RECOLLECTIONS OF FATHERLAND.

FROM THE GERMAN OF PHILIP KNIES.

FATHERLAND,--of thee 1 sing !

O'er my soul thy beauties throng; Bold, I laurels o'er thee fling

As Apollo's throne of Song :Fatherland !-the Muses' land !Land that claims my heart and hand !

Beauteous heaven, richly pouring

Floods of radiance, pure and bright!
With thy sunbeams, heart-alluring,

Gleaming in imperial might,
God his peaceful covenant drew
With golden pen on ground of blue !

D

34

RECOLLECTIONS OF FATHERLAND.

Charming provinces are thine

Truly, in this world the fairest !
Heart-attractive land of mine

Under heaven's tent the rarest :

Eden's glories yet remain,
Scatter'd o'er each sunny plain!

Gladsome vales, with roses bright,

Richest pastures, pearl-bedew'd,
Stretching far to charm the sight,--

Fields, with fertile glories strew'd ;-
There the purple-cluster'd vine
Grows to fill the

cup

divine.

Grapes, whose luscious veins are rife

With the juicy glowing wine
To thy sons the spirit-life,

Yield thy banks, old Father Rbinel-
Clink the cup, and quaff the wine:
Huzza, huzza !-" To Father Rhine!”

In thy breast Hygeia dwells:

Every breeze is pure and free!
Full a thousand healing wells,

Blessing-fraught, lie hid in thee
Land, that God consider'd well,
Who shall all thy wonders tell ?

Nature's throes of giant-birth

Gave thee mountains tow'ring highHeaven's pillars based on earth,

Bearing up the azure sky:
Firm they stand, and seem to brave
Even Time's incessant wave !

Gentle are thy maidens fair

Guileless-hearted, angel-kin, Who with one his life would share

36

RECOLLECTIONS OF FATHERLAND.

Fair Germania !-Fatherland!

Valiant were thy sons of old:
In thy storied annals stand

Deeds that should be traced in gold :
Fatherland !—the heroes' land !-
Land that claims my heart and hand !

All renown can give is there

Highest art and science,
Seer-like vision, strange and rare,

That gives dull sense defiance:
E'en the simple peasant-hind
By thy beauty is refined.

Pioud am I that I was born

Child of Hertha's Musenland !

*Plight-troth unto thee I've sworn,

Only thine in heart and hand,
Fatherland !- where'er I rove,

Thee, above all lands, I love!

THE POET'S MISSIONS.

INFANOY.

TAKE thy harp, O bard, and sing

In some simple measure, While life's morn is on the wing, Lays that it may treasure

Of celestial birth !

Ring, oh, ring its golden string,

Bright with peace and beauty; Round thee trusting cherubs bring, As thy sweetest duty

On this troubled earth!