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MARY'S WRAITH.

'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 sáw a figure past me glide,

Ah, well aday!
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,

Ah, well aday!
Awáy far into thin air fed -
Quickfoot to Máry's home I sped,
And there lay Mary stretched out dead,

Ah, well aday!

Walking from Rottach on TEGERNSEE to SEEHAUS on ACHENSEE in the German TYROL, July 9, 1854.

LABOR AND IDLENESS.

It háppened 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 máy be as thou say’st or it may not, For aúght I know,” said Labor with a smile; “To sáy the truth my life has been so busy I 've hád small time to enquire into the subject. “And dóst thou really mean thou dost not know Whéther thy life 's a pleasant one or not?” “I do 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 something I 've in hand that must be done; Of that and that alone I 'm always thinking.” “And so thou slipp’st through life almost without Knowing thou 'rt in it – happy, happy Labor! While Í am always wondering why the day 's So very long, so full of care and trouble." “To mé the day is well nigh over ere I feel it 's well begun. I ’d wish it longer

That I might do more work, get further forward.
Éven for this hour here spent with thee in gossip
I feár 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.

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OLD MAN.

At six years old I had before mine eyes
A picture painted, like the rainbow, bright,
But fár, far off in th' unapproachable distance.
With all my childish heart I longed to reach it,
And stróve and strove the livelong day in vain,
Adváncing 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 báckward from it further borne each day
By an invísible, 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.

VERY OLD MAN.

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I wéll remember how some threescore years
And tén ago, a helpless babe, I toddled
From chair to chair about my mother's chamber,
Feeling, as 'twere, my way in the new world
And foolishly afraid of, or, as 't might be,
Foólishly 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,

Póets 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.

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It was a sultry Júly day,
Stretched on the Alpine sward I lay;
There was no shelter, not a cloud
The sun's downdárting rays to shroud.

'Twas noón; no breath, no stir, no sound
Distúrbed the spacious landscape round;
No bírd, no grasshopper, no fly
Ventured beneath the flaring sky.

And there upon the grass I lay

Ι
In the full sún that sultry day,
The heat, the air, the clear, blue sky
And my own thoughts my company.

And so the livelong summer day
High on the mountain's breast I lay,
Háppier than César when Rome's crowd
Shoúted their vivats long and loud;

For his thoughts were of self and Rome,
Greátness and power and fame to come,
Míne of the warm sun, mountain air,

And náture lovely every where.
While walking from PEUDELSTEIN in the valley of AMPEZZO, to AMPEZZO,
July 23, 1854.

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