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Behold, she comes ! My vision traces

The goddess as she earthward flies;

She comes, adorned with Chloe's graces,

And joy is laughing in her eyes.

Away with doubt-away with dolour !

A glory brightens Nature's face : Daughter of Heaven, Earth's consoler,

Fly, Friendship, fly to my embrace !

But ah—this dart! My frame is shaken;

Wild tumults in my bosom rise : I find, too late, that I've mistaken

For Friendship, Love in Friendship's guise.

CRONEGK.-Die verkleidete Licbe. ON AN EGOTIST.

HERE lies a poor elf

Who did nought good or bad ; He loved but himself,

And no rival he had.

P. L. VERDIER.- Épitaphe d'un Égoiste.

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HOPE after hope is dashed to pieces,
Yet ne'er the heart from hoping ceases ;

Wave after wave on ocean's breast

Is broken, yet he does not rest.

To sink and rise in endless motion,

That is the


life of ocean;

And hopes that come but to depart,
They are the surges of the heart.

As upward still the foam is driven,
So mount our dreams for aye to heaven ;

And dream in dreain is ever lost,

As foam in foam is ever tossed.

RÜCKERT.-Das Meer der Hoffnung THE WEAPONS OF MAN.

Not weaponless is fashioned man;

I speak not of the swordWho wields it worthily, it can

Right worthily reward

But other weapons Heaven gave

To make him strong and free, And win him, were he born a slave,

A sovereign mastery.

And such a weapon is his Soul,

Resolved, whate'er betide, To make the Loftiest its goal,

To spurn the Base aside; That, when Misfortune wreaks her spite,

Firm as against a rock,

Swerves not a hairbreadth from the right,

And bravely bears the shock.

And such a weapon is his Heart,

With honest warmth aglow, Where puling sorrow finds no part,

Though soft to real woe;
In worthy joy, a joyous mate,

To love, with honour, fain,
It would not for a kingdom bate

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