PROVIDENCE versus CHANCE AND FATE. THE ship struck on a rock by accident, And sánk, and all on board were lost but two, Whóm in the longboat of th' illfated vessel, Álmost by míracle, a kind Providence saved. WEINSBERG (WÜRTTEMBERG), Sept. 3, 1855. No wonder, reáder, that from all I say Thou túrn'st with clósed eyes and closed ears away, WEINSBERG (WÜRTTEMBERG), Sept. 13, 1855. INSCRIPTION FOR A LUCIFER-MATCH BOX. (I) PROMETHEUS' feát to thine was but a patch, Glórious inventor of the lucifer-match! Thou steal'st not fire, but mák'st it fresh and new; Ánd, what even Heaven forgót, hid'st it from view. WEINSBERG (WÜRTTEMBERG), Sept. 20, 1855. Dówn my head Clothes tucked in Under chin, I begin Not to sleep, But to weep Ánd watch keep, Wondering why Instantly, Ánd down low, Sad and slow, Tó Styx go, There to moan Faithless Joan Away flown, Flown away, Lack a day! Well, let bé! Plain I see 'Twould kill me Só to lie 'lóne, and sigh Heigh ho! heigh! Rosalind 's fair and kind; Wasn't I blind To prefer Joan to her? I aver I would not Give one groat, Stir one jot, Joan to save From the grave; Beauty's slave Though Fate me Doomed to be, Still d'ye see? She left mé Full and free Liberty This one's noose. Tó refuse, That ones choose. Só revolved And resolved, Thé case solved, Dried mine eyes, Stilled my sighs, Úp I rise Át gray day, And my way, Thé hayrick, Whére, close bý Joán's house, I Used to lie On the ground, And a look, Of the brook Ánd grass plat Ánd thatched cot. The fresh sun, His day's run Just begun, Clad with bright Ruddy light Tower and height, And the green Leaves between Glancing sheen, Every ray Seemed to say: "Please, Sir, stay." "Stay! not I; Bye! good bye! Ánd, “Heigh hỏ!” Turned to go. Wás't echó Answered: I don't know, "hó!" Bút, turned round At the sound, There I found, Ín her pride, Joan, my bride. Wasn't I blind Rosalind, Though she 's kind, So to her To prefer, And aver f would not Give one groat, Stir one jot, Joan to save |