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INVOCATION

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INVOCATION

"I called on dreams and visions, to disclose

That which is veiled from waking thought; conjured
Eternity, as men constrain a ghost,

To appear and answer."-WORDSWORTH.

ANSWER me, burning Stars of night!
Where is the spirit gone,

That past the reach of human sight
As a swift breeze hath flown?
And the stars answered me-" We roll
In light and power on high;
But, of the never-dying soul,
Ask that which cannot die."

O many-toned and chainless Wind!
Thou art a wanderer free;
Tell me if thou its place canst find,
Far over mount and sea?
And the Wind murmured in reply-
"The blue deep I have crossed,
And met its barks and billows high,
But not what thou hast lost."

Ye clouds that gorgeously repose
Around the setting sun,

Answer! have ye a home for those
Whose earthly race is run?

The bright Clouds answered-"We depart,
We vanish from the sky;

Ask what is deathless in thy heart,

For that which cannot die."

Speak then, thou Voice of God within;
Thou of the deep low tone!

Answer me, through life's restless din-
Where is the spirit flown?

And the voice answered-"Be thou still!
Enough to know is given :

Clouds, winds, and stars their part fulfil—
Thine is, to trust in Heaven."

KOERNER AND HIS SISTER

CHARLES THEODORE KÖRNER, the celebrated young German poet and soldier, was killed in a skirmish with a detachment of French troops on the 20th of August 1813, a few hours after the composition of his popular piece, The Sword-Song. He was buried at the village of Wöbbelin in Mecklenburg, under a beautiful oak, in a recess of which he had frequently deposited verses composed by him while campaigning in its vicinity. The monument erected to his memory is of castiron; and the upper part is wrought into a lyre and sword, a favourite emblem of Körner's, from which one of his works had been entitled. Near the grave of the poet is that of his only sister, who died of grief for his loss, having only survived him long enough to complete his portrait and a drawing of his burial - place. Over the gate of the cemetery is engraved one of his own lines:

"Vergiss die treuen Todten nicht."
(Forget not the faithful dead.)

GREEN wave the oak for ever o'er thy rest,
Thou that beneath its crowning foliage sleepest,
And, in the stillness of thy country's breast,
Thy place of memory as an altar keepest;
Brightly thy spirit o'er her hills was poured,
Thou of the Lyre and Sword!

KOERNER AND HIS SISTER

Rest, bard! rest, soldier! By the father's hand
Here shall the child of after years be led,
With his wreath-offering silently to stand

In the hushed presence of the glorious dead-
Soldier and bard! for thou thy path hast trod
With freedom and with God.

The oak waved proudly o'er thy burial rite,

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On thy crowned bier to slumber warriors bore thee, And with true hearts thy brethren of the fight Wept as they veiled their drooping banners o'er thee; And the deep guns with rolling peal gave token That Lyre and Sword were broken.

Thou hast a hero's tomb a lowlier bed

Is hers, the gentle girl beside thee lyingThe gentle girl that bowed her fair young head

When thou wert gone, in silent sorrow dying.
Brother, true friend! the tender and the brave !-
She pined to share thy grave.

Fame was thy gift from others ;-but for her,
To whom the wide world held that only spot,
She loved thee !-lovely in your lives ye were,
And in your early deaths divided not.
Thou hast thine oak, thy trophy,—what hath she?
Her own blest place by thee!

It was thy spirit, brother! which had made

The bright earth glorious to her youthful eye, Since first in childhood midst the vines ye played, And sent glad singing through the free blue sky. Ye were but two-and when that spirit passed, Woe to the one, the last!

Woe, yet not long! She lingered but to trace
Thine image from the image in her breast-
Once, once again to see that buried face

But smile upon her, ere she went to rest.
Too sad a smile! its living light was o'er-
It answered hers no more.

The earth grew silent when thy voice departed,

The home too lonely whence thy step had fled;
What then was left for her the faithful-hearted?
Death, death, to still the yearning for the dead!
Softly she perished: be the Flower deplored
Here with the Lyre and Sword!

Have ye not met ere now?-so let those trust

That meet for moments but to part for yearsThat weep, watch, pray, to hold back dust from dustThat love, where love is but a fount of tears. Brother! sweet sister! peace around ye dwell : Lyre, Sword, and Flower, farewell!

THE DEATH-DAY OF KOERNER

A SONG for the death-day of the brave-
A song of pride!

The youth went down to a hero's grave,
With the sword, his bride.

He went, with his noble heart unworn,
And pure, and high-

An eagle stooping from clouds of morn,
Only to die.

THE DEATH-DAY OF KOERNER

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He went with the lyre, whose lofty tone

Beneath his hand

Had thrilled to the name of his God alone
And his Fatherland;

And with all his glorious feelings yet

In their first glow,

Like a southern stream that no frost hath met
To chain its flow.

A song for the death-day of the brave--
A song of pride!

For him that went to a hero's grave,
With the sword, his bride.

He hath left a voice in his trumpet-lays
To turn the flight,

And a guiding spirit for after days,
Like a watch-fire's light.

And a grief in his father's soul to rest,
Midst all high thought;

And a memory unto his mother's breast,
With healing fraught.

And a name and fame above the blight

Of earthly breath,
Beautiful-beautiful and bright,

In life and death!

A song for the death-day of the brave

A song of pride!

For him that went to a hero's grave,
With the sword, his bride!

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