THE DEATH OF SCHILLER.

'T's said, when Sched his mighty mind,

IS said, when Schiller's death drew nigh,

The wish possessed his mighty mind,

To wander forth wherever lie

The homes and haunts of humankind.

Then strayed the poet, in his dreams,
By Rome and Egypt's ancient graves;
Went up the New World's forest-streams,
Stood in the Hindoo's temple-caves;

Walked with the Pawnee, fierce and stark,
The sallow Tartar, midst his herds,
The peering Chinese, and the dark
False Malay, uttering gentle words.

How could he rest? even then he trod
The threshold of the world unknown;
Already, from the seat of God,

ray upon his garments shone;

Shone and awoke the strong desire

For love and knowledge reached not here,
Till, freed by death, his soul of fire
Sprang to a fairer, ampler sphere.

New York, 1838.

"Democratic Review," August, 1838.

The love that lived through all the stormy past,
And meekly with my harsher nature bore,
And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last,
Shall it expire with life, and be no more?

A happier lot than mine, and larger light,
Await thee there, for thou hast bowed thy will
In cheerful homage to the rule of right,

And lovest all, and renderest good for ill.

For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell

Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll; And wrath has left its scar-that fire of hell Has left its frightful scar upon my soul.

Yet, though thou wear'st the glory of the sky,
Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name,
The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye,
Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same?

Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home,
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this-
The wisdom which is love-till I become
Thy fit companion in that land of bliss?

New York, 1839.

"Democratic Review," March, 1839

E FOUNTAIN.

at springest on this grassy sicpe murmur mingles pleasantly. und of breezes in the beech, oontide. Thou dost wear ark birthplace; gushing up

and slimy roots of earth

he sun. The mountain-air,
Searer, or the dew

untain-blossom. Thus doth God ears and foul, the pure and bright.

set ce the bank above

waters keep it green!

the roots of the wild-vine

er 1, and to the twigs

sts Dere the spice-bush lifts IGN ON Turm there,

the sun holds up

of green berries In and out
7-sparrow, in her coat of brown,

lest I should mark ber nest.