Behold, she comes! My vision traces The goddess as she earthward flies; She comes, adorned with Chloe's graces, Away with doubt-away with dolour! Daughter of Heaven, Earth's consoler, But ah-this dart! My frame is shaken; I find, too late, that I've mistaken For Friendship, Love in Friendship's guise. CRONEGK.-Die verkleidete Liebe. 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 Égoïste. THE OCEAN OF HOPE. 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, 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 dream 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 sword Who wields it worthily, it can Right worthily reward But other weapons Heaven gave 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, Where puling sorrow finds no part, In worthy joy, a joyous mate, It would not for a kingdom bate And such a weapon is his Word, By sordid interest unstirred, No bauble to be bought : In fitting time, in fitting place, |