I do not know where I shall die.

I have seen the corpse of Pa-Lisoë, who died of old age, for his hairs were white.

If I die of old age, with white hairs, hired women will stand weeping near my corpse,

And they will make lamentations, as did the mourners over Pa-Lisoë's corpse;

And the grandchildren will weep very loud.

I shall not hear it.

I do not know where I shall die.

I have seen at Badoer many that were dead.

They were dressed in white shrouds, and were buried in the earth.

If I die at Badoer, and am buried beyond the village, eastward against the hill where the grass is high, Then will Adinda pass by there, and the border of her will sweep softly along the grass.

sarong

I shall hear it.

EDUARD DOUWES DEKKER.

Translated by Baron ALPHONSe Nahuys.

A Yukon Cradle-Song.

THE wind blows over the Yukon.

My husband hunts the deer on the Koyukun mountains Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one.

There is no wood for the fire.

The stone axe is broken, my husband carries the other. Where is the sun-warmth? Hid in the dam of the beaver,

waiting the spring-time.

Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one, wake not.

Look not for ukali, old woman.

Long since the cache was emptied, and the crow does not

light on the ridge-pole.

Long since my husband departed. Why does he wait in

the mountains?

Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one, softly.

Where is my own?

Does he lie starving on the hillside? Why does he linger? Comes he not soon, I will seek him among the mountains. Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one, sleep.

The crow has come, laughing.

His beak is red, his eyes glisten, the false one!
"Thanks for a good meal to Kuskokala the shaman.
On the sharp mountain quietly lies your husband.”
Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one, wake not.

"Twenty deers' tongues tied to the pack on his shoulders; Not a tongue in his mouth to call to his wife with.

Wolves, foxes, and ravens are tearing and fighting for morsels.

Tough and hard are the sinews; not so the child in your bosom."

Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one, wake not.

Over the mountain slowly staggers the hunter.

Two bucks' thighs on his shoulders, with bladders of fat between them.

Twenty deers' tongues in his belt. Go, gather wood, old woman!

Off flew the crow-liar, cheat, and deceiver!

Wake, little sleeper, wake, and call to your father.

He brings you buckfat, marrow, and venison fresh from the mountain.

Tired and worn, he has carved a toy of the deer's horn, While he was sitting and waiting long for the deer on the

hillside.

Wake, and see the crow, hiding himself from the arrow ! Wake, little one, wake, for here is your father.

Translated by W. H. DALL.

The Passage.

MANY a year is in its grave,
Since 1 crossed this restless wave;
And the evening, fair as ever,
Shines on ruin, rock, and river.

Then, in this same boat, beside,
Sat two comrades, old and tried;
One with all a father's truth,
One with all the fire of youth.

One on earth in silence wrought,
And his grave in silence sought;
But the younger, brighter form
Passed in battle and in storm.

So, whene'er I turn my eye
Back upon the days gone by,

Saddening thoughts of friends come o'er me,
Friends who closed their course before me.

Yet what binds us friend to friend,
But that soul with soul can blend?
Soul-like were those hours of yore;

Let us walk in soul once more!

Take, O boatman, thrice thy fee;
Take—I give it willingly;

For, invisible to thee,

Spirits twain have crossed with me.

Translated by Sarah Austin.

LUDWIG UHLAND.

Ann Hathaway.

WOULD ye be taught, ye feathered throng,
With love's sweet notes to grace your song,

To pierce the heart with thrilling lay,
Listen to mine Ann Hathaway!

She hath a way to sing so clear,
Phoebus might wondering stop to hear.
To melt the sad, make blithe the gay,
And nature charm, Ann hath a way;
She hath a way,

Ann Hathaway;

To breathe delight, Ann hath a way.

When Envy's breath and rancorous tooth Do soil and bite fair worth and truth,

And merit to distress betray,

To soothe the heart, Ann hath a way.

She hath a way to chase despair,

To heal all grief, to cure all care,

Turn foulest night to fairest day,

Thou know'st, fond heart, Ann hath a way, She hath a way,

Ann Hathaway;

To make grief bliss, Ann hath a way.

Talk not of gems, the orient list,
The diamond, topaz, amethyst,
The emerald mild, the ruby gay,
Talk of my gem, Ann Hathaway.
She hath a way, with her bright eye,
Their various lustre to defy,-
The jewels she, and the foil they,
So sweet to look Ann Hathaway,
She hath a way,

Ann Hathaway;

To shame bright gems, Ann hath a way.

But were it to my fancy given,

To rate her charms, I 'd call them heaven;

For though a mortal made of clay,

Angels must love Ann Hathaway;

She hath a way so to control,
To rapture the imprisoned soul,
And sweetest heaven on earth display,
That to be heaven Ann hath a way;
She hath a way,

Ann Hathaway;

To be heaven's self, Ann hath a way.

Attributed to SHAKESPEARE.

On Parting with his Books.

As one who, destined from his friends to part,
Regrets his loss, but hopes again, erewhile,
To share their converse and enjoy their smile,
And tempers, as he may, affliction's dart,-
Thus, loved associates! chiefs of elder art!
Teachers of wisdom! who could once beguile
My tedious hours, and lighten every toil,
I now resign you-nor with fainting heart.
For, pass a few short years, or days, or hours,
And happier seasons may their dawn unfold,
And all your sacred fellowship restore;
When, freed from earth, unlimited its powers,
Mind shall with mind direct communion hold,
And kindred spirits meet to part no more.
WILLIAM ROSCOE

Hylas.

"LOVELY river, lovely river,
O to float upon thy stream!

O to rest on thee forever,

Life a long, delicious dream!

“There are forms about me winging,
Far too bright for mortal eye.
There are thoughts within me springing,
That would make it sweet to die."