The landlord's daughter filled their cups,

Around the rustic board;

Then sat they all so calm and still,

And spake not one rude word.

But when the maid departed,

A Swabian raised his hand,

And cried, all hot and flushed with wine,
"Long live the Swabian land!

"The greatest kingdom upon earth

Cannot with that compare;

With all the stout and hardy men

And the nut-brown maidens there."

"Ha!" cried a Saxon, laughing,—

And dashed his beard with wine;

"I had rather live in Lapland,

Than that Swabian land of thine!

"The goodliest land on all this earth,
It is the Saxon land!

There have I as many maidens
As fingers on this hand!"

"Hold your tongues! both Swabian and Saxon!"

A bold Bohemian cries;

"If there's a heaven upon this earth,

In Bohemia it lies.

"There the tailor blows the flute,

And the cobler blows the horn,

And the miner blows the bugle,

Over mountain gorge and bourn."

And then the landlord's daughter

Up to heaven raised her hand,
And said, "Ye may no more contend,-
There lies the happiest land!"

THE WAVE.

FROM TIEDGE.

"WHITHER, thou turbid wave? Whither, with so much haste, As if a thief wert thou?"

"I am the Wave of Life,
Stained with my margin's dust;
From the struggle and the strife
Of the narrow stream I fly
To the Sea's immensity,

To wash from me the slime
Of the muddy banks of Time."

2 A

THE DEAD.

FROM KLOPSTOCK.

How they so softly rest,
All, all the holy dead,
Unto whose dwelling-place
Now doth my soul draw near
How they so softly rest,

All in their silent graves,

Deep to corruption

Slowly down-sinking!

And they no longer weep, Here, where complaint is still!

And they no longer feel,

Here, where all gladness flies!

And, by the cypresses

Softly o'ershadowed,

Until the Angel

Calls them, they slumber!

THE BIRD AND THE SHIP

FROM MULLER.

"THE rivers rush into the sea,
By castle and town they go;
The winds behind them merrily
Their noisy trumpets blow.

"The clouds are passing far and high, We little birds in them play;

And every thing that can sing and fly,

Goes with us, and far away.

"I greet thee, bonny boat! Whither, or whence, With thy fluttering golden band?"— "I greet thee, little bird! To the wide sea I haste from the narrow land.

"Full and swollen is every sail;

I see no longer a hill,

I have trusted all to the sounding gale,

And it will not let me stand still.