GAUDEAMUS.

LET us then rejoice, ere youth

From our grasp hath hurried;

After cheerful youth is past,
After cheerless age, at last,

In the earth we 're buried.

Where are those who lived of yore,
Men whose days are over?
To the realms above thee go,
Thence unto the shades below,
An' thou wilt discover.

And our tutors clever;

All our comrades long live they,
And our female comrades gay
May they bloom forever.

Long live every maiden true,

Who has worth and beauty;

And may every matron who
Kind and good is, flourish, too,

Each who does her duty.

Long may also live our state,
And the king who guides us;
Long may live our town, and fate
Prosper each Mecenas great,
Who good things provides us.

Perish melancholy woe,

Perish who derides us;

Perish fiend, and perish so

Every antiburschian foe

Who for laughing chides us.

Student Song. Tr. H. W. Dulcken.

AN OLD AUTUMN SUNSET AT HEIDELBERG.

NEAR

JEAR my window, rustling in the breeze,
Stand the autumn trees;

Golden sunlight from a depth of blue

Warms the earth of tawny hue,

And constant Nature calls to mind the time I adored her in another clime.

O, those ripening hours by Neckar's stream, When I sat amid the gleam

Of purple vine-leaves drunken with the sun;
Gazing from some peak I won

Into valleys dropping brown and deep
Where the shadows sleep
Among chestnuts and the cones of pine;
Looking at the tender line

Of misty hills in distant France,

As they tossed me back the glance

Of Nature's vintage-maker, o'er the plain
Seemingly steeped in golden rain,

O'er the Rhine, and back to Neckar's hills
Where the radiance fills

The thunder-riven clefts of tower and keep,
Battered rooms of queens upon the steep:
Thus restored, as if some olden day
Had left its princely sunset here to stay,
Since the princely chambers must decay.
See, the chasms are mended

With the vapor splendid,

Till they're solid for the ivy's foot,
Seem new vantage for the harebell's root.
O, that golden afternoon,

When unto the mountain-spur

Whence Tilly rained his murder down,
Floated up like gossamer

Above the sleepy, silent town,

That harvest tune!

John Weiss.

LENORA.

ROM heavy dreams Lenora rose

FROM

With morning's first, faint ray :

"O William, art thou false, or dead?
How long wilt thou delay ?"

He, with King Frederick's knightly train,
Had hied to distant battle-plain,

And not a line had come to tell

If yet he were alive and well.

And now were king and queen full fain
The weary strife to cease,

Subdued at length their mutual wrath,
And joined their hands in peace ;
Then rose the song and clash and clang,
And kettle-drums and trumpets rang,

As, decked with garlands green and gay,
Each host pursued its homeward way.

And here and there, and everywhere,
Along each road and route,

To meet them came both young and old,
With song and merry shout.

"Thank God!" both child and mother cried,
And "Welcome!" many a happy bride.
But, ah! one heart shared not the bliss
Of fond embrace and thrilling kiss.

From rank to rank Lenora flew;

She called each knight by name,
And asked for William; but, alas!
No answering tidings came.
Then, when that host had all gone by,
She beat her breast in agony,

And madly tore her raven hair,
And prostrate fell in wild despair.

The mother hastened to her child:
"Ah, God have mercy now!
My darling child, what aileth thee?"
And kissed her marble brow.

"O mother, mother, all is o'er;
No peace, no hope forevermore;
No pity dwells with God on high;
Woe's me, woe's me; O misery!"

'Help, God of grace, look down and help!
Child, breathe a fervent prayer;

What God has done must work for good;
God hears, and God will spare."

"O mother, mother, — idle thought!
No good for me God's will hath wrought;
Vain have been all my prayers, — all vain;
I dare not look to Heaven again!"

'Help, God of grace! No child shall seek The Father's face in vain;

Come, and the blessed sacrament

Shall surely soothe thy pain."

"O mother, mother, pangs like these
No sacrament hath power to ease;

No sacrament can pierce death's gloom,
And wake the tenant of the tomb!"

"Child, hear me; say, the false one now,
In far Hungarian land,
Abjures his holy faith, and plights

Some Paynim maid his hand?
Well, let it go, child, let it go,
'T will profit him no more below;

And O, when soul and body part,

What flames shall burn his perjured heart!"