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Hail, mighty Badish Orpheus! Hebel, hail!
With thy small wit and many witticisms,
And Alemannic doggrel, poems called
By all such Badeners as have perchance
Heard there was such a thing as poetry.
How I would like to have heard thee in the senate,
Advising statesmen about church affairs
Evangelist and Lutheran and Papist,
And right and wrong, and moral and immoral,
And catechism, and providence, and God;
Then, to the theatre the Kirchenrath'
And prelate, following, marked him in th' orchéstra,
Ogling, and ogled by, the already thrice,
And soon a fourth time to be married, Hendel,
And, the play over, heard him, in the tavern,
Making acrostics on her, and, each time,
He cleared his pipe or drained his pot of beer,
Spewing the loved name forth in wreaths of smoke,
And blabbing of the kiss behind the scenes! *

O blest beyond the ordinary lot,
Wise without wisdom, without learning learned,

* See Extracts from Hebel's letters, contained in the account of his life prefixed to the three volume Edition of his works, published at Stuttgart in 1847.

No less the sovereign’s than the people's darling,
Philosopher who findest in the dinner
Provided for the spider in the fly,
Proof of God's providence for every creature,
For this, at least, I praise thee and admire,
That thou hast given the lie genteel to Horace,
And shown that here in Baden if no where else,
Both Gods and columns patronise poetasters.

CARLSRUHE, May 4, 1856.

THE póor man is the carpet spread between
The rough floor and the rich man's gouty foot.
Tread on him softly, rich man, and be thankful;
And if, at times, thou feel'st a wrinkle in him,
Fly not into a passion, stamp not, rant not,
Even for the sake of thine own gouty foot.

CARLSRUHE, March 21, 1856.

* “Lueg, 's Spinnli merkts enanderno,

Es zuckt und springt und het sie scho.
Es denkt: "I ha viel Arbet g'ha,
Jez muessi au ne Brotis ha!"
I sags io, der wo alle git,
Wenns Zit isch, er vergisst ein nit.”

HEBEL, Das Spinnlein.

Young Forester sings.

I NEVER hear the woodpecker's

Tap-tap upon the lime,
But I think of the tap - tap- tap

And hungry maw of Time.

But let me hear my Mary Anne's

Tap-tap upon the door,
And I think of the woodpecker's

And Time's tap-tap no more.

CARLSRUHE, March 19, 1856.

My poem is the temple of the Muse,
Wherein she dwells in majesty divine;
I am the priest, commissioned to refuse
The curious idler access to the shrine.
Wash clean thine hands, and cast from thee away
All that the body and the soul defiles,
Then reverent come, to meditate and pray,
And I 'll admit thee to the sacred aisles.

CARLSRUHE, May 14, 1856.

I WALKED, in the sun, by the side of a wood,

Where the butterflies round me fluttered, And the woodbine her purple buds spread to the warmth,

And the throstle his spring greeting uttered.

I laid myself down on the dry, mossy bank,

By the silver pine's graceful boughs shaded, And gázed on the blue heaven until the sun set,

And the light from the landscape faded.

And my daughter beside me lay on the bank,

And a tear in her young eye glistened,
For shé 's dead and gone, long dead and gone,

That with ús to the throstle once listened.

So I kissed the tear from her daughter's eye,

The tear for the dead that glistened, And we rose, and left that dry, mossy bank,

And no more to the throstle listened.

In the HARDTWALD, beside CARLSRUHE; March 9, 1856.

"Weiss der Sänger, dieser Viere
Urgewalt'gen Stoff zu mischen,
Hafis gleich wird er die Völker
Ewig freuen und erfrischen.”

GOETHE, Elemente.

The poet must know how to sing

Of war and love and wine, But from all three stay far away,

If he would be divine.

Still more the poet must know how

Folly to scourge and vice, And, as the Koran, full must be

His book, of wise advice.

Such Hafiz was; well Hafiz knew

Right to divide from wrong, And bitter wholesome, honey sweet

Was Hafiz' well mixed song.

Like Hafiz let him sing of war

And love and wine and truth, And of the old be still the friend,

And still the guide of youth.

And let the poet keep from courts,

And walk erect and free,
His hand lay sometimes on the breast,

But never bend the knce.

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