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SOMETÍMES I 've with my Muse a miff,
Sometimes my Muse with me, You'd think we fell 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 would not trill one note all day,
Your sóng for morning keep.”
No word replied the dear sweet maid,
Nor taúnted me again,
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 túrned about as thus I said,
But ló! the maid was gone,
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,
Walking from OPPENAU to BEUERN (BADEN), Octob. 12 – 13, 1854.
SWEET breathes the hawthorn in the early spring
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,
The wáves but louder roar.
“Back báck, audacious, rebel slaves, How dare ye
the king cries “How dáre ye come my person near?”
The waves but higher rise.
And first they drench his velvet shoes
And then they splash his knee;
An ángry man is hé.
“What meán 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
Hím and his chair of state
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 ló! the wave was gone,
Another rolling on,
And breaks and flows over the king
As if no king were there,
Like any common chair.
“Enough! he 's had enough,” cries loud
The fourth wave tumbling in;
To drówn him were a sin.
“Dówn to this shore, I promise you,
Unless he is a fool,
Thought's ocean waves to rule.”
“So bé it, so bé it,” they all reply,
And ébb and leave him there
And gather up his chair.
Thát was the first day king Will claimed
Rule over Thought's free waves,
He ever called them slaves.
Walking from TRYBERGʻto OBERWOLFACH in the Black FOREST (BADEN), Octob. 9 — 11, 1854.
WELL, it is a darling creáture!
Són! I knew it ówn Papá's self,
Fié! no mátter 't hás no sénse yet
all 's right again now; Whát a sweet smile! whý, it 's an ángel.
Cóme come, don't frown, máster Bobby
Fié again! a spoonful fénnel;