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Hold your tongues! both Swabian and Saxon!
A bold Bohemian cries;
If there's a heaven upon this earth,
There the tailor blows the flute,
And then the landlord's daughter
FROM THE GERMAN OF TIEDGE.
WHITHER, thou turbid wave? Whither, with so much haste, As if a thief wert thou?
I am the Wave of Life,
FROM THE GERMAN OF KLOPSTOCK.
How they so softly rest,
All, all the holy dead,
Deep to corruption
And they no longer weep,
Here, where complaint is still!
And they no longer feel,
Here, where all gladness flies!
And by the cypresses
Until the Angel
Calls them, they slumber!