And he has bowed his neck down
Calmly to meet the stroke,
And, sure, death's solemn promise,
Life, following, hath not broke.

Ay, of all bells that ever

He cast, is this the crown,
The bell of Church St. Magdalen
At Breslau in the town.
It was, from that time forward,
Baptized the Sinner's Bell:
Whether it still is called so,
Is more than I can tell.

Wilhelm Müller. Tr. C. T. Brooks.

Büsen, the Island.

OLD BÜSEN.

LD Büsen sank into the waves;

OLD

The sea has made full many graves;

The flood came near and washed around,
Until the rock to dust was ground.
No stone remained, no belfry steep;
All sank into the waters deep.

There was no beast, there was no hound;
They all were carried to the ground.

And all that lived and laughed around

The sea now holds in gloom profound.
At times, when low the water falls,
The sailor sees the broken walls;

The church-tower peeps from out the sand,
Like to the finger of a hand.

Then hears one low the church-bells ringing,
Then hears one low the sexton singing;
A chant is carried by the gust:

"Give earth to earth and dust to dust."
Ditmarsch Popular Song. Tr. F. Max Müller.

Coblentz.

COBLENTZ.

BY Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground,

There is a small and simple pyramid,
Crowning the summit of the verdant mound;
Beneath its base are heroes' ashes hid,
Our enemy's; but let not that forbid
Honor to Marceau, o'er whose early tomb

Tears, big tears, gushed from the rough soldier's lid,
Lamenting and yet envying such a doom,

Falling for France, whose rights he battled to resume.

Brief, brave, and glorious was his young career: His mourners were two hosts, - his friends and foes,And fitly may the stranger lingering here

Pray for his gallant spirit's bright repose; For he was Freedom's champion, one of those, The few in number, who had not o'erstept The charter to chastise which she bestows On such as wield her weapons: he had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept.

Lord Byron.

Cologne.

THE CATHEDRAL OF COLOGNE.

YATHEDRAL of Cologne !
Memorial of eld,

When German art excelled,

Long grown with age so gray,
Unfinished till this day.

Cathedral of Cologne !

Cathedral of Cologne !
He who thy plan conceived
Died ere it was achieved,

And none to build the rest
Have e'er their strength confessed,
Cathedral of Cologne !

Cathedral of Cologne!

The German sun declined
The hill of time behind;

Who thought, in such dark hours,
Of raising thy proud towers,
Cathedral of Cologne !

Cathedral of Cologne!

The master's sketch and plan
Lay hid from human scan;
But lately from the night
The plan was brought to light,
Cathedral of Cologne !

Cathedral of Cologne !
In vain was not revealed
The plan that lay concealed;
And loud to us it cries,
"Thy towers shall arise,
Cathedral of Cologne !

Friedrich Rückert. Tr. A. Baskerville.

0

IN THE CATHEDRAL OF COLOGNE.

FOR the help of angels to complete

This temple, angels governed by a plan Thus far pursued (how gloriously!) by man, Studious that he might not disdain the seat Who dwells in heaven! But that aspiring heat Hath failed; and now, ye powers! whose gorgeous wings

And splendid aspect yon emblazonings

But faintly picture, 't were an office meet

For you, on these unfinished shafts to try

The midnight virtues of your harmony:

This vast design might tempt you to repeat
Strains that call forth upon empyreal ground
Immortal fabrics, rising to the sound

Of penetrating harps and voices sweet!

William Wordsworth.

'T

IS even

THE ROMANCE OF COLOGNE.

on the pleasant banks of Rhine

The thrush is singing and the dove is cooing;

A youth and maiden on the turf recline

Alone, — and he is wooing.

Yet wooes in vain, for to the voice of love
No kindly sympathy the maid discovers,

Though round them both, and in the air above,
The tender spirit hovers.

Untouched by lovely Nature and her laws,
The more he pleads, more coyly she represses;
Her lip denies, and now her hand withdraws,
Rejecting his caresses.

Fair is she as the dreams young poets weave,
Bright eyes and dainty lips and tresses curly,
In outward loveliness a child of Eve,

But cold as nymph of Lurley.

The more Love tries her pity to engross,

The more she chills him with her strange behavior ;