THE BRITISH STRIPLING'S

WAR-SONG

IMITATED FROM STOLBERG

YES, noble old Warrior! this heart has beat high,

Since you told of the deeds which our countrymen wrought;

O lend me the sabre that hung by thy thigh,

And I too will fight as my forefathers fought.

Despise not my youth, for my spirit is steel'd

And I know there is strength in the grasp of my hand;

Yea, as firm as thyself would I march to the field,

And as proudly would die for my dear native land.

In the sports of my childhood I mimick'd the fight,

The sound of a trumpet suspended my

breath;

And my fancy still wander'd by day

and by night,

UNPERISHING youth!

and death.

The cell of thy hidden nativity; Never mortal saw

The cradle of the strong one;

Never mortal heard

The gathering of his voices; The deep-murmur'd charm of the son of the rock,

That is lisp'd evermore at his slumberless fountain.

There's a cloud at the portal, a spraywoven veil

flew by.

And into the bed of its stillness

gleaming,

On their proud - trampling, thunder

hoof'd steeds did they fly;

That the son of the rock, that the

nursling of heaven

May be born in a holy twilight !

142

Quicken his eyes with celestial dew,

That Styx the detested no more he may view,

And like one of us Gods may conceit

him to be!

For if the nymphs should know my swain,

I fear they'd love him too.

Yet while my joy's unknown,
Its rosy buds are but half-blown :

This stream so brightly flowing
To yonder woodland shore.
But vain were my endeavour
To pay thee, courteous guide;
Row on, row on, for ever

I'd have thee by my side.

'Good boatman, prithee haste thee,
I seek my father-land.'-
'Say, when I there have placed thee,
Dare I demand thy hand?'
A maiden's head can never
So hard a point decide;
Row on, row on, for ever
I'd have thee by my side.'

The happy bridal over

The wanderer ceased to roam, For, seated by her lover,

The boat became her home. And still they sang together As steering o'er the tide :

Row on through wind and weather For ever by my side.'

NAMES

[FROM LESSING]

? 1799.

Her father's leave she bade me gain;
I went, but shook like any reed!
I strove to act the man-in vain!
We had exchanged our hearts indeed.

1799.

TRANSLATION OF A PASSAGE IN OTTFRIED'S METRICAL PARAPHRASE OF THE GOSPEL

[This paraphrase, written about the time of Charlemagne, is by no means deficient in occasional passages of considerable poetic merit. There is a flow and a tender enthusiasm in the following lines which even in the translation will not, I flatter myself, fail to interest the reader. Ottfried is describing the circumstances immediately following the birth of our Lord. Most interesting is it to consider the effect when the feelings are wrought above the natural pitch by the belief of something mysterious, while all the images are purely natural. Then it is that religion and poetry strike deepest.]

SHE gave with joy her virgin breast;
She hid it not, she bared the breast
Which suckled that divinest babe!
Blessed, blessed were the breasts
Which the Saviour infant kiss'd;
And blessed, blessed was the mother
Who wrapp'd his limbs in swaddling
clothes,

Singing placed him on her lap,

Hung o'er him with her looks of love,
And soothed him with a lulling motion.
Blessed for she shelter'd him
From the damp and chilling air;
Blessed, blessed! for she lay

With such a babe in one blest bed,
Close as babes and mothers lie!
Blessed, blessed evermore,
With her virgin lips she kiss'd,
With her arms, and to her breast,
She embraced the babe divine,
Her babe divine the virgin mother!
There lives not on this ring of earth
A mortal that can sing her praise.
Mighty mother, virgin pure,
In the darkness and the night
For us she bore the heavenly Lord!

? 1799.