Be still, my own boy; lie still; 'tis the wind
That rustles among the dry leaves behind!

"Oh! beautiful boy, wilt thou go with me? My daughters shall cherish thee tenderly;

My daughters that sport in the midnight ring Shall rock thee, and nurse thee, and dance and sing!"

My father, my father, and seest thou not there
Erlking's daughters glide through the dark air?
My son, my son, I see all in our way,
'Tis the aged willows that shine so gray!

"I love thee! I'm charmed by thy beautiful form, And art thou not willing, I'll seize thee by storm!" My father, my father, I'm stricken all o'er;

Oh! Erlking indeed hath hurt me sore!

The father shudders-and swiftly he rides,

His moaning child in his arms he hides:
He reaches his home with toil, and in dread-
There in his arms the child was dead!

DU BIST WIE EINE BLUME.

(HEINE.)

'HOU art like any flower,

THOU

So kind, so fair, so chaste!

I gaze on thee, and sorrow
Within my heart is traced!

As if I should, with hand
Upon thy head inclined,
Pray unto God to keep thee

So chaste, so fair, so kind!

LÀ

HOSPITAL PRACTICE IN FRANCE.

(VOLTAIRE.)

le long de ces lits où gémit le malheur,

Victime des secours plus que de la douleur, L'ignorance en courant fait sa ronde homicide, L'indifférence observe et le hazard décide.

In those long wards where sighs from patients flow, Victims of succour rather than of woe,

Through her cool round of murder Ignorance glides, Indifference observes, and Chance decides.

HORACE.

CARM. I. xxxviii.

OY, all your Persian ornaments I hate;

BOY,

Crowns woven with the philyra displease ;

Retreats where still the lingering rose blooms late,

You need not seek for these.

Nought, I insist, with simple myrtle twine;

The myrtle cannot unbecoming be

To me, while drinking 'neath my mantling vine,

Nor thee, while serving me.

CARM. III. ix.

HORACE.

While pleasing in thy heart I moved,

Nor other courtier, more beloved,

Round thy white neck his arm did fling,

I flourished happier than the Persians' king.

LYDIA.

While thou no other flame didst prove,

Nor Lydia less than Chloe love,

Lydia, of fair resounding name,

I shone with more than Roman Ilia's fame.

HORACE.

Me Cretan Chloe governs now,

Skilled o'er the harp her hand to throw ;
For whom I would not fear to die,

If Fate would harmless pass her spirit by.

LYDIA.

Me Thurian Calais doth admire,

I claim him with a mutual fire;

For whom I twice could bear to die,

If Fate, dear youth, would pass him harmless by.

HORACE.

What if our love revive again,

And bind us in a lasting chain ?

Were flaxen Chloe loved no more,

And slighted Lydia welcomed to my door?