"We have found a change, we have found a pall,

And a gloom o'ershadowing the banquet's hall, And a mark on the floor, as of life-drops spiltNought looks the same, save the nest we built!"

Oh, joyous birds, it hath still been so !
Through the halls of kings doth the tempest go!
But the huts of the hamlet lie still and deep,
And the hills o'er their quiet a vigil keep.
Say, what have ye found in the peasant's cot,
Since last ye parted from the sweet spot.

"A change we have found there, and many a change!

Faces and footsteps, and all things strange!
Gone are the heads of the silvery hair,

And the young that were have a brow of care;
And the place is hush'd where the children play'd—
Nought looks the same, save the nest we made!"

Sad is your tale of the beautiful earth,
Birds, that o'ersweep it in power and mirth!
Yet, through the wastes of the trackless air,
Ye have a guide, and shall we despair?
Ye over desert and deep have pass'd-
So shall we reach our home at last!

VARIED as his plumes, and as his plumes
Blend beauteous each with each, so

notes,

run his

Smoothly, with many a happy rise and fall.
How prettily upon his parded breast

The vividly-contrasted tints unite

To please the admiring eye! So, loud and soft, And high and low, all in his notes combine,

In alternation sweet, to charm the ear.

THE FALCON.

Dietmar.

By the heath stood a Lady,
All lonely and fair;

As she watch'd for her lover
A Falcon flew near.

Happy Falcon!" she cried,

"Who can fly where he list ; And can choose in the forest The tree he loves best!

"As to thee, lovely Summer!

Returns the bird's strain;

As on yonder green linden
The leaves spring again;
So constant doth grief
At my eyes overflow,

And wilt not thou, dearest,
Return to me now?

"Yes, come, my own hero,
All others desert!

When first my eye saw thee,
How graceful thou wert!
How fair was thy presence,
How graceful, how bright!
Then think of me only,
My own chosen knight!"

K

THE LARK.

THE livelong night, as was my wonted lot,
In tears had pass'd, nor yet day's orb was hot,
When forth I walk'd, my sorrows to beguile,
Where freshly smelling fields with dewdrops smile.

Already with his shrilling carol gay

The vaulting Skylark hail'd the sun from far;
And with so sweet a music seem'd to play
My heart-strings round, as some propitious star
Had chased whate'er might fullest joyaunce mar:
Bathed in delicious dews that morning bright,
Thus strove my voice to speak my soul's delight.-

Hark! Hark!

Thou merry Lark!

Reckless thou how I may pine;
Would but Love my vows befriend,
To my warm embraces send

That sweet fair one,

Brightest, dear one,

Then my joy might equal thine.