And, as I mounted, o'er the meadow ground
A white and filmy essence 'gan to hover;
It sail'd and shifted till it hemm'd me round,
Then rose above my head, and floated over.
No more I saw the beauteous scene unfolded-
It lay beneath a melancholy shroud;
And soon was I, as if in vapour moulded,
Alone, within the twilight of the cloud.

At once, as though the sun were struggling through,
Within the mist a sudden radiance started;
Here sunk the vapour, but to rise anew,

There on the peak and upland forest parted.
O, how I panted for the first clear gleaming,
That after darkness must be doubly bright!
It came not, but a glory round me beaming,
And I stood blinded by the gush of light.

A moment, and I felt enforced to look,

By some strange impulse of the heart's emotion; But more than one quick glance I scarce could brook, For all was burning like a molten ocean.

There, in the glorious clouds that seem'd to bear her, A form angelic hover'd in the air;

Ne'er did my eyes behold a vision fairer,

And still she gazed upon me, floating there.

"Do'st thou not know me?" and her voice was soft
As truthful love, and holy calm it sounded.
"Know'st thou not me, who many a time and oft,
Pour'd balsam in thy hurts when sorest wounded?
Ah, well thou knowest her, to whom for ever
Thy heart in union pants to be allied!
Have I not seen the tears-the wild endeavour
That even in boyhood brought thee to my side?"

"Yes! I have felt thy influence oft," I cried,
And sank on earth before her, half-adoring;
“Thou brought'st me rest when Passion's lava tide
Through my young veins like liquid fire was pouring.
And thou hast fann'd, as with celestial pinions,

In summer's heat my parch'd and fever'd brow; Gav'st me the choicest gifts of earth's dominions, And, save through thee, I seek no fortune now.

"I name thee not, but I have heard thee named,
And heard thee styled their own ere now by many;
All eyes believe at thee their glance is aim'd,

Though thine effulgence is too great for any.
Ah! I had many comrades whilst I wander'd-
I know thee now, and stand almost alone:
I veil thy light, too precious to be squander'd,
And share the inward joy I feel with none."

Smiling, she said-" Thou see'st 'twas wise from thee
To keep the fuller, greater revelation :

Scarce art thou from grotesque delusions free,
Scarce master of thy childish first sensation;
Yet deem'st thyself so far above thy brothers,

That thou hast won the right to scorn them! Cease.

Who made the yawning gulf 'twixt thee and others?
Know-know thyself-live with the world in peace."

And as I spoke, upon her radiant face

Pass'd a sweet smile, like breath across a mirror;
And in her eyes' bright meaning I could trace

What I had answer'd well and what in error.
She smiled, and then my heart regain'd its lightness,
And bounded in my breast with rapture high :
Then durst I pass within her zone of brightness,
And gaze upon her with unquailing eye.

Straightway she stretch'd her hand among the thin
And watery haze that round her presence hover'd;
Slowly it coil'd and shrunk her grasp within,

And lo! the landscape lay once more uncover'd—
Again mine eye could scan the sparkling meadow,
I look'd to heaven, and all was clear and bright;
I saw her hold a veil without a shadow,

That undulated round her in the light.

"I know thee!-all thy weakness, all that yet
Of good within thee lives and glows, I've measured;"
She said her voice I never may forget-

66

Accept the gift that long for thee was treasured.
Oh! happy he, thrice-bless'd in earth and heaven,
Who takes this gift with soul serene and true,
The veil of song, by Truth's own fingers given,
Enwoven of sunshine and the morning dew.

"Wave but this veil on high, whene'er beneath
The noonday fervour thou and thine are glowing,
And fragrance of all flowers around shall breathe,
And the cool winds of eve come freshly blowing.
Earth's cares shall cease for thee, and all its riot;
Where gloom'd the grave, a starry couch be seen;
The waves of life shall sink in halcyon quiet;

The days be lovely fair, the nights serene."

Come then, my friends, and whether 'neath the load
Of heavy griefs ye struggle on, or whether

Your better destiny shall strew the road

With flowers, and golden fruits that cannot wither,
United let us move, still forwards striving;

So while we live shall joy our days illume,
And in our children's hearts our love surviving

Shall gladden them, when we are in the tomb.

This is a noble metaphysical and metaphorical poem, but purely German of its kind. It has been imitated, not to say travestied, at least fifty times, by crazy students and purblind professors-each of whom, in turn, has had an

interview with the goddess of nature upon a hill-side. For our own part, we confess that we have no great predilection for such mysterious intercourse, and would rather draw our inspiration from tangible objects, than dally with a visionary Egeria. But the fault is both common and national.

The next specimen we shall offer is the far-famed Bride of Corinth. Mrs Austin says of this poem very happily-" An awful and undefined horror breathes throughout it. In the slow measured rhythm of the verse, and the pathetic simplicity of the diction, there is a solemnity and a stirring spell, which chains the feelings like a deep mysterious strain of music." Owing to the peculiar structure and difficulty of the verse, this poem has hitherto been supposed incapable of translation. Dr Anster, who alone has rendered it into English, found it necessary to depart from the original structure; and we confess that it was not without much labour, and after repeated efforts, ancceeded in vanquishing the obstacle of the double rhymes. If the nolar should perceive, that in three stanzas some slight liberties have been taken with the original, we trust that he will perceive the reason, and at least give us credit for general fidelity and close adherence to the text.

"Oh, no-no! Young stranger, come not nigh me ;
Joy is not for me, nor festive cheer.
Ah! such bliss may ne'er be tasted by me,
Since my mother, in fantastic fear,
By long sickness bow'd,

To heaven's service vow'd

Me, and all the hopes that warm'd me here.

Was it love that brought the maiden thither,
To the chamber of the stranger guest?

Love's bright fire should kindle, and not wither;
Love's sweet thrill should soothe, not torture, rest.
His impassion'd mood

Warms her torpid blood,

Yet there beats no heart within her breast.