II-OH! DROOP THOU NOT.

"They sin who tell us love can die,
With life all other passions fly;
All others are but vanity.

In heaven ambition cannot dwell,

Nor avarice in the vaults of hell.

Earthly these passions, as of earth

They perish where they drew their birth.
But love is indestructible!

Its holy flame for ever burneth;

From heaven it came, to heaven returneth."

SOUTHEY.

OH! droop thou not, my gentle earthly love!
Mine still to be!

I bore through death, to brighter lands above,
My thoughts of thee.

Yes! the deep memory of our holy tears,
Our mingled prayer,

Our suffering love, through long devoted years,
Went with me there,

It was not vain, the hallow'd and the tried-
It was not vain!

Still, though unseen, still hovering at thy side,
I watch again!

From our own paths, our love's attesting bowers,
I am not gone;

In the deep calm of Midnight's whispering hours, Thou art not lone:

Not lone, when by the haunted stream thou weepest, That stream whose tone

Murmurs of thoughts, the richest and the deepest, We two have known:

Not lone, when mournfully some strain awaking
Of days long past,

From thy soft eyes the sudden tears are breaking,
Silent and fast:

Not lone, when upwards, in fond visions turning
Thy dreamy glance,

Thou seek'st my home, where solemn stars are burning,

O'er night's expanse.

My home is near thee, loved one! and around thee, Where'er thou art;

Though still mortality's thick cloud hath bound thee, Doubt not thy heart!

Hear its low voice, nor deem thyself forsaken-
Let faith be given

To the still tones which oft our being waken-
They are of heaven!

MIGNON'S SONG.

TRANSLATED FROM GOETHE.

["Mignon, a young and enthusiastic girl, (the character in one of Goethe's romances, from which Sir Walter Scott's Fenella is partially imitated,) has been stolen away, in early childhood, from Italy. Her vague recollections of that land, and of her early home, with its graceful sculptures and pictured saloons, are perpetually haunting her, and at times break forth into the following song. The original has been set to exquisite music, by Zelter, the friend of Goethe.]

"Kennst du das Land wo die Citronen blühn?"

KNOW'ST thou the land where bloom the citron

bowers,

Where the gold-orange lights the dusky grove? High waves the laurel there, the myrtle flowers, And through a still blue heaven the sweet winds rove. Know'st thou it well?

-There, there, with thee, O friend! O loved one! fain my steps would flee.

Know'st thou the dwelling ?-there the pillars rise,
Soft shines the hall, the painted chambers glow;
And forms of marble seem with pitying eyes
To say "Poor child! what thus hath wrought thee
woe?"

Know'st thou it well?

There, there with thee, O my protector! homewards might I flee!

Know'st thou the mountain?-high its bridge is hung, Where the mule seeks through mist and cloud his way;

There lurk the dragon-race, deep caves among,

O'er beetling rocks there foams the torrent spray. Know'st thou it well?

With thee, with thee,

There lies my path, O father! let us flee!

THE SISTERS.*

A BALLAD.

"IGO, sweet sister; yet, my heart would linger with thee fain,

And unto every parting gift some deep remembrance chain :

Take then the braid of Eastern pearls which once I loved to wear,

And with it bind for festal scenes the dark waves of thy hair!

Its pale pure brightness will beseem those raven tresses well,

And I shall need such pomp no more in my lone

convent cell."

* This ballad was composed for a kind of dramatic recitative, relieved by music. It was thus performed by two graceful and highly accomplished sisters.

Oh, speak not thus, my Leonor! why part from kindred love?

Through festive scenes, when thou art gone-my steps no more shall move!

How could I bear a lonely heart amid a reckless throng?

I should but miss earth's dearest voice in every tone of song;

Keep, keep the braid of Eastern pearls, or let me proudly twine

Its wreath once more around that brow, that queenly brow of thine."

"Oh, would'st thou strive a wounded bird from shelter to detain?

Or would'st thou call a spirit freed, to weary life again?

Sweet sister, take the golden cross that I have worn so long,

And bathed with many a burning tear for secret woe and wrong.

It could not still my beating heart! but may it be a sign

Of peace and hope, my gentle one! when meekly press'd to thine !"

"Take back, take back the cross of gold, our mother's gift to thee,

It would but of this parting hour, a bitter token be; With funeral splendour to mine eye, it would but sadly shine,

And tell of early treasures lost, of joy no longer mine!