With the cross above, and the crown and sword, I bore thee down, high heart! at last,

An old man's tears lie far too deep,

To be poured for this alone!
But by that sign too well I know,
That a youthful head must soon be low!

A youthful head, with its shining hair,
And its bright quick-flashing eye-
-Well may I weep! for the boy is fair,
Too fair a thing to die!

But on his brow the mark is set-
Oh! could my life redeem him yet!

He bounded by me as I gazed

Alone on the fatal sign,

And it seemed like sunshine when he raised

His joyous glance to mine!

With a stag's fleet step he bounded by,
So full of life-but he must die!

He must, he must! in that deep dell,
By that dark water's side,

'Tis known that ne'er a proud tree fell,
But an heir of his father's died.

And he there's laughter in his eye,
Joy in his voice-yet he must die!

I've borne him in these arms, that now
Are nerveless and unstrung;
And must I see, on that fair brow,
The dust untimely flung?

I must!-yon green oak, branch and crest,
Lies floating on the dark lake's breast!

The noble boy!-how proudly sprung
The falcon from his hand!

It seemed like youth to see him young,
A flower in his father's land!

But the hour of the knell and the dirge is nigh,
For the tree hath fallen, and the flower must die.

Say not 'tis vain! I tell thee, some

Are warned by a meteor's light,
Or a pale bird flitting calls them home,
Or a voice on the winds by night;
And they must go!-and he too, he-
-Wo for the fall of the glorious Tree!

THE WILD HUNTSMAN.

It is a popular belief in the Odenwald, that the passing of the Wild Huntsman announces the approach of war. He is monosed to issue with his train from the ruined castle of Rodenstein, and traverse the air to the opposite castle of Schnellents. It is confidently asserted that the sound of his phantom horses and hounds was heard by the Duke of Baden before the commencement of the last war in Germany.

THY rest was deep at the slumberer's hour
If thou didst not hear the blast

Of the savage horn, from the mountain-tower,
As the Wild Night-Huntsman passed,
And the roar of the stormy chase went by,

Through the dark unquiet sky!

The stag sprung up from his mossy hed
When he caught the piercing sounds,
And the oak-boughs crashed to his antlered head
As he flew from the viewless hounds;
And the falcon soared from her craggy height,
Away through the rushing night!

The banner shook on its ancient hold,

And the pine in its desert-place,

As the cloud and tempest onward rolled
With the din of the trampling race;
And the glens were filled with the laugh and shows,
And the bugle, ringing out!

From the chieftain's hand the wine-cup fell,
At the castle's festive board,

And a sudden pause came o'er the swell
Of the harp's triumphal chord;
And the Minnesinger's thrilling lay
In the hall died fast away.

The convent's chanted rite was stayed,
And the hermit dropped his beads,
And a trembling ran through the forest-shade,
At the neigh of the phantom steeds,
And the church-bells pealed to the rocking blast
As the Wild Night-Huntsman passed.

The storm hath swept with the chase away,
There is stillness in the sky,

But the mother looks on her son to-day,
With a troubled heart and eye,

And the maiden's brow hath a shade of care
'Midst the gleam of her golden hair!

The Rhine flows bright, but its waves ere long
Must hear the voice of war,

And a clash of spears our hills among,

And a trumpet from afar;

And the brave on a bloody turf must lie,
For the Huntsman hath gone by!

BRANDENBURGH HARVEST SONG !

FROM THE GERMAN OF LA MOTTE FOUQUE

THE corn, in golden light,
Waves o'er the plain;
The sickle's gleam is bright;
Full swells the grain.
Now send we far around
Our harvest lay!

Minnesinger, love-singer; the wandering minstrels Germany were so called in the middle ages.

t For the year of the Queen of Prussia's death.

de vêtemens, s'habillent de blanc, comme pour la cérémonie nuptiale, avec cette différence, qu'elles gardent la tête nue,

-Why doth a mother live to say-my first-born and my dead?

les cheveux épars et pendants. Ces apprêts terminés, les They tell me of thy youthful fame, they talk of

victory won

my sweet son!"

parentes reviennent dans leur parure de deuil; toutes se rangent en circle autour du mort, et leur douleur s'exhale de nouveau, et, comme la première fois, sans règle et sans con--Speak thou, and I will hear! my child, Ianthis! trainte. A ces plaintes spontanées succèdent bientôt des lamentations d'une autre espèce: ce sont les Myriologues. Ordinairement c'est la plus proche parente qui prononce le sien la première; après elle les autres parentes, les amies, les simples voisines. Les Myriologues sont toujours composés et chantés par les femmes. Ils sont toujours improvisés, tou. jours en vers, et toujours chantés sur un air qui diffère d'un lieu à un autre, mais qui, dans un lieu donné, reste invariablement co..sacré à ce genre de poësie."

Chants Populaires de la Grèce Maderne, par C. Fauriel.

A WAIL was heard around the bed, the death-bed of the young,

Amidst her tears the Funeral Chant a mournful mother sung.

-"Ianthis! dost thou sleep?-Thou sleepest!but this is not the rest,

The breathing and the rosy calm, I have pillowed on my breast!

I lulled thee not to this repose, Ianthis! my sweet son!

As in thy glowing childhood's time by twilight I have done

-How is it that I bear to stand and look upon thee now?

And that I die not, seeing death on thy pale glorious brow?

"I look upon thee, thou that wert of all most fair and brave!

I see thee wearing still too much of beauty for the grave!

Though mournfully thy smile is fixed, and heavily thine eye

Hath shut above the falcon-glance that in it loved to lie!

And fast is bound the springing step, that seemed on breezes borne,

When to thy couch I came and said,- Wake, hunter, wake. 'tis morn!'

Yet art thou lovely still, my flower! untouched by slow decay,

And I, the withered stem, remain--I would that grief might slay!

"Oh! ever when I met thy look, I knew that this would be!

I knew too well that length of days was not a gift for thee!

A wail was heard around the bed, the deathbed of the young,

A fair-haired bride the Funeral Chant amidst her weeping sung.

"Ianthis! look'st thou not on me?-Can love indeed be fled?

When was it wo before to gaze upon thy steady head?

I would that I had followed thee, Ianthis, my beloved!

And stood as woman oft hath stood where faithful hearts are proved!

That I had bound a breastplate on, and battled at thy side

It would have been a blessed thing together had we died!

I saw it in thy kindling cheek, and in thy bearing The blue skies fade with all their lights, they high;fade, since thou art gone! A voice came whispering to my soul, and told me Even that must leave me, that still face, by all my thou must die! tears unmoved

That thou must die, my fearless one! where-Take me from this dark world with ther, Ianthis! my beloved!"

swords were flashing red.—

A wail was heard around the bed, the death-bed Called out the soul's bright smile; the gentle hand,
of the young,
Which through the sunshine led forth infant steps
Amidst her tears the Funeral Chant a mournful To where the violets lay; the tender voice

That earliest taught them what deep melody

sister sung. "Ianthis! brother of my soul!-oh! were are now Lives in affection's tones.-He left not these. the days -Happy the weeper, that but weeps to part That laughed among the deep green hills, on all With all a mother's love!-A bitterer grief

our infant plays?

When we two sported by the streams, or tracked them to their source,

And like a stag's, the rocks along, was thy fleet fearless course!

-I see the pines there waving yet, I see the rills descend,

Was his-To part unloved!-of her unloved,
That should have breathed upon his heart, like
Spring,

Fostering its young faint flowers!

I see thy bounding step no more-my brother and Unto the parting spot-and she too went, my friend!

"I come with flowers-for spring is come!-Ian

this! art thou here?

I bring the garlands she hath brought, I cast them on thy bier!

Yet had he friend
And they went forth to cheer him on his way
That mother, tearless for her youngest-born.
The parting spot was reached :—a lone deep glen,
Holy, perchance, of yore, for cave and fount
Were there, and sweet-voiced echoes; and above,
The silence of the blue, still, upper Heaven
crown-Hung round the crags of Pindus, where they wore
Their crowning snows.- -Upon a rock he sprung,
The unbeloved one, for his home to gaze
Through the wild laurels back; but then a light
Broke on the stern proud sadness of his eye,
A sudden quivering light, and from his lips
A burst of passionate song.

Thou shouldst be crowned with victory's
but oh! more meet they seem,
The first faint violets of the wood, and lilies of the

stream!

More meet for one so fondly loved, and laid thus early low

-Alas! how sadly sleeps thy face amidst the sunshine's glow:

The golden glow that through thy heart was wont such joy to send,

-Wo, that it smiles, and not for thee!—my brother and my friend!"

THE PARTING SONG.

This piece is founded on a tale related by Fauriel, in his "Chansons Populaires de la Grèce Moderne," and accomanied by some very interesting particulars respecting the extempore parting songs, or songs of expatriation, as he informs

us they are called, in which the modern Greeks are accustomed

to pour forth their feelings on bidding farewell to their country and friends.

I have been a thing unloved, from childhood's loving years,

And therefore turns my soul to thee, for thou hast known my tears;

The mountains, and the caves, and thou, my secret tears have known:

The woods can tell where he hath wept, that ever wept alone!

"I see thee once again, my home! thou 'rt there amidst thy vines,

A YOUTH Went forth to exile, from a home
Such as to early thought gives images,
The longest treasured and most oft recalled,
And brightest kept, of love;-a mountain home,
That, with the murmur of its rocking pines
And sounding waters, first in childhood's heart
Wakes the deep sense of nature unto joy,
And half unconscious prayer;-a Grecian home, 'It is a joyous hour when eve comes whispering

With the transparence of blue skies o'erhung,
And, through the dimness of its olive shades,
Catching the flash of fountains, and the gleam
Of shining pillars from the fanes of old.
And this was what he left!-Yet many leave

And clear upon thy gleaming roof the light of summer shines.

through thy groves,

The hour that brings the son from toil, the hour the mother loves!

-The hour the mother loves!-for me beloved it hath not been;

Far more: the glistening eye, that first from Yet ever in its purple smile, thou smil'st, a blessed