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tain deranged arrangement in it which to say, all that unsophisticated freshwe long to call chaotic. It is the per- ness, all that simplicity of language fection of magnificent inanity.

and integrity of sentiment, which we This taint, however, it is but justice conceive to be the richest ornaments to state, has not ulcerated the whole the poet can decorate his page with. body of German poetry. The volume They are also distinguished for an before us is in a great degree exempt elevated tone of moral principle-in from it. Here we have evidence that this age no slight praise. We have the streams of Castaly may flow as perhaps detained our readers too long purely through German channels as from the perusal of such of these prothrough any other. The productions ductions as we can afford space for of Salis and Matthisson--honoured be here. We commence, then, with a their names !-breathe, we are happy piece by Salis.


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Seht! Wie die Tage sich sonnig verklären !"
See how the day beameth brightly before us !

Blue is the firmament-green is the earth
Grief hath no voice in the Universe' chorus-

Nature is ringing with music and mirth.
Lift up the looks that are sinking in sadness--

Gaze! and if Beauty can capture thy soul,
Virtue herself will allure thee to gladness-

Gladness, Philosophy's guerdon and goal.
Enter the treasuries Pleasure uncloses-

List! how she thrills in the nightingale's lay!
Breathe! she is wafting thee sweets from the roses ;

Feel! she is cool in the rivulet's play ;
Taste! from the grape and the nectarine gushing

Flows the red rill in the beams of the sun-
Green in the hills, in the flowergroves blushing,

Look! she is always and everywhere one.
Banish, then, mourner! the tears that are trickling

Over the cheeks that should rosily bloom;
Why should a man, like a girl or a sickling,

Suffer his lamp to be quenched in the tomb ?
Still may we battle for Goodness and Beauty;

Still hath Philanthropy much to essay :
Glory rewards the fulfilment of duty;

Rest will pavilion the end of our way.
What, though corroding and multiplied sorrows,

Legion-like, darken this planet of ours,
Hope is a balsam the wounded heart borrows

Ever when Anguish hath palsied its powers;
Wherefore, though Fate play the part of a traitor,

Soar o'er the stars on the pinions of Hope,
Fearlessly certain that sooner or later

Over the stars thy desires shall have scope.
Look round about on the face of Creation !

Still is God's Earth undistorted and bright;
Comfort the captives to long tribulation,

Thus shalt thou reap the more perfect delight.
Love!_but if Love be a hallowed emotion,

Purity only its rapture should share;
Love, then, with willing and deathless devotion,

All that is just and exalted and fair.

Act!—for in Action are Wisdom and Glory;

Fame, Immortality—these are its crown:
Wouldst thou illumine the tablets of Story,

Build on achIEVEMENTS thy Dome of Renown.
Honour and Feeling were given thee to cherish,

Cherish them, then, though all else should decay :
Landmarks be these that are never to perish,

Stars that will shine on thy duskiest day.
Courage !— Disaster and Peril, once over,

Preshen the spirit, as showers the grove :
O’er the dim graves that the cypresses cover

Soon the Forget-Me-Not rises in love.
Courage, then, friends! Though the universe crumble,

Innocence, dreadless of danger beneath,
Patient and trustful and joyous and humble,

Smiles through the ruin on Darkness and Death. Penned in a milder and sadder tory of Good over Ill in a more harspirit

, though not, perhaps, in one less monious world than this, are the few disposed to recognise the ultimate vic- lines entitled


Das Grab ist tief und stille."
The grave it is deep and soundless,

And canopied over with clouds ;
And trackless and dim and boundless

Is the Unknown Land that it shrouds.
In vain may the nightingales warble

Their songs—the roses of Love
And Friendship grow white on the marble

The living have reared above.
The virgin, bereft at her bridal

Of him she has loved, may weep :
The wail of the orphan is idle ;

It breaks not the buried one's sleep.
Yet everywhere else shall mortals

For Peace unavailingly roam :
Except through the Shadowy Portals

Goeth none to his genuine home!
Avd the heart that tempest and sorrow

Have beaten against for years
Must look for a sunnier morrow

Beyond this Temple of Tears. In conjunction with these verses we are at least agreeable to the ear, from shall give the following, which, with- the untroubled flow of the rhyme and out pretensions to much originality, measure :

A LAY OF LIFE. (Matthisson.)

Kommen und Scheiden."
Wrestling and Running,

Dreaming and Groping,
Seeking and Shunning,

Trembling and Hoping,
Riches and Poverty, Meanness and Might,
Chase one another, like Darkness and Light.

Vainly for Peace on

Earth dost thou struggle!
Rebels from Reason

Dupe thee and juggle;
Till, like the track of the ship through the stream,
Vanish the magical tints of each dream.

Then from this lowly

Look up with holy

Thither where dwell in perennial communion
Truth and Serenity, Wisdom and Union !

Favouring breezes

Blow for the Noble ;
O'er the calm seas his

Bark hath no trouble.
Bright are the glories his life that illume ;
Fresh are the roses that garland his tomb.

Never despairing,

Firmly to suffer,
Gallantly bearing

Smoother and rougher,
Neither afraid to endure nor essay,
This be thy vaunt and thy duty for aye !

The feelings of Matthisson as a poet are occasionally tinged with melan. appear to have been rarely excited choly; but it is not the melancholy of beyond that equable, though by no despair or even of common human means everyday level, which best quali- grief that shades the page: it is the fies a man to appreciate at their fair overfowing of a heart whose yearnworth all the blessings around him, ings for the Beautiful “nought under without leaving him in any great de- Heaven's wide hollowness" can satisfy, gree liable to be injured by the shocks and whose longings after the unobtainhe may encounter through existence. able sympathy of the Fair, the ExcelTo the hurricane and turmoil both of the lent, and the Noble, of all centuries physical world and the human passions and countries, though German enough, he is a happy stranger. He is the ama- perhaps, in their character to excite nuensis of Nature in her mildest moods, a smile in us, are as deep a spring and he chooses poetry as the medium of pain to him as the severest trials of her thousand-voiced communications of Life can be to the worldly-minded. to mankind. He is rejoiced when he Hence, though the Elegy is a favourite listens to the carol of the lark, and form of composition with Matthisson, he glad because he sees that the prim- does not sorrow for the dead" as one who roses are blowing ; "his heart leaps up hath no hope;" for his sentiments are, in when he beholds a rainbow in the their darkest phases, rather sad than sky;" and, if he can also weep as he gloomy; while the Laments that he hears the mould fall upon the coffin pours forth to the living, though unof a brother, his tears, though sincere, surpassed for pathos, exhibit not half are neither bitter nor exhaustless, for the despondency and bitterness of he is a believer in the promised Re- which such subjects might be supposed surrection. He does not like too susceptible. One of these--the Vergisz many, detect the flavour of poison in mein nichtis a piece of such a tine every draught that the wells of hu- and solemn order, that we cannot withmanity supply him with : he is evi- hold it here, although, as addressed dently unwilling to suspect that any- to an individual, and embracing many thing unholy or polluted can emanate local topics, it may, probably, appear difrom such a source. True, his effusions vested of a portion of its proper beauty.

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Vergist mein nicht wenn unter Fremden Lüften.”
Forget me not, Beloved! when, far and far away,

I float, a leaf, along the world's wide sea :
When flowers bestrew thy path and zephyrs round thee play,

Let that fond heart of thine remember me.
The roses nigh thy window.cells will blow;
The morning sun will shine, the evening stars will glow;
The moon's blue beams will tremble on the grot,

And I afar, Forget me not !
Forget me not when in the gorgeous hall

Thy light steps move where Youth and Beauty bloom ;
Forget me never when the curtain-pall

Of Eve shall robe thy lonesome bower in gloom.
When, Heaven's dim veil uprolled, the starry kingdom gleams,
And when thy spirit soars and mingles with its beams,
I too shall glance above, and this shall be my thought-

Loved Marianne, Forget me not!
Forget me not when Spring is newly flowering,

When Nature, garland-crowned, speaks with divinest voice,
And strikes thine eye with loveliness o'erpowering,

And bids thy gentle spirit in its depths rejoice.
Forget me not when Summer-days draw nigh,
When, like so many fragments of the mild blue sky,
Young violets shall whisper from each bowery spot,

* Forget me not! Forget me not !"

Forget me not when Memory sweetly lingers

On that loved haunt, by both remembered well, The spot where first I touched thy fairy fingers

Remember, Marianne, the darkling pine-tree dell ! What happiness was mine when first I pressed Thy band! and dared to raise it to a breast Wherein that warm pulse beats which now dictates this thought

“Oh, Marianne, Forget me not !”

Forget me not when sauntering by that lone

Gate which the tall wild weeds encircle wreathingly,
Where oft I hung upon thine every tone

As on the chaliced flowrets bangs the amorous bee :
The echo of thy words then died away in distance,
Not so the soul they breathed—that lives in green existence
Deep in a heart with thy dear image fraught-

Then, Marianne, Forget me not !

Where droops the cypress there my spirit hovers,

Beside that grave which once we loitered nigh, na The pale day sank, too drearily for lovers,

But Holiness and Peace were in thy soul and eye. The spirit of thy mother blessed thee then, oh, maiden! Thy heart felt tranquillized, while mine, alas, was laden With many a dark foreshadowing of my future lot

Yet, Marianne, Forget me not! VOL. VI.

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Rememberest thou the evening? Thoughts that Speech expresses

So vaguely and so ill were swelling in thy bosom;
The stirless Autumg airs forbore to woo thy tresses ;

There was no moaning voice that night on flower or blossom .
The holy cypresses with tear-like dews were wet :
Canst thou, my Marianne, that thrilling hour forget ?
Ah! then these burning words, too, from thy memory blot

“ My Marianne, Forget me not !"
What there absorbed my mind and all my mindborn powers

Shews clear and pure and placid as the enamelled Night, Which then shone down upon those consecrated hours,

Hours garnered in my memory as her best delight, That strong and calm devotion which ennobled Love, And saved from wronging stain the sacred garland of Homage I proffered then to Virtue, Truth, and thee

Then, Marianne, Remember me!

That strong and calm devotion sanctifies me now:

Oh! ne'er in saintly bosom burned a holier glow
Than mine, when, whitely veiling thy too radiant brow,

Thou camest, as from Heaven, to illume dark Earth below.
Thus hover o'er me still through my long night of years,
And, like a dazzling vision born of loftier spheres,
Hallow the hour in which my last, last sigh shall be

“ Oh, Marianne, Remember me !"

Not in the smile-not in the favoring glance

Not in the enthralling magic of thy greeting Not in that queenly form transcending all romance,

Which rose where slim young boughs and blossom gauze were meetingNot in the fascinating graces of thy mien The enchantment lay ;--the mind, that melodist unseen First woke the chord of Love which now breathes whisperingly

“My Marianne, Remember me !"

This high existence—this ethereal essence

This wonder-sphere of harmonies Elysian,
Whose rays encircle thee with fadeless presence,

This, only this shall live unwaning in my vision,
There blow those airs of peace whose breath is Paradise,
There virtues, flower-like, breathe rich incense to the skies,
Those skies from whence a voice shall shortly sigh to thee-

"Ah, Marianne, Remember me !"

Peace round thee be! But tenfold woe to those

Who waken anguish in a heart like thine,
A heart like thine, whose every feeling glows

With goodness and benevolence divine :
Who shall debar me from the throne I claim
In that exalted Heaven? Ah! might my noteless name
Be with this lay of love before thy memory brought!

My Marianne, Forget me not!

Here, underneath the greenery of the vine,

My hand and heart have reared a monument to thee! Here oft I sweetly dream, oft sadly 'pine,

But all my thoughts are born for immortality,

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