SOMETIMES I 've with my Muse a miff,

Sometimes my Muse with me,

You'd think we féll 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 táble laid her lamp
And sat down by my bed.

"This is no time to sing," said I
And túrned me round to sleep,
"You would not trill one note all day,
Your sóng for morning keep.”

No word replied the deár sweet maid,
Nor taúnted me again,

But géntly laid her hand on mine
And sáng so sweet a strain,

So ténder, melancholy, soft,

That tears came to mine eyes

And sometimes scarce the words I heard

Fór mine own bursting sighs:

"Chármer, sing on, sing éver 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,

Had taken her lamp and left me there
Ín the dark night alone.

In vain I watched the livelong night,

All day I 've watched in vain:

But stay

aye, that 's her own dear voice,

And here she comes again.

Walking from OPPENAU to BEUERN (BADEN), Octob. 12-13, 1854.

SWEET breathes the hawthorn in the early spring
And wallflower petals precious fragrance fling,
Sweet in July blows full the cabbage rose
And in rich beds the gay carnation glows,
Sweet smells on sunny slopes the néw-mown hay,
And belle-de-nuit smells sweet at close of day,
Sweet under southern skies the orange bloom
And lánk acacia spread their mild perfume,
Bút of all odorous sweets I crown thee queen,

Plain, rústic, unpretending, bláck eyed bean.

Walking from ACHENKIRCHEN to SEEHAUS on the ACHENSEE, in the German TYROL, July 9, 1854.

KING Will his seat in royal state

Takes on Thought's ocean shore,
And "Silence!" calls to the loud waves;
The waves but louder roar.

"Back báck, audacious, rebel slaves, How dare ye" the king cries

"How dare ye come my person near?" The waves but higher rise.

And first they drench his velvet shoes
And then they splash his knee;

The king's cheeks grow with choler red,
An ángry man is hé.

"What mean ye, what?" three times he cries, "Thús to assault your lord;

Ye shall be hanged up every one

The waves hear never a word;

And óne comes souse and overturns

Him and his chair of state

-

Make háste, good king, and save yourself

Before it is too late.

Then cómes 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,
Ánd from the deep already comes
Another rolling on,

And breaks and flows over the king
As if no king were there,
And knocks about his chair of state
Like any common chair.

"Enough! he 's had enough," cries loud
The fourth wave tumbling in;
"Now let him off; though great his crime,
To drówn him were a sin.

"Down to this shore, I promise you,
Unless he is a fool,

King Will will not come soon again
Thought's ocean waves to rule.”

"So bé it, so bé it," they all reply,

That was the first day kíng Will claimed
Rule over Thought's free waves,
And you may swear it was the last

He éver called them slaves.

Walking from TRYBERG to OBERWOLFACH in the BLACK FOREst (Baden), Octob. 911, 1854.

WELL, it is a darling creáture!
Í could look for éver át it;
Lovelier baby Í saw néver -

Stáy is it a són or daughter?

Són! I knew it

-

ówn Papa's self,

Ówn Papa's nose, mouth and forehead.
Hów I wish its eyes would open!
Í could álmost swear they 're házel.

Fié! no mátter 't hás no sénse yet

Six weeks! whý,
Wipe its nóse -

I 'd say six months old. all 's right again now;

Whát a sweet smile! why, it's an ángel.

Cóme come, dón't frown, máster Bobby

Ísn't it Bóbby I'm to call it?

First son's álways fór Papá called;
Chérub beaúty! lét me kíss it.

Fié again! a spoonful fénnel;
Sómething súre 's the mátter with it
Ór it would not twist and whinge so,
Sweet, good témpered, quiet dúcky.