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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.
THE OCEAN OF HOPE.
HOPE after hope is dashed to pieces,
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,
As upward still the foam is driven,
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,