The autumn's ripening sunbeam shines,

And reapers to the field is calling;

But Rachel's voice no longer joins Conclusion of the 'Songs of Israel.'

The choral song at twilight's falling.

Her song comes o’er my thrilling breast

Even like the harp-strings holies measures, When dreams the soul of lands of rest

And everlasting pleasures.

E

The accents fall from Tamar's lip

Like dewdrups from the rose-leaf dripping,
When honey-bees all crowd to sip,
And cannot cease their sipping.

Then ask not what hath changed my heart,

Or where hath fled my youthful folly
I tell thee, Tamar's virtuous art

Hath made my spirit holy.

The shadowy blush that tints her cheek,

For erer coming - ever going,
May well the spotless fount bespeak

That sets the stream aflowing.

Pringle.

Thomas Pringle wurde in Roxburgshire, im Jahre 1788 geboren. Obschon er wegen Lamheit nicht für ein Leben voll Beschwerden und Mühseligkeiten geschaffen war, so wanderte er doch mit seinem Vater und mehreren Brüdern im J. 1820 nach dem Cap der guten Hoffnung aus, und gründete dort unter dem Namen Glen Lynden eine kleine Niederlassung. Pringle begab sich später in die Kapstadt, allein müde seines Aufenthaltes im Kaffernlande und mit dem Statthalter zerfallen, kehrte er nach England zurück, wo er seinen Unterhalt durch schriftstellerische Arbeiten erwarb. Er war einige Zeit lang Herausgeber einer literarischen Zeitschrift, unter dem Titel „Friendship's Offering“. Auch war er an der Begründung des Blackwood Magazine betheiligt und der Verfasser von „Scenes of Teviotdale, Ephemerides, and other Poems,. Der Afrikanischen Gesellschaft (African Society) stand er als Secretair vor, welches Amt er bis wenige Monate vor seinem Tode, den 5. Dec. 1834, mit grosser Pflichttreue und mit dem Geiste der Humanität und mit glühender Liebe für die Sache, der er sich unterzog, verwaltete. Seine letzte Arbeit war eine Reihe von

, African Sketches“, mit Versen verwebt. Pringle's poetische Werke zeichnen sich durch Wärme und Innigkeit des Gefühls, so wie durch einen feingebildeten Geschmack aus.

A far in the Desert.

Attachments by fate or by falsehood reft

Companions of early days lost or left A far in the Desert I love to ride,

And my Native Land! whose magical name With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side : Thrills to my heart like electric flame; When the sorrows of life the soul o'ercast, The home of my childhood - the haunts of And, sick of the present, I turn to the past;

my prime; And the eye is suffused with regretful tears, All the passions and scenes of that rapturous From the fond recollections of former years;

time, And the shadows of things that have long When the feelings were young and the world since fled,

was new, Flit over the brain like the ghosts of the Like the fresh bowers of Paradise opening dead

to view! Bright visions of glory that vanished too All — all now forsaken, forgotten, or gone;

And I, a lone exile, remembered of none, Day-dreams that departed ere manhood's My high aims abandoned, and good acts

undone

soon

noon

Away

Aweary of all that is under the sun; Where the zebra wantonly tosses his mane, With that sadness of heart which no stranger In fields seldom freshened by moisture or rain;

may scan, And the stately koodoo exultingly bounds, I fly to the Desert afar from man.

Undisturbed by the bay of the hunter's hounds;
And the timorous quagha's wild whistling

neigh Afar in the Desert I love to ride,

Is heard by the brak fountain far away; With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side;

And the fleet-footed ostrich over the waste When the wild turmoil of this wearisome life; Speeds like a horseman who travels in haste; With its scenes of oppression, corruption and

And the vulture in circles wheels high overstrife;

head, The proud man's frown, and the base man's

fear;

Greedy to scent and to gorge on the dead; And the scorner's laugh, and the sufferer's Howl for their prey at the evening fall;

And the grisly wolf, and the shrieking jackal,

tear; And malice, and meanness, and falsehood, Fearfully startles the twilight dim.

And the fiend-like laugh of hyena's grim,

and folly, Dispose me to musing and dark melancholy; A far in the Desert I love to ride, When my bosom is full, and my thoughts are with the silent Bush-boy alone by my side;

high, And my soul is sick with the bondman's

away in the wilderness vast,

Where the white man's foot hath never sigh

passed, Oh, then! there is freedom, and joy, and

pride,

And the quivered Koranna or Bechuan A far in the Desert alone to ride!

Hath rarely crossed with his roving clan: There is rapture to vault on the champing which man hath abandoned from famine and

A region of emptiness, howling and drear, steed,

fear; And to bound away with the eagle's speed,

Which the snake and the lizard inhabit alone, With the death-fraught firelock in my hand

And the bat fitting forth from his old hollow (The only law of the Desert land);

stone;
But 'tis not the innocent to destroy,
For I hate the huntsman's savage joy.

Where grass, nor herb, nor shrub takes root,
Save poisonous thorns that pierce the foot:

And the bitter melon, for food and drink, A far in the Desert I love to ride,

Is the pilgrim's fare, by the Salt Lake's brink : With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side;

A region of drought, where no river glides, away from the dwellings of men, Nor rippling brook with osiered sides; * By the wild deer's haunt, and the buffalo's Nor reedy pool, nor mossy fountain,

glen,

Nor shady tree, nor cloud-capped mountain,

Are found By valleys remote, where the oribi plays;

to refresh the aching eye: Where the gnoo, the gazelle, and the harte- But the barren earth and the burning sky, beest graze;

And the black horizon round and round, And the gemsbok and eland unhunted recline Without a living sight or sound, By the skirts of gray forests o'ergrown with Tell to the heart, in its pensive mood,

wild vine;

That this is · Nature's Solitude. And the elephant browses at peace in his

wood;

And here while the night-winds round me And the river-horse gambols unscared in the

sigh, flood;

And the stars burn bright in the midnight sky, And the mighty rhinoceros wallows at will As I sit apart by the caverned stone, In the Vley, where the wild ass is drinking Like Elijah at the Horeb's cave alone,

his fill.

And feel as a moth in the Mighty Hand
That spread the heavens and heaved the

land Afar in the Desert I love to ride,

A 'still small voice' comes through the wild With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side: (Like a father consoling his fretful child), O’er the brown Karroo where the bleating cry Which banishes bitterness, wrath and fear Of the springbok’s fawn sounds plaintively; Saying ‘Man is distant, but God is near!'

Away

John Clare wurde zu Helpstone, einem Dorfe in der Nähe von Peterborough 1793 von armen Eltern geboren, welche dem Bauernstande angehörten. Von seinem geringen Erwerb als Ackerjunge bestritt er das Schulgeld, und erlangte so einige Bildung. Im 13. Jahre ging er an einem schönen Morgen in die Stadt Stamford, 6—7 Meilen von seinem Geburtsorte, um sich Thomson's Seasons zu kaufen. Auf seinem Rückwege durch den herrlichen Burghley Park, dichtete er sein erstes Gedicht „Morning Walk“, dem bald ein zweites, „Evening Walk“ und einige andre Gedichte folgten. 1817 veröffentlichte er einen Band Gedichte, unter dem Titel: a Collection of Original Trifles, und 1820 erschienen Poems Descriptive of Rural Life and Scenery, by John Clare, a Northamshire peasant. Die liter. Zeitschriften beurtheilten seine Leistungen sehr günstig. So gelangte Clare bald zu einigem Vermögen. 1824 trat er wiederum als Dichter mit folgendem Werke auf: The Village Minstrel and other Poems, in zwei Bänden, das ihn zu dem Rufe eines wahren Dichters erhob. Clare's Glück ging indess schnell vorüber, während ihm sein Dichterruf für alle Zeiten bleiben wird. Er liess sich in Speculationen mit Pachtungen ein, verlor sein Vermögen und versank in Schwermuth. Vor wenigen Jahren lebte er noch, aber hoffnungslos, doch nicht ohne alle Theilnahme an den Zeitereignissen.

John Clare ist ein wahrer Naturdichter und einer der besten Schilderer ländlicher Scenen und Gegenden. Seine Dichtungen sind der unmittelbare Erguss inniger Empfindungen, wie sie auf Fluren und Spaziergängen in ihm hervorgerufen wurden.

rise;

strew

Roaming while the dewy fields

There lay her shining eggs as bright as 'Neath their morning burthen lean,

flowers, While its crop my searches shields, Jnk-spotted over, shells of green and blue: Sweet I scent the blossomed bean.

And there I witnessed in the summer hours, A brood of nature's minstrels chirp and fly,

Glad as the sunshine and the laughing sky. Making oft remarking stops;

Watching tiny nameless things
Climb the grass's spiry tops
Ere they try their gauzy wings.

Dawnings of Genius.
So emerging into light,
From the ignorant and vain

In those low paths which poverty surrounds, Fearful genius takes her flight,

The rough rude ploughman, off his fallow Skimming o'er the lowly plain.

grounds (That necessary tool of wealth and pride), While moiled and sweating, by some pas

ture's side,
Will often stoop, inquisitive to trace

The opening beauties of a daisy's face;
The Primrose. – A Sonnet. Oft will he witness, with admiring eyes,

The brook's sweet dimples o’er the pebbles
Welcome, pale primrose! starting up between
Dead matted leaves of ash and oak that And often bent, as o'er some magic spell,

He'll pause and pick his shapëa stone and The every lawn, the wood, and spinney

shell: through,

Raptures the while his inward powers in'Mid creeping moss and ivy's darker green;

flame, How much thy presence beautifies the And joys delight him which he cannot name;

ground!

Ideas picture pleasing views to mind, How sweet thy modest unaffected pride

For which his language can no utterance Glows on the sunny bank and wood's warm

side! And where thy fairy flowers in groups are Unfold new charms, and witness more delight;

Increasing beauties, freshening on his sight, found,

So while the present please, the past decay, The schoolboy roams enchantedly along, And in each other, losing, melt away. Plucking the fairest with a rude delight:

Thus pausing wild on all he saunters by, While the meek shepherd stops his simple He feels enraptured, though he knows not song,

why; To gaze a moment on the pleasing sight;

And hums and mutters o'er his joys in vain, O'erjoyed to see the flowers that truly bring

And dwells on something which he can't The welcome news of sweet returning spring.

explain. The bursts of thought with which his soul's

perplexed,

Are bred one moment, and are gone the next; The Thrush's Nest

Yet still the heart will kindling sparks retain, A Sonnet.

And thoughts will rise, and Fancy strive again. Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush So have I marked the dying ember's light,

That overhung a molehill large and round, When on the hearth it fainted from my sight, I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush With glimmering glow oft redden up again, Sing hymns of rapture, while I drank the And sparks crack brightening into life in

sound With joy — and oft an unintruding guest, Still lingering out its kindling hope to rise

I watched her secret toils from day to day; Till faint, and fainting, the last twinkle dies. How true she warped the moss to form her Dim burns the soul, and throbs the flutternest,

ing heart, And modelled it within with wood and Its painful pleasing feelings to impart;

clay.

Till by successless sallies wearied quite, And by and by, like heath-bells gilt with dew, The memory fails, and Fancy takes her flight:

find;

vain;