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If less agreeable the bower,
Come, let 's ascend the ruined tower
That on the hill commands the shore
And far off hears the breakers roar.
There, armed with Galilean eye,
Évery spar, saíl, rope we 'll descry
In every táll ship passing by,
Not that for tower, sea, ship I care,
Bút to be with you anywhere.
If you will not the tower ascend,
Into the wood our steps let 's bend
And márk with what agility
The brown squirrel bounds from tree to tree,
Or hear the oft repeated stroke
That félls at last old monarch oak,
Or gáther mushrooms or see glide
The clear stream by the gray rock's side,
Not that for stream, rock, wood I care,
Bút to be with you anywhere.
You 'll nóne of all; well, Mary, no;
Out of this spot we 'll never go.
Smíle but on me those eyes so blue,
Beát but for me that heart so true,
Hére is my world, and other none
I recognise beneath the sun;
Beside you here I 'll live and die,
Beside you 's my eternity,
. TAUERNHAUS, FEHRLEITEN, at the foot of the Gross-GLOCKNER, July 17, 1854; and while walking from LIENZ to Silian in the PUSTERTHAL, July 21, 1854.
THE WEDDING RING.
Lét the pure unalloyed gold of this ring
Declare the perfect love with which I love thee;
Lét the firm, compact, indestructible metal
Witness my love 's no evanescent passion;
And the strong, massy hoop, encircling thus
Thy slénder finger, typify the pale
Within which thou shalt pass thy days secure,
From áll harm guarded by these sheltering arms.
Walking from PFUNDS to RIED (German TYROL), Sept. 4, 1854.
I would not, if I could, be wise,
I envy not the regal state,
Weálth has small splendor in mine eyes,
I am contented with my fate;
I live and breathe and see the sun,
And feel the fresh air round me blow,
For mé the earth is spread with flowers,
For me the gurgling waters flow;
And if I 'm loved by one alone,
Lóved by one ónly let me be,
For that one heart is all my own
Ye kings, wise, rich men, envy me.
LANDRO in the valley of AMPEZZO, July 22, 1854.
'Twas ón a balmy day
In the látter end of May
I heard the cúckoo say,
Cuckoo! Cackoo !
Évery day in June,
Mórning, evening, noon,
She repeated the same tune,
Cuckoo! Cuckoo !
But when búrning hot July
Fláred in the summer sky,
Ah! the cúckoo bade good bye,
Cuckoo! Cúckoo !
Quick come again, sweet May,
Till ón a balmy day
Again I hear her say,
While travelling in Stellwagen from SAUERLOCH to HOLZKIRCHEN (BAVARIA), July 8, 1854.
“My father, spare my father,” Julia cried
And at th' inexorable Roman's feet
Threw herself, tearless : “Spare, Oh spare, my father;
Mércy is dearer far to heaven than justice;
Mércy is fair and lovely and makes friends
And binds with the indissoluble bond
Of grátitude; Oh spare my father, Roman;
Róme is no petty state compelled to uphold
By térror its precarious sovereignty;
Róme can afford to have mercy on a rebel.
Man, Roman, father, spare a man, a father,
Spáre an Helvetian guilty and repentant;
Só at Aventia’s altar shall my prayers,
The priestess and the daughter's prayers, be daily
Offered for greát Rome and for thee Oh spare him,
Magnanimous Roman, spare him, spare him, spare him.".
In vain she supplicated and in vain
Clúng to the Consul's knees; unpitying justice
Lópped with remorseless axe the victim's head;
And never in Aventia's temple after
Officiated Julia, but away
Pined grádual and at last died brokenhearted.
Áfter a thousand and six hundred years
A stone found at Aventicum affirms
The truth of the Historian: “Here I lie,
Júlia Alpínula, Aventia’s priestess,
Ill-fated daughter of ill-fated sire:
The síre a rebel died by the hand of justice,
The daúghter's supplication failed to save
The father's life her years were three and twenty.”
Mán, egoistic, for his own self lives,
Thinking he lives for honor, virtue, fame,
Ór for his country, as he 's pleased to call
The land which chanced to give the egoist birth;
Wóman, devoted woman, knows no self,
Lives only in and for the egoist
Whó in the name of love has made her slave.
Walking from LIENZ to SILIAN in the PUSTERTHAL, July 21, 1854.
A mån and woman travelling by the way
And thirsty both, found each a cup of liquor;
The mán, as he drank hís, made, a wry face
And spát some out and said it was most bitter.
The woman, as she dránk hers, kept her eyes
Fixed on the man, then meekly smiling said: –
“Bitter was my cup too, and I doubt not
Bitterer than thine, but pleasant to me always
Éven the most bitter draught if I have only
Thy face before mine eyes while I am drinking.
Walking from LIENZ to Silian in the PUSTERTHAL, July 21, 1854.