Like the ripple flowing, 



Tinged with purple sheen, 

 Darkly, richly, glowing, 

 Is her warm cheek seen. 

 'Tis the Gitanilla, 



By the stream doth linger, 

 In the hope that eve 

 Will her lover bring her. 



" See, the sun is sinking ! 



All grows dim, and dies ; 

 See, the waves are drinking 



Glories of the skies. 

 Day's last lustre playeth 

 On that current dark ; 

 Yet no speck betrayeth 



His long looked- for bark. 

 'Tis the hour of meeting ! 

 Nay, the hour is past. 

 Swift the time is fleeting! 

 Fleeteth Hope as fast. 

 Still the Gitanilla 



By the stream doth linger, 

 In the hope that night 



Will her lover bring her." 



Our next specimen shall be of the devotional and mystical kind. 

 The following hymn approaches very nearly in excellence to Mar- 

 garet's imploration of the Mater Doloroso in Goethe's Faust: 



" HYMN TO ST. THECLA. 



" In my trouble, in my anguish, 



In the depths of my despair, 

 As in grief and pain I languish, 



Unto thee I raise my prayer. 

 Sainted Virgin ! martyr'd maiden ! 



Let thy countenance incline 

 Upon one with woes o'erladen, 



Kneeling lowly at thy shrine ; 

 That in agony, in terror, 



In her blind perplexity, 

 Wandering weak in doubt and error. 



Calling feebly upon thee. 

 Sinful thoughts, sweet Saint, oppress me, 



Thoughts that will not be dismissed ; 

 Temptations dark possess me, 



Which my strength may not resist. 

 I am full of pain, and weary 



Of my life, I fain would die ; 

 Unto me the world is dreary ; 



To the grave for rest I fly. 

 For rest ! oh, could I borrow 



Thy bright wings, celestial dove ! 

 They should waft me from my sorrow, 



Where peace dwells in bowers above. 



