And upward I gazed in the night, in the night,
  And again on the waves in their fleeting;
Ah woe! thou hast wasted thy days in delight,
  Now silence thou light,
  In the night, in the night,
The remorse in thy heart that is beating.

FORSAKEN.

Something the heart must have to cherish,
  Must love and joy and sorrow learn,
Something with passion clasp or perish,
  And in itself to ashes burn.

So to this child my heart is clinging,
  And its frank eyes, with look intense,
Me from a world of sin are bringing
  Back to a world of innocence.

Disdain must thou endure forever;
  Strong may thy heart in danger be! 
Thou shalt not fail! but ah, be never
  False as thy father was to me.

Never will I forsake thee, faithless,
  And thou thy mother ne’er forsake,
Until her lips are white and breathless,
  Until in death her eyes shall break.

ALLAH

BY SIEGFRIED AUGUST MAHLMANN

Allah gives light in darkness,
  Allah gives rest in pain,
Cheeks that are white with weeping
  Allah paints red again.

The flowers and the blossoms wither,
 Years vanish with flying fleet;
But my heart will live on forever,
  That here in sadness beat.

Gladly to Allah’s dwelling
  Yonder would I take flight;
There will the darkness vanish,
  There will my eyes have sight.

**********

FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON

THE GRAVE

For thee was a house built
Ere thou wast born,
For thee was a mould meant
Ere thou of mother camest. 
But it is not made ready,
Nor its depth measured,
Nor is it seen
How long it shall be. 
Now I bring thee
Where thou shalt be;
Now I shall measure thee,
And the mould afterwards.

Thy house is not
Highly timbered,
It is unhigh and low;
When thou art therein,
The heel-ways are low,
The side-ways unhigh. 
The roof is built
Thy breast full nigh,
So thou shalt in mould
Dwell full cold,
Dimly and dark.

  Doorless is that house,
And dark it is within;
There thou art fast detained
And Death hath the key. 
Loathsome is that earth-house,
And grim within to dwell. 
There thou shalt dwell,
And worms shall divide thee. 
  Thus thou art laid,

And leavest thy friends
Thou hast no friend,
Who will come to thee,
Who will ever see
How that house pleaseth thee;
Who will ever open
The door for thee,
And descend after thee;
For soon thou art loathsome
And hateful to see.

BEOWULF’S EXPEDITION TO HEORT.