THE SUNKEN CITY. HARK! the faint bells of the sunken city Wild and wondrous, of the olden time. Temples, towers, and domes of many stories There lie buried in an ocean grave, Undescried, save when their golden glories Gleam, at sunset, through the lighted wave. And the mariner who had seen them glisten, round. So the bells of memory's wonder-city Peal for me their old melodious chime; So my heart pours forth a changeful ditty, Sad and pleasant, from the bygone time. Domes and towers and castles, fancy-builded, There lie lost to daylight's garish beams, There lie hidden till unveiled and gilded, Glory-gilded, by my nightly dreams! And then hear I music sweet upknelling From many a well-known phantom band, And, through tears, can see my natural dwelling Far off in the spirit's luminous land! From the German of WILHELM MUELLER. Translation of JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN. THE LORE-LEI. I KNOW not whence it rises, This thought so full of woe: But a tale of the times departed - Haunts me - and will not go. The air is cool, and it darkens, And calmly flows the Rhine; The mountain peaks are sparkling In the sunny evening-shine. And yonder sits a maiden, The fairest of the fair; With gold is her garment glittering, And she combs her golden hair. With a golden comb she combs it, The boatman feels his bosom Till over boat and boatman The Rhine's deep waters run; And this with her magic singing The Lore-Lei hath done! From the German of HEINRICH HEINE. THE FISHER. THE waters purled, the waters swelled, - And earnestly his line beheld With tranquil heart and eye; She sang to him, she spake to him, The little fishes dwell, Thou wouldst come down their lot to share, And be forever well. Perfumes far sweeter than the best Nor any to oppose you save our lips; Where no joy dies till love has gotten more. For swelling waves our panting breasts, Where never storms arise, Exchange; and be awhile our guests: For stars, gaze on our eyes. The compass, love shall hourly sing; And, as he goes about the ring, We will not miss To tell each point he nameth with a kiss. WILLIAM BROWNE. THE FORSAKEN MERMAN. COME, dear children, let us away; Down and away below. Now my brothers call from the bay; Children dear, let us away. Call her once before you go. Call once yet, In a voice that she will know: "Margaret Margaret!" Children's voices should be dear (Call once more) to a mother's ear: Children's voices wild with pain, Surely she will come again. Call her once, and come away, This way, this way. "Mother dear, we cannot stay! The wild white horses foam and fret, Margaret Margaret!" Come, dear children, come away down. One last look at the white-walled town, She will not come, though you call all day. Children dear, was it yesterday We heard the sweet bells over the bay? Through the surf and through the swell, The far-off sound of a silver bell? Sand-strewn caverns cool and deep, When did music come this way? But, ah, she gave me never a look, For her eyes were sealed to the holy book. "Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door." Come away, children, call no more, Come away, come down, call no more. Down, down, down, Down to the depths of the sea. She sits at her wheel in the humming town, Hark what she sings: "O joy, O joy, From the humming street, and the child with its toy, From the priest and the bell, and the holy well, From the wheel where I spun, And the blessed light of the sun." Singing most joyfully, Till the shuttle falls from her hand, And the whizzing wheel stands still. She steals to the window, and looks at the sand, |