a law
Which they never intended for men.

The spirit is bound by the ties
Of its jailer, the Flesh--if I can
Not reach, as an angel, the skies,
Let me feel, on the earth, as a Man.

* * * * *

ROUSSEAU.[11]

Oh, Monument of Shame to this our time,
Dishonouring record to thy Mother Clime!
Hail, Grave of Rousseau! Here thy sorrows cease.
Freedom and Peace from earth and earthly strife!
Vainly, sad seeker, didst thou search through life
To find--(found now)--the Freedom and the Peace.
When will the old wounds scar? In the dark age
Perish'd the wise. Light came; how fares the sage?
There's no abatement of the bigot's rage.
Still as the wise man bled, he bleeds again.
Sophists prepared for Socrates the bowl--
And Christians drove the steel through Rousseau's soul--
Rousseau who strove to render Christians--men.

[11] Schiller lived to reverse, in the third period of his
intellectual career, many of the opinions expressed in the
first. The sentiment conveyed in these lines on Rousseau is
natural enough to the author of "The Robbers," but certainly
not to the poet of "Wallenstein" and the "Lay of the Bell." We
confess we doubt the maturity of any mind that can find either
a saint or a martyr in Jean Jacques.

* * * * *

FORTUNE AND WISDOM.

In a quarrel with her lover
To Wisdom Fortune flew;
"I'll all my hoards discover--
Be but my friend--to you.
Like a mother I presented
To one each fairest gift,
Who still is discontented,
And murmurs at my thrift.
Come, let's be friends. What say you?
Give up that weary plough,
My treasures shall repay you,
For both I have enow!"
"Nay, see thy Friend betake him
To death from grief for thee--
_He_ dies if thou forsake him--
Thy gifts are nought to _me_!"

* * * * *

THE INFANTICIDE.

1.

Hark where the bells toll, chiming, dull and steady,
The clock's slow hand hath reach'd the appointed time.
Well, be it so--prepare! my soul is ready,
Companions of the grave--the rest for crime!
Now take, O world! my last farewell--receiving
My parting kisses--in these tears they dwell!
Sweet are thy poisons while we taste believing,
Now we are quits--he