The meadow brook, the meadow brook, is mirror of thy falsehood! It flows so long as falls the rain, In drought its springs soon dry again. The meadow brook, the meadow brook, is mirror of thy falsehood! ANNIE OF THARAW FROM THE LOW GERMAN OF SIMON DACH NNIE of Tharaw, my true love of old, Annie of Tharaw, her heart once again Annie of Tharaw, my riches, my good, Then come the wild weather, come sleet or come snow, We will stand by each other, however it blow. Oppression, and sickness, and sorrow, and pain As the palm tree standeth so straight and so tall, The more the hail beats, and the more the rains fall, So love in our hearts shall grow mighty and strong, Through crosses, through sorrows, through manifold wrong. Shouldst thou be torn from me to wander alone In a desolate land where the sun is scarce known, Through forests I'll follow, and where the sea flows, Through ice, and through iron, through armies of foes. Annie of Tharaw, my light and my sun, The threads of our two lives are woven in one. Whate'er I have bidden thee thou hast obeyed, How in the turmoil of life can love stand, Where there is not one heart, and one mouth, and one hand? Some seek for dissension, and trouble, and strife; Like a dog and a cat live such man and wife. 74 Statue over the Cathedral Door Annie of Tharaw, such is not our love; Thou art my lambkin, my chick, and my dove. Whate'er my desire is, in thine may be seen; It is this, O my Annie, my heart's sweetest rest, That makes of us twain but one soul in one breast. This turns to a heaven the hut where we dwell; While wrangling soon changes a home to a hell. THE STATUE OVER THE CATHEDRAL DOOR FROM THE GERMAN OF JULIUS MOSEN ORMS of saints and kings are standing Fo The cathedral door above Yet I saw but one among them e; Who hath soothed my soul with love. In his mantle, wound about him, And so stands he calm and childlike, High in wind and tempest wild ; O, were I like him exalted, I would be like him, a child! And my songs, green leaves and blossoms, To the doors of heaven would bear, Calling, even in storm and tempest, Round me still these birds of air. THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSBILL FROM THE GERMAN OF JULIUS MOSEN N the cross the dying Saviour And by all the world forsaken, At the ruthless nail of iron A little bird is striving there. Stained with blood and never tiring, From the cross 't would free the Saviour, And the Saviour speaks in mildness: "Blest be thou of all the good! Bear, as token of this moment, Marks of blood and holy rood!' And that bird is called the crossbill; In the groves of pine it singeth Songs, like legends, strange to hear. THE SEA HATH ITS PEARLS FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINRICH HEINE 'HE sea hath its pearls, T# The TH The heaven hath its stars ; But my heart, my heart, My heart hath its love. Great are the sea and the heaven; Yet greater is my heart, And fairer than pearls and stars Thou little, youthful maiden, Come unto my great heart; My heart, and the sea, and the heaven |