BY MRS. HEMANS. Charles Theodore Körner, the celebrated young German poet and soldier, was killed in a skirmish with a detachment of French troops, on the 26th August, 1813, a few hours after the composition of his popular piece, "The Sword Song." He was buried at the village of Wöbbelin, in Mecklenburgh, under a beautiful oak, in a recess of which he had frequently deposited verses, composed by him while campaigning in its vicinity. The monument erected to his memory beneath this tree, is of cast iron, and the upper part is wrought into a lyre and sword, a favourite emblem of Körner's, from which one of his Works had been entitled. Near the grave of the poet is that of his only sister, who died of grief for his loss, having only survived him long enough to complete his portrait, and a drawing of his burial place. Over the gate of the cemetery is engraved one of his own lines:--"Vergiss die treuen Tödten nicht."-Forget not the faithful dead. See Downes' Letters from Mecklenburgh, and Körner's Prosaische Aufsätze, &c. Von C. A. Tiedge. GREEN wave the oak for ever o'er thy rest! Rest, bard! rest soldier!- By the father's hand The oak waved proudly o'er thy burial-rite, Thou hast a hero's tomb!-A lowlier bed The gentle girl, that bowed her fair young head, Fame was thy gift from others—but for her, Thou hast thine oak—thy trophy,—what hath she? It was thy spirit, brother! which had made Woe, yet not long!-She lingered but to trace The earth grew silent when thy voice departed, Have ye not met ere now?-So let those trust Brother! sweet sister!-peace around ye dwell! Literary Souvenir. BY MRS. HEMANS. No more of talk, where God or angel guest ARE ye for ever to your skies departed? MILTON. Oh! will ye visit this dim world no more ? Ye whose bright wings a seldom splendour darted Through Eden's fresh and flowering shades of yore? Now are the fountains dried on that sweet spot, our faded earth beholds you not! And ye Yet, by your shining eyes not all forsaken, Came down, high guests ! in many a later day, From you, the veil of midnight darkness rending, On those bright steps between the earth and sky: Trembling he woke, and bowed o'er glory's trace, And worshipped, awe-struck, in that fearful place. By Chebar's Brook ye passed, such radiance wearing With its high crystal arch, intensely pure ! * Was like the noise of waters in their power. But in the Olive-mount, by night appearing, Midst the dim leaves, your holiest work was done !— * Ezekiel, chap. 1. Whose was the voice that came, divinely cheering, Yet one more task was yours!—your heavenly dwelling That He they sought had triumphed, and was gone! But may ye not, unseen, around us hover, With gentle promptings and sweet influence yet? When, midst the palm-trees, man your footsteps met? Are ye not near, when sorrow unrepining, Yields up life's treasures unto Him who gave? When martyrs, all things for His sake resigning, Lead on the march of death, serenely brave? Dreams!— but a deeper thought our souls may fill— One, one is near—a spirit holier still! Amulet. BY BERNARD BARTON. THE tale I tell was told me long ago; Yet mirthful ones, since heard, have passed away, 'T was told me by a man whose hairs were grey, Maintained that lingering spell which age endears, And while he told his tale his eyes were dim with tears. But not with tears of sorrow ;-for the eye And well his faltering voice, and tear, and sigh, Like clouds which shade awhile the moon's fair light; And patient smiles, by tears but made more bright, Confessed that God's decree was wise, and good and right. It was a winter's evening;—clear, but still: Earth's goal for hoary age, and beauty's smiling bloom. We talked of life's last hour,-the varied forms |