THE FALL OF BABYLON.

Isaiah, xiv.

W. GILMORE SIMMS.

I.

How hath the hard oppressor

That smote the nations, sunk ;-
How fallen the golden city

With pride and passion drunk!-
God's might the rule hath broken
That held the world in fear;
His anger hath but spoken,
And, lo! the ruin here!

II.

The Earth starts up rejoicing,
Her terrors all subdued;
The Cedar grows to voicing
In Lebanon's gray wood;
No more, he cries, I tremble,

Lest axe of thine o'erthrow:

Fear need no more dissemble,

Since Heaven hath laid thee low!

III.

Vain, Lucifer, each warning,—

How dost thou fall from high,

Oh! brightest Son of morning,
That strove to sway the sky!
Thy heart conceived the conquest
Of Heaven, itself, at last;
Yet, lo! a breath has vanquished,
And thou art with the past!

HANS, THE HANDWERKER.

BAYARD TAYLOR.

THOUGHT I, as I stretched my weary limbs on the damp grass, and thrust the loosened knapsack under my head, "this traveling by one's self, on foot and through these dark mountains, may appear very romantic and adventurous in anticipation, but the reality is decidedly unpleasant." And in fact, there was nothing in the savage scenery, cold, gusty sky and muddy roads, to awaken the least particle of that enthusiasm which I had expected to feel,

I had just passed through the decaying old town of Osterode, on the borders of the Hartz, whose gloomy pine forests already shaded the road. The frowning, leadencolored mountains towards which the way led, gave me little encouragement for the morrow, and my frame was still weakened from the effects of two days illness within the walls of learned Göttingen.

It was my first essay at traveling alone, and the week's journey from Frankfort was not calculated to cheer me for the remainder. As I lay, weary and listless,

watching the few scattered herdsmen, driving their cows and goats together on the distant slopes, that feeling of utter loneliness came over me, which is often felt in a foreign land-a feeling as if all earth were a wide, gloomy waste; that there was not another soul on its surface, claiming kindred with mine; that I was isolated, wholly and completely, from the rest of the universe.

I even found a desperate enjoyment in giving way to these thoughts, and Heaven knows into what dark, unearthly crypts of the mind I might have descended, from a perverse and dismal curiosity to fathom its capacity of imagination, had not my reflections been severed by the sound of a hearty German voice, lustily singing the beautiful "Wander-song" of Justinus Kerner:

"Up, once again fill with the glittering wine!
Farewell, ye beloved ones, to wander is mine;
Farewell ye vine-mountains that look on my home-
Afar through the world 'tis my impulse to roam!"

The blood, bounding through my heart, at the sound of this trumpet-like air, beat a rappel for all cheerful and active thoughts, and the mob of gloomy images was put down in a moment. Rising on my elbow, I waited the coming of the owner of the voice, which had done me such good service, and he soon appeared in a field-lane which crossed the meadows from Osterode.

I had full opportunity to watch him as he came nearer: this is a privilege which belongs only to royal prerogative and pedestrian independence-but the latter person

is the most fortunate of the two, for he can look, without being looked at in return. There was something in the clear, dancing blue eye of the singer which strengthened the impression of his song-it betrayed more abundant gayety and bonhommie than the earnest Germans usually show in their features. His light brown hair was long, and a silky blond moustache relieved the somewhat feminine delicacy of his lip. He was dressed in the ordinary garb of the handwerker-a loose linen blouse, belted tightly around the waist, a little cloth cap, stuck jauntily on the top of his head, the indispensable leather knapsack, with a coat and pair of boots strapped on the outside, and two end pockets, one of which held a bag of tobacco, and the other a flask of wine or kirschwasser.

"A pleasant rest, comrade!" was his greeting, with a toss of the little cap; "but you have chosen a damp seat for it. Whither goes the journey to-day?"

"To the Hartz," I replied.

"Bravo! that is mine also. Why not push on together to Herzberg to-night? This Hartz is not so crowded with wanderers, but that one would be glad of a companion. Faith, if it were not for a song now and then, and the twelve thalers in my pocket, I believe I should grow actually solemn."

"And do you know," said I, rising, "that I was even more than solemn, till I heard your Wander-song. Now, if you can drive away the witches and Erl-kings of the Hartz by the same cheerful spell, you will be a perfect treasure of a comrade to me. It is growing late, and

Herzberg is still three hours distant, but I must beg of you to walk moderately, till my joints are rid of their stiffness."

"Oh, as for that, I will carry your knapsack half an hour, and if we should be late, a little darkness will only make the Herberg* more welcome."

I declined his generous offer, for I felt fresh and strong, with the prospect of a genial companion. We were soon in the depth of the forests, whose shadows seemed to have lain there since creation, so dense and old and fearful were they. My comrade now kindled his pipe, and we sought to dispel the impression of the scene, by familiar converse. My language would soon have betrayed my foreign origin, and I therefore commenced by telling him my country and name. He was surprised, but apparently pleased by the discovery. "Now," said he, "I feel as if I were really in the wide world; for although I have not yet got beyond the borders of our own Germany, you have come thousands of leagues over the sea; and to find such traveling-friends, one must go some distance from Göppingen."

"Is that your home?" I asked.

"Yes the little town of Göppingen, in Suabian land. You have heard of the great castle of Hohenstaufen, no doubt, whence the old Kaiser Barbarossa and all the family of Hohenstaufen sprang. Well, Göppingen is almost under the shadow of Hohenstaufen, and in the

* A village inn.