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And pension and a poet's name.
Don't ask me can I nothing find
More fitting to employ my mind
And while away my idle time
Than "stringing blethers up in rhyme”
For you and other fools to sing,
For Í 'm as happy as a king:
My tróchees are my diamond crown,
My ánapests my purple gown,
My pén 's my sceptre, my inkstánd
Sérves me for revenues and land,
And as for subjects

every thing
In heaven and earth owns mé for king;
So many háve I that I choose,
And take the good, the bad refuse;
In the whole world, I'd like to know,
Where 's th' other king that can do so?

Walking from BEUERN to WEINGARTEN (BADEN), Octob. 14 - 15, 1854.

ST. ARNAUD.

“On, to the fight!" St. Arnaud called

Though faint and like to die;
“Bring me my horse and hold me up,

We 'll win the victory.”

Ínto the field the hero rushed,

One héld him on each side,
He won the fight, then turned about

And droóped his head and died.

BRUCHSAL in BADEN, Octob, 16, 1854.

SOMETÍMES I 've with my Muse a miff,

Sometimes my Muse with me, You'd think we féll out just to have

The pleasure to agree.

Last night she came to my bedside

And twitched me on the ear: “Well, Miss,” said I, turning about,

“What is it brings you here?”

“I 've come to sing you a new song,"

With a sweet smile she said, And on the table laid her lamp

And sát down by my bed.

“This is no time to sing,” said I

And turned me round to sleep, “You woúld not trill one note all day,

Your song for mórning keep.”

No word replied the dear sweet maid,

Nor taúnted me again,
But géntly laid her hand on mine

And sáng so sweet a strain,

So tender, melancholy, soft,

That tears came to mine eyes And sometimes scarce the words I heard

Fór mine own bursting sighs:

“Chármer, sing on, sing ever on,

We 're once more friends," I cried; “A thousand years I 'd not think long,

My sóngstress at my side.”

I turned about as thus I said,

But ló! the maid was gone,
Had táken her lamp and left me there

In the dark night alone.

In vain I watched the livelong night,
All dáy I 've watched in vain:

aye, that 's her own dear voice,
And here she comes again.

But stay

Walking from OPPENAU to BEUERN (BADEN), Octob. 12 — 13, 1854.

SWEET breathes the hawthorn in the early spring
And wallflower petals precious fragrance fling,
Sweét in July blows full the cabbage rose
Ánd in rich béds the gay carnation glows,
Sweet smells on sunny slopes the new-mown hay,
And belle-de-nuit smells sweet at close of day,
Sweet under southern skies the orange bloom
And lánk acacia spread their mild perfume,
Bút of all odorous sweets I crown thee queen,
Plain, rústic, unpretending, black eyed bean.

Walking from ACHENKIRCHEN to SEEHAUS on the ACHENSEE, in the German TYBOL, July 9, 1854.

KING Will his seat in royal state

Tákes on Thought's ocean shore,
And “Silence!" calls to the loud waves;

The waves but louder roar.

“Back back, audacious, rebel slaves,

How dare ye" - the king cries “How dare ye come my person near?”

The waves but higher rise.

And first they drench his velvet shoes

And then they splash his knee;
The king's cheeks grow with choler red,

An ángry man is hé.

“What mean ye, whát?" three times he cries,

“Thús to assault your lord; Ye shall be hanged up every one —"

The wáves hear never a word;

And one comes souse and overturns

Him and his chair of state
Make háste, good king, and save yourself

Before it is too late.

Then comes another, twice as big,

And rolls him up the shore, And says:

"Lie there, and call us slaves And vássals never more."

"Minion,” faint gasping he 'd have cried

But 16! the wave was gone,
Ánd from the deep already comes

Another rolling on,

And breaks and flows over the king

As if no king were there,
And knocks about his chair of state

Like any common chair.

“Enough! he 's had enough,” cries loud

The foúrth wave tumbling in;
“Now let him off; though great his crime,

To drówn him were a sin.

“Dówn to this shore, I promise you,

Unless he is a fool,
King Will will not come soon again

Thought's ocean waves to rule.”

“So bé it, so bé it,” they all reply,

And ébb and leave him there
To drý himself as best he can

And gather up his chair.

Thát was the first day king Will claimed

Rúle over Thought's free waves,
And you may swear it was the last

He ever called them slaves.

Walking from TRYBERG to OBERWOLFACH in the BLACK FOREST (BADEN), Octob. 9 — 11, 1854.

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