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Welcome Bat and Owlet Gray.

O welcome bat and owlet gray,
Thus winging lone your airy way;
And welcome moth and drowsy fly,
That to mine ear come humming by;
And welcome shadows long and deep,
And stars that from the pale sky peep!
O welcome all! to me ye say,
My woodland love is on her way.

Upon the soft wind floats her hair,
Her breath is in the dewy air,
Her steps are in the whisper'd sound
That steals along the stilly ground.
O dawn of day, in rosy bower,
What art thou in this witching hour!
O noon of day, in sunshine bright,
What art thou to the fall of night!


Alfred Tennyson ward um 1816 geboren, ist der Sohn eines Predigers in Lincolnshire, studirte zu Cambridge und hat bis jetzt zwei Bände Poesieen veröffentlicht, in welchen er sich Keats zum Vorbilde genommen. Seine Leistungen zeichnen sich durch reiche Phantasie, Kraft und Leichtigkeit aus, doch hascht er oft nach eigenthümlichen Ausdrücken und Empfindungen, deren Gesuchtheit ihre Wirkung schwächt.


He thought to quell the stubborn hearts of oak, Madman! to chain with chains, and bind with bands

That island queen that sways the floods and lands

From Ind to Ind, but in fair daylight woke,
When from her wooden walls, lit by sure hands,
With thunders, and with lightnings, and with

Peal after peal, the British battle broke,
Lulling the brine against the Coptic sands.
We taught him lowlier moods, when Elsinore
Heard the war moan along the distant sea,
Rocking with shattered spars, with sudden fires
Flamed over: at Trafalgar yet once more
We taught him; late he learned humility,

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Her tears fell with the dews at even,
Her tears fell ere the dews were dried;

Perforce, like those whom Gideon schooled with She could not look on the sweet heaven,


Either at morn or eventide.
After the flitting of the bats,

When thickest dark did trance the sky,
She drew her casement curtain by,

| And glanced athwart the glooming flats.

She only said, "The night is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"

Upon the middle of the night,

Waking, she heard the night fowl crow: The cock sung out an hour ere light; From the dark fen the oxen's low Came to her: without hope of change,

In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn,
Till cold winds woke the grey-eyed morn
About the lonely moated grange.

She only said, "The day is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"

About a stone-cast from the. wall,

A sluice with blackened waters slept, And o'er it many, round and small,

The clustered marish mosses crept. Hard by a poplar shook alway,

All silver green with gnarled bark, For leagues no other tree did dark The level waste, the rounding grey.

She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;

She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"

And ever when the moon was low,

And the shrill winds were up an' away, In the white curtain, to and fro,

She saw the gusty shadow sway. But when the moon was very low,

And wild winds bound within their cell,
The shadow of the poplar fell
Upon her bed, across her brow.

She only said, "The night is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;

She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"

All day within the dreamy house,

The doors upon their hinges creaked; The blue fly sung i' the pane; the mouse Behind the mouldering wainscot shrieked, Or from the crevice peered about.

Old faces glimmered through the doors,
Old footsteps trod the upper floors,
Old voices called her from without.

She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"

The sparrow's chirrup on the roof,

The slow clock ticking, and the sound Which to the wooing wind aloof

The poplar made, did all confound
Her sense; but most she loathed the hour
When the thick moted sunbeam lay
Athwart the chambers, and the day
Down-sloped was westering in his bower.
Then, said she, "I am very dreary,

He will not come," she said;
She wept, "I am aweary, aweary,
Oh, God, that I were dead!"

The Merman.

Who would be A merman bold, Sitting alone, Singing alone

Under the sea, With a crown of gold On a throne?

I would be a merman bold;

I would sit and sing the whole of the day;
I would fill the sea-halls with a voice of power:
But at night I would roam abroad and play
With the mermaids in and out of the rocks,
Dressing their hair with the white sea-flower,
And, holding them back by their flowing locks,
I would kiss them often under the sea,
And kiss them again till they kissed me
Laughingly, laughingly;

And then we would wander away, away,
To the pale green sea-groves straight and high,
Chasing each other merrily.

There would be neither moon nor star;
But the wave would make music above us far;
Low thunder and light in the magic night,

Neither moon nor star.

We would call aloud in the dreamy dells,
Call to each other, and whoop and cry

All night, merrily, merrily: They would pelt me with starry spangles and shells,

Laughing and clapping their hands between,
All night, merrily, merrily;

But I would throw to them back in mine
Turkis, and agate, and almondine;
Then, leaping out upon them unseen,

I would kiss them often under the sea, And kiss them again till they kissed me Laughingly, laughingly.

Oh! what a happy life were mine Under the hollow-hung ocean green! Soft are the moss-beds under the sea; We would live merrily, merrily.

The Mermaid.

Who would be A mermaid fair,

Singing alone, Combing her hair Under the sea, In a golden curl, With a comb of pearl, On a throne?

I would be a mermaid fair;

I would sing to myself the whole of the day;
With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair;
And still as I combed I would sing and say,
"Who is it loves me? who loves not me?"

I would comb my hair till my ringlets would fall,
Low adown, low adown,

From under my starry sea-bud crown,
Low adown and around,

And I should look like a fountain of gold
Springing alone,

With a shrill inner sound,

Over the throne

In the midst of the hall;

Till that great sea-snake under the sea,
From his coiled sleeps in the central deeps,
Would slowly trail himself sevenfold

Round the hall where I sate, and look in at the


With his large calm eyes for the love of me.
And all the mermen under the sea

Would feel their immortality

Die in their hearts for the love of me.

But at night I would wander away, away,

I would fling on each side my low flowing


And lightly vault from the throne and play With the mermen in and out of the rocks; We would run to and fro, and hide and seek

On the broad seawolds i' the crimson shells, Whose silvery spikes are nighest the sea. But if any came near I would call, and shriek, And adown the steep like a wave I would leap,

From the diamond ledges that jut from the dells:

For I would not be kiss'd by all who list,
Of the bold merry mermen under the sea;
They would sue me, and woo me, and flatter me,

In the purple twilights under the sea;
But the king of them all would carry me,
Woo me, and win me, and marry me,
In the branching jaspers under the sea;
Then all the dry pied things that be
In the hueless mosses under the sea
Would curl round my silver feet silently,
All looking up for the love of me.

And if I should carol aloud, from aloft

All things that are forked, and horned, and soft Would lean out from the hollow sphere of the sea, All looking down for the love of me.


Airy, fairy Lilian, Flitting, fairy Lilian, When I ask her if she love me, Claps her tiny hands above me, Laughing all she can;

She'll not tell me if she love me, Cruel little Lilian.

When my passion seeks
Pleasance in love-sighs,

She, looking through and through me,
Thoroughly to undo me,

Smiling, never speaks:

So innocent-arch, so cunning-simple, From beneath her purfled wimple,

Glancing with black-beaded eyes Till the lightning laughters dimple, The baby roses in her cheeks, Then away she flies.

Prythee weep, May Lilian!

Gaiety without eclipse Wearieth me, May Lilian; Through my very heart it thrilleth When from crimson threaded lips Silver treble laughter trilleth;

Prythee weep, May Lilian,
Praying all I can,

If prayers will not hush thee,
Airy Lilian,

Like a rose-leaf I will crush thee,
Fairy Lilian.

Love and Death.

Love wept, and spread his sheeny vans for flight;

Thou art the shadow of life, and as the tree
Stands in the sun and shadows all beneath,
So in the light of great eternity

What time the mighty moon was gathering light Yet, ere he parted, said, "This hour is thine:
Love paced the thymy plots of Paradise,
And all about him rolled his lustrous eyes;
When, turning round a casia, full in view,
Death, walking all alone beneath a yew,
And talking to himself, first met his sight:
"You must begone," said Death, "these walks
are mine."

Life eminent creates the shade of death;
The shadow passeth when the tree shall
But I shall reign for ever over all.”


Mary Howitt, einer Quäkerfamilie angehörend und mütterlicher Seite von dem berühmten Charles Wood abstammend, welcher zuerst die Platina in England einführte, ward um 1806 zu Coleford in Gloucestershire geboren und vermählte sich in ihrem einundzwanzigsten Jahre mit dem gleichfalls als Schriftsteller ausgezeichneten William Howitt. Sie lebten nach ihrer Verheirathung anfangs zu Nottingham, dann zu Esher in Surrey und haben in den letzteren Jahren längere Zeit in Deutschland, namentlich in Heidelberg, zugebracht.

Theils in Verbindung mit ihrem Gatten, theils allein gab Mistress Howitt heraus: The Forest Minstrel, London 1823; the Desolation of Eyam and other Poems, London 1827; The seven Temptations, a series of dramatic poems, London 1834; ferner Jugendschriften wie: Sketches of Natural History, Tales in Verse, u. A. m. sowie einzelne Gedichte und Aufsätze in Zeitschriften und Almanachen.

Tiefe, echte Frömmigkeit, reiche Einbildungskraft, warmes Gefühl, Herrschaft über Sprache und Form und grosse Anmuth der Darstellung, haben ihren Leistungen viele Freunde erworben und ihr eine sehr ehrenvolle Stellung in der englischen literarischen Welt gesichert.

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"But I saw his white and palsied lips,
And the stare of his ghastly eye,

When he turned in hurried haste away,
Yet he had no power to fly;`

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He was chained to the deck with his heavy "In his cabin, alone, the captain kept,


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And he bolted fast the door;
And up and down the sailors walked,
And wish'd that the calm was o'er.

"The captain's son was on board with us,
A fair child, seven years old,
With a merry look, that all men loved,
And a spirit kind and bold.

"And the plagues of the storm will follow us, "I loved the child,

For Heaven his groans hath heard!' Still the captain's eye was fixed on me, But he answer'd never a word.

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and I took his hand, And made him kneel, and pray

That the crime, for which the calm was sent,
Might be purged clean away.

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