THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER. Wi' grief that vew but she ha tried; An' she da keep a-comen on, WILLIAM BARNES. THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER. THREE student-comrades crossed over the Rhine; "Landlady, have you good ale and wine? And where is that pretty young daughter of thine?" "My ale and wine are fresh and clear; My daughter lies on her funeral bier." And when they passed to the chamber back, THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER. The first from her face the shroud-veil took, And gazed upon her-a mournful look. 66 "Ah! wert thou but living, thou lovely maid, I would love thee from this time," he said. The second covered the altered face, And turned him, weeping, from the place: "That thou should'st lie on the funeral bier, Whom I have loved this many a year!" FLORENCE VANE. But the last still snatched away the veil, "I loved thee ever-still I love thee, 66 Thee will I love through eternity!" JOHANN LUDWIG UHLAND. (German.) Translation of C. G. LELAND and J. W. PALMER. FLORENCE VANE. I LOVED thee long and dearly, My life's bright dream and early I renew, in my fond vision, My heart's dear pain: The ruin, lone and hoary, The ruin old, Where thou didst hark my story, At even told : That spot, the hues Elysian Of sky and plain, I treasure in my vision, Florence Vane! I loved the long and clearly. My Florence Van; life's bright dream, and Early, I renew, in my fond vision, My hearts dear pain, my hope, and thy dérision Florence Vune. The rein love and hourg, The ruin old, where thou didst hash at even toed, ynai spor - the hues Elysian Of sky and plain I treasure in my vision, Horence Vane. Philip Pendleton Cooke. FLORENCE VANE. Thou wast lovelier than the roses Thy voice excelled the closes Of sweetest rhyme; Thy heart was as a river Without a main. Would I had loved thee never, But fairest, coldest wonder! Thy glorious clay Lieth the green sod under: And it boots not to remember To quicken love's pale ember, The lilies of the valley By young graves weep; The daisies love to dally Where maidens sleep. May their bloom, in beauty vying, Never wane Where thine earthly part is lying, Florence Vane! PHILIP PENDLETON COOKE |