The Power Of Song
The foaming stream from out the rock With thunder roar begins to rush, The oak falls prostrate at the shock, And mountain-wrecks attend the gush. With rapturous awe, in wonder lost, The wanderer hearkens
Punch Song (To be sung in the Northern Countries)
On the mountain’s breezy summit, Where the southern sunbeams shine, Aided by their warming vigor, Nature yields the golden wine. How the wondrous mother formeth, None have ever read aright; Hid forever is her
Wisdom And Prudence
Wouldst thou, my friend, mount up to the highest summit of wisdom, Be not deterred by the fear, prudence thy course may deride That shortsighted one sees but the bank that from thee is
The Favor Of The Moment
Once more, then, we meet In the circles of yore; Let our song be as sweet In its wreaths as before, Who claims the first place In the tribute of song? The God to
The Antiques At Paris
That which Grecian art created, Let the Frank, with joy elated, Bear to Seine’s triumphant strand, And in his museums glorious Show the trophies all-victorious To his wondering fatherland. They to him are silent
The Merchant
Where sails the ship? It leads the Tyrian forth For the rich amber of the liberal north. Be kind, ye seas winds, lend your gentlest wing, May in each creek sweet wells restoring spring!
The Fugitive
The air is perfumed with the morning’s fresh breeze, From the bush peer the sunbeams all purple and bright, While they gleam through the clefts of the dark-waving trees, And the cloud-crested mountains are
To Laura (Mystery Of Reminiscence)
Who and what gave to me the wish to woo thee Still, lip to lip, to cling for aye unto thee? Who made thy glances to my soul the link Who bade me burn
The Glove – A Tale
Before his lion-court, Impatient for the sport, King Francis sat one day; The peers of his realm sat around, And in balcony high from the ground Sat the ladies in beauteous array. And when
The Two Paths Of Virtue
Two are the pathways by which mankind can to virtue mount upward; If thou should find the one barred, open the other will lie. ‘Tis by exertion the happy obtain her, the suffering by
The Words Of Error
Three errors there are, that forever are found On the lips of the good, on the lips of the best; But empty their meaning and hollow their sound And slight is the comfort they
To A Moralist
Are the sports of our youth so displeasing? Is love but the folly you say? Benumbed with the winter, and freezing, You scold at the revels of May. For you once a nymph had
The Hostage
The tyrant Dionys to seek, Stern Moerus with his poniard crept; The watchful guard upon him swept; The grim king marked his changeless cheek: “What wouldst thou with thy poniard? Speak!” “The city from
The Fairest Apparition
If thou never hast gazed upon beauty in moments of sorrow, Thou canst with truth never boast that thou true beauty hast seen. If thou never hast gazed upon gladness in beauteous features, Thou
The Antique To The Northern Wanderer
Thou hast crossed over torrents, and swung through wide-spreading ocean, Over the chain of the Alps dizzily bore thee the bridge, That thou might’st see me from near, and learn to value my beauty,