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Hohenlinden.

HOHENLINDEN.

N Linden, when the sun was low,

ON

All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,

And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neighed
To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
Then rushed the steeds to battle driven,
And louder than the bolts of heaven,
Far flashed the red artillery.

But redder yet that light shall glow
On Linden's hills of stainéd snow,
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,

Where furious Frank and fiery Hun
Shout in their sulphurous canopy.

The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory or the grave!
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave!
And charge with all thy chivalry!

Few, few shall part where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding-sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet

Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

Thomas Campbell.

Ilmenau.

WANDERER'S NIGHT-SONGS.

THOU

I.

HOU that from the heavens art,
Every pain and sorrow stillest,
And the doubly wretched heart
Doubly with refreshment fillest,
I am weary with contending!
Why this rapture and unrest?
Peace descending

Come, ah, come into my breast!

II.

O'er all the hill-tops

Is quiet now,

In all the tree-tops

Hearest thou

Hardly a breath;

The birds are asleep in the trees:
Wait; soon like these

Thou too shalt rest.

Johann Wolfgang von Göthe.

Tr. H. W. Longfellow.

I

Ilsenstein.

PRINCESS ILSE.

AM the Princess Ilse,

And dwell in Ilsenstein:

Come with me to my castle;

Thou shalt be blest, and mine!

With ever-flowing fountains

I'll cool thy weary brow:
Thou 'lt lose, amid the rippling,
The cares which grieve thee now.

In my white arms reposing,

And on my snow-white breast, Thou 'lt dream of old, old legends, And sink in joy to rest.

I'll kiss thee and caress thee,

As in the ancient day

I kissed the Emperor Henry,
Who long has passed away.

The dead are dead and silent:
Only the living love;

And I am fair and blooming,
Dost feel my wild heart move?

And as my heart is beating,
My crystal castle rings,
Where many a knight and lady
In merry measure springs.

Silk trains are softly rustling,
Spurs ring from night to morn;
Aud dwarfs are gayly drumming,
And blow the golden horn.

As round the Emperor Henry,
My arms round thee shall fall :
I held his ears, he heard not
The trumpet's warning call.

-

Heinrich Heine. Tr. C. G. Leland.

Isar (Iser), the River.

THOU

TO A BAVARIAN GIRL.

HOU, Bavaria's brown-eyed daughter,
Art a shape of joy,

Standing by the Isar's water

With thy brother-boy;

In thy dream, with idle fingers
Threading through his curls,

On thy cheek the sun's kiss lingers,
Rosiest of girls!

Woods of glossy oak are ringing
With the echoes bland,

While thy generous voice is singing
Songs of Fatherland,

Songs, that by the Danube's river
Sound on hills of vine,

And where waves in green light quiver.
Down the rushing Rhine.

Life, with all its hues and changes,
To thy heart doth lie

Like those dreamy Alpine ranges

In the southern sky;

Where in haze the clefts are hidden,
Which the foot should fear,

And the crags that fall unbidden

Startle not the ear.

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