Is lily-cradled: I alone awake.

My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love,
My heart is breaking, and my eyes are dim,
And I am all aweary of my life.

TENNYSON.

The Rose.

Go, lovely rose,

Tell her that wastes her time and me,

That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee,

How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's young,

And shuns to have her graces spied,
That, hadst thou sprung
In deserts where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth

Of beauty from the light retired :

Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desired,

And not blush so to be admired.

Then die; that she

The common fate of all things rare

May read in thee,

How small a part of time they share,

That are so wondrous sweet and fair.

WALLER.

Apis aurea otiatur: sed ego unica vigilo;
Oculi madent fluentes, cruciatqve amor animum;
Animus labascit aeger: tenebrae super oculos;
Taedetqve me tueri superi spatia poli.

Vid Arundines Gami, 5th ed. p. 53.

R. B.

Rosa.

I rosa, flos florum: qvom te conspexerit illa,
Qvae tempusqve suum meqve perire sinit,
Se tibi conferri discet me iudice; discet

Qvam suavis, qvam sit candida, qvamqve placens.

Tuqve mone nympham, qvae primo in vere iuventae
Virgineum celat plena pudore decus,

Ut clausura tibi, si te loca sola tulissent,
Exiguum fuerit mors inhonora diem.

Vilius est pretium fugientis lumina formae:
Prodeat abiecto nympha timore iube,
Seqve coli sinat et cingi mirante corona,
Nec rubeat curae mile fuisse procis.

Tum morere, ut qvidqvid rari est qvae fata seqvantur, Sentiat exemplo docta puella tuo;

Qvam cita pernicies rapiat miracula formae,

Qvam paucos habeant suavia qvaeqve dies.

K.

Lamentation.

Swifter far than summer's flight,
Swifter far than youth's delight,
Swifter far than happy night,

Art thou come and gone.

As the earth when leaves are dead,
As the night when sleep is sped,
As the heart when joy is fled,
I am left lone, alone.

The swallow summer comes again;
The owlet night resumes her reign;
But the wild swan youth is fain

To fly with thee, false as thou.
My heart each day desires the morrow,
Sleep itself is turned to sorrow,

Vainly would my winter borrow

Sunny leaves from any bough.

Lilies for a bridal bed,

Roses for a matron's head,

Violets for a maiden dead,

Pansies let my flowers be:

On the living grave I bear

Scatter them without a tear;

Let no friend, however dear,

Waste one hope, one fear for me.

Auf das Alter.

SHELLEY.

Das Alter kränket mich; die jungen Jahr ingleichen; Zwar jenes, weil es kommt, und diese, weil sie weichen.

Lamentatio.

Citior longe qvam volat aestas,
Citior qvam lux laeta iuventae,
Citior gratae qvam fuga noctis
Tuqve adiisti, tuqve abiisti.
Foliis qvalis viduatur humus,
Qvalis trahitur nox sine somno,
Qvale fugatis cor deliciis,
Ego solivagus, desertus eo.
Sicut hirundo, redditur aestas,
Nox, strigis instar, solium reparat,
Sed vaga, cygni more, iuventus
Ut tu, perfida, tecumqve fugit.
Mihi lux hodie crastina cordi est;
Non sine luctu sopor ipse redit:
Folia e ramo sumere qvovis
Mea nunc frustra conatur hiems.
Lilia dantur nuptae thalamo;
Rosa matronae caput exornat;
Violas poscit mortua virgo;
Mihi sit violae tricoloris honos.
Vivus tumulor: tumulo detur
Flos sine fletu; neu me socius
Quamvis carus

Vanis celebret desideriis.

K.

Querulus.

Tempora nec senii nec sunt mihi grata iuventae ; Altera qvod veniunt, altera qvod fugiunt.

K.

The Power of Love.

The winds are high on Helle's wave,
As on that night of stormy water,
When Love, who sent, forgot to save
The young, the beautiful, the brave,

The lonely hope of Sestos' daughter.
Oh, when at night along the sky
Her turret-torch was blazing high,
Though rising gale and breaking foam
And shrieking sea-birds warned him home;
And clouds aloft and tides below,
With signs and sounds, forbade to go;
He could not see, he would not hear,
Or sound or sign foreboding fear;
His eye but saw that light of love,
The only star it hailed above;
His ear but rang with Hero's song,
"Ye waves, divide not lovers long."

That tale is old; but love anew

May nerve young hearts to prove as true.

BYRON.

Meine Antipathie.

Herzlich ist mir das Laster zuwider, doppelt zuwider Ist mir's, weil es so viel schwaßen von Tugend gemacht. "Wie? du hassest die Tugend?"-Ich wollte; wir übten sie

alle.

Und so spräche, will's Gott, ferner kein Mensch mehr davon.

SCHILLER.