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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, Whatever forbidden thou hast not gainsaid.

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.

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; I am king of the household, and thou art its queen.

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.

FORMS of saints and kings are standing

The cathedral door above;

Yet I saw but one among them

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 ; 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.

On the cross the dying Saviour
Heavenward lifts his eyelids calm,
Feels, but scarcely feels, a trembling
In his pierced and bleeding palm.

And by all the world forsaken,

Sees he how with zealous care

At the ruthless nail of iron

A little bird is striving there.

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