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"HERE I gó up and down, hop, hop, hóp,
And from mórning till night never stóp
Picking seeds up and filling my cróp;
And though Í 'm but a spárrow, and thoú
A mighty great mán, I allów,

I would not change with thee, somehow."

"For a thing of thy size," answered Í, "Great 's thy wisdom, I 'll never dený, So to live on the same way I'll try,

As I lived years before thou wast hátched,

Or the bárn, thou wast hátched in, was thatched; Pert spárrow, I hope thou art matched."

"Very well," said the spárrow; "let bé;
Hadst thou nót looked uncivil at mé,

I'd no word said uncívil to thee,
For we 're brothers alike, after áll,
Though you mén, have the fashion to cáll
Yourselves great and us, poór sparrows! smáll."

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AUF WIEDERSEH'N!

Auf Wiederseh'n! politer word
I doubt not there might be,
Could one but of politeness think
When taking leave of thee.

Auf Wiederseh'n! then, dearest girl,

Since from thee I must part

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Auf Wiederseh'n! not from the lips
But from the sad, sad heart.

HEIDELBERG, July 28, 1855.

TO

HOFRATH SÜPFLE AND HIS DAUGHTER EMILIA;

ON OUR LEAVING CARLSRUHE, AUG. 16, 1855.

ADIEU! kind friends; and, by these idle rhymes
Or by the hour reminded, think sometimes
Óf the two strangers, widely wandering pair,
With whom ye pleased your evening walks to share,
Gláddening their one short week in still Carlsruhe,
But saddening -- ah, how saddening! their adieu.

TO PROFESSOR GRATZ

LIBRARIAN OF THE GRAND DUCAL LIBRARY, CARLSRUHE.

ON MY LEAVING CARLSRUHE, AUG. 16, 1855.

FAREWELL! and happy live till thou and I
Meet once again beneath a summer sky;
Should that day never come, then happy die
Even while I say Farewell! the minutes fly.

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AUGUST the Twenty Third, in Tübingen,

I paid a visit to the poet Uhland,

Who with some fórmal courtesy received me,
And next day at my lodgings left a card.

Móre wouldst thou knów of Úhland? páy him a visit
Ánd, if thou 'rt áble, make more out of him
Than that he is a little, ugly, wiry,

Wrinkled, hard-visaged man of eight and sixty,
Who, jilted of his Muse, sits all day long

In his stúdy, moping over Lord knows what,
And little recks of friends, and less of strangers,
And bathes of summer mornings in the Neckar.

Walking from BEILSTEIN to WEINSBERG (WÜRTTEMBERG); Sept. 3, 1855.

TO DOCTOR EMANUEL TAFEL,

PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY AND LIBRARIAN IN THE UNIVERSITY

OF TÜBINGEN.

ON MY LEAVING TÜBINGEN, AUG. 31, 1855.

LEARNING and leisure, and a gentle mind
To works of charity of itself inclined,
Visions of Good and Beautiful and True

Híding the reál, sad, suffering world from view,
Are bounteous heaven's munificent gifts to thee
Enjoy them, and of all men happiest be.

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"So there's an end!" said I, and from the grave
Turned homeward, sorrowful, my lingering step,
And down beside the cradle sat and wept,
Then, having wept my fill, went out and labored
Ánd with eased heart returned, and eat and slept,
And róse next day and labored, wept and slept,
And rose again next day and did the same,
And évery day the sáme did, till the last;

And nów, the last day come at long and last,
I weép because it 's come and ends my weeping.

STUTTGART, Sept. 1, 1855.

*Doctor Tafel is a zealous disciple of Swedenborg's, and has written much and amiably and eloquently, but as it appears to me, without any vis consequentiae, in support of that religionist's doctrines.

LUCEM PEROSUS.

NAKED, and for the plunge prepared, I stood
Upon the deep pool's steep and silent brink,

And, having thought a brief farewell to home,
Kíndred and friends, hopes, joys, and pains, and fears,
Leáped like a fróg into the yielding water,

Which with a wélcome gurgling filled mine ears,

And mouth and nose and eyes, and stopped my breath, And I became as though I had not been born;

And mén set up a stone to mark the spot,

And carved a death's - head and cross bones upón it,
Ánd the reproachful wórds FELO DE SE;

And would have killed me tén times, if they could,
Ráther than once have lét me kill myself.

Pity their creéd 's not trué, else I 'd come back
Anights, and scare them as they lie abed
Thinking of ghósts and héll-fires and the damned,
And suicides in deep, black, dismal pools,

And heaven's revenge, and their own naughtiness
Which from their Gód even in their prayers they hide,

In vain. Let be; their creed 's their punishment.

Walking from THEMAR to SUHL, in the THURINGIAN FOREST; Oct. 3, 1855.

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