III. Fill up the bowl from the brook that glides, A ruddier juice the Briton hides, In his fortress by the lake. Build high the fire, till the panther leap From his lofty perch in fright, And we'll strengthen our weary arms with sleep, For the deeds of to-morrow night. THE DEATH OF SCHILLER.* 'Tis said, when Schiller's death drew nigh, The wish possessed his mighty mind, To wander forth wherever lie The homes and haunts of human kind. Then strayed the poet, in his dreams, Walked with the Pawnee, fierce and stark, How could he rest? even then he trod The threshold of the world unknown; Already, from the seat of God, A ray upon his garments shone ; * Shortly before the death of Schiller, he was seized with a strong desire to travel in foreign countries, as if his spirit had a presentiment of its approaching enlargement, and already longed to expatiate in a wider and more varied sphere of existence. Shone and awoke that strong desire For love and knowledge reached not here, Till death set free his soul of fire, To plunge into its fitting sphere. Then who shall tell how deep, how bright, The abyss of glory opened round? How thought and feeling flowed like light, Through ranks of being without bound? LIFE.* Oн life! I breathe thee in the breeze, I feel thee bounding in my veins, I see thee in these stretching trees, These flowers, this still rock's mossy stains. This stream of odors flowing by From clover-field and clumps of pine, This music, thrilling all the sky, From all the morning birds, are thine. Thou fill'st with joy this little one, That leaps and shouts beside me here, Where Isar's clay-white rivulets run. Through the dark woods like frighted deer. * Close to the city of Munich, in Bavaria, lies the spacious and beautiful pleasure ground called the English Garden, in which these lines were written, originally projected and laid out by our countryman, Count Rumford, under the auspices of one of the sovereigns of the country. Winding walks of great extent pass through close thickets and groves interspersed with lawns; and streams diverted from the river Isar traverse the grounds swiftly in various directions, the water of which, stained with the clay of the soil it has corroded in its descent from the upper country, is frequently of a turbid white color. Ah! must thy mighty breath, that wakes Pass, pulse by pulse, till o'er the ground The thing, oh LIFE! thou quickenest, all Strive upward toward the broad bright sky, Upward and outward, and they fall Back to earth's bosom when they die. All that have borne the touch of death, There lies my chamber dark and still, Well, I have had my turn, have been And for a glorious moment seen The brightness of the skirts of God: |