroeker.

A

THE RHINE.

WAY with these! true Wisdom's world will be
Within its own creation, or in thine,

Maternal Nature! for who teems like thee,
Thus on the banks of thy majestic Rhine?
There Harold gazes on a work divine,

A blending of all beauties; streams and dells,
Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, vine,
And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells
From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells.

And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind,
Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd,
All tenantless, save to the crannying wind,
Or holding dark communion with the cloud.
There was a day when they were young and proud,
Banners on high, and battles passed below;

But they who fought are in a bloody shroud,
And those which waved are shredless dust ere now,
And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow.

Beneath these battlements, within those walls,

Power dwelt amidst her passions; in proud state
Each robber chief upheld his armed halls,
Doing his evil will, nor less elate

Than mightier heroes of a longer date.

What want these outlaws conquerors should have
But history's purchased page to call them great?
A wider space, an ornamented grave?

Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full as brave.

In their baronial feuds and single fields,
What deeds of prowess unrecorded died!
And Love, which lent a blazon to their shields
With emblems well devised by amorous pride,
Through all the mail of iron hearts would glide;
But still their flame was fierceness, and drew on
Keen contest and destruction near allied,

And many a tower for some fair mischief won,
Saw the discolored Rhine beneath its ruin run.

But thou, exulting and abounding river!
Making thy waves a blessing as they flow
Through banks whose beauty would endure forever,
Could man but leave thy bright creation so,

Nor its fair promise from the surface mow

With the sharp scythe of conflict,

then to see

Thy valley of sweet waters were to know

Earth paved like heaven; and to seem such to me Even now what wants thy stream? — that it should

Lethe be.