TRANSLATIONS FROM SCHILLER.

The Maiden from the far Countrie.

THERE came with every opening Spring,
Into a valley poor and bare,

Soon as the larks began to sing,

A maiden wonderful and fair.

She was no native of the vale,

And whence she came no shepherd knew; For ever, as she left the dale,

All traces of her vanished too.

She was a blessing to behold!

To her all hearts were opened wide; Yet no one durst be over-bold,

Her sweetness was so dignified.

And ripest fruits and richest flowers

She carried in her bounteous hand, Which warmer suns and milder showers Had nurtured in some fairer land.

Whoever would might freely come;

She gladly welcomed every guest; And none who came went empty home, The young and old alike were blest.

But, when there came some loving pair-
All happy in the golden hours-

To them she gave the richest share,

Theirs was the crown of fairest flowers.

The Dividing of the Earth.

To men spake Jove on high, the bounteous giver :"Take the round Earth; it shall be yours, I swear, To you I give it--to be held for ever

But grudge to none his share."

At the glad word both young and old upbounded,
All hands bestirred themselves with might and main ;
Through glen and glade the huntsman's horn resounded;
The farmer seized the grain;

The merchant took the goods in which he traded;
The abbot chose the ruddy, generous wine;
The bridges and the streets the king blockaded,
And said "The tenth is mine!"

At last long after all had been decided-
From far away the bright-eyed Poet came;
Alas! he saw all earthly things divided,—
None left for him to claim!

"Woe's me! am I the only one remaining

Undowered, and yet thy most devoted child?" Thus wailed he out to Jove his loud complaining, With bitter grief and wild.

"If thro' the land of dreams thou wilt be gliding,' Replied the god, "lay not the blame on me;

Where wert thou, when the Earth was a-dividing?" The Poet said, “With THEE!

"The beauty of Thy face mine eye was praising;
The music of Thy heaven entranced mine ear;
Forgive a soul, that, on Thy radiance gazing,
Hath lost the earthly here!"

"What shall I do?" cried Jove, "the world is given ; The harvest, chase, and mart are mine no more; Come, dwell with me in my own beauteous Heaven! Come when thou wilt, thou'lt find an open door!"

The Pilgrim.

SPRING-LEAVES in youth's tangled wildwood
Were yet fresh upon the boughs,
When I left the sports of childhood,
Wandering from my father's house ;

All my heritage, forsaking,
Lightly did I cast away,
And, my pilgrim-staff uptaking,
Went forth gladly on my way.

For a mighty hope possessed me,
And a vague faith filled my soul;
"Wander on," it cried, "nor rest thee
Till thou reach the Eastern goal;

"Till thou reach a golden gateway,

Then thy pilgrimage is done;

There the heavens and earth will straightway

Meet, and be for ever one!"

On I journeyed-morn till even-
Never, never rest for me!

But ever hath remained still hidden
That which I have longed to see.

In my path lay mountain-ridges,
Rocky clefts and rivers deep;
Over torrents built I bridges

And o'er ravines wild and steep.

Then I reached a shining river,
Eastward ran its silver thread,
And, with hopes that made me quiver,
Flung myself into its bed.

Its gleaming waters quickly bore me
Where the waves of ocean roll;
The blue expanse now lies before me,
But-no nearer to my goal!

Ah! thither no bridge leads us mortals; Ah! those heavens so sweet and clear Will never touch this Earth's dark portals, And our THERE is never here!

Punch Song.

FOUR simple elements,

With vigour rife,

Build up the universe,

Shape all its life.

Press the juice of the lemon

From out of the core;

Life's innermost kernel
Is bitter and sore.

Then with sweet sugar,
Added at length,
Temper the bitter

And burning strength.

Pour sparkling water

Into the bowl,

Water encircles

Quietly the whole.

A drop of pure spirit
Now into it pour ;
For to life spirit giveth
Life more and more.

Ere it evaporates

Quick drink it up! Only whilst sparkling,

Refreshes the cup.

The Archer's Song.

WITH his bow and arrow,

Over hill and dale,
Early comes the archer,
Whilst the dawn is pale.

As the kite is sovereign,

In the air-domain;

So through glen and mountain

Doth the archer reign.