Vindication. From the German of Reinick. "Why lingerest here in the greenwood, All day in a childish dream, Toying with leaves and flowers, Watching the wavelets gleam, While a world grown old and hoary With the spirit of change is rife, And the outworn past and the present Are grappling in deadly strife?" Still here will I dwell in quiet, Tho' without the tempests rave; And while all things reel and totter, Will seek me an oaken stave, Plucked from a tree that has weathered The storms against it hurled, While into the dust are crumbling The props that uphold the world. Yes, I'll choose this silent garden Tho' around me deserts lie, And bask in the ancient glories Of earth and sea and sky. While alone on dark thoughts of ruin Your pulseless bosoms brood, I'll build me a bower of roses, And rejoice in my solitude. "Rejoice! Verily we've forgotten The sound of so strange a word; Nowadays notes of scorn and anger May well in youth's songs be heard; For the woes of our earthly existence Should find a voice in your rhyme, Since the word of the poet is ever The mirror of his time." No, no, in the heart of the poet Can no scornful spirit live-- He is wroth at human baseness, Can over the sorrows grieve That round this old earth are woven Like some fateful web of doom, And he weeps that bright gleams of radiance So seldom pierce the gloom. But whenever a ray out-flashes, Drink it in with heart and mind, And a hopeful premonition Of the future in it find:-- Rejoice, when the sun is shining! Joy purifies the breast, And whoso with pure heart rejoiceth, Even here below is blest! "What! you believe in the bliss of Heaven In a happiness yet to be? Your faith, like your other emotions, Is mere childish fantasy. Remain as you have been ever, A child from your very birth, Unworthy with men to hold counsel On the woes and the welfare of earth." Yes, I believe in the word of promise, I believe in each holy word, In the power that clothes the lily, And that feeds the nestling bird; "Be like unto children, of such is God's Kingdom." Ah! well, in sooth, If all were as little children In purity and in truth! To the weal and the woe of the nations I do not seal my breast, Tho' my Motherland is dearer To me than all the rest. If to fold universal being, 'Neath its wings the mind aspires, Still the heart needs narrower limits For the growth of its sacred fires.
Rev. John Costello.
Jules Janin, a witty French writer, nicknamed lobsters "Naval Cardinals." He probably imagined that lobsters in the sea are as red as they are when served on our tables or placed in the windows of our fishmonger's shops. Curiously enough sailors call the ships used to carry our red-coated soldiers from one part of the world to another, lobster-boxes.
