So lie:  and let the children play
    And sit like flowers upon thy grave
    And crown with flowers,—­that hardly have
  A briefer blooming-tide than they;—­
    By hurrying years urged on to rest,
    As thou within the Mother’s breast.

FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE.

* * * * *

HERMANN AND THUSNELDA.

Ha! there comes he, with sweat, with blood of Romans,
And dust of the fight all stained!  Oh, never
Saw I Hermann so lovely! 
Never such fire in his eyes!

Come!  I tremble for joy; hand me the Eagle
And the red dripping sword! come, breathe, and rest thee;
Rest thee here in my bosom;
Rest from the terrible fight!

Rest thee, while from thy brow I wipe the big drops,
And the blood from thy cheek!—­that cheek, how glowing! 
Hermann!  Hermann!  Thusnelda
Never so loved thee before!

No, not then, when thou first in old oak shadows,
With that manly brown arm didst wildly grasp me! 
Spell-bound I read in thy look
That immortality then

Which thou now hast won.  Tell to the forests,
Great Augustus, with trembling, amidst his gods now,
Drinks his nectar; for Hermann,
Hermann immortal is found!

“Wherefore curl’st thou my hair?  Lies not our father
Cold and silent in death?  Oh, had Augustus
Only headed his army,—­
He should lie bloodier there!”

Let me lift up thy hair; ’tis sinking, Hermann: 
Proudly thy locks should curl above the crown now! 
Sigmar is with the immortals! 
Follow, and mourn him no more!

From the German of FREIDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK.

* * * * *

THE BATTLE-SONG OF GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS.

  Fear not, O little flock! the foe
  Who madly seeks your overthrow,
      Dread not his rage and power;
  What though your courage sometimes faints? 
  His seeming triumph o’er God’s saints
      Lasts but a little hour.

  Be of good cheer; your cause belongs
  To him who can avenge your wrongs,
      Leave it to him, our Lord. 
  Though hidden now from all our eyes,
  He sees the Gideon who shall rise
      To save us, and his word.

  As true as God’s own word is true,
  Not earth or hell with all their crew
      Against us shall prevail. 
  A jest and by-word are they grown;
  God is with us, we are his own,
      Our victory cannot fail.

  Amen, Lord Jesus; grant our prayer! 
  Great Captain, now thine arm make bare;
      Fight for us once again! 
  So shall the saints and martyrs raise
  A mighty chorus to thy praise,
      World without end!  Amen.

From the German of MICHAEL ALTENBURG.

* * * * *