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TO THE EVENING STAR.

181

TO THE EVENING STAR.

WHEN from the blue sky traces of the day-light
Fade, and the night-winds sigh from the ocean,
Then, on thy watch-tower, beautiful thou shinest,
Star of the evening!

Homewards weary man plods from his labour;
From the dim vale comes the low of the oxen;
Still are the woods, and the wings of the small birds
Folded in slumber.

Thou art the lover's star, thou to his fond heart
Ecstacy bequeathest; for, beneath thy soft ray,
Underneath the green trees, down by the river, he
Waits for his fair one.

Thou to the sad heart beacon art of solace,
Kindly the mourner turns his gaze towards thee,
Past joys awakening, thou bidst him be of comfort,
Smiling in silence.

Star of the mariner! when the dreary ocean
Welters around him, and the breeze is moaning,
Fondly he dreams that thy bright eye is dwelling
On his home afar off-

On the dear cottage, where sit by the warm hearth,
Thinking of the absent, his wife and his dear babes,
In his ear sounding, the hum of their voices

Steals like a zephyr.

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Farewell, thou bright Star! when woe and anguish
Hung on my heart with a heavy and sad load,
When not a face on the changed earth was friendly,
Changeless didst thou smile.

Soon shall the day come, soon shall the night flee,
Thou dost usher in darkness and day-light;

Glitter'st through the storm, and 'mid the blaze of morning,
Meltest in glory.

Thus through this dark earth holds on the good man,
Misfortune and malice tarnish not his glory;
Soon the goal is won, and the star of his being

Mingles with heaven.

THE DREAM.

ANON.

DISTRACTED with anguish, and weary in mind,
I threw myself down at the close of the night;
Sleep deign'd in compassion, my eyelids to bind,
And for once, did an angel of mercy prove kind,
For he sent me a dream of delight.

I dream'd that the ardour of love made me bold,
And hasten'd my footsteps to Anne again;

I repeated the vows I had utter'd of old;

That my tongue was ne'er false, and my heart never cold; And implored her to chase away sorrow and pain.

THE KING'S LEA-MERE.

With transport I saw when my angel did hear,
That her bosom to kindness and pity was true:
She approved my attachment, and found it sincere;
She soothed the poor soul that held her so dear;
And bade him bid sorrow and sighing adieu.

I wept with delight, she alone had the art,

From the wild war of passions my bosom to save; I bless'd the fair beam that spoke peace to my heart, And swore in my rapture, we never should part,

But live in one mansion,-repose in one grave!

But ah! cruel fancy, how illusive thy pleasure,
In the morning I woke, but to sorrow again;
I'll curse the day-light, that robb'd me of my treasure,
I'll give my sad soul to despair without measure,

I'll wear out my sad life, in sorrow and pain.

183

The foregoing rhapsody, taken down from the recitation of a Lady, is ascribed to the celebrated Rev. Dr. C*******, and is said to have been written by him, while a student at college.

THE KING'S LEA-MERE.

THE damsel stood to watch the fight,
By the banks of the King's Lea-Mere;

And they brought to her feet her own true knight,
Sore wounded, on a bier.

She knelt by him, his wounds to bind,
She wash'd them with many a tear;
And shouts rose fast upon the wind,
Which told that the foe was near.

"O let not," he said, "while yet I live,
The cruel foe me take;

But with thy sweet lips, a last kiss give,
And cast me in the lake."

Around his neck, she wound her arms,
And she kiss'd his lips so pale;
And evermore the war's alarms,
Came louder up the vale.

She drew him to the lake's steep side,
Where the red heath fringed the shore;
She plung'd with him beneath the tide,
And they were seen no more.

Their true blood mingled in King's Lea-Mere,
That to mingle on earth were fain;
And the trout that swims in that crystal clear,
Is tinged with the crimson stain.

From the historical Novel of " Maid Marian."

FROM SCHILLER'S " WILHELM TELL."
Air." THE RANZ DES VACHES."

THE lake's dimpled waters to bathing invite;

On its shore sleeps a youth lapp'd in dreams of delight, Whilst he hears a soft murmur like flutes in the air, Like voices of angels in Paradise fair;

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But when he awakes from his soothing repose,
High over his bosom the cool water flows,

And from under the billow, resounds, thou art mine!
I lure the fond shepherd where suns never shine.

Farewell, sunny fields, where my cattle have fed,
The herdsman departs when the summer has fled;
We haste to the vale, we return to the mountain,
Where cuckoos call gaily, and birds warble sweet,
When May, genial May, shall dissolve the charm'd fountain,
And earth yield new flowers to the wanderer's feet;
Farewell sunny fields, where my cattle have fed,
The herdsman departs when the summer has fled.

The lofty crags thunder, and totters the way;
Along with the hunter, must follow his prey,
Undaunted, he ventures o'er heap'd ice and snow,
Where spring is a stranger, where flowers never blow;
Underneath mountain mists, spread a sea without shore,
And the cities of men, are distinguish'd no more,
Only through cloudy openings, the world can he spy,
Where under their waters, the green meadows lie.

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In the Zeitschwingen, there is an article entitled "Eight Days in Weimar and Jena," which contains the following passage:"The evening sun found me on Schiller's grave, which was pointed out to me by the sexton. In the park of Weimar, a dog was buried, and the place where it lies, is marked by a stone with an inscription;-but the graves of Herder and Schiller are not even honoured with their immortal names. Thus have I satisfied my curiosity, and seen Weimar, and seen that there was not much The epoch when Wieland, Herder, Goethe, and Schiller lived here, may indeed have been a different one; but it was not the right one, as it has gone by without leaving a trace behind." Frederic Schiller, M. D. Professor of Philosophy at Jena, was born at Morbach, in Wurtemburgh, 1759, died 1805.

to see.

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