THE GRAVE OF KORNER

BY MRS. HEMANS.

Charles Theodore Korner, the celebrated young German poet and soldier, was killed in a skirmish with a detachment of French troops, on the 26th of August, 1813, a few hours after the composition of his popular piece, "The Sword Song.' He was buried at the village of Wobbelin, in Mecklenburgh, under a beutiful oak, in a recess of which he had frequently deposited verses, composed by him white campaigning in its vicinity. The monument erected to his memory beneath this tree, is of cast iron, and the upper part is wrought into a lyre and sword, a favourite emblem of Korner's, from which one of his Works had been entitled. Near the grave of the poet is that of his only sister, who died of grief for his loss, having only survived him long enough to complete his portrait, and a drawing of his burial-place. Over the gate of the cemetry is engraved one of his own lines:-" Vergiss die treuen, Todten nicht."-Forget not the faithful dead.-See Downes' LETTERS FROM MECKLENBURGH, and KORNER'S PROSAISCHE AUFSATZE, &c. Von. C. A. Tiedge.

GREEN wave the oak for ever o'er thy rest!
Thou that beneath its crowning foliage sleepest,
And, in the stillness of thy country's breast,
Thy place of memory, as an altar, keepest!
Brightly thy spirit o'er her hills was poured,
Thou of the Lyre and Sword!

Rest, bard! rest, soldier!-By the father's hand
Here shall the child of after years be led,
With his wreath-offering silently to stand
In the hushed presence of the glorious dead!
Soldier and bard!-for thou thy path hast trod
With freedom and with God!

THE GRAVE OF KORNER.

The oak waved proudly o'er thy burial-rite,

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On thy crowned bier to slumber warriors bore thee,
And with true hearts, thy brethren of the fight
Wept as they veiled their drooping banners o'er thee,
And the deep guns, with rolling peals, gave token
That Lyre and Sword were broken!

Thou hast a hero's tomb !-A lowlier bed
Is hers, the gentle girl beside thee lying;
The gentle girl, that bowed her fair young
head,
When thou wert gone, in silent sorrow dying.
Brother! true friend! the tender and the brave!
She pined to share thy grave.

Fame was thy gift from others--but for her,
To whom the wide earth held that only spot,
She loved thee!-lovely in your lives ye were,
And in your early deaths divided not!
Thou hast thine oak-thy trophy,-what hath she?
Her own blessed place by thee!

It was thy spirit, brother! which had made
The bright world glorious to her thoughtful eye,
Since first in childhood 'midst the vines ye played,
And sent glad singing through the free blue sky!
Ye were but two!-and when that spirit passed,
Woe for the one, the last!

Woe, yet not long!-She lingered but to trace
Thine image from the image in her breast;
Once, once again to see that buried face
But smile upon her, ere she went to rest!
Too sad a smile!-its living light was o'er,
It answered hers no more!

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THE GRAVE OF KORNER.

The earth grew silent when thy voice departed,
The home too lonely whence thy step had fled;
What then was left for her, the faithful hearted?
Death, death, to still the yearning for the dead!
Softly she perished-be the flower deplored

Here, with the Lyre and Sword!

Have ye not met ere now ?-So let those trust
That meet for moments but to part for years;
That weep, watch, pray, to hold back dust from dust,
That love where love is but a fount of tears!
Brother! sweet sister!-peace around ye dwell!
Lyre, Sword, and Flower, farewell!

SONG.

BY HARTLEY COLERIDGE.

SHE is not fair to outward view,
As many maidens be;
Her loveliness I never knew,

Until she smiled on me:

Oh, then I saw her eye was bright—
A well of love, a spring of light.

But now her looks are coy and cold,
To mine they ne'er reply;

And yet I cease not to behold
The love-light in her eye:

Her very frowns are better far
Than smiles of other maidens are!

PRINCE WILLIAM OF ENGLAND.

The melancholy death, by shipwreck, of this young Prince, has often been held up to commiseration. His fate may, however, suggest other ideas than those of mere compassion, when it is recollected he had frequently declared, that when he came to the throne of England, he would treat the English as slaves, and reduce them to the condition of beasts of burden.

PRINCE WILLIAM's bark swept on,
With song and trumpet-clang,
And loudly for King Henry's son
The shout of welcome rang.

He trod the deck with all

A future monarch's pride;

And his stately form grew yet more tall
As Albion's cliffs he eyed.

He thought upon the hour

When his unfettered hand

Should stretch the rod of regal power
About the sea-girt land.

But hate, and wrath, and cruelty,
Glared fiercely in his frown;
"Her sons are all too proud and high;
I'll tame their spirits down:

"Like oxen, they shall drag

The plough for us, their lords;
And if they dare rebel, or flag,

We'll spur them with our swords."

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PRINCE WILLIAM OF ENGLAND.

And loud the Normans laughed
The Prince's words to hear;
And many a Briton deeper quaffed
To hide his scorn-not fear.

But youthful hearts soon spring
Above reflection's sway,
Forgotten was the future King,
As the wine-cup circled gay.

Swift rushed the vessel on,

And France was left behind;
And cloudless was the summer sun,
And soft the summer wind:

And loud and louder round
Rose song and shout of glee,

For, who could dream that danger frowned
With such a sky and sea?

But three long days have past,

And still upon the main

King Henry's anxious eyes are cast,

To seek his son-in vain.

He lay the waves beneath;

And many an ocean gem

Was round his brow-a mockery wreath
For England's diadem.