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(II) Who can say what the consequence had been, Súbtle inventor of the Lucifer match, Had Heáven but taken care in box like thiné To hide from every prying eye its fire! Perháps Prometheus had not yet been sent To Caúcasus; Cranmer's right hand and left Not expiated contradictory crimes, Nór with Joan's áshes Rouen's stones been smutted; Ephésian Dían's temple still had stood; Swine, kíne, and pretty lambs died natural deaths, And thoú and I our stomachs' cravings stihed With innocent, bloodless cucumber and salad. But Heáven cares móre to punish than prevent: Prométheus rued in Caucasus' ice his theft; Dían was shórn of her Ephesian glory; Witches and saints and heretics were sublimed; And butchers, bákers, cooks, tobacco smokers, Artillery, gás, and steam o'erran the world.


CLEVER people are disagreeable, always taking the adván

tage of you; Stupid people are disagreeable, you never can knock anything

into their heads; Idle people are disagreeable, you must be continually amúsing

them; Busy people are disagreeable, never at leisure to attend to

you; Extravagant people are disagreeable, always wanting to bórrow

of you;

Saving people are disagreeable, won't lay out a pénny on you; Obliging people are disagreeable, always putting you under a

cómpliment; Rude people are disagreeable, never stop rubbing you against

the grain; Religious people are disagreeable, always boring you with

points of faith; Irreligious people are disagreeable, no better than Turks and

heathens; Learned people are disagreeable, don't go by the rules of

cómmon sense; Unlearned people are disagreeable, never can tell you what

you don't already know; Fashionable people are disagreeable, mere frivolity and émp

tiness; Vulgar people are disagreeable, don't know how to beháve


Wicked people are disagreeable, you 're never safe in their

company; But no people are so disagreeable as your truly good and

worthy people Slop-committee water-gruel, without a spice of wine or nutmeg, Mawzy mutton overboiled, without pepper, salt, or mústard.

Walking from TÜBINGEN to HERRENBERG (WÜRTTEMBERG), Nov. 2, 1855.

RIGHT for you 's wrong for mé,
If by different rules wé

Right and Wróng chance to measure;
Good for mé 's bad for yoú,
If we don't the same viéw,

Both, of pain take and pleasure.


CARLSRUHE, Nov. 11, 1855.

“STOP! stáy! let 's consider!” cried Írresolution,
And hung báck till the boat drifted out of his reách;
But Dáring leaped in and laid hold of the rúdder,
And steered himself safe to the opposite bánk.


SUMMER 's gone fled away with his lilies and roses,
Long mórnings and evenings, and deep glowing noon;
But lament him not thoú, for see yonder where Aútumn,
Crowned with córn ear and vine branch, approaches to greét


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Autumn 's góne

fled away with his víne branch and corn


And has left not one poppy in all the bare field;
But lamént him not thoú, for see yonder where Winter
To the snúg house and joys of the fireside invites thee.

Winter 's gone - to the bleák, frozen North has retreated;
The fireside 's desérted, the snúg corner émpty;
But lamént thou not therefore, but out to the green bank
Where Spring 's strewing violets, and líst to the thróstle.

Spring 's góne ---- and his violets are chóked on the green bank, The thróstle's song 's silent, the thorn 's no more white; But lamént thou not therefore, for see where with long days And wreaths of fresh róses young Súmmer comes back.


I love thee, Márbach, in the sun there lying,
Vine clád, upon the Neckar's peaceful bank,
And loved thee ere I saw thee or thy náme heard,
Theé that gav'st bírth beneath yon humble roof
To the lóftiest minded of Germánia's poets.
I love thy chúrch too with its perpendicular
Roof of red tiles and gay, enamelled steeple,
That, from across the way, looks down upon
The cradle of thy nursling; and, as here
I lié at ease stretched in thy walnut shade,
On this bright, sunny day of late October,
And listen to the murmur of thy Neckar,
Blending melódious with thy vintage song,
Think how a hundred years ago those sounds
Féll on th' awakening ear of infant Schiller,
And sigh and to myself say: Roll on, Neckar,
Another hundred years, and from thy banks
To Ánna Liffey's banks perhaps shall come
Sóme one acquainted with my song, and ask ·
“Was here his cradle ?” and being answered “Yes,"
Shall also ask to see where lie my bones.


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