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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;
So at Aventia's altar shall my prayers,
The priéstess' and the daughter's prayers, be daily
Óffered for great Rome and for thee - Oh spare him,
Magnánimous 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 gradual and at last died broken hearted.
After 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 sire a rebel died by the hand of justice,
The daughter's supplication failed to save
The father's life - her years were three and twenty.'

" **

RATISBON, June 30, 1854.

* JULIA ALPINULA : HIC JACEO, INFELICIS PATRIS INFELIX PROLES. DEAE AVENTIAE SACERDOS. EXORARE PATRIS NECEM NON POTUI: MALE MORI IN FATIS ILLI ERAT. VIXI ANNOS XXIII.

Mán, egoistic, for his own self lives,
Thinking he lives for honor, virtue, fame,
Or 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 mán 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
Bítterer 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. ANNA MARIA PRIETH. *

It 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 made confession of her sins and eased
By thát 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,
Mother 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 stone attests it on the banks of Reschen,
And every Advent the officiating
Cúrate of Graun confirms it from the altar -
Sank nót into the abysm but, upward borne
By hánds angelic, soared until it joined
The harmonic 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.

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!" threé times cried,
And sáw a figure past me glide,

Ah, well aday!
By 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!
Away 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 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 máy 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 hád small time to enquire into the subject.” And dóst thou really mean thou dost not know Whéther thy life is 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 something I 've in hand that must be done; Of thát 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 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

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