I saw, from this fair region,
The smile of summer pass,
And myriad frost-stars glitter
Among the russet grass.

While winter seized the streamlets
That fled along the ground,
And fast in chains of crystal
The truant murmurers bound.

I saw that to the forest

The nightingales had flown, And every sweet-voiced fountain Had hushed its silver tone.

The maniac winds, divorcing
The turtle from his mate,
Raved through the leafy beeches,
And left them desolate.

Now May, with life and music,
The blooming valley fills,
And rears her flowery arches
For all the little rills.

The minstrel bird of evening Comes back on joyous wings, And, like the harp's soft murmur, Is heard the gush of springs.

And deep within the forest

Are wedded turtles seen,

Their nuptial chambers seeking, Their chambers close and green.

The rugged trees are mingling
Their flowery sprays in love;
The ivy climbs the laurel,

To clasp the boughs above.

They change-but thou, Lisena,
Art cold while I complain :
Why to thy lover only

Should spring return in vain ?

A NORTHERN LEGEND,

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.

THERE sits a lovely maiden,

The ocean murmuring nigh;
She throws the hook, and watches;
The fishes pass it by.

A ring, with a red jewel,
Is sparkling on her hand;
Upon the hook she binds it,
And flings it from the land.

Uprises from the water

A hand like ivory fair.
What gleams upon its finger?
The golden ring is there.

Uprises from the bottom

A young and handsome knight;
In golden scales he rises,

That glitter in the light.

BESIDE the River of Tears, with branches low,
And bitter leaves, the weeping-willows grow;
The branches stream like the dishevelled hair
Of women in the sadness of despair.

On rolls the stream with a perpetual sigh;
The rocks moan wildly as it passes by;
Hyssop and wormwood border all the strand,
And not a flower adorns the dreary land.

Then comes a child, whose face is like the sun,
And dips the gloomy waters as they run,
And waters all the region, and behold
The ground is bright with blossoms manifold.

Where fall the tears of love the rose appears,

And where the ground is bright with friendship's tears,

Forget-me-not, and violets, heavenly blue,

Spring, glittering with the cheerful drops like dew.

The souls of mourners, all whose tears are dried,
Like swans, come gently floating down the tide,
Walk up the golden sands by which it flows,
And in that Paradise of Tears repose.

There every heart rejoins its kindred heart;
There, in a long embrace that none may part,
Fulfilment meets desire, and that fair shore
Beholds its dwellers happy evermore.

THE LADY OF CASTLE WINDECK.

FROM THE GERMAN OF CHAMISSO.

REIN in thy snorting charger!

That stag but cheats thy sight;

He is luring thee on to Windeck,
With his seeming fear and flight.

Now, where the mouldering turrets
Of the outer gate arise,

The knight gazed over the ruins

Where the stag was lost to his eyes.

The sun shone hot above him;
The castle was still as death;

He wiped the sweat from his forehead,
With a deep and weary breath.

"Who now will bring me a beaker
Of the rich old wine that here,
In the choked-up vaults of Windeck,
Has lain for many a year?"

The careless words had scarcely
Time from his lips to fall,
When the Lady of Castle Windeck,
Came round the ivy-wall.

He saw the glorious maiden

In her snow-white drapery stand, The bunch of keys at her girdle, The beaker high in her hand.

He quaffed that rich old vintage;
With an eager lip he quaffed;
But he took into his bosom

A fire with the grateful draught.

Her eyes' unfathomed brightness!
The flowing gold of her hair!
He folded his hands in homage,
And murmured a lover's prayer.

She gave him a look of pity,
A gentle look of pain ;

And, quickly as he had seen her,
She passed from his sight again.

And ever, from that moment,
He haunted the ruins there,

A sleepless, restless wanderer,
A watcher with despair.