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THE SUNKEN CITY.

HARK! the faint bells of the sunken city
Peal once more their wonted evening chime!
From the deep abysses floats a ditty,

Wild and wondrous, of the olden time.

Temples, towers, and domes of many stories There lie buried in an ocean grave, Undescried, save when their golden glories

Gleam, at sunset, through the lighted wave.

And the mariner who had seen them glisten,
In whose ears those magic bells do sound,
Night by night bides there to watch and listen,
Though death lurks behind each dark rock

round.

So the bells of memory's wonder-city

Peal for me their old melodious chime; So my heart pours forth a changeful ditty, Sad and pleasant, from the bygone time.

Domes and towers and castles, fancy-builded, There lie lost to daylight's garish beams, There lie hidden till unveiled and gilded, Glory-gilded, by my nightly dreams!

And then hear I music sweet upknelling

From many a well-known phantom band, And, through tears, can see my natural dwelling Far off in the spirit's luminous land!

From the German of WILHELM MUELLER. Translation of JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN.

THE LORE-LEI.

I KNOW not whence it rises,

This thought so full of woe: But a tale of the times departed - Haunts me - and will not go.

The air is cool, and it darkens,

And calmly flows the Rhine; The mountain peaks are sparkling In the sunny evening-shine.

And yonder sits a maiden,

The fairest of the fair; With gold is her garment glittering, And she combs her golden hair.

With a golden comb she combs it,
And a wild song singeth she,
That melts the heart with a wondrous
And powerful melody.

The boatman feels his bosom
With a nameless longing move;
He sees not the gulfs before him,
His gaze is fixed above,

Till over boat and boatman

The Rhine's deep waters run; And this with her magic singing The Lore-Lei hath done!

From the German of HEINRICH HEINE.

THE FISHER.

THE waters purled, the waters swelled, -
A fisher sat near by,

And earnestly his line beheld

With tranquil heart and eye;
And while he sits and watches there,
He sees the waves divide,
And, lo a maid, with glistening hair,
Springs from the troubled tide.

She sang to him, she spake to him,
"Why lur'st thou from below,
In cruel mood, my tender brood,
To die in day's fierce glow?
Ah! didst thou know how sweetly there

The little fishes dwell,

Thou wouldst come down their lot to share, And be forever well.

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Perfumes far sweeter than the best
That make the phoenix urn and nest :
Fear not your ships,

Nor any to oppose you save our lips;
But come on shore,

Where no joy dies till love has gotten more.

For swelling waves our panting breasts,

Where never storms arise, Exchange; and be awhile our guests: For stars, gaze on our eyes. The compass, love shall hourly sing; And, as he goes about the ring,

We will not miss

To tell each point he nameth with a kiss.

WILLIAM BROWNE.

THE FORSAKEN MERMAN.

COME, dear children, let us away;

Down and away below.

Now my brothers call from the bay;
Now the great winds shorewards blow;
Now the salt tides seaward flow;
Now the wild white horses play,
Champ and chafe and toss in the spray.

Children dear, let us away.
This way, this way.

Call her once before you go.

Call once yet,

In a voice that she will know:

"Margaret Margaret!" Children's voices should be dear (Call once more) to a mother's ear: Children's voices wild with pain,

Surely she will come again. Call her once, and come away, This way, this way.

"Mother dear, we cannot stay! The wild white horses foam and fret,

Margaret Margaret!"

Come, dear children, come away down.
Call no more.

One last look at the white-walled town,
And the little gray church on the windy shore,
Then come down.

She will not come, though you call all day.
Come away, come away.

Children dear, was it yesterday

We heard the sweet bells over the bay?
In the caverns where we lay,

Through the surf and through the swell, The far-off sound of a silver bell?

Sand-strewn caverns cool and deep,
Where the winds are all asleep;
Where the spent lights quiver and gleam;
Where the salt weed sways in the stream;
Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round,
Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground;
Where the sea-snakes coil and twine,
Dry their mail and bask in the brine;
Where great whales come sailing by,
Sail and sail, with unshut eye,
Round the world forever and aye?

When did music come this way?
Children dear, was it yesterday?

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But, ah, she gave me never a look, For her eyes were sealed to the holy book. "Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door."

Come away, children, call no more,

Come away, come down, call no more.

Down, down, down,

Down to the depths of the sea.

She sits at her wheel in the humming town,
Singing most joyfully.

Hark what she sings: "O joy, O joy,

From the humming street, and the child with

its toy,

From the priest and the bell, and the holy well,

From the wheel where I spun,

And the blessed light of the sun."
And so she sings her fill,

Singing most joyfully,

Till the shuttle falls from her hand,

And the whizzing wheel stands still.

She steals to the window, and looks at the sand,
And over the sand at the sea;
And her eyes are set in a stare;
And anon there breaks a sigh,
And anon there drops a tear,
From a sorrow-clouded eye,
And a heart sorrow-laden,

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