IN A VOLUME OF GOETHE

Wins the believing child with wondrous tales;
Touches a cheek with colors of romance,

And crowds a history into a glance;
Gives beauty to the lake and fountain,

Spies oversea the fires of the mountain;

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When thrushes ope their throat, 't is he that sings,

And he that paints the oriole's fiery wings.
The little Shakspeare in the maiden's heart
Makes Romeo of a plough-boy on his cart;
Opens the eye to Virtue's starlike meed
And gives persuasion to a gentle deed.'

In my coat I bore this book,

And seldom therein could I look,
For I had too much to think,

Heaven and earth to eat and drink.
Is he hapless who can spare
In his plenty things so rare?

RICHES

HAVE ye seen the caterpillar
Foully warking in his nest ?
'Tis the poor man getting siller,
Without cleanness, without rest.

Have ye seen the butterfly

In braw claithing drest?
'Tis the poor man gotten rich,
In rings and painted vest.

The poor man crawls in web of rags
And sore bested with woes.

But when he flees on riches' wings,
He laugheth at his foes."

PHILOSOPHER

PHILOSOPHERS are lined with eyes within,
And, being so, the sage unmakes the man.
In love, he cannot therefore cease his trade;
Scarce the first blush has overspread his cheek,
He feels it, introverts his learned eye

To catch the unconscious heart in the very act.

His mother died, the only friend he had,Some tears escaped, but his philosophy

Couched like a cat sat watching close behind And throttled all his passion. Is't not like That devil-spider that devours her mate Scarce freed from her embraces ? 1

INTELLECT

GRAVELY it broods apart on joy,
And, truth to tell, amused by pain.

LIMITS

WHO knows this or that?

Hark in the wall to the rat:

Since the world was, he has gnawed;
Of his wisdom, of his fraud

What dost thou know?

In the wretched little beast

Is life and heart,

Child and parent,

Not without relation

To fruitful field and sun and moon.
What art thou? His wicked eye
Is cruel to thy cruelty.'

INSCRIPTION FOR A WELL IN MEMORY

OF THE MARTYRS OF THE WAR

FALL, stream, from Heaven to bless; return as well; So did our sons; Heaven met them as they fell.

THE EXILE

(AFTER TALIESSIN)

THE heavy blue chain

Of the boundless main

Didst thou, just man, endure.

I HAVE an arrow that will find its mark,
A mastiff that will bite without a bark.

VI

POEMS OF

YOUTH AND EARLY MANHOOD

1823-1834