's expanse.
Whene'er we sit at the lone midnight,
And stare out into the dubious light,
Whilst the pallid moon is peering o'er
Ruin'd cloister and crumbling tower,
Feelings so wondrous strange come o'er us;
The past, and the future, arise before us;
The present fadeth, unmark'd, away
In the garb of insignificancy.
He gazes up into nature's height,
The noble man with his eye so bright;
He gazes up to the starry skies,
Whither, sooner or later, we hope to rise;
And now he takes in haste the pen,
And the spirit of Oldom flows from it amain;
The scatter'd Goth-songs he changes unto
An Epic which maketh each bosom to glow.
Thanks to the old Monk, toiling thus--
They call him Saxo Grammaticus.

An open field before you lies,
A wind-burst o'er its bosom sighs,
Now all is still, all seems asleep;
'Midst of the field there stands a heap,
Upon the heap stand Runic stones,
Thereunder rest gigantic bones.
From Arild's time, that heap stands there,
But now 't is till'd with utmost care,
In order that its owner may
Thereoff reap golden corn one day.
Oft has he tried, the niggard soul,
The mighty stones away to roll,
As useless burdens of his ground;
But they for that too big were found.
See, see! the moon through cloud and rack
Looks down upon the letters black:
And when the ghost its form uprears
He shines upon its bursting tears--
For oh! the moon's an ancient man,
Describe him, mortal tongue ne'er can,
He shines alike, serene and bright,
At midmost hour of witching night,
Upon the spot of love and glee,
And on the gloomy gallows-tree.
Upon each Rune behold him stare,
While off he hastes through fields of air;
He understands those signs, I'll gage,
Whose meaning lies in sunken age;
And if he were in speaking state,
No doubt the old man could relate
Strange things that have on earth occurr'd,
Of which fame ne'er has said a word;
But since with look, with look alone,
He cannot those events make known,
He waketh from his height sublime
Mere longing for the dark gone time.

THE SUICIDE'S GRAVE.
FROM THE GERMAN.

This piece is not translated for the sentiments which it contains, but
for its poetical beauties. Although the path of human life is rough and
thorny, the mind may always receive consolation by looking forward to the
world to come. The mind which rejects a future state has to thank itself
for its utter misery and hopelessness.

The evening shadows fall upon the grave
On which I sit; it is n