Oh, may this whisper breathe—(let Rieger bear in mind
The storm by which in age we're bent!)—
His guardian angel, when the evening's star so kind
Gleams softly from the firmament!
In silence be he led to yonder thundering height,
And guided be his eye, that he,
In valley and on plain, may see his friends aright.
And that, with growing ecstacy,
On yonder holy spot, when he their number tells,
He may experience friendship's bliss,
Now first unveiled, until with pride his bosom swells,
Conscious that all their love is his.
Then will the distant voice be loudly heard to say:
"And G—, too, is a friend of thine!
When silvery locks no more around his temples play,
G— still will be a friend of thine!"
"E'en yonder"—and now in his eye the crystal tear
Will gleam—"e'en yonder he will love!
Love thee too, when his heart, in yonder spring-like sphere,
Linked on to thine, can rapture prove!"
EPITAPH.
Here lies a man cut off by fate
Too soon for all good men;
For sextons he died late—too late
For those who wield the pen.
QUIRL.
You tell me that you feel surprise
Because Quirl's paper's grown in size;
And yet they're crying through the street
That there's a rise in bread and meat.