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She staggers, she falls; she shall struggle no more!

The death-rattle slightly convulses her throat;

Mayest look thy last on that mangled coat,
Besprent with sand, and foam, and gore!
Adieu! The orient glimmers afar,

And the morning-star
Anon will rise over Madagascar brightly.-
So rides the lion in Afric's deserts nightly.

REST IN THE BELOVED

(RUHE IN DER GELIEBTEN)

From (Lyrics and Ballads of Heine and Other German Poets. Copyright

1892, by Frances Hellman. Reprinted by permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons, publishers, New York.

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H, HERE forever let me stay, love!

Here let my resting-place e'er be;
And both thy tender palms then lay, love,

Upon my hot brow soothingly.
Here at thy feet, before thee kneeling,

In heavenly rapture let me rest,
And close my eyes, bliss o'er me stealing,

Within thine arms, upon thy breast.

I'll open them but to the glances

That from thine own in radiance fall;
The look that my whole soul entrances,

O thou who art my life, my all!
I'll open them but at the flowing

Of burning tears that upward swell,
And joyously, without my knowing,

From under drooping lashes well.

Thus am I meek, and kind, and lowly,

And good and gentle evermore;
I have thee - now I'm blessed wholly;

I have thee — now my yearning's o'er.
By thy sweet love intoxicated,

Within thine arms I'm lulled to rest,
And every breath of thine is freighted

With slumber songs that soothe my breast.

A life renewed each seems bestowing;

Oh, thus to lie day after day,
And hearken with a blissful glowing

To what each other's heart-beats say!
Lost in our love, entranced, enraptured,

We disappear from time and space;
We rest and dream; our souls lie captured

Within oblivion's sweet embrace.

OH, LOVE SO LONG AS LOVE THOU CANST

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H, LOVE so long as love thou canst!

Oh, love so long thy soul have need!
The hour will come, the hour will come,

When by the grave thy heart shall bleed!

And let thy heart forever glow

And throb with love, and hold love's heat,
So long on earth another heart

Shall echo to its yearning beat.

And who to thee his heart shall show,

Oh raise it up and make it glad!
Oh make his every moment blithe,

And not a moment make him sad!

Guard well thy tongue; a bitter word

Soon from the mouth of anger leaps.
O God! it was not meant to wound,-

But ah! the other goes and weeps.

Oh, love so long as love thou canst!

Oh, love so long thy soul have need!
The hour will come, the hour will come,

When by the grave thy heart shall bleed!

Thou kneelest down upon the grave,

And sink'st in agony thine eyes, –
They never more the dead shall see,-

The silent church-yard hears thy sighs.

Thou mourn'st:- "Oh, look upon this heart,

That here doth weep upon this mound!
Forgive me if I caused thee pain,-

O God, it was not meant to wound! »

But he, he sees and hears thee not;

He comes not, he can never know:
The mouth that kissed thee once says not,

«Friend, I forgave thee long ago!”

He did forgive thee long ago,

Though many a hot tear bitter fell For thee and for thy angry word;

But still he slumbers soft and well!

Oh, love so long as love thou canst!

Oh, love so long thy soul have need! The hour will come, the hour will come,

When by the grave thy heart shall bleed!

Translation of Dr. Edward Breck.

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