Aurora's rosy bed upsprings God's bright sun, to roam o'er towns of kings, And to make the young world blest! Toward the hero doth this heart still strain? Drink I, eagle, still the fiery rain Of thine eye, that burneth to destroy? In the glances that destructive gleam, Laura's love I see with sweetness beam,—      Weep to see it—like a boy! My repose, like yonder image bright, Dancing in the waters—cloudless, light, Maiden, hath been slain by thee! On the dizzy height now totter I—    Laura—if from me—my Laura fly! Oh, the thought to madness hurries me! Gladly shout the revellers as they quaff, Raptures in the leaf-crowned goblet laugh,      Jests within the golden wine have birth, Since the maiden hath enslaved my mind, I have left each youthful sport behind, Friendless roam I o'er the earth. Hear I still bright glory's thunder-tone? Doth the laurel still allure me on? Doth thy lyre, Apollo Cynthius? In my breast no echoes now arise, Every shamefaced muse in sorrow flies,—      And thou, too, Apollo Cynthius? Shall I still be, as a woman, tame? Do my pulses, at my country's name, Proudly burst their prison-thralls? Would I boast the eagle's soaring wing? Do I long with Roman blood to spring, When my Hermann calls? Oh, how sweet the eye's wild gaze divine Sweet to quaff the incense at that shrine! Prouder, bolder, swells the breast. That which once set every sense on fire, That which once could every nerve inspire, Scarce a half-smile now hath power to wrest! That Orion might receive my fame, On the time-flood's heaving waves my name Rocked in glory in the mighty tide; So that Kronos' dreaded scythe was shivered, When against my monument is quivered, Towering toward the firmament in pride. Smil'st thou?—No? to me naught's perished now! Star and laurel I'll to fools allow, To the dead their marble cell;—    Love hath granted all as my reward, High o'er man 'twere easy to have soared, So I love him well! 

           THE SIMPLE PEASANT. 62 MATTHEW. Gossip, you'll like to hear, no doubt! A learned work has just come out—    Messias is the name 'twill bear; The man has travelled through the air, And on the sun-beplastered roads Has lost shoe-leather by whole loads,—    Has seen the heavens lie open wide, And hell has traversed with whole hide. The thought has just occurred to me That one so skilled as he must be May tell us how our flax and wheat arise. What say you?—Shall I try to ascertain? LUKE. You fool, to think that any one so wise About mere flax and corn would rack his brain. 

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