'Tis no light grief oppresses me; For in the days my steps were free, I had it always near.

Far round the tower I send mine eye,
The tower so steep and tall;
But nowhere can the flower descry
From this high castle wall;

And him who'll bring me my desire,
Or be he knight, or be he squire,
My dearest friend I'll call.

ROSE.

My blossoms near thee I disclose, And hear thy wretched plight;

Thou meanest me, no doubt, the rosc,

Thou noble, hapless knight.

A lofty mind in thee is seen,

And in thy bosom reigns the queen

Of flowers, as is her right.

CAPTIVE.

Thy crimson bud I duly prize

In outer robe of green;

For this thou'rt dear in maiden's eyes,
As gold and jewels sheen;

Thy wreath adorns the fairest brow,
And yet the flower-it is not thou,
Whom my still wishes mean.

LILY.

The little rose has cause for pride,
And upwards aye will soar;

Yet am I held by many a bride
The rose's wreath before.
And beats thy bosom faithfully,
And art thou true, and pure as I,
Thou'lt prize the lily more.

CAPTIVE.

I call myself both chaste and pure,
And pure from passions low;

And yet these walls my limbs immure
In loneliness and wo.

Though thou dost seem, in white arrayed,
Like

many a pure and beauteous maid,

One dearer thing I know.

ΡΙΝΚ.

And dearer I, the pink, must be,
And me thou sure dost choose,
Or else the gardener ne'er for me
Such watchful care would use;

G

A crowd of leaves encircling bloom!
And mine through life the sweet perfume,
And all the thousand hues!

CAPTIVE.

The pink can no one justly slight, The gardeners favourite flower; He sets it now beneath the light, Now shields it from its power. Yet 'tis not pomp, which o'er the rest In splendour shines, can make me blest; It is a still, small flower.

VIOLET.

I stand concealed, and bending low, And do not love to speak;

Yet will I, as 'tis fitting now,

My wonted silence break.
For if 'tis I, thou gallant man,
Thy heart desires, thine, if I can,
My perfumes all I'll make.

CAPTIVE.

The violet I esteem indeed,

So modest and so kind;

Its fragrance sweet, yet more I need,
To soothe my anguished mind.

To you the truth will I confess;
Here mid this rocky dreariness,
My love I ne'er shall find.

The truest wife by yonder brook
Will roam the mournful day,

And hither cast the anxious look,

Long as immured I stay.

Whene'er she breaks a small blue flower,

And says, Forget me not! the power
I feel, though far away.

Yes, e'en though far, I feel its might,
For true love joins us twain,

And therefore mid the dungeon's night,
I still in life remain.

And sinks my heart at my

hard lot,

I but exclaim; Forget me not!
And straight new life regain.

-FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE.

TO A BOY JUST ENTERING ON THE
WARFARE OF LIFE.

ARM! for the hour is drawing nigh
When thou must strive in fight:
The word inspires thy kindling eye,

And thy young heart bounds light:

Yet little, little dost thou know
What foes await thee there;
A moment listen, while I show
The dangers thou must dare.

First, Pleasure's gay and lovely throng
Will tempt thee on the way,
Where stands, all terrible and strong,
Fierce Passion's dark array.

And Falsehood, bold, yet cowering foe,
Will take thee for his mark,
And Slander, whose assassin blow,
Strikes only in the dark.

And Scepticism, wild and free,
And Error's daring mien,
Led on by False Philosophy,
Will in that field be seen.

Alas! this is a fearful view,

Of the wild War of Life;

But thou, dear boy, art brave and true, And will not shun the strife.

Yet be thou cautious, as thou'rt brave;
Choose well thy battle-gear;

For, once set on-shame to the slave
Would hesitate or fear!