THE SHARING OF THE EARTH

AKE the world," cried the God from his heaven

"TAK

To men-"I proclaim you its heirs;

To divide it amongst you 'tis given:

You have only to settle the shares.»

Each takes for himself as it pleases,

Old and young have alike their desire:

The harvest the husbandman seizes;

Through the wood and the chase sweeps the squire.

The merchant his warehouse is locking;

The abbot is choosing his wine;

Cries the monarch, the thoroughfare blocking,
"Every toll for the passage is mine!"

All too late, when the sharing was over,
Comes the poet,- he came from afar;
Nothing left can the laggard discover,

Not an inch but its owners there are.

"Woe is me! is there nothing remaining

For the son who best loves thee alone!» Thus to Jove went his voice in complaining, As he fell at the Thunderer's throne.

"In the land of thy dreams if abiding,"

Quoth the God, "Canst thou murmur at me? Where wert thou when the earth was dividing?” "I was," said the poet, "by thee!

"Mine eye by thy glory was captured,
Mine ear by thy music of bliss:
Pardon him whom thy world so enraptured
As to lose him his portion in this!"

"Alas," said the God, "earth is given!
Field, forest, and market, and all!
What say you to quarters in heaven?
We'll admit you whenever you call!"

Bulwer's Translation.

THE BEST STATE

wow the best state to know? It is found out:

Like the best woman-that least talked about.

The breakers are dashing with might, with might:
And she mingles her sighs with the gloomy night,
And her eyes are dim with tears.

"The earth is a desert,

And broken my heart,

Nor aught to my wishes

The world can impart.

Thou Holy One, call now thy child from below;

I have known all the joys that the world can bestow

I have lived and have loved."

"In vain, oh how vainly,

Flows tear upon tear!
Human woe never waketh

Dull Death's heavy ear!

Yet say what can soothe for the sweet vanished love,
And I, the Celestial, will shed from above

The balm for thy breast."

Let ever, though vainly,

Flow tear upon tear;
Human woe never waketh

Dull Death's heavy ear:

Yet still when the heart mourns the sweet vanished love, No balm for its wound can descend from above

Like Love's sorrows and tears.

Bulwer's Translation.

THE MAIDEN FROM AFAR

ITHIN a vale each infant year,

WITH

When earliest larks first carol free,
To humble shepherds doth appear
A wondrous maiden fair to see.

Not born within that lowly place;

From whence she wandered, none could tell;

Her parting footsteps left no trace,

When once the maiden sighed farewell.

And blessed was her presence there:

Each heart, expanding, grew more gay;

Yet something loftier still than fair

Kept man's familiar looks away.

From fairy gardens known to none

She brought mysterious fruits and flowers;

The products of a brighter sun,

Of nature more benign than ours.

With each, her gifts the maiden shared,—
To some the fruits, the flowers to some:

WORTH OF WOMEN

ONOR to Woman! To her it is given

HON

To garden the earth with the roses of Heaven!
All blessed, she linketh the Loves in their choir,
In the veil of her Graces her beauty concealing,
She tends on each altar that's hallowed to Feeling,
And keeps ever living the fire!

From the bounds of Truth careering,
Man's strong spirit wildly sweeps,
With each hasty impulse veering,

Down to Passion's troubled deeps.
And his heart, contented never,

Greeds to grapple with the far,
Chasing his own dream forever

On through many a distant Star!

But Woman, with looks that can charm and enchain,
Lureth back at her beck that wild truant again

By the spell of her presence beguiled;
In the home of the Mother her modest abode,
And modest the manners by Nature bestowed
On Nature's most exquisite child.

Bruised and worn, but fiercely breasting,
Foe to foe, the angry strife,—
Man the Wild One, never resting,
Roams along the troubled life:
What he planneth, still pursuing;
Vainly as the hydra bleeds,
Crest the severed crest renewing,

Wish to withered wish succeeds.

But Woman at peace with all being reposes,
And seeks from the Moment to gather the roses,
Whose sweets to her culture belong.

Ah! richer than he, though his soul reigneth o'er
The mighty dominion of Genius and Lore,
And the infinite Circle of Song.

Strong and proud and self-depending,
Man's cold bosom beats alone:
Heart with heart divinely blending
In the love that Gods have known,