as I,--
To the well-accustomed signal
No response the maiden gave;
But I heard the waters washing
And the moaning of the wave.
Vanished was my own Undine,
All her linen, too, was gone;
And I walked about lamenting
On the river bank alone.
Idiot that I was, for never
Had I asked the maiden's name.
Was it Lieschen--was it Gretchen?
Had she tin, or whence she came?
So I took my trusty meerschaum,
And I took my lute likewise;
Wandered forth in minstrel fashion,
Underneath the louring skies:
Sang before each comely Wirthshaus,
Sang beside each purling stream,
That same ditty which I chanted
When Undine was my theme,
Singing, as I sang at Jena,
When the shifts were hung to dry,
"Fair Undine! young Undine!
Dost thou love as well as I?"

But, alas! in field or village,
Or beside the pebbly shore,
Did I see those glancing ankles,
And the white robe never more;
And no answer came to greet me,
No sweet voice to mine replied;
But I heard the waters rippling,
And the moaning of the tide.

The Lay of the Levite.

There is a sound that's dear to me,
It haunts me in my sleep;
I wake, and, if I hear it not,
I cannot choose but weep.
Above the roaring of the wind,
Above the river's flow,
Methinks I hear the mystic cry
Of "Clo!--Old Clo!"

The exile's song, it thrills among
The dwellings of the free,
Its sound is strange to English ears,
But 'tis not strange to me;
For it hath shook the tented field
In ages long ago,
And hosts have quailed before the cry
Of "Clo!--Old Clo!"

Oh, lose it not! forsake it not!
And let no time efface
The memory of that solemn sound,
The watchword of our race;
For not by dark and eagle eye
The Hebrew shall you know,
So well as by the plaintive cry
Of "Clo!--Old Clo!"

Even now, perchance, by Jordan's banks,
Or Sidon's sunny walls,
Where, dial-like, to portion time,
The palm-tree's shadow falls,
The pilgrims, wending on their way,
Will linger as they go,
And listen to the distant cry
Of "Clo!--Old Clo!"

Bursch Groggenburg.

[AFTER THE MANNER OF SCHILLER.]

"Bursch! if foaming beer content ye,
Come and drink your fill;
In our cellars there is plenty;
Himmel! how you swill!
That the liquor hath allurance,
Well I understand:
But 'tis really past endurance,
When you squeeze my hand!"

And he heard her as if dreaming,
Heard her half in awe;
And the meerschaum's smoke came streamin