BRANDENBURGH HARVEST-SONG.*

FROM THE GERMan of la motte fouqué.

THE Corn, in golden light,

Waves o'er the plain;

The sickle's gleam is bright;

Full swells the grain.

Now send we far around

Our harvest lay!

-Alas! a heavier sound

Comes o'er the day!

On every breeze a knell

The hamlets pour,—

-We know its cause too well,

She is no more!

* For the year of the Queen of Prussia's death.

THE SHADE OF THESEUS.

ANCIENT GREEK TRADITION.

KNOW ye not when our dead
From sleep to battle sprung?
-When the Persian charger's tread

On their covering greensward rung!

When the trampling march of foes

Had crush'd our vines and flowers,

When jewell'd crests arose

Through the holy laurel-bowers,

When banners caught the breeze,

When helms in sunlight shone,

When masts were on the seas,

And spears on Marathon.

There was one, a leader crown'd,

And arm'd for Greece that day; But the falchions made no sound

On his gleaming war-array.

In the battle's front he stood,

With his tall and shadowy crest;

But the arrows drew no blood,

Though their path was through his breast.

When banners caught the breeze,

When helms in sunlight shone,

When masts were on the seas,

And spears on Marathon.

His sword was seen to flash

Where the boldest deeds were done;

But it smote without a clash;

The stroke was heard by none!

His voice was not of those

That swell'd the rolling blast,

And his steps fell hush'd like snows— "Twas the Shade of Theseus pass'd!

When banners caught the breeze,

When helms in sunlight shone,

When masts were on the seas,
And spears on Marathon.

Far sweeping through the foe,
With a fiery charge he bore;
And the Mede left many a bow
On the sounding ocean-shore.
And the foaming waves grew red,
And the sails were crowded fast,
When the sons of Asia fled,

As the Shade of Theseus pass'd!