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Love in Death.

Liebchen, woher so spät zu Nacht?

"Ah! whither away,

Ah! whither away, Beloved, so deep in the night ?
Oh! long and longing I watched for thee;
The hours trailed like Eternity!

And I saw in a foul black dream thy starry
Eyes, methought, turn dim as Night!
And now thou art here, and wilt not tarry!
Ah! whither away,

Ah! whither away, Beloved, so far in the night ?"
"My dreary way,

My snake-haunted way lay over wild and waste,
Lay over wilderness and wave,


Morass, and swamp, and tombless grave;
In the dull dusk time I left my lair;

And the light whereby my path was traced
Was the glow-worm's lamp and the moon so bare,
As I passed on my way,

my snake-infested way through swamp and waste."
"And how, Beloved,

How foundest thou thus thy way to me to-night?
When evening fell I barred my gate-
None ever before came hither so late-

The sunken moon is drained of light-
And the low and listening winds could win
No sound from thy steps as thou glidedst in-
How, oh, Beloved!

How foundest thou thus thy way to me this night ?"

66 Hush! hush!-the winds,

The low and listening winds have ears to hear!
Warm Love can melt even brazen bars-

True Love's own eyes are more than stars-—

Though her brow be bound with the white death-wreath
The maiden that loves can feel no fear;

But, more than this I may not breathe,

For the winds can hear,

The low and listening.winds have ears to hear!"

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Then, Dearest, Good Night!”
She went, they say not how, and he slept till morn.
The sun rose red, and the grey clouds wept ;
The sun sank red, and the youth still slept.
Three days he slept, so marble-browed,
Till his mother and sisters came and clothed,
With tears, his corpse in a milk-white shroud
And they laid him beside his dead Betrothed
Till the Judgment-Morn:

He will sleep by her side till the dawn of the Judgment-Morn,

Didactic poetry, we know, is not popular; and though Wetzel has contributed his share to the general stock,


we shall confine ourself to a very insignificaut sample of his ability in that genre d'écrire.


Nur Ernst und Kraft vor allen Dingen!

"The Kingdom of Heaven suffereth violence."-Holy Writ.

Before all things, O, soul of mortal,

An earnest Will!

The Cherub still

Stands with the flaming sword at Eden's portal.
Him thou must overcome in deadly strife!
The Tree of Life,

Luxuriant in its golden growth,

Yet yields no fruits to palsied Sloth;
Showers not its treasures on the Weak;
Though many an apple falls

Inside the wardened walls

Those only gather them who dare to seek!

Before all things, O, soul of Man,
An ardent Hope, an carnest Will!
The magic wand* is slow to scan
The spot where hidden treasures lurk,
But Hope is more than wizard skill,

And Perseverance crowns the work.

Thou must buy Peace with thine own blood:

Up, then, and act, lest thou despair,

When, coming down like Night upon thy life's thick wood,
The prowling Fowlert takes thee in his snare!

Frederic Conrad Wetzel, Gentle man, was the personal enemy of Napoleon Buonaparte, Esquire we beg pardon the Emperor Napoleon. Yet, it is probable that Buonaparte accomplished more for France than Wetzel, under any circumstances, could have achieved for Germany-and, take him for all in all, was a more illustrious man than the Bamberg poet. And, now that the bones of both are crumbling


to dust, it is a mournful—but we check ourself. Time grows precious with us, and so does Space. Here are two patriotic effusions; the first meriting no particular comment-the second somewhat remarkable, as well for the peculiarity of its metrical structure as the odd and incongruous mixture of platitude and bold conception, prosaic ideas and poetical, of which it is compact.

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And so have Ourselves in that memorable year,
One thousand eight hundred and thirteen,
Seen the graves of our sires agitated far and near-
That marvel hath Germany seen!

And had not Germany's living sons

Then chased the Invader's band--·

The Dead would have risen, as they rose against the Huns,
And avenged their Fatherland!

In the Name of GOD I began,*

In the Name of GOD I close.

In Him alone

The spirit of Man
Shall find repose.
Peace, Purity, Love,
A holy zone!-
Encircle His throne:
The three are eternal
In Heaven above.
But, as for Earth-
Travailing Earth !—
Ere the wreathful vernal
Summer of Peace
Can bloom for Earth,
Ere Tears can cease,
And Hope have birth,
And Happiness blossom,
The plough of the sword
Must rend her bosom !
The share of the sword
From East to West
Must pierce her thorough,
And the blood of her Best
And Bravest be poured
In each thirsty furrow!



Mit Gott begann' ich.

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But, drunk with Pride,

We still relied

On the Knowledge that blinds-
On our own weak minds-
And not on the Light

That comes from above-
Which alone can guide

A nation to Might,
And alone unite

Her sons in the bands of Love.

Therefore was given to the Enemy


To blight and devour,

And to smite with the sword,
And to scatter black Dearth
Through our fruitfullest bowers,
And to rain poison-showers
On the green things of Earth,
That all might acknowledge that God
is the Lord,

And, shivering to dust the dark chain
Which a torpor like that of the grave
Had flung round them to deaden and

Might call upon Him

Who is potent and willing to save,
In the day of Disaster and Pain.

And We call on the God of our Fathers


We have sworn a vow

Whereby we will stand,

To battle for GOD and our Fatherland To the latest gasp!

With the Cross on our breasts,

And the Sword in our grasp,

We are stronger than cuirassed in


Of charmed steel.

Up, Brethren, then!

To GOD we appeal!

We have sworn by His Name

To win deathless fame,

Or gory graves!

Up, Brothers, then!

• This forms the last of a series of poems, called Kriegs-Siegs-und Feuerlieder.


The Revolution of 1788.

We are Saxon Men,

They hireling slaves.

Forget not the Faithful Dead*
Who have nobly striven!
Remember KÖRNER !
Remember WERNER!
Remember TELL!

Remember him who rose and fell

Like a meteor sped
From central Heaven-
The Unexampled
In old Romance-

The hero born-
Who terribly trampled
Beneath the heel

Of his crushing scorn
The Dragon of France!
And whose wont was to kneel
As he sang like a gallant scoffer,
Though all Hell's hosts in storm
and fire

Rose at the Tyrant's nod,
We'll strike him down, we'll
strike him down,
We'll strike him down through


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Are assailed by any;
Where the humblest in birth
Are sceptred sovereigns,
And the One who governs
A God upon Earth!

By a model so glorious and bold,
Yet curbed in its parts and controlled
By German skill

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And heed, more than all, that ye place The worthiest one

Of the German Race

On the German Throne!
Let him, the Strongest,
Reign over the rest
Who was tried the longest
And loved the best!
And away, from the first,
With those foes of the Free,
Those drags on the Throne,
The gods of whose curst
Idolatry be

Themselves alone!

For all must feel

And already the Corner-stone is found: And all must act for the Common

That Corner-stone

Is found alone

In an isle renowned

As the Isle of the Free,

Where Strength presides,

And Wisdom guides

To the Temple of Liberty; Where the will of the Many

And Few is one,t

And the rights of none


And ye, too, be wise,

Ye Princes! ye Regal!

And look that your duty be done! For other eyes

Than those of the eagle

Have come to see spots in the sun! Remember that they

Who in HERMAN's day

Vergiszt die treuen Tödten nicht! Forget not the faithful Dead!-the inscription over the arched avenue that leads to Körner's mausoleum.

+ If the isle alluded to be England readers must recollect that this description was written in 1813.

Gave, as History* sings,
Your fathers power
To rule and to reign
As Kaisers and Kings,
Are renewed in the men
Who by sword and pen
And sweat sustain
Their sons at this hour!

Ye Guardians! Ye Royal Shepherds!
On you devolves

The care of the Popular Fold!
Give not the lambs up to the leopards!
Betray not the flock to the wolves!
Abuse not the high trust ye hold!
But rigidly chase

From the Council-chamber
The plotters who clamber
To power and place

By the window like thieves,-
With whom Cunning is Mind,
And who, serpent-like, wind
Themselves into your graces-
From such turn your faces!
Their counsel deludes and deceives!
Choose your friends from the Frank,
From the Generous in deed-
From the Noble in spirit!
Make Talent, not Rank,
Make Conduct, not Creed,
The criterion of Merit!
Encourage well-doers!
Give scope to the plans
Of the Liberal and Wise-
Remembering that Man's
Cause is bound up with yours
By the same holy ties!
And nurse the rekindling
Love of the Arts
Which German hearts
Are prompt to cherish;
Nor suffer to perish
The daily dwindling
Though muscular tongue
Of the Heroes and Masterst
Who battled and sung
When darker disasters

Than any that bow

The Wavering now

Hung over the land.

For Time has prevailed

To couch the eyes of the hitherto blind!

The nations at length

Are awake to their strength,

And the voice of a Questioning Crowd
Grows deep and loud,

Like thunder behind a lighted cloud!
And they ask one another,
"Is this Combination
Of brother with brother,
This fierce preparation,
This wrath without measure
Against the Destroyer
Meant merely to pleasure
A Royal employer?
Or, do we not strike
With our gallant swords
In defence alike

Of ourselves and our lords ?"

And the need is the greater and nigher,
Each rapid year brings
The need still the nigher,
That, blent in affection,
Both peoples and kings
Coalesce for protection
Of all that sublimes
And greatens Existence-
The need is the nigher
The more the years roll,
For troublous times
Are looming in distance,
And every soul

Shall be tried with fire ;
And though millions shall die,
The blood shall not dry
On the slaughtering steel!
Let both, then, unite,

Till the struggle be done,
That in woe, as in weal,

Their path may together be trod,
Their cause may be common and


The Path of Right,

And the Cause of GOD!

That struggle shall be

For no earthly crown,-
For no hollow renown-
That struggle shall be

So only, ye Rulers, can, henceforth For the things of ETERNITY,


Your thrones unassailed!

And ye rear them on sand

If ye lay not the warning to mind;

And shall lie betwixt
The Best and the Worst
The Blest and the Curst,
The Good unmixed

The Saxon Chronicles, which were mostly in verse.

+ Die Held-und Meistersprache: the dialect of the Heroes and Masters, viz: Minnesingers.

A query of a somewhat similar character appears in Childe Harold:

Gaul may champ the bit,

And foam in fetters, but is Earth more free?

Did nations combat to make one submit,

Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty?

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