shade the clasp escape—     The heart is unconsoled!"     "Come forth, fair friend, come forth below, And leave thy lofty hall, The fairest flowers the spring can know In thy dear lap shall fall! Clear glides the brook in silver rolled, Sweet carols fill the air; The meanest hut hath space to hold A happy loving pair!" 

           TO EMMA. Far away, where darkness reigneth, All my dreams of bliss are flown; Yet with love my gaze remaineth Fixed on one fair star alone. But, alas! that star so bright Sheds no lustre save by night. If in slumbers ending never, Gloomy death had sealed thine eyes,    Thou hadst lived in memory ever—     Thou hadst lived still in my sighs; But, alas! in light thou livest—    To my love no answer givest! Can the sweet hopes love once cherished Emma, can they transient prove? What has passed away and perished—     Emma, say, can that be love? That bright flame of heavenly birth—     Can it die like things of earth? 

      THE FAVOR OF THE MOMENT. Once more, then, we meet In the circles of yore; Let our song be as sweet In its wreaths as before, Who claims the first place In the tribute of song? The God to whose grace All our pleasures belong. Though Ceres may spread All her gifts on the shrine, Though the glass may be red With the blush of the vine, What boots—if the while Fall no spark on the hearth; If the heart do not smile With the instinct of mirth?—    From the clouds, from God's breast Must our happiness fall,    'Mid the blessed, most blest Is the moment of all! Since creation began All that mortals have wrought, All that's godlike in man Comes—the flash of a thought! For ages the stone In the quarry may lurk, An instant alone Can suffice to the work; An impulse give birth To the child of the soul, A glance stamp the worth And the fame of the whole. 17 On the arch that she buildeth From sunbeams on high, As Iris just gildeth, And fleets from the sky, So shineth, so gloometh Each gift that is ours; The lightning illumeth—     The darkness devours! 18 

           THE LAY OF THE MOUNTAIN.     [The scenery of Gotthardt is here personified.]     To the solemn abyss leads the terrible path, The life and death winding dizzy between; In thy desolate way, grim with menace and wrath, To daunt thee the spectres of giants are seen; That thou wake not the wild one 20, all silently tread—    Let thy lip breathe no breath in the pathway of dread! High over the marge of the 

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