SONNET ON CHILLON

E

TERNAL spirit of the chainless mind!

Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art,

For there thy habitation is

the heart

The heart which love of thee alone can

bind;

And when thy sons to fetters are consigned

To fetters and the damp vault's dayless gloom,

Their country conquers with their martyrdom,

And Freedom's fame finds wings on

every wind.

Chillon! thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altar-for 'twas trod,

Until his very steps have left a trace Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod,

By Bonnivard! May none those

marks efface;

For they appeal from tyranny to God.

-Lord Byron.

FROM "RABBI BEN EZRA"

G

ROW old along with me!
The best is yet to be,

The last of life, for which
the first was made:

Our times are in His hand

Who saith, "A whole I planned

Youth shows but half; trust God: see

all, nor be afraid!”

So take and use Thy work,

Amend what flaws may lurk,

What strain o' the stuff, what warping

past the aim!

My times be in Thy hand!

Perfect the cup as planned!

Let age approve of youth, and death

complete the same!

-Robert Browning.

ICH DACHT' AN SIE DEN

I

GANZEN TAG

THOUGT on her throughout the day,

And thought on her through half the night,

And when at last in sleep I lay

A dream restored her to my sight.

Fresh as the youngest rose she glowed,
In silent bliss as there she sat,

With on her knees a frame which showed
White lambs that she was working at.

She sat so calm, and could not guess
Why I stood there so full of woe:
"What means this pallor, this distress-
My Heinrich, say, what hurts thee
So?"

She looked in soft amaze that I

Should look upon her weeping so: "Why weepest thou so bitterly,

My Heinrich, say, who makes thy woe?"

She gazed thus softly while I strove,
Half dead with grief she could not

know:

"Who makes my pain is thou, my love, And in my breast there lies my woe.

She rose and laid her hand upon

My breast as 'twere some holy rite; And suddenly my grief was gone, And I awoke for sheer delight.

-Heinrich Heine.

66

""TIS SWEET TO HEAR"

'T

IS sweet to hear the watch

dog's honest bark

Bay deep-mouth'd welcome

as we draw near home;

"Tis sweet to know there is an

eye will mark

Our coming and look brighter when we

come;

"Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark, Or lull'd by falling waters; sweet the hum

Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of

birds,

The lisp of children and their earliest

words.

-Lord Byron.