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Through forests I'll follow, and where the sea flows,
THE STATUE OVER THE
The cathedral door above;
Who hath soothed my soul with love. In his mantle,-wound about him,
As their robes the sowers wind, Bore he swallows and their fledglings,
Flowers and weeds of every kind. And so stands he calm and childlike,
High in wind and tempest wild;
I would be like him, a child !
Round me still these birds of air.
At the ruthless nail of iron
A little bird is striving there. Stained with blood and never tiring,
With its beak it doth not cease,
Its Creator's Son release.
“Blest be thou of all the good!
Marks of blood and holy rood!”
Covered all with blood so clear.
Songs, like legends, strange to hear.
THE LEGEND OF THE CROSS
Heavenward lifts his eyelids calm,
In his pierced and bleeding palm. And by all the world forsaken,
Sees he how with zealous care
THE SEA HATH ITS PEARLS.
The heaven hath its stars;
My heart hath its love.
Yet greater is my heart,
Flashes and beams my love.
Come unto my great heart;
Are melting away with love!
POETIC APHORISMS. FROM THE SINNGEDICHTE OF FRIEDRICH VON LOGAU.--Seventeenth Century. MONEY.
POVERTY AND BLINDNESS. WHEREUNTO is money good?
A blind man is a poor man,
and blind a Who has it not wants hardihood, Who has it has much trouble and care,
poor man is;
For the former seeth no man, and the Who once has had it has despair.
latter no man sees. THE BEST MEDICINES. Joy and Temperance and Repose
LAW OF LIFE,
Live I, so live I,
To my Lord heartily,
To my Prince faithfully,
To my Neighbour honestly,
Die I, so die I.
THE RESTLESS HEART.
ART AND TACT.
FROM THE GASCON OF JASMIN.
And take, O reader, for the deed the will. JASMIN, the author of this beautiful poem, is to the South of France what Burns is to the South of Scotland,--the representative of the heart of the people, -one of those happy bards who are born with their mouths full of birds (la bouco pleno
d'aouzelous). He has written his own biography in a poetic form, and the simple narrative of his poverty, his struggles and his triumphs, is very touching: He still lives at Agen, on the Garonne; and long may he live there to delight his native land with native songs!
Those who may feel interested in knowing something about “Jasmin, Coiffeur" --for such is his calling-will find a description of his person and mode of life in the graphic pages of Béarn and the Pyrenees (Vol. i. p. 369, et seq.), by Louisa Stuart Costello, whose charming pen has done so much to illustrate the French provinces and their literature.
Should blossom and bloom with garlands THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTÈL CUILLÈ.
So fair a bride shall pass to-day!" At the foot of the mountain height
It is Baptiste, and his affianced maiden, Where is perched Castèl-Cuillè,
With garlands for the bridal laden! When the apple, the plum, and the almond tree
The sky was blue; without one cloud In the plain below were growing
of gloom, white,
The sun of March was shining This is the song one might perceive
brightly, On a Wednesday morn of Saint Joseph's
And to the air
the freshening wind gave Eve:
Its breathings of perfume. “The roads should blossom, the roads
When one beholds the dusky hedges should bloom,
blossom, So fair a bride shall leave her home!
A rustic bridal, ah! how sweet it is! Should blossom and bloom with garlands
To sounds of joyous melodies, gay,
That touch with tenderness the tremSo fair a bride shall pass to-day!”
bling bosom, This old Te Deum, rustic ritesattending,
A band of maidens Seemed from the clouds descending;
Gaily frolicking, When lo! a merry company
A band of youngsters Of rosy village girls, clean as the
Wildly rollicking! Each one with her attendant swain,
Kissing, Came to the cliff, all singing the same
With fingers pressing, Resembling there, so near unto the sky,
Till in the veriest Rejoicing angels, that kind Heaven has Madness of mirth, as they dance, sent
They retreat and advance, For their delight and our encourage
Trying whose laugh shall be ment.
loudest and merriest; Together blending,
While the bride, with roguish eyes, And soon descending
Sporting with them, now escapes and The narrow sweep
cries: Of the hill-side steep,
“Those who catch me
shall be !”
And all pursue with eager haste, Of verdurous valleys
And all attain what they pursue, With merry sallies
And touch her pretty apron fresh and Singing their chant:
And the linen kirtle round her waist. "The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom,
Meanwhile, whence comes it that So fair a bride shall leave her home!
These youthful maidens fresh and fair,
0, no! for a maiden frail, I trow,
Never bore so lofty a brow ! What lovers! they give not a single
caress! To see them so careless and cold to-day, These are grand people, one would
say. What ails Baptiste? what grief doth
Took the young bride's sight away. All at the father's stern command was
changed Their peace was gone, but not their
love estranged. Wearied at home, ere long the lover Returned but three short days ago, The golden chain they round him
throw, He is enticed, and onward led To marry Angela, and yet Is thinking ever of Margaret. Then suddenly a maiden cried, “Anna, Theresa, Mary, Kate ! Here comes the cripple Jane !” And
by a fountain A woman, bent and gray with years, Under the mulberry-trees appears, And all towards her run, as fleet As had they wings upon their feet.
It is that Jane, the cripple Jane,
Is a soothsayer, wary and kind.
She promises one a village swain,
Wears a countenance severe,
and white Her two eyes flash like cannons
bright Aimed at the bridegroom in waist
coat blue, Who, like a statue, stands in view; Changing colour, as well he might, When the beldame, wrinkled and
gray, Takes the young bride by the hand, And, with the tip of her reedy wand, Making the sign of the cross, doth
say: “Thoughtless Angela, beware! Lest, when thou weddest this false
bridegroom, Thou diggest for thyself a tomb!” And she was silent; and the maidens
fair Saw from each eye escape a swollen
tear; But on a little streamlet silver-clear,
What are two drops of turbid rain ?
Resumed the dance and song again; The bridegroom only was pale with
They sang the refrain :“The roads should blossom, the roads
should bloom, So fair a bride shall leave her home! Should blossom and bloom with garSo fair a bride shall pass to-day!”.
II. And by suffering worn and weary, But beautiful as some fair angel yet,
Thus lamented Margaret,
In her cottage lone and dreary :-“He has arrived ! arrived at last! Yet Jane has named him not these three
days past; Arrived! yet keeps aloof so far! And knows that of my night he is the
star! Knows that long months I wait alone,
benighted, And count the moments since he went
away! Come ! keep the promise of that happier
day, That I may keep the faith to thee I
plighted! What joy have I without thee? what
delight? Grief wastes my life, and makes it
misery; Day for the others ever, but for me
For ever night! for ever night! When he is gone 'tis dark! my soul is
sad ! I suffer! O my God! come, make me
glad. When he is near, no thoughts of day
intrude; Day has blue heavens, but Baptiste has
blue eyes! Within them shines for me a heaven of
love, A heaven all happiness, like that above,
No more of grief! no more of lassitude ! Earth I forget, -and heaven, and all
distresses, When seated by my side my hand he
presses; But when alone, remember all ! Where is Baptiste? he hears not when
I call! A branch of ivy, dying on the ground,
I need some bough to twine around ! In pity come! be to my suffering kind ! True love, they say, in grief doth more
abound! What then when one is blind? Who knows? perhaps I am forsaken! Ah! woe is me! then bear me to my
grave! O God! what thoughts within me
waken! Away! he will return! I do but rave!
He will return! I need not fear!
Prepares for me some sweet surprise ! But some one comes ! Though blind, my
heart can see ! And that deceives me not! 'tis he! 'tis
And poor, confiding Margaret
sightless eyes; 'Tis only Paul, her brother, who thus
I saw the wedding guests go by; Tell me, my sister, why were we not
asked ? For all are there but you and I!” "Angela married ! and not send To tell her secret unto me! O, speak! who may the bridegroom
be?” “My sister, 'tis Baptiste, thy friend !” A cry the blind girl gave, but nothing A milky whiteness spreads upon her
beat, Suspends awhile its life and heat. She stands beside the boy, now sore
distressed, A wax Madonna as a peasant dressed.
At length the bridal song again Brings her back to her sorrow and
pain. “Hark! the joyous airs are ringing! Sister, dost thou hear them singing ? How merrily they laugh and jest !
Would we were bidden with the rest! I would don my hose of homespun gray, And my doublet of linen striped and gay; Perhaps they will come; for they do not
wed Till to-morrow at seven o'clock, it is
said !” “I know it!" answered Margaret ;