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Of Tübingen that saw its scrupulous despot
Protest against a pópe's sale of a pardon,
Ånd, at the sáme time, bring into the market,
Ánd to his people weigh against hard cash,
That which is láwful merchandize as little
As is God's gráce a license to be free
Yé that in distant lands have heard this fame,
Províde yourselves with smelling salts, I advise ye,

ye come híther; put on respirators,
Green góggles and strong boots; and when ye come,
Don't lodge where I lodged, in the Golden Lamb,
Beside the Rathhaus in the Market Place,
Whose breakneck stairs and in-swagged floors still show,
Beneath the last two centuries' dirt, the footmarks
Of Crúsius' scholars crowding, after lecture,
To eat, drink, ránt, and break more heads than Priscian's;
Here lodge not, wárned, but to the Traube go,
Ópen your purse-strings wide and live genteel;
And on your way to Neckar bridge ye may,
I think, without offence at Uhland's door
Look, if so cúrious, but not knock or ring;
And should some chance throw Fichte's son across ye,
Hé is the man to answer ye the question
Why sóns of wise men are so often wise;
And Táfel 's at your service, should ye need aught,
And rích the library and well conducted;
Ảnd the few paintings in New College Hall
May please the not fastidious; and be sure
Ye see the long rows of Professors' portraits
And óver hápless Frischlin's drop a tear,
And blúsh that ye are men; and take a turn
Among the cánes in the Botanic Garden;
And in the Reading Room inquire the news;
And stáy not lóng, remembering health is precious;

I staid ten days too long

then northwest turned Up th’ Ámmer-Thál toward Calw my wandering step, And snuffed a purer air, and waved adieu To Úlrich's Castle, Rathhaus, Colleges, Oesterberg, Spitzberg, hóspitable Tafel, Th' outside of Úhland's door, and Tübingen.

Walking from Calw to LIEBENZELL (WÜRTTEMBERG), Nov. 3, 1855.

"In the name of God we bind thee to this stake,
In the name of God heap fagots up about thee,
In the náme of God set fire to them and búrn thee
Alive and crying loúd to heaven for súccor,
And thús prove to the world the truthfulness
Of our own creéd and how it mollifies
And fills with charity the human heart,
And that thy creéd 's as blasphemous as false,
Th' invention of the Devil, and by God
Permitted to his enemies and those
Who have no milk of kindness in their breasts.”

Such words heard Húss and Latimer and Ridley,
Jérome of Prague and Cranmer and Socinus,
And súch words, reader, thou shouldst hear tomorrow,
Hadst thou but courage to stand up against
The dominant creéd, and were that creed less safe,
A trifle léss safe, less securely seized
Of its honors, pówers, immunities, and wealth.



“UnGRÁTEFUL,” said Phoebus,
“That scórnest, repéllest,
Th’ embráce of Apollo,
The kíss of a Gód!
Be it só I 'm content
But thou go'st not unpunished,
And Heáven 's not less mighty
To cúrse than to bless.

“Disdainful, begóne !
And that no one for ever
From henceforth may crédit
One word thy mouth útters,
I condemn thee, Cassandra,
To speak always truth.
Begóne! and as long as
Thou livest, remémber
Thy crime and mine ire!
Proud mórtal, thou 'rt doómed.”

CARLSRUHE, Dec. 12, 1855.

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"WHAT 's the reason, Prométheus," once said Epimétheus As he pút his hand tó to assist the man-maker, “That whén into water I thrów these two souls here The little one sinks while the big one goes floating ?” “I 've júst given the big one a double proportion Of vanity's light, airy gás,” said Prométheus; "Specífical lightness, you know, makes things floát.” “Yes, I knów to be súre, Prom," repliéd Epimétheus, “But máy I ask why you have given to the two souls This sáme airy gás in so different proportions ?” “The big one 's a great man's soul," answered Prométheus, “The little one belongs to an every day chúrl.” “Is the gás good or bád, minus, plús, or indifferent?” “Bad; and just because bád, given in doúble proportion To the great soul to bring it down to the juste milieu.” “Why máke the soul great, first, and then fine it down? Were 't not simpler to make it juste milieu at once?” Can't álways be dóne, Ep; the wheel turns out sometimes, In spite of my best care, one greáter one meáner; And I 'm fórced, that I máyn't have stepchildren and children, To take off or ádd, patch with minus or plús. Now for mínus I find nothing handier and patter, And that easier amálgamates with the perfections, Than this weightless, elástic, intángible gás, Which possésses moreover the singular virtue That, no mátter how much I pump in, no one ever

Cries "stóp!” or complains that I 've given him too much;
And, more wonderful still, it 's no mátter how bádly-,
How hálf-made, a chúrl may drop out of the wheel,
The first whiff of this gás at once makes him content,
Makes him certain I 've never put out of my hands
A more finished, more faúltless, more elegant creáture;
Well pleased with himself, he 's well pleased with his máker,
I 'm praised, and he's happy, and áll goes on right.
Cut off, or but stint, the supply of this gás,
And my wheel 's at a stánd, or we 're in insurrection.”
“Thou tellst wonders ; canst with a small sámple oblige me
Of the mágical stuff to try on my dumb creatures ?”
"Thou shalt not have one oúnce - what a world we'd have óf it
Were both men and beasts vain! No, upon the great lándmarks
Thou must not lay a finger; beasts must still remain beasts,
Gods be Góds and men mén; and without the stuff thoú
Hast with thy children léss care and troúble, believe me,
Than Í, even with all its best hélp, have with mine."
No móre said Prométheus but on with his work went,
And to his beasts, thoughtful, retúrned Epimétheus.

CARLSRUHE, Dec. 18, 1855.

0 INSCRÚTABLE jústice and mércy and wisdom ! Unabáshed in thy fáce looks the apple, the sinner; The innocent peár droops its head, bears the sháme.

CARLSRUHE, Dec. 28, 1855.

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