Where the village maidens gather
At the fountain's brim,

Or in sunny harvest-weather,
With the reapers trim;

Where the autumn fires are burning
On the vintage-hills;

Where the mossy wheels are turning
In the ancient mills;

Where from ruined robber-towers
Hangs the ivy's hair,

And the crimson foxbell flowers
On the crumbling stair;
Everywhere, without thy presence,
Would the sunshine fail,

Fairest of the maiden peasants!

Flower of Isar's vale!

Bayard Taylor.

Jauer.

HEDWIG'S WELL, NEAR JAUER.

OW shall I speak what in my breast hath striven?

HOW

How joy and sorrow bear, quick changes proving, My softened heart to days of happy loving, In which tears had not yet their poison given! Who hath bound in sorrow my free Heaven? Who dared to fetter thus my spirit's roving,

The minstrel to war's crimes by force removing?
Who hath my tree of peace thus foully riven?
What! hath not mine own hand the sword fast strained,
That to my German soil, by blood free rained,
Youth for a holy work, and life, he gained?

There speaks a God, in these waves' murmurs dwelling, "Strength must have way, the rocky heart o'er-swelling, And from the deeps of death springs life pure welling."

Karl Theodor Körner. Tr. W. B. Chorley.

A

Katzbach, the River.

THE TRUMPETER OF KATZBACH.

TRUMPETER at Katzbach,
As the storm of fight swept by,

His life-blood ebbing slowly,
Had laid him down to die.

No ease the wound was bringing

Within his stricken breast;

Until he hears of victory

He does not pray for rest.

As he lay alone and dying,
Upon the blood-stained ground,
Upon his ear comes floating

A clarion's well-known sound.

BY

From the cold earth he rises,

As he hears the glorious strain ;
And on his stately charger

The trumpeter sits again.

Then forth he takes his trumpet,
Once more with nervous hand,
Aud rings with peal like thunder,
Victoria! o'er the land.

Victory! sounds the trumpet,
Victory! far and near!

Again that glorious echo

Sings thrilling on the ear.

But with that blast of thunder
His martial spirit fled;
And from his stately charger

The trumpeter falls dead!

Then as their comrade's obsequies

The serried ranks attend,

Spake softly the field-marshal,

"His was a happy end!"

Johann Ludwig Uhland. Tr. Percy Boyd.

BLÜCHER'S BALL.

Y the Katzbach, by the Katzbach, ha! there was a merry dance;

Wild and weird and whirling waltzes skipped ye through,

ye knaves of France!

For there struck the great bass-viol an old German

master famed,

Marshal Forward, Prince of Wallstadt, Gebhardt Lebrecht Blücher named.

Up the Blücher hath the ball-room lighted with the cannon's glare!

Spread yourselves, ye gay, green carpets, that the dancing moistens there!

And his fiddle-bow at first he waxed with Goldberg and with Jauer;

Whew! he's drawn it now full length, his play a stormy northern shower!

Ha! the dance went briskly onward, tingling maduess seized them all:

As when howling, mighty tempests on the arms of windmills fall.

But the old man wants it cheery, wants a pleasant dancing chime;

And with gun-stocks clearly, loudly, beats the old Teutonic time.

Say, who, standing by the old man, strikes so hard the kettle-drum,

And, with crushing strength of arm, down lets the thundering hammer come?

Gneisenau, the gallant champion: Alemannia's envious

foes

Smites the mighty pair, her living double-eagle, shivering blows.

And the old man scrapes the sweep-out: hapless Franks and hapless trulls!

Now what dancers leads the graybeard? Ha! ha! ha! 't is dead men's skulls!

But, as ye too much were heated in the sultriness of

hell,

Till ye sweated blood and brains, he made the Katzbach cool ye well.

From the Katzbach, while ye stiffen, hear the ancient proverb say,

"Wanton varlets, venal blockheads, must with clubs be beat away!"

Adolf Ludwig Follen. Tr. C. C. Felton.

Kevelaer.

THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAR.

I.

HE mother stood at the window;

THE

In the chamber lay her son.

"Arise! arise! dear William,
And see the crowd march on."
"I am so sick, my mother,
I cannot hear or see;

I think of my dead Gretchen,
And my heart is sad in me."

"Then we will go to Kevlaar,
With book and rosary,

And there God's gracious mother
Will heal thy heart for thee."