Ir was the morning of the Sunday first
In Advent, when, four hours before daylight, Anna Maria Prieth, the widow, left
House, home, and children five at Pitz and crossed The ice of Reschen's frozen lake to Graun, There måde confession of her sins and eased By that sweet sacrament her burthened mind. 'Twas not yet light when 'cross the ice returning, Pleased with herself and with the world at peace, And full of happy thoughts of home and children, She trod upon a spot Ah! blessed Mary,
Móther of God, where wast thou at that moment? Above a spring the weakened ice gave way, And not till five months later, when May's sun Unbound the icy fetters of the Vintschgau,
Was found the body; the blessed spirit meanwhile A stóne attests it on the banks of Reschen,
And évery Advent the officiating
Cúrate of Graun confirms it from the altar Sank nót into the abysm but, upward borne By hands angelic, soared until it joined The harmónic choirs that never ceasing sing
Glad hymns of praise around the eternal throne.
Walking from RESCHEN in the VINTSCHGAU (German TYROL) to Pfunds, Sept. 3, 1854.
* The principal facts of this story are taken from an inscription on a stone on the banks of the lake of Reschen.
'Twas early on an April morn As músing sad and all forlorn
I walked through the scarce brairded corn, Ah, well aday!
Methought I heard close by my side
A voice that "Woé 's me!" three times cried, And saw a figure past me glide,
Bý her white scarf and ribbons blue
My own dear Mary's form I knew, My Máry of the heart so true, Ah, well aday!
"And whát, my Mary, hast to do Hére in chill April's morning dew?"
She answered not but from my view,
Quickfoot to Máry's home I sped,
And there lay Mary stretched out dead,
Walking from ROTTACH ON TEGERNSEE to SEEHAUS on ACHENSEE in the German TYROL, July 9, 1854.
Ir happened once that in a coffeehouse How many years ago it is not certain Lábor and Idleness together met,
And thús said Idleness to Labor, sighing: "Well, it's a weary world! I can't conceive How any one can like it; for my part
I wish I had died an infant or had never
Been born at all what think'st thou, brother Labor?" "It may be as thou say'st or it may not,
For aúght I know," said Labor with a smile; "To say the truth my life has been so busy I've had small time to enquire into the subject.' "And dóst thou really mean thou dost not know Whether thy life 's a pleasant one or not?" "I dó indeed, and, what will more surprise thee, I rarely think either of pain or pleasure Ór of myself at all; I'm always aiming At sómething I 've in hand that must be done; Of that and that alóne I 'm always thinking.' "And so thou slipp'st through life almost without Knowing thou 'rt in it happy, happy Labor! While I am always wondering why the day 's So véry long, so full of care and trouble." "To me the day is well nigh over ere I feel it's well begun. I'd wish it longer
Thát I might do more work, get further forward. Éven for this hour here spent with thee in gossip I fear my sleep tonight will have to pay." So said and to his work away went Labor Cheerful and humming a song; but Idleness Looked after him some moments, wishing half That he too had some work to do; then listless Flúng himself into a chair and dozed, or smoked And read the news until the clock struck dinner. Walking from BAIREUTH to HAAG (BAVARIA), June 23-24, 1854.
Ar six years old I had before mine eyes A picture painted, like the rainbow, bright, But far, far off in th' unapproachable distance. With all my childish heart I longed to reach it, And strove and strove the livelong day in vain, Advancing with slow step some few short yards But not perceptibly the distance lessening. At threéscore years old, when almost within Grasp of my outstretched arms the selfsame picture With all its beauteous colors painted bright, I'm backward from it further borne each day Bý an invisible, compulsive force,
Grádual but yet so steady, sure, and rapid,
That at threescore and ten I'll from the picture Be éven more distant than I was at six.
Walking from MALS to GRAUN (German TYROL), Sept. 3, 1854.
I well remember how some threescore years And tén ago, a helpless babe, I toddled
From chair to chair about my mother's chamber, Feéling, as 'twere, my way in the new world And foolishly afraid of, or, as 't might be, Foolishly pleased with, th' únknown objects round me. And now with stiffened joints I sit all day In one of those same chairs, as foolishly Hóping or fearing something from me hid Behind the thick, dark veil which I see hourly And minutely on every side round closing And from my view all objects shutting out. Walking from MALS to GRAUN (German TYROL), Sept. 3, 1854.
WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM AT POSSAGNO
AFTER VISITING CANOVA'S MODELS COLLECTED AND PRESERVED AT POSSAGNO, THE ARTIST'S BIRTH- AND BURIAL-PLACE, BY MONSIGNORE SARTORI CANOVA, BISHOP OF MINDO, HIS HALF BROTHER.
POETS have lived who never in their lives
Composed one line of blank or rhyming verse, Yet left behind them no less lovely thoughts And nó less durable than Petrarch's own, Tásso's, or Ariosto's; witness thou, Posságno, tomb and birthplace of Canova. Aug. 4, 1854.
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