must themselves be ground.

cended!

How I started up in the night, in the night,
Drawn on without rest or reprieval !
The streets, with their watchmen, were lost
to my sight,

As I wandered so light
In the night, in the night,
Through the gate with the arch mediaval.

The mill-brook rushed from the rocky height,

I leaned o'er the bridge in my yearning;

Deep under me watched I the waves in their flight,

As they glided so light

In the night, in the night,

Yet backward not one was returning.

O'erhead were revolving, so countless and

bright,

The stars in melodious existence;

FORSAKEN

SOMETHING the heart must have to cherish, Must love and joy and sorrow learn, Something with passion clasp, or perish, And in itself to ashes burn.

So to this child my heart is clinging,

And its frank eyes, with look intense, Me from a world of sin are bringing Back to a world of innocence.

Disdain must thou endure forever; Strong may thy heart in danger be! Thou shalt not fail! but ah, be never False as thy father was to me.

Never will I forsake thee, faithless, And thou thy mother ne'er forsake, Until her lips are white and breathless, Until in death her eyes shall break.

ALLAH

BY SIEGFRIED AUGUST MAHLMANN

ALLAH gives light in darkness,

Allah gives rest in pain,
Cheeks that are white with weeping
Allah paints red again.

The flowers and the blossoms wither,
Years vanish with flying feet;
But my heart will live on forever,
That here in sadness beat.

Gladly to Allah's dwelling Yonder would I take flight; There will the darkness vanish, There will my eyes have sight.

FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON

THE GRAVE

FOR thee was a house built Ere thou wast born,

For thee was a mould meant Ere thou of mother camest. But it is not made ready, Nor its depth measured,

Nor is it seen
How long it shall be.
Now I bring thee
Where thou shalt be;
Now I shall measure thee,
And the mould afterwards.

Thy house is not
Highly timbered,
It is unhigh and low;
When thou art therein,
The heel-ways are low,
The side-ways unhigh.
The roof is built
Thy breast full nigh,
So thou shalt in mould
Dwell full cold,
Dimly and dark.

Doorless is that house,
And dark it is within;
There thou art fast detained
And Death hath the key.
Loathsome is that earth-house,
And grim within to dwell.
There thou shalt dwell,
And worms shall divide thee.

Thus thou art laid,
And leavest thy friends;
Thou hast no friend,
Who will come to thee,
Who will ever see

How that house pleaseth thee;
Who will ever open
The door for thee,
And descend after thee;
For soon thou art loathsome
And hateful to see.

BEOWULF'S EXPEDITION TO

HEORT

THUS then, much care-worn,
The son of Healfden

Sorrowed evermore,
Nor might the prudent hero
His woes avert.

The war was too hard,
Too loath and longsome,
That on the people came,
Dire wrath and grim,
Of night-woes the worst.

This from home heard
Higelac's Thane,

Good among the Goths,
Grendel's deeds.
He was of mankind
In might the strongest,
At that day

Of this life,

Noble and stalwart.
He bade him a sea-ship,
A goodly one, prepare.
Quoth he, the war-king,
Over the swan's road,
Seek he would
The mighty monarch,
Since he wanted men.
For him that journey
His prudent fellows
Straight made ready,
Those that loved him.
They excited their souls,
The omen they beheld.
Had the good-man
Of the Gothic people
Champions chosen,
Of those that keenest
He might find,
Some fifteen men.
The sea-wood sought he.
The warrior showed,
Sea-crafty man!
The land-marks,
And first went forth.

The ship was on the waves,
Boat under the cliffs.
The barons ready
To the prow mounted.
The streams they whirled
The sea against the sands.
The chieftains bore
On the naked breast
Bright ornaments,
War-gear, Goth-like.
The men shoved off,
Men on their willing way,
The bounden wood.

Then went over the sea-waves,

Hurried by the wind,

The ship with foamy neck,
Most like a sea-fowl,

Till about one hour
Of the second day
The curved prow
Had passed onward

So that the sailors
The land saw,

The shore-cliffs shining,
Mountains steep,

And broad sea-noses.
Then was the sea-sailing
Of the Earl at an end.
Then up speedily
The Weather people
On the land went,
The sea-bark moored,
Their mail-sarks shook,
Their war-weeds.
God thanked they,

That to them the sea-journey
Easy had been.

Then from the wall beheld
The warden of the Scyldings,
He who the sea-cliffs
Had in his keeping,

Bear o'er the balks
The bright shields,
The war-weapons speedily.
Him the doubt disturbed
In his mind's thought,
What these men might be.
Went then to the shore,
On his steed riding,
The Thane of Hrothgar.
Before the host he shook
His warden's-staff in hand,
In measured words demanded
"What men are ye
War-gear wearing,
Host in harness,

Who thus the brown keel

Over the water-street

Leading come

Hither over the sea?

I these boundaries

As shore-warden hold,

That in the Land of the Danes

Nothing loathsome

With a ship-crew

Scathe us might. . . .
Ne'er saw I mightier

Earl upon earth
Than is your own,
Hero in harness.

Not seldom this warrior

Is in weapons distinguished;
Never his beauty belies him,
His peerless countenance !
Now would I fain

The first work which Mr. Longfellow printed in the way of translation of French poetry was in connection with his article on Origin and Progress of the French Language, which he contributed to the North American Review for April, 1831. He used a portion of this paper in the chapter, The Trouvères, in Outer-Mer, introducing his translation of some early lyrics by these words: "The favorite theme of the ancient lyric poets of the North of France is the wayward passion of love. They all delight to sing les douces dolors et li mal plaisant de fine amor.' With such feelings the beauties of the opening spring are naturally associated. Almost every love-ditty of the old poets commences with some such exordium as this: When the snows of