THE LEVERET. GRAVE as La Mancha's knight of old, 'Son,' said a hare advanced in years, 'What!' cried the heroes of his house, Whose looks betrayed their perturbations, 'Fought-how-with whom?' 'Yes, dear relations, I fought with a tremendous mouse.' PFEFFEL.-Der junge Hase. THE MAIDEN. LOVELY she was when, in the early dawn Lovely she was when, in the full saloon, Lovely she was when, in her veil at night, She wooed the breeze, and couching out of sight, We watched in silence, happy if afar She might be shown us by some friendly star. Lovely she was: each day some newer grace CH. NODIER.-La Jeune Fille. LONELINESS. As moves a murky vapour Across a limpid sky, When in the whispering woodland So mid the joy and beauty I travel slowly onward, Ungreeted and alone. Ah me, the air so balmy ! Ah me, the world so glad! If storms were breaking round me I should not be so sad. WILHELM MÜLLER.-Einsamkeit. WHAT THEN IS LOVE. WHAT then is love-I ask thee, My heart-that passion sweet? 'Two spirits and one impulse, Two bosoms and one beat.' And tell me whence love cometh? 'It cometh and 'tis there.' And tell me how love goeth? 'To go, no love it were.' And when is love the truest ? 'When self forsakes the breast.' And when is love the deepest? 'When it is most at rest.' |