THE GERMAN BALLAD SINGER.

105

And thou seest thy parents far away,

And thy sister, lov'd like mine; 0! they long for thee as thou for them

And thine own beloved Rhine.

Thy song is done—we are parted now,

And may never meet ay:in ;
But, wandering boy, thou hast touch'd a heart,

And thy song was not in vain.
God's blessings on thee, poor minstrel boy,

May a happy lot he thine ! -
May thy heart go uncorrupted back
To thine own beloved Rhine !

NICOLL.

90. THE UNIVERSAL DANCE.

Look at the leaves, how they dance on the tree,

And the birds dance from spray to spray;

And look at the mighty waves of the sea, How they dance and sport 'neath the sun's glad ray.

And look at the stars, how they dance in the sky,

To the “music of the spheres ;”

And see how the hours and days dance by, In the dance of the circling years.

And thoughts, how they dance through the busy brain, Must be very well known to you;

The young blood dances in every vein, And—why shouldn't I dance too?

SHORTER.

106

THE BEGGAR,

91. THE BEGGAR.

Pity the sorrows of a poor old man !

Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span;

Oh! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store.

These tattered clothes my poverty bespeak,

These hoary locks proclaim my lengthened years; And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek,

Has been the channel to a stream of tears.

Yon house, erected on the rising ground,

With tempting aspect drew me from my road, For plenty there a residence has found,

And grandeur a magnificent abode.

(Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor !)

Here craving for a morsel of their bread,
A pampered menial forced me from the door,

To seek a shelter in a humbler shed.

Oh! take me to your hospitable home,

Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold! Short is my passage to the friendly tomb,

For I am poor, and miserably old.

Should I reveal the source of every grief,

If soft humanity e'er touched your breast, Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,

And tears of pity could not be represt.

Heaven sends misfortunes—why should we repine ?

'Tis Heaven has brought me to the state you see : And your condition may be soon like mine,

The child of sorrow and of misery.

A little farm was my paternal lot,

Then, like the lark, I sprightly hailed the morn; But ah ! oppression forced me from my cot;

My cattle died, and blighted was my corn.

My daughter-once the comfort of my age !

Lured by a villain from her native home,
Is cast, abandoned, on the world's wide stage,

And doomed in scanty poverty to roam.

My tender wife-sweet soother of my care !

Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree, Fell-lingering fell, a victim to despair,

And left the world to wretchedness and me.

Pity the sorrows of a poor old man !

Whose tremblinglimbshave borne him to your door, Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span; Oh! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store.

Moss.

92. A SKETCH FROM A PAINTER'S STUDIO.

A TRIPPING, fair, light-hearted girl,

Not yet the ripened woman quite,
Whose cheerful mirth and thoughtful love

Light up the cottage with delight,
And with a thousand gentle ways,
With pleasure brim her parents' days.

BENNETT.

108

BALLAD OF THE TEMPEST.

93. BALLAD OF THE TEMPEST.

We were crowded in the cabin,

Not a soul would dare to sleep,-
It was midnight on the waters,

And a storm was on the deep.

So we shuddered there in silence,

For the stoutest held his breath;
While the hungry sea was roaring,

And the breakers talked with death.

As thus we sat in da rkness,

Each one busy in his prayers,
“ We are lost!" the captain shouted

As he staggered down the stairs.
But his little daughter whispered,

As she took his icy hand-
“Isn't God upon the ocean,

Just the same as on the land ?"

Then we kissed the little maiden,

And we spoke in better cheer,
And we anchored safe in harbour
When the morn was shining clear.

FIELDS.

94. THE BEST REVENGE.

THE best revenge is love :-disarm
Anger with smiles; heal wounds with balm;

Give water to thy thirsting foo;
The sandal-tree, as if to prove
How sweet to conquer hate by love,

Perfumes the axe that lays it low. (From the Persian.)

VILKES. THE BLIND BOY AND HIS SISTER.

109

95. THE BLIND BOY AND HIS SISTER.

"Oh, brother,” said fair Annie,

To the blind boy at her side;
“Would thou could'st see the sunshine lie
On hill and valley, and the sky
Hung like a glorious canopy

O'er all things far and wide !

“Would, thou could'st see the waters

In many a distant glen;
The mountain flocks that graze around;
Nay, even this patch of stony ground,
These crags, with silver lichen crowned,

I would that thou could'st ken !
“Would thou could'st see my face, brother,

As well as I see thine;
For always what I cannot see
It is but half a joy to me.
Brother, I often weep for thee,

Yet thou dost ne'er repine.”

“And why should I repine, Annie?''

Said the blind boy with a smile ;
“I ken the blue sky and the grey;
The sunny and the misty day;
The moorland valley stretched away

For many and many a mile.
“I ken the night and day, Annie,

For all ye may believe;
And often in my spirit lies
A clear light as of mid-day skies;
And splendours on my vision rise,

Like gorgeous hues of eve.