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 THE GERMAN OF 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."

THE DEAD.

FROM THE GERMAN OF 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!